CHAPTER III.The Arrival of my Father and Brother—Journey to Illinois—Work on a Railroad—The Ague—Doctor Ober—Religious Impressions—The Arrival of my Mother, Sister and her Husband—A Burning Railroad Train—We go to Minnesota—Our Experience as Wood Choppers and Pioneers.Finally my father and brother arrived, and again I turned my course westwards in company with them and their friends. We traveled by rail to Buffalo and across the lake to Toledo, thence by rail again to Chicago. In the summer of 1852 there were no railroads west of Chicago, and our company had to take passage on a canal-boat drawn by horses to La Salle, and from this place we rode in farmers wagons to Andover and Galesburg. The country around there was as yet only in the first stages of development; there was very little money in circulation, and no demand for farm products. The immigrants suffered a great deal from fever and other climatic diseases.My brother who was nearly sixteen years old soon obtained steady work from an American farmer, while my father and I had to do different kinds of work, such as building fences, stacking grain, etc. The only pay we could get was checks on some store. I remember what an abundance of provisions there was in that locality, and nobody seemed to be in need.A farmer near Galesburg, for whom I worked a week, had so many hens and chickens and eggs, that when people came out from town to buy eggs, they were told to pay ten cents,go out to the barn and fill their baskets with freshly-laid eggs, no matter how big the basket. Beef and pork had scarcely any value, and anybody could go into a cornfield that fall and gather a crop on half shares.There was much religious interest among the Swedes in Illinois at that time. The Methodists and Lutherans were already building churches, and held services side by side in many of the towns and settlements, although they numbered only a few families yet. I remember distinctly one Sunday attending service in a Methodist church listening to an eloquent preacher, taking for his text “The Broad and the Narrow Ways.” He depicted both in glowing language, and wound up with the following words, pronounced in a broad (Swedish) dialect: “My dear brethren, I have now shown you the two ways, and you may take which ever you like; that is all the same to me.”My father had taken with him only just enough money to pay his way, although he had by no means exhausted his resources in Sweden, for he had prudently decided to spend at least a year in seeing the country and making himself familiar with its institutions, customs, manner of tilling the soil, etc. At this time he was a strong man, at the age of fifty. In order to obtain steady work, we two, and a few others of our company, hired a man in Galesburg to take us to Rock River, where a bridge for the Chicago & Rock Island Railroad was being built. We all got work, and had to take hold of the spade and the shovel. The wages in those days for railroad laborers were from seventy-five cents to one dollar per day. I received only seventy-five cents, out of which my board was to be paid, which, however, was very cheap, one dollar and a half per week only. A Swede by the name of Hoffman kept a boarding house for thirty-four of us, and all would have been well except for the ague. No man remained there many days without getting the “shakes;” Iand my father got them the second day. The lower part of the shanty in which we boarded was used for dining-room and kitchen, the upper for sleeping on the floor. The shanty was as shaky as the ague, which came regularly every other day. Fate had so arranged it that seventeen of us had the chills one day, and seventeen the next day. Hoffman and his wife fortunately also had the chills alternate days, so that there was always one to attend to the cooking.Some may doubt it, but it is a solemn fact, that when seventeen ate dinner below, the shaking of those upstairs sometimes shook the house until we could hear the plates rattling on the table.During my healthy days I stood on the bottom of Rock River from seven o’clock in the morning until seven at night, throwing wet sand with a shovel onto a platform above, from which it was again thrown to another, and from there to terra firma. The most disagreeable part of the business was that one-quarter of each shovel-full came back on the head of the operator.After a couple of weeks the company’s paymaster came along, and upon settling my board bill and deducting for the shaking days, I made the discovery that I was able to earn only fifteen cents net per week in building railroad bridges.Being half dead by this time from over work and sickness, we decided to see if we could strike an easier job, and, if possible, a better climate. We happened to meet a farmer by the name of Peterson, with whom we rode to a place near Moline, where my father tended to me during my illness. When he was not occupied with this he chopped cord wood from dry old trees. I also tried to assist him in this, but found my strength gone.Among the Swedes living in Moline at that time was a tailor, Johnson by name, a good kind-hearted man who, together with his wife, was always ready to aid his needycountrymen and get something to do for such as could work. I went to him one day to ask for advice or assistance, just as a great many had done before me. I was so weak and sickly that they had to assist me in getting into the house, but they received me as if I had been their own son, and, after a short rest, Mr. Johnson took me to one Dr. Ober, who carefully investigated my mental as well as my physical condition, and told me that such hard work as I had been doing would kill me, and that I ought to rest and take it easy. He was one of those magnanimous, noble men who are to be met with in all climes and walks of life, but who are easily recognized because they are so few. As I have said before, I have been very fortunate in getting acquainted with the best men and women of different classes and nations with which I have come in contact. While we were sitting in his reception room the doctor suddenly left us and went into his private room. In a short time he returned accompanied by his wife, a lady whose silvery locks and benignantly sympathizing looks made her seem more beautiful to me than a madonna. Having simply taken a hasty look at me, the doctor and his wife again withdrew, and when they returned he offered to let me stay with them like a member of the family in order that he might try to restore my health; he also allowed me to avail myself of his library and to attend school, the only condition being that I should do chores around the house and take care of the horses.I moved the same day, got a pleasant room and a snug bed, good, substantial food, and, above all, good and friendly treatment, so that from the time I came there until the day I left, I felt as if I had been a child of the house. Dr. Ober, who was a religious man, belonged to the Baptist Church, and as I now lived under its beneficient influence, and also became acquainted with the Swedish Baptist Pastor, Rev. G. Palmquist, and a few others who constitutedthe nucleus of the First Swedish Baptist Church of America. I became a member of their society before spring and would probably have continued a member of this denomination, if circumstances which were beyond my control, had not brought me to other fields of action and other surroundings.This winter passed in a very pleasant manner. In the afternoon I attended an English school, and in the evening I gave instructions in English to other young men and women. The friendship of Dr. Ober and his wife never failed, and many years afterwards I was a welcome guest at their home in La Crosse, Wis., to which place they had moved from Moline. Both of them now slumber under the sod, but their many good deeds shall live for ever.My father was much pleased with the great west, and he wrote back to the rest of our family in Sweden to come to this country the next summer, and in May I started to meet them in Boston. As there were no railroads to Moline, I took a steamboat to Galena, and thence the stage-coach to Freeport, and from there to Chicago by rail.The vessel carrying my mother and the party with her was three months on the ocean, and there was great scarcity of provisions on board. The ship at last arrived, in the month of July, and a couple of days later the whole party, consisting of about two hundred, took the train for the west, I volunteering as their guide and interpreter. All went well until about one hundred miles east of Chicago, when the baggage car attached to our train in front caught fire. It was thought best to try to reach a station, and the burning train sped on at the rate of sixty miles an hour. The scene was a frightful one, the cars crammed full of frightened emigrants, the flames hissing like serpents from car to car, windows cracking, people screaming, and women fainting, all at the same time looking to me, who was not yet twenty years of age, for protection and deliverance.As soon as possible I placed reliable men as guards at the doors to prevent the people from rushing out and crowding each other off the platform. The train did not reach the station but had to be stopped on the open prairie, where we all were helped out of the cars with no accident of any kind except every particle of baggage, saving only what the passengers had in their seats with them, was burnt. In due time another train brought us to Chicago, where the railroad company immediately offered to pay all losses as soon as lists of the property destroyed could be made out and properly verified. I undertook to do all that work without the aid of consul, lawyer or clerk, collecting nearly twenty thousand dollars, for old trunks, spinning-wheels, copper kettles, etc. Having lost nothing myself, I of course received nothing, and as the Company did not consider it their duty to pay me for my trouble, one of the emigrants suggested that they should chip in to compensate me for the valuable services I had rendered. Accordingly the hat was passed, the collection realizing the magnificent sum of two dollars and sixty cents, which was paid me for being their interpreter during the long journey and for collecting that large sum of money without litigation or delay. No lawyer, consul or agent would have been satisfied with less than five hundred dollars, but I can truthfully say that I never raised a word of complaint, but freely forgave the people on account of their ignorance. Many of them I also served afterwards on the way to Moline and Minnesota. In due time our party arrived in Moline, where my parents bought a small piece of property with the money brought from Sweden.Minnesota was then a territory but little known; yet we had heard of its beautiful lakes, forests, prairies and salubrious climate. Quite a number of our company had decided to hunt up a place for a Swedish settlement where land could be had cheap. It was finally agreed that a few of usshould go to Minnesota and select a suitable place. Being the only one of the party who could speak English, I was naturally appointed its leader. My father also went with us, and so did Mr. Willard and his wife, the whole party taking deck passage on a Mississippi steamer, and arriving at St. Paul in the month of August.At that time St. Paul was an insignificant town of a few hundred inhabitants. There we found Henry Russell, John Tidlund, and a few other Swedish pioneers. Mr. Willard and I had very little money, and for the few dollars which we did own we bought a little household furniture, and some cooking utensils. We therefore at once sought employment for him, while the rest of our party started off in search of a suitable location for the proposed settlement.We had been told that there were a number of our countrymen at Chisago Lake and a few near Carver, but that all had settled on timber lands. We also learned that near Red Wing, in Goodhue county, places could be found with both timber and prairie, and an abundance of good water. Having looked over the different localities we finally decided on the present town of Vasa, about twelve miles west of Red Wing. The first claims were taken at Belle Creek, south of White Rock, and afterwards others were taken at a spring now known as Willard Spring, near which the large brick church now stands.After selecting this land my father returned to Illinois. In company with the other explorers, I went to St. Paul, where a council was held in which all participated, and at which it was decided that three of us, Messrs. Roos, Kempe, and myself, should go to our claims that fall and do as much work as possible, until the others could join us the following spring.Having made the necessary preparations we three went to Red Wing by steamboat and found a little town with half adozen families, among whom was the Rev. J. W. Hancock, who for several years had been a missionary among the Indians. The other settlers were Wm. Freeborn, Dr. Sweeney, H. L. Bevans, and John Day. Besides these we also met two Swedes, Peter Green, and Nels Nelson, and a Norwegian by the name of Peterson. On the bank of the river the Sioux Indians had a large camp. The country west of Red Wing was then practically a wilderness, and our little party was the first to start in to cultivate the soil and make a permanent settlement.At Red Wing we supplied ourselves with a tent, a cook stove, a yoke of oxen, carpenter’s tools, provisions and other necessaries. Having hired a team of horses, we then packed our goods on a wagon, tied the cattle behind, and started for the new settlement. The first four miles we followed the territorial road; after that we had nothing but Indian trails to guide us. Toward evening we arrived at a grove on Belle Creek, now known as Jemtland. Here the tent was pitched and our evening meal cooked, and only pioneers like ourselves can understand how we relished it after our long day’s tramp. The team was taken back the next day, and we were left alone in the wilderness.After a day’s exploration we moved our camp two miles further south, to another point near Belle Creek, where Mr. Roos had taken his claim.It was now late in September, and our first care was to secure enough hay for the cattle, and in a few days we had a big stack. Having read about prairie fires, we decided to protect our stack by burning away the short stubble around it. But a minute and a half was sufficient to convince us that we had made wrong calculations, for within that time the stack itself was burning with such fury that all the water in Belle Creek could not have put it out. Still, this was not the worst of it. Before we had time to recover from ourastonishment the fire had spread over the best part of the valley and consumed all the remaining grass, which was pretty dry at that time of the year. Inexperienced as we were, we commenced to run a race with the wind, and tried to stop the fire before reaching another fine patch of grass about a mile to the north; but this attempt was, of course, a complete failure, and we returned to our cheerless tent mourning over this serious misfortune.The next morning we all started out in different directions to see if any grass was left in Goodhue County, and fortunately we found plenty of it near our first camping-ground. Having put up a second stack of very poor hay, we proceeded to build a rude log house, and had just finished it when my brother-in-law, Mr. Willard, surprised us by appearing in our midst, having left in Red Wing his wife and baby, now Mrs. Zelma Christensen of Rush City, who is, as far as I know, the first child born of Swedish parents in St. Paul. Mr. Willard who was a scholarly gentleman and not accustomed to manual labor, had found it rather hard to work with shovel and pick on the hilly streets of St. Paul, and made up his mind that he would better do that kind of work on a farm. Messers. Roos and Kempe having furnished all the money for the outfit, I really had no share in it, and as we could not expect Mr. Willard and his family to pass the winter in that cabin, I immediately made up my mind to return with him to Red Wing. In an hour we were ready and without waiting for dinner we took the trail back to that place. I remember distinctly how, near the head of the Spring Creek Valley, we sat down in a little grove to rest and meditate on the future. We were both very hungry, especially Mr. Willard, who had now walked over twenty miles since breakfast. Then espying a tempting squirrel in a tree close by, we tried to kill it with sticks and rocks; but we were poor marksmen, and thus missed a fine squirrel roast.Tired and very hungry we reached Red Wing late in the afternoon, and soon found my sister, Mrs. Willard, comfortably housed with one of the families there. Her cheerful and hopeful nature and the beautiful baby on her arm gave us fresh joy and strength to battle with the hardships that were in store for us. Mr. Willard and his wife had taken along what furniture they owned, a few eatables and five dollars and fifty cents in cash, which was all that we possessed of the goods of this world. But who cares for money at that age? Mr. Willard was twenty-five years old, my sister twenty-three, and I twenty, all hale and hearty, and never for a moment doubting our success, no matter what we should undertake.Our first work was wood chopping, for which we were less fit than almost anything else. We had to go to a place about three miles above Red Wing, where a man had made a contract to bank up fifteen hundred cords of wood for the Mississippi steamers. There was an old wood chopper’s cabin which we repaired by thatching it with hay and earth, putting in a door, a small window, and a few rough planks for a floor. In a few days we were duly installed, baby and all, in the little hut which was only twelve by sixteen feet, but to us as dear as a palace to a king.We began to chop wood at once. The trees were tall, soft maples and ash, and our pay was fifty-five cents a cord for soft and sixty-five cents for hard wood. At first both of us could not chop over a cord a day together; but within a week we could chop a cord apiece, and before the winter was over we often chopped three cords together in a day. After a few days we were joined by four Norwegian wood choppers for whom we put up a new cabin to sleep in; but my sister cooked for us all, and the others paid for their board to Mr. Willard and myself, who had all things in common. Those four men were better workmen than we, and one of them, AlbertOlson, often chopped three cords a day. They were quiet, industrious, and generous fellows, so that we soon became attached to each other, and we were all very fond of the little Zelma. My sister managed our household affairs so well and kept the little house so neat and tidy that when spring came we were all loth to leave.The weather being fine and the sleighing good in thebeginningof January, we hired John Day to take us with his team to our claims while there was yet snow, so that we might chop and haul out logs for the house which Mr. Willard and I intended to put up in the spring. My sister remained in the cabin, but Albert went with us for the sake of company. We put some lumber on the sled, and provided ourselves with hay and food enough to last a few days, and plenty of quilts and blankets for our bedding. John Day, who was an old frontiersman with an instinct almost like that of an Indian, guided us safely to Willard Spring. A few hundred yards below this, in a deep ravine, we stopped near some sheltering trees, built a roaring camp-fire, and made ourselves as comfortable as possible. Having supped and smoked our evening pipe, we made our beds by putting a few boards on the snow, and the hay and blankets on top of those. Then all four of us nestled down under the blankets and went to sleep.During the night the thermometer fell down to forty degrees below zero, as we learned afterwards. If we had suspected this and kept our fire burning there would, of course, have been no danger. But being very comfortable early in the night and soon asleep, we were unconscious of danger until aroused by an intense pain caused by the cold, and then we were already so benumbed and chilled that we lacked energy to get up or even move. We found, on comparing notes afterwards, that each one of us had experienced the same sensations, namely, first an acute pain as if pricked with needles in every fibre, then a deep mental tranquillity whichwas only slightly disturbed by a faint conception of something wrong, and by a desire to get up, but without sufficient energy to do so. This feeling gradually subsided into one of quiet rest and satisfaction, until consciousness ceased altogether, and, as far as pain was concerned, all was over with us.At this stage an accident occurred which saved our lives. Mr. Day, who lay on the outside to the right, had evidently held his arm up against his breast to keep the blankets close to his body. His will-force being gone, his arm relaxed and fell into the snow. As the bare hand came in contact with the snow the circulation of the blood was accelerated, and this was accompanied by such intense pain that he was aroused and jumped to his feet.Thus we were saved. It took a good while before we could use our limbs sufficiently to build a fire again, and during this time we suffered much more than before. From that experience I am satisfied that those who freeze to death do not suffer much, because they gradually sink into a stupor which blunts the sensibilities long before life is extinct.It was about four o’clock when we got up. Of course we did not lie down again that morning, nor did we attempt to haul any timber, but started in a bee line across the prairie for the ravine where Mr. Willard and I had seen the tempting squirrel a few months before. We soon found that going over the wild, trackless prairie against the wind, with the thermometer forty degrees below zero was a struggle for life, and in order to keep warm we took turns to walk or run behind the sleigh. In taking his turn Mr. Willard suddenly sat down in the snow and would not stir. We returned to him, and it required all our power of persuasion to make him take his seat in the sleigh again. He felt very comfortable he said, and would soon catch up withus again if we only would let him alone. If we had followed his advice, he would never have left his cold seat again. After a drive of eight miles we arrived at a house on Spring Creek, near Red Wing, where we found a warm room and a good shed for the horses. After an hour’s rest we continued the journey, and safely reached our little home in the woods before dark. I do not know that I ever appreciated a home more than I did that rude cabin when again comfortably seated by its warm and cheerful fire-place.A few weeks later I had an opportunity to visit St. Paul, and while there attended the wedding of a young Norwegian farmer from Carver County and a girl just arrived from Sweden. The ceremony was performed by the Rev. Nilsson, a Baptist minister, who had been banished from Sweden on account of proselyting. Among the guests was Mr. John Swainsson, who since became well known among the Swedes of Minnesota, and who died in St. Paul a short time ago. I also made the acquaintance of one Jacob Falstrom, who had lived forty years among the Indians and devoted most of that time to missionary work among them. He was a remarkable man, and was well known among the Hudson Bay employees and other early settlers of the Northwest. As a boy he had deserted from a Swedish vessel in Quebec and made his way through the wilderness, seeking shelter among the Indians; and, by marrying an Indian girl, he had become almost identified with them. I think he told me that he had not heard a word spoken in his native tongue in thirty-five years, and that he had almost forgotten it when he met the first Swedish settlers in the St. Croix valley. His children are now living there, while he has passed away to the unknown land beyond, honored and respected by all who knew him, Indians as well as white men.On my return from St. Paul I stopped at the cabin of Mr.Peter Green, at Spring Creek, near Red Wing. The only domestic animals he had was a litter of pigs, and as Mr. Willard and I intended to settle on our land in the spring I thought it might be well to start in with a couple of pigs. Accordingly, I got two pigs from Mr. Green, put them in a bag which I shouldered, and left for our cabin in the woods. According to my calculations, the distance I had to walk ought not to be over three miles, and in order to be sure of not getting lost I followed the Cannon river at the mouth of which our cabin stood. I walked on the ice where the snow was about a foot deep, and, if I had known of the meandering course of the river, I would never have undertaken to carry that burden such a distance. From nine in the morning until it was almost dark I trudged along with my burden on my back, prompted to the greatest exertion by the grunting of the pigs, and feeling my back uncomfortably warm. These were the first domestic animals I ever owned, and I think I well earned my title to them by carrying them along the windings of the river at least ten miles. Both I and the pigs were well received when we reached the cabin. We made a pig pen by digging a hole in the ground and covering it with poles and brush, and fed them on the refuse from the table. Before we were ready to move one of them died, while the other, after being brought to our new farm, ungratefully ran away, and was most likely eaten up by the wolves, which perhaps was just as agreeable to him as to be eaten by us.While living in this camp we saw more Indians than white men. A band of Sioux Indians camped near us for several weeks. They were very friendly, and never molested us. The men brought us venison and fresh fish, which they caught in great quantities by spearing them through the ice. We gave them bread and coffee, and sometimes invited one or two to dinner after we were through. Their women wouldstay for hours with my sister and help her take care of the baby. Indeed they were so fond of the white-haired child that they would sometimes run a race in vying with each other to get the first chance to fondle her. Sometimes we visited them in their tents in the evening and smoked Kinikinick with them. Several of their dead reposed in the young trees near our cabin. When somebody died it was their custom to stretch the dead body on poles which were tied to young trees high enough to be out of the reach of wild beasts, then cover it with blankets, and finally leave some corn and venison and a jar of water close by. At some subsequent visit to the neighborhood they would gather the bones and bury them at some regular burial-ground, usually on a high hill or bluff.MOUNTAIN CHIEF.Once we saw a regular war dance in Red Wing. A few Sioux had killed two Chippewas and brought back their scalps stretched on a frame of young saplings. At a givenhour the whole band assembled, and, amid the most fantastic gestures, jumping, singing, yelling, beating of tom-toms and jingling of bells, gave a performance which in lurid savageness excelled anything I ever saw. The same Indians again became our neighbors for a short time on Belle Creek the following winter, and we rather liked them, and they us. But eight years later they took part in the terrible massacre of the white settlers in Western Minnesota, and thirty-nine of their men were hanged on one gallows at Mankato in the fall of 1862 and the rest transported beyond our borders.Thus our first winter in Minnesota passed without further incidents, until the beginning of March, when the weather turned so mild that we were afraid the ice on the Mississippi might break up, and we therefore hurried back to Red Wing. By our wood chopping and Mrs. Willard’s cooking enough money had been earned to buy the most necessary articles for our new home. When we had procured everything and taken a few days’ rest, we again hired Mr. John Day to take us out to our land with his team. Hundreds of thousands of immigrants have had the same experience, and can realize how we felt on that fine March morning, starting from Red Wing with a wagon loaded with some boards on the bottom, a cook stove and utensils, doors, windows, a keg of nails, saws, spades, a small supply of provisions, a bedstead or two with bedding, a few trunks, and a little box containing our spotted pig, Mrs. Willard in the seat with the driver, her baby in her arms, her husband and myself taking turns as guides, John Day shouting to his horses, laughing and joking; all of us full of hope, strength and determination to overcome all obstacles and conquer the wildness. The snow was now nearly gone, and the air was spring-like.After a twelve miles’ heavy pull we arrived at our destination, and made a temporary tent of sticks and blankets, very much after the Indian fashion. Two of the Norwegians hadaccompanied us to help build our cabin. Mr. Day stopped a couple of days hauling building material, and before night the second day the rear part of our cabin was under roof. After a few days the Norwegians left us, and Mr. Willard and myself had to finish the main part of the building which was also made of round logs. For many a year this rude log cabin was the centre of attraction, and a hospitable stopping place for nearly all the settlers of Vasa.In the month of April cold weather set in again, and it was very late in the season when steamboat navigation was opened on the Mississippi. At that time all provisions had to be shipped from Galena or Dubuque, and it happened that the winter’s supplies in Red Wing were so nearly gone that not a particle of flour or meat could be bought after the first of April. Our supplies were soon exhausted, and for about two weeks our little family had only a peck of potatoes, a small panful of flour, and a gallon of beans to live on, part of which was a present from Messrs. Roos and Kempe, who had remained all winter on their claims, three miles south of us. They had been struggling against great odds, and had been compelled to live on half rations for a considerable length of time. Even their oxen had been reduced almost to the point of starvation, their only feed being over-ripe hay in small quantities.We would certainly have starved if it had not been for my shot-gun, with which I went down into the woods of Belle Creek every morning at day-break, generally returning with pheasants, squirrels or other small game. One Sunday the weather was so disagreeable and rough that I did not succeed in my hunting, but in feeding the team back of the kitchen some oats had been spilt, and a flock of blackbirds came and fed on them. Through an opening between the logs of the kitchen I shot several dozen of these birds, which, by the way, are not ordinarily very toothsome. But, beinga splendid cook, my sister made them into a stew, thickened with a few mashed beans and a handful of flour—in our estimation the mess turned out to be a dinner fit for kings.Our supplies being nearly exhausted, I started for Red Wing the next morning, partly to save the remaining handful of provisions for my sister and her husband, partly in hopes of obtaining fresh supplies from a steamboat which was expected about that time. Three days afterwards the steamer arrived. As soon as practicable the boxes were brought to the store of H. L. Bevans. I secured a smoked ham, thirty pounds of flour, a gallon of molasses, some coffee, salt and sugar, strapped it all (weighing almost seventy pounds) on my back, and started toward evening for our cabin in the wilderness. I had to walk about fourteen miles along the Indian trail, but in spite of the heavy burden I made that distance in a short time, knowing that the dear ones at home were threatened by hunger; perhaps the howling of the prairie wolves near my path also had something to do with the speed. There are events in the life of every person which stand out like mile-stones along the road, and so attract the attention of the traveler on life’s journey that they always remain vivid pictures in his memory. My arrival at our cabin that evening was one of those events in our humble life. I will not attempt to describe the joy which my burden brought to all of us, especially to the young mother with the little babe at her breast.CHAPTER IV.Future Hopes—Farm Life—Norwegian Pioneers—The Condition of the Immigrant at the Beginning of the Fifties—Religious Meetings—The Growth of the Settlement—Vasa Township Organized—A Lutheran Church Established—My Wedding—Speculation—The Crisis of 1857—Study of Law in Red Wing—I am admitted to the Bar and elected County Auditor—Politics in 1860—War is Imminent.We had now commenced a new career, located on our farm claims in the boundless West, with no end to the prospects and possibilities before us. We felt that independence and freedom which are only attained and appreciated in the western wilds of America.From the Mississippi river and almost to the Pacific Ocean, was a verdant field for the industry, energy and enterprise of the settler. To be sure, our means and resources were small, but somehow we felt that by hard work and good conduct we would some day attain the comfort, independence and position for which our souls thirsted. We did not sit down and wait for gold mines to open up before us, or for roasted pigs to come running by our cabin, but with axe and spade went quietly to work, to do our little part in the building up of new empires.OUR WAGON.In the beginningof May, my father came from Illinois and brought us a pair of steers and a milch cow; this made usrich. We made a wagon with wheels of blocks sawed off an oak log; we also bought a plow, and, joining with our neighbors of Belle Creek, had a breaking team of two pair of oxen. That breaking team and that truck wagon, with myself always as the chief ox driver, did all the breaking, and all the hauling and carting of lumber, provisions, building-material and other goods, for all the settlers in thatneighborhoodduring the first season.Soon others of our party from last year joined us. Some letters which I wrote inHemlandetdescribing the country around us, attracted much attention and brought settlers from different parts of the west, and while the Swedes were pouring into our place, then known as “Mattson’s Settlement,” (now well known under the name of Vasa), our friends, the Norwegians, had started a prosperous settlement a few miles to the south, many of them coming overland from Wisconsin, bringing cattle, implements and other valuables of which the Swedes, being mostly poor new-comers, were destitute. Many immigrants of both nationalities came as deck passengers on the Mississippi steamers to Red Wing.There was cholera at St. Louis that summer, and I remember how a steamer landed a large party of Norwegian immigrants, nearly all down with cholera. Mr. Willard and myself happened to be in Red Wing at the time, and the American families, considering these Norwegian cholera patients our countrymen, hastily turned them over to our care. We nursed them as best we could, but many died in spite of all our efforts, and as we closed their eyes, and laid them in the silent grave under the bluffs, it never occurred to us that they were anything but our countrymen and brothers.From these small beginnings of the Swedish and Norwegian settlers in Goodhue county, in the years of 1853 and 1854, have sprung results which are not only grand butglorious to contemplate. Looking back to those days I see the little cabin, often with a sod roof, single room used for domestic purposes, sometimes crowded almost to suffocation by hospitable entertainments to new-comers; or the poor immigrant on the levee at Red Wing, just landed from a steamer, in his short jacket and other outlandish costume, perhaps seated on a wooden box, with his wife and a large group of children around him, and wondering how he shall be able to raise enough means to get himself ten or twenty miles into the country, or to redeem the bedding and other household goods which he has perchance left in Milwaukee as a pledge for his railroad and steam-boat ticket. And I see him trudging along over the trackless prairie, searching for a piece of land containing if possible prairie, water and alittle timber, on which to build a home. Poor, bewildered, ignorant, and odd looking, he had been an object of pity and derision all the way from Gothenburg or Christiania to the little cabin of some country-man of his, where he found rest and shelter until he could build one of his own.OUR FIRST HOME.Those who have not experienced frontier life, will naturally wonder how it was possible for people so poor as a majority of the old settlers were, to procure the necessaries of life, but they should remember that our necessities were few, and our luxuries a great deal less. The bountiful earth soon yielded bread and vegetables; the woods and streams supplied game and fish; and as to shoes and clothing, I and many others have used shoes made of untanned skins, and even of gunny-sacks and old rags. Furthermore, the small merchants at the river or other points, were always willing to supply the Scandinavian emigrants with necessary goods on credit, until better times should come. Our people in this country did certainly earn a name for integrity and honesty among their American neighbors, which has been a greater help to them than money.Some of the men would go off in search of work, and in due time return with means enough to help the balance of the family.Frontier settlers are always accommodating and generous. If one had more than he needed, he would invariably share the surplus with his neighbors. The neighbors would all turn in to help a new-comer,—haul his logs, build his house, and do other little services, for him.The isolated condition and mutual aims and aspirations of the settlers brought them nearer together than in older communities. On Sunday afternoons all would meet at some centrally located place, and spend the day together. A cup of coffee with a couple of slices of bread and butter, would furnish a royal entertainment, and when we got so faralong that we could afford some pie or cake for dessert, the good house-wives were in a perfect ecstacy. The joys and sorrows of one, were shared by the others, and nowhere in the wide world, except in a military camp, have I witnessed so much genuine cordial friendship and brotherhood as among the frontier settlers in the West.One fine Sunday morning that summer, all the settlers met under two oak trees on the prairie, near where the present church stands, for the first religious service in the settlement. It had been agreed that some of the men should take turns to read one of Luther’s sermons at each of these gatherings, and I was selected as reader the first day. Some prayers were said and Swedish hymns sung, and seldom did a temple contain more devout worshipers than did that little congregation on the prairie.Before the winter of 1854-55 set in, we had quite a large community in Vasa, and had raised considerable grain, potatoes and other provisions. During that winter the Sioux Indians again became our neighbors, and frequently supplied us with venison in exchange for bread and coffee. The following spring and summer the settlers increased still faster, several more oxen and other cattle, with a horse or two, were brought in, and I had no longer the exclusive privilege of hauling goods on the little truck wagon.That summer I again went to Illinois to meet a large party of newly-arrived emigrants from Sweden, who formed a settlement in Vasa, known as Skåne. The people from different provinces would group themselves together in little neighborhoods, each assuming in common parlance the name of their own province; thus we have Vasa, Skåne, Småland and Jemtland.About this time a township was formally organized, and, at my suggestion, given the name of Vasa, in commemoration of the great Swedish king. Roads were alsolaid out legally, and a township organization perfected. A school district was formed and soon after an election precinct, and as I was the only person who was master of the English language the duty of attending to all these things devolved upon me. We were particularly fortunate in having many men, not only of good education from the old country, but of excellent character, pluck and energy, men who would have been leaders in their communities if they had remained at home, and who became prominent as soon as they had mastered the English language. This fact, perhaps, gave a higher tone and character to our little community than is common in such cases, and Vasa has since that time furnished many able men in the county offices, in the legislative halls, and in business and educational circles. There can be much refinement and grace even in a log cabin on the wild prairie.In the beginning of the month of September, 1855, Rev. E. Norelius visited the settlement and organized a Lutheran church.Thirty-five years have elapsed since that time, and many of those who belonged to the first church at Vasa now rest in mother earth close by the present stately church edifice, which still belongs to the same congregation, and is situated only a short distance from the place where the latter was organized. Rev. Norelius himself lives only a few hundred yards from the church building. Thirty-five years have changed the then cheerful, hopeful young man into a veteran, crowned with honor, and full of wisdom and experience. His beneficent influence on the Swedes of Goodhue county and of the whole Northwest will make his name dear to coming generations of our people.On November 23d, in the same fall, the first wedding took place in our settlement. The author of these memoirs was joined in matrimony to Miss Cherstin Peterson, fromBalingslöf, near Kristianstad, whose family had just come to Vasa from Sweden. By this union I found the best and most precious treasure a man can find—a good and dear wife, who has, faithfully shared my fate to this day. Rev. J. W. Hancock, of Red Wing, performed the marriage ceremony. Horses being very scarce among us in those days, the minister had to borrow an Indian pony and ride on horseback twelve miles—from Red Wing to Vasa. On the evening of our wedding day there happened to be a severe snow-storm, through which my young bride was taken from her parents’ home to our log house, on a home-made wooden sled, drawn by a pair of oxen and escorted by a number of our young friends, which made this trip of about a quarter of a mile very pleasant, in spite of the oxen and the snow-storm.The next winter was very severe, and many of our neighbors suffered greatly from colds and even frozen limbs. But there was an abundance of provisions, and, as far as I can remember, no one was in actual need after the first winter.In the spring of 1856 several new-comers arrived in our colony. That year marked the climax of the mad land speculation in the Northwest. Cities and towns were staked out and named, advertised and sold everywhere in the state, and people seemed to be perfectly wild, everybody expecting to get rich in a short time without working. The value of real estate rose enormously, and money was loaned at three, four, and even five per cent. a month. Fortunately, very few of the settlers in our neighborhood were seized by this mad fury of speculation. I, however, became a victim. I bought several pieces of land, and sold some of them very profitably, and mortgaged others at an impossible rate of interest. And, the world becoming too narrow for me on the farm, I availed myself of the first opportunity to trade away my land for some property in Red Wing, which was a booming little town at that time. We moved from the plain log cabin on the oldfarm into a house in town, where I engaged in a successful mercantile business. But speculation was in the air, and before the spring of 1857 my entire stock of merchandize was exchanged for town lots in Wasioja and Geneva, two paper cities further west. Meanwhile my friend Mr. Eustrom, with his young wife and baby, had arrived from Boston, and both of us, with our families and a few friends, moved out to Geneva early in the summer, with the intention of building up a city and acquiring riches in a hurry. But at that time the waves of speculation began to subside, and nine-tenths of the cities and towns which were mapped out, and the great enterprises which were inaugurated by enthusiasts like myself suddenly collapsed into a mere nothing. Among these was also Geneva, which is not larger to-day than when we left it, and it was about all I could do to raise enough money to get back to Vasa with my wife. My friend Eustrom pre-empted a claim near Geneva and remained there.Making an inventory of my property after the return to Vasa in 1857, I found that the principal thing I had was a debt of $2,000, bearing an interest of five per cent. a month. In order to pay this debt we sold everything we had, even our furniture and my wife’s gold watch. This was the great crisis of 1857. It stirred up everybody and everything in the country, and it was no wonder that I, being an inexperienced and enthusiastic young man, had to suffer with so many others. But now the question was, what should I do? I could not return to the farm, for I had none; that is, it was encumbered for about twice its value.In the midst of these difficulties I went to Red Wing one day to consult a prominent lawyer in regard to some business matters. During my conversation with him he said: “You have nothing to do now, you have had enough of speculation, you know the English language, you are tolerablywell acquainted with our laws, well educated, young and ambitious, why not study law, then? This state and this county is just the place for you to make a splendid beginning in that profession. Come to me, and within a year you can be admitted to the bar, after which you will find it easy to get along.”I returned to Vasa in the evening, and, having consulted my wife, who was visiting her parents, I soon made up my mind. The next day both of us were on the way to Red Wing supplied with clothes, bedding, a few dishes and some provisions, which had been given us by my wife’s parents, who also conveyed us to town. In Red Wing we rented a room about sixteen feet square, got a cook stove and a few articles of furniture on credit, and everything was in order for housekeeping and the study of law. I immediately commenced my course of study with that excellent lawyer, Mr. Warren Bristol, who afterwards for many years served as United States Judge in New Mexico, where he recently died.This life was something new for my young wife, who had grown up in a house of plenty. Now she had to try her hand at managing our household affairs, with the greatest economy, and she accomplished her task so well that no minister of finance could have done better. In fact we were so poor that winter that we could not afford to buy the tallow candles which were necessary for my night studies (kerosene was unknown at that time). But every evening during this trying but happy winter my wife made a lamp by pouring melted lard, which her parents sent us, into a saucer, and putting in a cotton wick, and in my eyes this light was more brilliant than the rays from the golden chandeliers in the palaces of the rich. By this light I studied Blackstone, Kent, and other works on law.Late in the spring of 1858 a place became vacant in thejustice of the peace, and I succeeded in getting the appointment to this position, which brought me a couple of dollars now and then, thus improving our financial condition considerably. Early in the summer I was appointed city clerk, with a salary of $12.50 a month, which was quite a fortune for us at that time. After one year’s hard study I was admitted to the bar, and my honored teacher accepted me as his partner on good conditions. My profession seemed to be well chosen; I had plenty to do, and met with all the success I could expect.My first case in the district court was before Judge McMillan, who afterwards became chief justice of our supreme court, and then United States senator. In opening the case I became nervous and excited and would have broken down entirely had it not been for the kindly manner in which the judge overlooked my diffidence, and helped me out of the embarrassment by leading me on and putting the very words in my mouth; this was only natural to his kind heart, and he probably never remembered it, but to me it was an act of great kindness, never to be forgotten, especially not when more than twenty years after the little incident he needed all his friends to rally for his return to the United States senate, his most formidable opponent being the venerable and beloved statesman, Alexander Ramsey.My law practice lasted only a few months, as I was appointed county auditor to fill a vacancy, and soon afterwards elected to fill the regular term of office, and again re-elected two years later. Before that time no Swedish-American had occupied such responsible civil office in the United States. But I probably made a mistake in accepting this office and thereby turning my back on a profession at which I would undoubtedly have made more easy and rapid progress than by anything else. But for the time being it produced great economical improvements in our private life. Our littlehome, the narrow room which served as bedroom, study, kitchen and parlor, was soon exchanged for a neat little house, and a year later we moved into a larger and more comfortable building, which was our own property.Meanwhile the settlement at Vasa had prospered, and the population had materially increased. The Scandinavian settlers had scattered over the neighboring towns and counties with marvelous rapidity. The crisis of 1857 had been an excellent lesson to us all, for, although the price of real estate had fallen to about one-fourth of its former value, the people were better off now than formerly, owing to better management and more prudent economy.The Scandinavians had now commenced to take a lively interest in the political discussions which were agitating the entire country at that time. The all absorbing political question of the day was “slavery” or “no slavery” in the new territories. It is unnecessary to say that the Scandinavians were almost to a man in favor of liberty to all men, and that they consequently joined the Republican party, which had just been organized for the purpose of restricting slavery.In the winter of 1861, while I was holding the office of auditor the second term, the legislature of Minnesota appointed a committee to revise the tax laws. This committee invited five county auditors, of which number I had the honor to be one, to assist in its work. The tax laws which were formulated by this general committee were in force over twenty years.It was about this time the great American statesman, W. H. Seward, visited Minnesota. I heard him make his famous speech in St. Paul, in which, with the gift of prophecy, he depicted the future grandeur of the twin cities. I also heard Owen Lovejoy, a member of congress from Illinois, and one of the leading anti-slavery agitators of the times.During the presidential election of 1860 the political excitement ran very high in the whole country. The Southern states had assumed a threatening position, and expressed their intention to secede from the Union if Lincoln was elected president. Throughout the whole country political clubs were organized. The Democrats formed companies which they called “Little Giants,” which was the nickname given to Stephen A. Douglas, their candidate for president.The Republicans also organized companies which they called “Wide Awakes.” I was chosen leader of the Republican company in Red Wing. Political meetings were very frequent during the last few weeks before election, and among the most prominent features of those meetings were processions and parades of the companies, which were uniformed, and carried banners and torches. During the campaign C. C. Andrews and the late Stephen Miller, respective candidates for presidential electors on the Democratic and Republican tickets, held meetings together and jointly debated the important questions of the day, taking of course opposite sides, but within a year both were found as officers in the Union army, gallantly fighting for the same cause.About this time a company of militia organized in Red Wing, and I was one of the lieutenants, and took active part in its drill and maneuvers. Although none of the men who took part in these movements could foresee or suspect the approach of the awful struggle which was to plunge the country into a deluge of fire and blood, still they all seemed to have a presentiment that critical times were near at hand, and that it was the duty of all true citizens to make ready for them. It is a significant fact that fifty-four men out of our little company of only sixty, within two years became officers or soldiers in the volunteer army of the United States. Although the Scandinavian emigrants had been in the state only a few years, they still seemed to takeas great an interest in the threatening political difficulties of the times, and were found to be just as willing as their native fellow-citizens to sacrifice their blood and lives for the Union.
The Arrival of my Father and Brother—Journey to Illinois—Work on a Railroad—The Ague—Doctor Ober—Religious Impressions—The Arrival of my Mother, Sister and her Husband—A Burning Railroad Train—We go to Minnesota—Our Experience as Wood Choppers and Pioneers.
The Arrival of my Father and Brother—Journey to Illinois—Work on a Railroad—The Ague—Doctor Ober—Religious Impressions—The Arrival of my Mother, Sister and her Husband—A Burning Railroad Train—We go to Minnesota—Our Experience as Wood Choppers and Pioneers.
Finally my father and brother arrived, and again I turned my course westwards in company with them and their friends. We traveled by rail to Buffalo and across the lake to Toledo, thence by rail again to Chicago. In the summer of 1852 there were no railroads west of Chicago, and our company had to take passage on a canal-boat drawn by horses to La Salle, and from this place we rode in farmers wagons to Andover and Galesburg. The country around there was as yet only in the first stages of development; there was very little money in circulation, and no demand for farm products. The immigrants suffered a great deal from fever and other climatic diseases.
My brother who was nearly sixteen years old soon obtained steady work from an American farmer, while my father and I had to do different kinds of work, such as building fences, stacking grain, etc. The only pay we could get was checks on some store. I remember what an abundance of provisions there was in that locality, and nobody seemed to be in need.
A farmer near Galesburg, for whom I worked a week, had so many hens and chickens and eggs, that when people came out from town to buy eggs, they were told to pay ten cents,go out to the barn and fill their baskets with freshly-laid eggs, no matter how big the basket. Beef and pork had scarcely any value, and anybody could go into a cornfield that fall and gather a crop on half shares.
There was much religious interest among the Swedes in Illinois at that time. The Methodists and Lutherans were already building churches, and held services side by side in many of the towns and settlements, although they numbered only a few families yet. I remember distinctly one Sunday attending service in a Methodist church listening to an eloquent preacher, taking for his text “The Broad and the Narrow Ways.” He depicted both in glowing language, and wound up with the following words, pronounced in a broad (Swedish) dialect: “My dear brethren, I have now shown you the two ways, and you may take which ever you like; that is all the same to me.”
My father had taken with him only just enough money to pay his way, although he had by no means exhausted his resources in Sweden, for he had prudently decided to spend at least a year in seeing the country and making himself familiar with its institutions, customs, manner of tilling the soil, etc. At this time he was a strong man, at the age of fifty. In order to obtain steady work, we two, and a few others of our company, hired a man in Galesburg to take us to Rock River, where a bridge for the Chicago & Rock Island Railroad was being built. We all got work, and had to take hold of the spade and the shovel. The wages in those days for railroad laborers were from seventy-five cents to one dollar per day. I received only seventy-five cents, out of which my board was to be paid, which, however, was very cheap, one dollar and a half per week only. A Swede by the name of Hoffman kept a boarding house for thirty-four of us, and all would have been well except for the ague. No man remained there many days without getting the “shakes;” Iand my father got them the second day. The lower part of the shanty in which we boarded was used for dining-room and kitchen, the upper for sleeping on the floor. The shanty was as shaky as the ague, which came regularly every other day. Fate had so arranged it that seventeen of us had the chills one day, and seventeen the next day. Hoffman and his wife fortunately also had the chills alternate days, so that there was always one to attend to the cooking.
Some may doubt it, but it is a solemn fact, that when seventeen ate dinner below, the shaking of those upstairs sometimes shook the house until we could hear the plates rattling on the table.
During my healthy days I stood on the bottom of Rock River from seven o’clock in the morning until seven at night, throwing wet sand with a shovel onto a platform above, from which it was again thrown to another, and from there to terra firma. The most disagreeable part of the business was that one-quarter of each shovel-full came back on the head of the operator.
After a couple of weeks the company’s paymaster came along, and upon settling my board bill and deducting for the shaking days, I made the discovery that I was able to earn only fifteen cents net per week in building railroad bridges.
Being half dead by this time from over work and sickness, we decided to see if we could strike an easier job, and, if possible, a better climate. We happened to meet a farmer by the name of Peterson, with whom we rode to a place near Moline, where my father tended to me during my illness. When he was not occupied with this he chopped cord wood from dry old trees. I also tried to assist him in this, but found my strength gone.
Among the Swedes living in Moline at that time was a tailor, Johnson by name, a good kind-hearted man who, together with his wife, was always ready to aid his needycountrymen and get something to do for such as could work. I went to him one day to ask for advice or assistance, just as a great many had done before me. I was so weak and sickly that they had to assist me in getting into the house, but they received me as if I had been their own son, and, after a short rest, Mr. Johnson took me to one Dr. Ober, who carefully investigated my mental as well as my physical condition, and told me that such hard work as I had been doing would kill me, and that I ought to rest and take it easy. He was one of those magnanimous, noble men who are to be met with in all climes and walks of life, but who are easily recognized because they are so few. As I have said before, I have been very fortunate in getting acquainted with the best men and women of different classes and nations with which I have come in contact. While we were sitting in his reception room the doctor suddenly left us and went into his private room. In a short time he returned accompanied by his wife, a lady whose silvery locks and benignantly sympathizing looks made her seem more beautiful to me than a madonna. Having simply taken a hasty look at me, the doctor and his wife again withdrew, and when they returned he offered to let me stay with them like a member of the family in order that he might try to restore my health; he also allowed me to avail myself of his library and to attend school, the only condition being that I should do chores around the house and take care of the horses.
I moved the same day, got a pleasant room and a snug bed, good, substantial food, and, above all, good and friendly treatment, so that from the time I came there until the day I left, I felt as if I had been a child of the house. Dr. Ober, who was a religious man, belonged to the Baptist Church, and as I now lived under its beneficient influence, and also became acquainted with the Swedish Baptist Pastor, Rev. G. Palmquist, and a few others who constitutedthe nucleus of the First Swedish Baptist Church of America. I became a member of their society before spring and would probably have continued a member of this denomination, if circumstances which were beyond my control, had not brought me to other fields of action and other surroundings.
This winter passed in a very pleasant manner. In the afternoon I attended an English school, and in the evening I gave instructions in English to other young men and women. The friendship of Dr. Ober and his wife never failed, and many years afterwards I was a welcome guest at their home in La Crosse, Wis., to which place they had moved from Moline. Both of them now slumber under the sod, but their many good deeds shall live for ever.
My father was much pleased with the great west, and he wrote back to the rest of our family in Sweden to come to this country the next summer, and in May I started to meet them in Boston. As there were no railroads to Moline, I took a steamboat to Galena, and thence the stage-coach to Freeport, and from there to Chicago by rail.
The vessel carrying my mother and the party with her was three months on the ocean, and there was great scarcity of provisions on board. The ship at last arrived, in the month of July, and a couple of days later the whole party, consisting of about two hundred, took the train for the west, I volunteering as their guide and interpreter. All went well until about one hundred miles east of Chicago, when the baggage car attached to our train in front caught fire. It was thought best to try to reach a station, and the burning train sped on at the rate of sixty miles an hour. The scene was a frightful one, the cars crammed full of frightened emigrants, the flames hissing like serpents from car to car, windows cracking, people screaming, and women fainting, all at the same time looking to me, who was not yet twenty years of age, for protection and deliverance.
As soon as possible I placed reliable men as guards at the doors to prevent the people from rushing out and crowding each other off the platform. The train did not reach the station but had to be stopped on the open prairie, where we all were helped out of the cars with no accident of any kind except every particle of baggage, saving only what the passengers had in their seats with them, was burnt. In due time another train brought us to Chicago, where the railroad company immediately offered to pay all losses as soon as lists of the property destroyed could be made out and properly verified. I undertook to do all that work without the aid of consul, lawyer or clerk, collecting nearly twenty thousand dollars, for old trunks, spinning-wheels, copper kettles, etc. Having lost nothing myself, I of course received nothing, and as the Company did not consider it their duty to pay me for my trouble, one of the emigrants suggested that they should chip in to compensate me for the valuable services I had rendered. Accordingly the hat was passed, the collection realizing the magnificent sum of two dollars and sixty cents, which was paid me for being their interpreter during the long journey and for collecting that large sum of money without litigation or delay. No lawyer, consul or agent would have been satisfied with less than five hundred dollars, but I can truthfully say that I never raised a word of complaint, but freely forgave the people on account of their ignorance. Many of them I also served afterwards on the way to Moline and Minnesota. In due time our party arrived in Moline, where my parents bought a small piece of property with the money brought from Sweden.
Minnesota was then a territory but little known; yet we had heard of its beautiful lakes, forests, prairies and salubrious climate. Quite a number of our company had decided to hunt up a place for a Swedish settlement where land could be had cheap. It was finally agreed that a few of usshould go to Minnesota and select a suitable place. Being the only one of the party who could speak English, I was naturally appointed its leader. My father also went with us, and so did Mr. Willard and his wife, the whole party taking deck passage on a Mississippi steamer, and arriving at St. Paul in the month of August.
At that time St. Paul was an insignificant town of a few hundred inhabitants. There we found Henry Russell, John Tidlund, and a few other Swedish pioneers. Mr. Willard and I had very little money, and for the few dollars which we did own we bought a little household furniture, and some cooking utensils. We therefore at once sought employment for him, while the rest of our party started off in search of a suitable location for the proposed settlement.
We had been told that there were a number of our countrymen at Chisago Lake and a few near Carver, but that all had settled on timber lands. We also learned that near Red Wing, in Goodhue county, places could be found with both timber and prairie, and an abundance of good water. Having looked over the different localities we finally decided on the present town of Vasa, about twelve miles west of Red Wing. The first claims were taken at Belle Creek, south of White Rock, and afterwards others were taken at a spring now known as Willard Spring, near which the large brick church now stands.
After selecting this land my father returned to Illinois. In company with the other explorers, I went to St. Paul, where a council was held in which all participated, and at which it was decided that three of us, Messrs. Roos, Kempe, and myself, should go to our claims that fall and do as much work as possible, until the others could join us the following spring.
Having made the necessary preparations we three went to Red Wing by steamboat and found a little town with half adozen families, among whom was the Rev. J. W. Hancock, who for several years had been a missionary among the Indians. The other settlers were Wm. Freeborn, Dr. Sweeney, H. L. Bevans, and John Day. Besides these we also met two Swedes, Peter Green, and Nels Nelson, and a Norwegian by the name of Peterson. On the bank of the river the Sioux Indians had a large camp. The country west of Red Wing was then practically a wilderness, and our little party was the first to start in to cultivate the soil and make a permanent settlement.
At Red Wing we supplied ourselves with a tent, a cook stove, a yoke of oxen, carpenter’s tools, provisions and other necessaries. Having hired a team of horses, we then packed our goods on a wagon, tied the cattle behind, and started for the new settlement. The first four miles we followed the territorial road; after that we had nothing but Indian trails to guide us. Toward evening we arrived at a grove on Belle Creek, now known as Jemtland. Here the tent was pitched and our evening meal cooked, and only pioneers like ourselves can understand how we relished it after our long day’s tramp. The team was taken back the next day, and we were left alone in the wilderness.
After a day’s exploration we moved our camp two miles further south, to another point near Belle Creek, where Mr. Roos had taken his claim.
It was now late in September, and our first care was to secure enough hay for the cattle, and in a few days we had a big stack. Having read about prairie fires, we decided to protect our stack by burning away the short stubble around it. But a minute and a half was sufficient to convince us that we had made wrong calculations, for within that time the stack itself was burning with such fury that all the water in Belle Creek could not have put it out. Still, this was not the worst of it. Before we had time to recover from ourastonishment the fire had spread over the best part of the valley and consumed all the remaining grass, which was pretty dry at that time of the year. Inexperienced as we were, we commenced to run a race with the wind, and tried to stop the fire before reaching another fine patch of grass about a mile to the north; but this attempt was, of course, a complete failure, and we returned to our cheerless tent mourning over this serious misfortune.
The next morning we all started out in different directions to see if any grass was left in Goodhue County, and fortunately we found plenty of it near our first camping-ground. Having put up a second stack of very poor hay, we proceeded to build a rude log house, and had just finished it when my brother-in-law, Mr. Willard, surprised us by appearing in our midst, having left in Red Wing his wife and baby, now Mrs. Zelma Christensen of Rush City, who is, as far as I know, the first child born of Swedish parents in St. Paul. Mr. Willard who was a scholarly gentleman and not accustomed to manual labor, had found it rather hard to work with shovel and pick on the hilly streets of St. Paul, and made up his mind that he would better do that kind of work on a farm. Messers. Roos and Kempe having furnished all the money for the outfit, I really had no share in it, and as we could not expect Mr. Willard and his family to pass the winter in that cabin, I immediately made up my mind to return with him to Red Wing. In an hour we were ready and without waiting for dinner we took the trail back to that place. I remember distinctly how, near the head of the Spring Creek Valley, we sat down in a little grove to rest and meditate on the future. We were both very hungry, especially Mr. Willard, who had now walked over twenty miles since breakfast. Then espying a tempting squirrel in a tree close by, we tried to kill it with sticks and rocks; but we were poor marksmen, and thus missed a fine squirrel roast.
Tired and very hungry we reached Red Wing late in the afternoon, and soon found my sister, Mrs. Willard, comfortably housed with one of the families there. Her cheerful and hopeful nature and the beautiful baby on her arm gave us fresh joy and strength to battle with the hardships that were in store for us. Mr. Willard and his wife had taken along what furniture they owned, a few eatables and five dollars and fifty cents in cash, which was all that we possessed of the goods of this world. But who cares for money at that age? Mr. Willard was twenty-five years old, my sister twenty-three, and I twenty, all hale and hearty, and never for a moment doubting our success, no matter what we should undertake.
Our first work was wood chopping, for which we were less fit than almost anything else. We had to go to a place about three miles above Red Wing, where a man had made a contract to bank up fifteen hundred cords of wood for the Mississippi steamers. There was an old wood chopper’s cabin which we repaired by thatching it with hay and earth, putting in a door, a small window, and a few rough planks for a floor. In a few days we were duly installed, baby and all, in the little hut which was only twelve by sixteen feet, but to us as dear as a palace to a king.
We began to chop wood at once. The trees were tall, soft maples and ash, and our pay was fifty-five cents a cord for soft and sixty-five cents for hard wood. At first both of us could not chop over a cord a day together; but within a week we could chop a cord apiece, and before the winter was over we often chopped three cords together in a day. After a few days we were joined by four Norwegian wood choppers for whom we put up a new cabin to sleep in; but my sister cooked for us all, and the others paid for their board to Mr. Willard and myself, who had all things in common. Those four men were better workmen than we, and one of them, AlbertOlson, often chopped three cords a day. They were quiet, industrious, and generous fellows, so that we soon became attached to each other, and we were all very fond of the little Zelma. My sister managed our household affairs so well and kept the little house so neat and tidy that when spring came we were all loth to leave.
The weather being fine and the sleighing good in thebeginningof January, we hired John Day to take us with his team to our claims while there was yet snow, so that we might chop and haul out logs for the house which Mr. Willard and I intended to put up in the spring. My sister remained in the cabin, but Albert went with us for the sake of company. We put some lumber on the sled, and provided ourselves with hay and food enough to last a few days, and plenty of quilts and blankets for our bedding. John Day, who was an old frontiersman with an instinct almost like that of an Indian, guided us safely to Willard Spring. A few hundred yards below this, in a deep ravine, we stopped near some sheltering trees, built a roaring camp-fire, and made ourselves as comfortable as possible. Having supped and smoked our evening pipe, we made our beds by putting a few boards on the snow, and the hay and blankets on top of those. Then all four of us nestled down under the blankets and went to sleep.
During the night the thermometer fell down to forty degrees below zero, as we learned afterwards. If we had suspected this and kept our fire burning there would, of course, have been no danger. But being very comfortable early in the night and soon asleep, we were unconscious of danger until aroused by an intense pain caused by the cold, and then we were already so benumbed and chilled that we lacked energy to get up or even move. We found, on comparing notes afterwards, that each one of us had experienced the same sensations, namely, first an acute pain as if pricked with needles in every fibre, then a deep mental tranquillity whichwas only slightly disturbed by a faint conception of something wrong, and by a desire to get up, but without sufficient energy to do so. This feeling gradually subsided into one of quiet rest and satisfaction, until consciousness ceased altogether, and, as far as pain was concerned, all was over with us.
At this stage an accident occurred which saved our lives. Mr. Day, who lay on the outside to the right, had evidently held his arm up against his breast to keep the blankets close to his body. His will-force being gone, his arm relaxed and fell into the snow. As the bare hand came in contact with the snow the circulation of the blood was accelerated, and this was accompanied by such intense pain that he was aroused and jumped to his feet.
Thus we were saved. It took a good while before we could use our limbs sufficiently to build a fire again, and during this time we suffered much more than before. From that experience I am satisfied that those who freeze to death do not suffer much, because they gradually sink into a stupor which blunts the sensibilities long before life is extinct.
It was about four o’clock when we got up. Of course we did not lie down again that morning, nor did we attempt to haul any timber, but started in a bee line across the prairie for the ravine where Mr. Willard and I had seen the tempting squirrel a few months before. We soon found that going over the wild, trackless prairie against the wind, with the thermometer forty degrees below zero was a struggle for life, and in order to keep warm we took turns to walk or run behind the sleigh. In taking his turn Mr. Willard suddenly sat down in the snow and would not stir. We returned to him, and it required all our power of persuasion to make him take his seat in the sleigh again. He felt very comfortable he said, and would soon catch up withus again if we only would let him alone. If we had followed his advice, he would never have left his cold seat again. After a drive of eight miles we arrived at a house on Spring Creek, near Red Wing, where we found a warm room and a good shed for the horses. After an hour’s rest we continued the journey, and safely reached our little home in the woods before dark. I do not know that I ever appreciated a home more than I did that rude cabin when again comfortably seated by its warm and cheerful fire-place.
A few weeks later I had an opportunity to visit St. Paul, and while there attended the wedding of a young Norwegian farmer from Carver County and a girl just arrived from Sweden. The ceremony was performed by the Rev. Nilsson, a Baptist minister, who had been banished from Sweden on account of proselyting. Among the guests was Mr. John Swainsson, who since became well known among the Swedes of Minnesota, and who died in St. Paul a short time ago. I also made the acquaintance of one Jacob Falstrom, who had lived forty years among the Indians and devoted most of that time to missionary work among them. He was a remarkable man, and was well known among the Hudson Bay employees and other early settlers of the Northwest. As a boy he had deserted from a Swedish vessel in Quebec and made his way through the wilderness, seeking shelter among the Indians; and, by marrying an Indian girl, he had become almost identified with them. I think he told me that he had not heard a word spoken in his native tongue in thirty-five years, and that he had almost forgotten it when he met the first Swedish settlers in the St. Croix valley. His children are now living there, while he has passed away to the unknown land beyond, honored and respected by all who knew him, Indians as well as white men.
On my return from St. Paul I stopped at the cabin of Mr.Peter Green, at Spring Creek, near Red Wing. The only domestic animals he had was a litter of pigs, and as Mr. Willard and I intended to settle on our land in the spring I thought it might be well to start in with a couple of pigs. Accordingly, I got two pigs from Mr. Green, put them in a bag which I shouldered, and left for our cabin in the woods. According to my calculations, the distance I had to walk ought not to be over three miles, and in order to be sure of not getting lost I followed the Cannon river at the mouth of which our cabin stood. I walked on the ice where the snow was about a foot deep, and, if I had known of the meandering course of the river, I would never have undertaken to carry that burden such a distance. From nine in the morning until it was almost dark I trudged along with my burden on my back, prompted to the greatest exertion by the grunting of the pigs, and feeling my back uncomfortably warm. These were the first domestic animals I ever owned, and I think I well earned my title to them by carrying them along the windings of the river at least ten miles. Both I and the pigs were well received when we reached the cabin. We made a pig pen by digging a hole in the ground and covering it with poles and brush, and fed them on the refuse from the table. Before we were ready to move one of them died, while the other, after being brought to our new farm, ungratefully ran away, and was most likely eaten up by the wolves, which perhaps was just as agreeable to him as to be eaten by us.
While living in this camp we saw more Indians than white men. A band of Sioux Indians camped near us for several weeks. They were very friendly, and never molested us. The men brought us venison and fresh fish, which they caught in great quantities by spearing them through the ice. We gave them bread and coffee, and sometimes invited one or two to dinner after we were through. Their women wouldstay for hours with my sister and help her take care of the baby. Indeed they were so fond of the white-haired child that they would sometimes run a race in vying with each other to get the first chance to fondle her. Sometimes we visited them in their tents in the evening and smoked Kinikinick with them. Several of their dead reposed in the young trees near our cabin. When somebody died it was their custom to stretch the dead body on poles which were tied to young trees high enough to be out of the reach of wild beasts, then cover it with blankets, and finally leave some corn and venison and a jar of water close by. At some subsequent visit to the neighborhood they would gather the bones and bury them at some regular burial-ground, usually on a high hill or bluff.
MOUNTAIN CHIEF.
Once we saw a regular war dance in Red Wing. A few Sioux had killed two Chippewas and brought back their scalps stretched on a frame of young saplings. At a givenhour the whole band assembled, and, amid the most fantastic gestures, jumping, singing, yelling, beating of tom-toms and jingling of bells, gave a performance which in lurid savageness excelled anything I ever saw. The same Indians again became our neighbors for a short time on Belle Creek the following winter, and we rather liked them, and they us. But eight years later they took part in the terrible massacre of the white settlers in Western Minnesota, and thirty-nine of their men were hanged on one gallows at Mankato in the fall of 1862 and the rest transported beyond our borders.
Thus our first winter in Minnesota passed without further incidents, until the beginning of March, when the weather turned so mild that we were afraid the ice on the Mississippi might break up, and we therefore hurried back to Red Wing. By our wood chopping and Mrs. Willard’s cooking enough money had been earned to buy the most necessary articles for our new home. When we had procured everything and taken a few days’ rest, we again hired Mr. John Day to take us out to our land with his team. Hundreds of thousands of immigrants have had the same experience, and can realize how we felt on that fine March morning, starting from Red Wing with a wagon loaded with some boards on the bottom, a cook stove and utensils, doors, windows, a keg of nails, saws, spades, a small supply of provisions, a bedstead or two with bedding, a few trunks, and a little box containing our spotted pig, Mrs. Willard in the seat with the driver, her baby in her arms, her husband and myself taking turns as guides, John Day shouting to his horses, laughing and joking; all of us full of hope, strength and determination to overcome all obstacles and conquer the wildness. The snow was now nearly gone, and the air was spring-like.
After a twelve miles’ heavy pull we arrived at our destination, and made a temporary tent of sticks and blankets, very much after the Indian fashion. Two of the Norwegians hadaccompanied us to help build our cabin. Mr. Day stopped a couple of days hauling building material, and before night the second day the rear part of our cabin was under roof. After a few days the Norwegians left us, and Mr. Willard and myself had to finish the main part of the building which was also made of round logs. For many a year this rude log cabin was the centre of attraction, and a hospitable stopping place for nearly all the settlers of Vasa.
In the month of April cold weather set in again, and it was very late in the season when steamboat navigation was opened on the Mississippi. At that time all provisions had to be shipped from Galena or Dubuque, and it happened that the winter’s supplies in Red Wing were so nearly gone that not a particle of flour or meat could be bought after the first of April. Our supplies were soon exhausted, and for about two weeks our little family had only a peck of potatoes, a small panful of flour, and a gallon of beans to live on, part of which was a present from Messrs. Roos and Kempe, who had remained all winter on their claims, three miles south of us. They had been struggling against great odds, and had been compelled to live on half rations for a considerable length of time. Even their oxen had been reduced almost to the point of starvation, their only feed being over-ripe hay in small quantities.
We would certainly have starved if it had not been for my shot-gun, with which I went down into the woods of Belle Creek every morning at day-break, generally returning with pheasants, squirrels or other small game. One Sunday the weather was so disagreeable and rough that I did not succeed in my hunting, but in feeding the team back of the kitchen some oats had been spilt, and a flock of blackbirds came and fed on them. Through an opening between the logs of the kitchen I shot several dozen of these birds, which, by the way, are not ordinarily very toothsome. But, beinga splendid cook, my sister made them into a stew, thickened with a few mashed beans and a handful of flour—in our estimation the mess turned out to be a dinner fit for kings.
Our supplies being nearly exhausted, I started for Red Wing the next morning, partly to save the remaining handful of provisions for my sister and her husband, partly in hopes of obtaining fresh supplies from a steamboat which was expected about that time. Three days afterwards the steamer arrived. As soon as practicable the boxes were brought to the store of H. L. Bevans. I secured a smoked ham, thirty pounds of flour, a gallon of molasses, some coffee, salt and sugar, strapped it all (weighing almost seventy pounds) on my back, and started toward evening for our cabin in the wilderness. I had to walk about fourteen miles along the Indian trail, but in spite of the heavy burden I made that distance in a short time, knowing that the dear ones at home were threatened by hunger; perhaps the howling of the prairie wolves near my path also had something to do with the speed. There are events in the life of every person which stand out like mile-stones along the road, and so attract the attention of the traveler on life’s journey that they always remain vivid pictures in his memory. My arrival at our cabin that evening was one of those events in our humble life. I will not attempt to describe the joy which my burden brought to all of us, especially to the young mother with the little babe at her breast.
Future Hopes—Farm Life—Norwegian Pioneers—The Condition of the Immigrant at the Beginning of the Fifties—Religious Meetings—The Growth of the Settlement—Vasa Township Organized—A Lutheran Church Established—My Wedding—Speculation—The Crisis of 1857—Study of Law in Red Wing—I am admitted to the Bar and elected County Auditor—Politics in 1860—War is Imminent.
Future Hopes—Farm Life—Norwegian Pioneers—The Condition of the Immigrant at the Beginning of the Fifties—Religious Meetings—The Growth of the Settlement—Vasa Township Organized—A Lutheran Church Established—My Wedding—Speculation—The Crisis of 1857—Study of Law in Red Wing—I am admitted to the Bar and elected County Auditor—Politics in 1860—War is Imminent.
We had now commenced a new career, located on our farm claims in the boundless West, with no end to the prospects and possibilities before us. We felt that independence and freedom which are only attained and appreciated in the western wilds of America.
From the Mississippi river and almost to the Pacific Ocean, was a verdant field for the industry, energy and enterprise of the settler. To be sure, our means and resources were small, but somehow we felt that by hard work and good conduct we would some day attain the comfort, independence and position for which our souls thirsted. We did not sit down and wait for gold mines to open up before us, or for roasted pigs to come running by our cabin, but with axe and spade went quietly to work, to do our little part in the building up of new empires.
OUR WAGON.
In the beginningof May, my father came from Illinois and brought us a pair of steers and a milch cow; this made usrich. We made a wagon with wheels of blocks sawed off an oak log; we also bought a plow, and, joining with our neighbors of Belle Creek, had a breaking team of two pair of oxen. That breaking team and that truck wagon, with myself always as the chief ox driver, did all the breaking, and all the hauling and carting of lumber, provisions, building-material and other goods, for all the settlers in thatneighborhoodduring the first season.
Soon others of our party from last year joined us. Some letters which I wrote inHemlandetdescribing the country around us, attracted much attention and brought settlers from different parts of the west, and while the Swedes were pouring into our place, then known as “Mattson’s Settlement,” (now well known under the name of Vasa), our friends, the Norwegians, had started a prosperous settlement a few miles to the south, many of them coming overland from Wisconsin, bringing cattle, implements and other valuables of which the Swedes, being mostly poor new-comers, were destitute. Many immigrants of both nationalities came as deck passengers on the Mississippi steamers to Red Wing.
There was cholera at St. Louis that summer, and I remember how a steamer landed a large party of Norwegian immigrants, nearly all down with cholera. Mr. Willard and myself happened to be in Red Wing at the time, and the American families, considering these Norwegian cholera patients our countrymen, hastily turned them over to our care. We nursed them as best we could, but many died in spite of all our efforts, and as we closed their eyes, and laid them in the silent grave under the bluffs, it never occurred to us that they were anything but our countrymen and brothers.
From these small beginnings of the Swedish and Norwegian settlers in Goodhue county, in the years of 1853 and 1854, have sprung results which are not only grand butglorious to contemplate. Looking back to those days I see the little cabin, often with a sod roof, single room used for domestic purposes, sometimes crowded almost to suffocation by hospitable entertainments to new-comers; or the poor immigrant on the levee at Red Wing, just landed from a steamer, in his short jacket and other outlandish costume, perhaps seated on a wooden box, with his wife and a large group of children around him, and wondering how he shall be able to raise enough means to get himself ten or twenty miles into the country, or to redeem the bedding and other household goods which he has perchance left in Milwaukee as a pledge for his railroad and steam-boat ticket. And I see him trudging along over the trackless prairie, searching for a piece of land containing if possible prairie, water and alittle timber, on which to build a home. Poor, bewildered, ignorant, and odd looking, he had been an object of pity and derision all the way from Gothenburg or Christiania to the little cabin of some country-man of his, where he found rest and shelter until he could build one of his own.
OUR FIRST HOME.
Those who have not experienced frontier life, will naturally wonder how it was possible for people so poor as a majority of the old settlers were, to procure the necessaries of life, but they should remember that our necessities were few, and our luxuries a great deal less. The bountiful earth soon yielded bread and vegetables; the woods and streams supplied game and fish; and as to shoes and clothing, I and many others have used shoes made of untanned skins, and even of gunny-sacks and old rags. Furthermore, the small merchants at the river or other points, were always willing to supply the Scandinavian emigrants with necessary goods on credit, until better times should come. Our people in this country did certainly earn a name for integrity and honesty among their American neighbors, which has been a greater help to them than money.
Some of the men would go off in search of work, and in due time return with means enough to help the balance of the family.
Frontier settlers are always accommodating and generous. If one had more than he needed, he would invariably share the surplus with his neighbors. The neighbors would all turn in to help a new-comer,—haul his logs, build his house, and do other little services, for him.
The isolated condition and mutual aims and aspirations of the settlers brought them nearer together than in older communities. On Sunday afternoons all would meet at some centrally located place, and spend the day together. A cup of coffee with a couple of slices of bread and butter, would furnish a royal entertainment, and when we got so faralong that we could afford some pie or cake for dessert, the good house-wives were in a perfect ecstacy. The joys and sorrows of one, were shared by the others, and nowhere in the wide world, except in a military camp, have I witnessed so much genuine cordial friendship and brotherhood as among the frontier settlers in the West.
One fine Sunday morning that summer, all the settlers met under two oak trees on the prairie, near where the present church stands, for the first religious service in the settlement. It had been agreed that some of the men should take turns to read one of Luther’s sermons at each of these gatherings, and I was selected as reader the first day. Some prayers were said and Swedish hymns sung, and seldom did a temple contain more devout worshipers than did that little congregation on the prairie.
Before the winter of 1854-55 set in, we had quite a large community in Vasa, and had raised considerable grain, potatoes and other provisions. During that winter the Sioux Indians again became our neighbors, and frequently supplied us with venison in exchange for bread and coffee. The following spring and summer the settlers increased still faster, several more oxen and other cattle, with a horse or two, were brought in, and I had no longer the exclusive privilege of hauling goods on the little truck wagon.
That summer I again went to Illinois to meet a large party of newly-arrived emigrants from Sweden, who formed a settlement in Vasa, known as Skåne. The people from different provinces would group themselves together in little neighborhoods, each assuming in common parlance the name of their own province; thus we have Vasa, Skåne, Småland and Jemtland.
About this time a township was formally organized, and, at my suggestion, given the name of Vasa, in commemoration of the great Swedish king. Roads were alsolaid out legally, and a township organization perfected. A school district was formed and soon after an election precinct, and as I was the only person who was master of the English language the duty of attending to all these things devolved upon me. We were particularly fortunate in having many men, not only of good education from the old country, but of excellent character, pluck and energy, men who would have been leaders in their communities if they had remained at home, and who became prominent as soon as they had mastered the English language. This fact, perhaps, gave a higher tone and character to our little community than is common in such cases, and Vasa has since that time furnished many able men in the county offices, in the legislative halls, and in business and educational circles. There can be much refinement and grace even in a log cabin on the wild prairie.
In the beginning of the month of September, 1855, Rev. E. Norelius visited the settlement and organized a Lutheran church.
Thirty-five years have elapsed since that time, and many of those who belonged to the first church at Vasa now rest in mother earth close by the present stately church edifice, which still belongs to the same congregation, and is situated only a short distance from the place where the latter was organized. Rev. Norelius himself lives only a few hundred yards from the church building. Thirty-five years have changed the then cheerful, hopeful young man into a veteran, crowned with honor, and full of wisdom and experience. His beneficent influence on the Swedes of Goodhue county and of the whole Northwest will make his name dear to coming generations of our people.
On November 23d, in the same fall, the first wedding took place in our settlement. The author of these memoirs was joined in matrimony to Miss Cherstin Peterson, fromBalingslöf, near Kristianstad, whose family had just come to Vasa from Sweden. By this union I found the best and most precious treasure a man can find—a good and dear wife, who has, faithfully shared my fate to this day. Rev. J. W. Hancock, of Red Wing, performed the marriage ceremony. Horses being very scarce among us in those days, the minister had to borrow an Indian pony and ride on horseback twelve miles—from Red Wing to Vasa. On the evening of our wedding day there happened to be a severe snow-storm, through which my young bride was taken from her parents’ home to our log house, on a home-made wooden sled, drawn by a pair of oxen and escorted by a number of our young friends, which made this trip of about a quarter of a mile very pleasant, in spite of the oxen and the snow-storm.
The next winter was very severe, and many of our neighbors suffered greatly from colds and even frozen limbs. But there was an abundance of provisions, and, as far as I can remember, no one was in actual need after the first winter.
In the spring of 1856 several new-comers arrived in our colony. That year marked the climax of the mad land speculation in the Northwest. Cities and towns were staked out and named, advertised and sold everywhere in the state, and people seemed to be perfectly wild, everybody expecting to get rich in a short time without working. The value of real estate rose enormously, and money was loaned at three, four, and even five per cent. a month. Fortunately, very few of the settlers in our neighborhood were seized by this mad fury of speculation. I, however, became a victim. I bought several pieces of land, and sold some of them very profitably, and mortgaged others at an impossible rate of interest. And, the world becoming too narrow for me on the farm, I availed myself of the first opportunity to trade away my land for some property in Red Wing, which was a booming little town at that time. We moved from the plain log cabin on the oldfarm into a house in town, where I engaged in a successful mercantile business. But speculation was in the air, and before the spring of 1857 my entire stock of merchandize was exchanged for town lots in Wasioja and Geneva, two paper cities further west. Meanwhile my friend Mr. Eustrom, with his young wife and baby, had arrived from Boston, and both of us, with our families and a few friends, moved out to Geneva early in the summer, with the intention of building up a city and acquiring riches in a hurry. But at that time the waves of speculation began to subside, and nine-tenths of the cities and towns which were mapped out, and the great enterprises which were inaugurated by enthusiasts like myself suddenly collapsed into a mere nothing. Among these was also Geneva, which is not larger to-day than when we left it, and it was about all I could do to raise enough money to get back to Vasa with my wife. My friend Eustrom pre-empted a claim near Geneva and remained there.
Making an inventory of my property after the return to Vasa in 1857, I found that the principal thing I had was a debt of $2,000, bearing an interest of five per cent. a month. In order to pay this debt we sold everything we had, even our furniture and my wife’s gold watch. This was the great crisis of 1857. It stirred up everybody and everything in the country, and it was no wonder that I, being an inexperienced and enthusiastic young man, had to suffer with so many others. But now the question was, what should I do? I could not return to the farm, for I had none; that is, it was encumbered for about twice its value.
In the midst of these difficulties I went to Red Wing one day to consult a prominent lawyer in regard to some business matters. During my conversation with him he said: “You have nothing to do now, you have had enough of speculation, you know the English language, you are tolerablywell acquainted with our laws, well educated, young and ambitious, why not study law, then? This state and this county is just the place for you to make a splendid beginning in that profession. Come to me, and within a year you can be admitted to the bar, after which you will find it easy to get along.”
I returned to Vasa in the evening, and, having consulted my wife, who was visiting her parents, I soon made up my mind. The next day both of us were on the way to Red Wing supplied with clothes, bedding, a few dishes and some provisions, which had been given us by my wife’s parents, who also conveyed us to town. In Red Wing we rented a room about sixteen feet square, got a cook stove and a few articles of furniture on credit, and everything was in order for housekeeping and the study of law. I immediately commenced my course of study with that excellent lawyer, Mr. Warren Bristol, who afterwards for many years served as United States Judge in New Mexico, where he recently died.
This life was something new for my young wife, who had grown up in a house of plenty. Now she had to try her hand at managing our household affairs, with the greatest economy, and she accomplished her task so well that no minister of finance could have done better. In fact we were so poor that winter that we could not afford to buy the tallow candles which were necessary for my night studies (kerosene was unknown at that time). But every evening during this trying but happy winter my wife made a lamp by pouring melted lard, which her parents sent us, into a saucer, and putting in a cotton wick, and in my eyes this light was more brilliant than the rays from the golden chandeliers in the palaces of the rich. By this light I studied Blackstone, Kent, and other works on law.
Late in the spring of 1858 a place became vacant in thejustice of the peace, and I succeeded in getting the appointment to this position, which brought me a couple of dollars now and then, thus improving our financial condition considerably. Early in the summer I was appointed city clerk, with a salary of $12.50 a month, which was quite a fortune for us at that time. After one year’s hard study I was admitted to the bar, and my honored teacher accepted me as his partner on good conditions. My profession seemed to be well chosen; I had plenty to do, and met with all the success I could expect.
My first case in the district court was before Judge McMillan, who afterwards became chief justice of our supreme court, and then United States senator. In opening the case I became nervous and excited and would have broken down entirely had it not been for the kindly manner in which the judge overlooked my diffidence, and helped me out of the embarrassment by leading me on and putting the very words in my mouth; this was only natural to his kind heart, and he probably never remembered it, but to me it was an act of great kindness, never to be forgotten, especially not when more than twenty years after the little incident he needed all his friends to rally for his return to the United States senate, his most formidable opponent being the venerable and beloved statesman, Alexander Ramsey.
My law practice lasted only a few months, as I was appointed county auditor to fill a vacancy, and soon afterwards elected to fill the regular term of office, and again re-elected two years later. Before that time no Swedish-American had occupied such responsible civil office in the United States. But I probably made a mistake in accepting this office and thereby turning my back on a profession at which I would undoubtedly have made more easy and rapid progress than by anything else. But for the time being it produced great economical improvements in our private life. Our littlehome, the narrow room which served as bedroom, study, kitchen and parlor, was soon exchanged for a neat little house, and a year later we moved into a larger and more comfortable building, which was our own property.
Meanwhile the settlement at Vasa had prospered, and the population had materially increased. The Scandinavian settlers had scattered over the neighboring towns and counties with marvelous rapidity. The crisis of 1857 had been an excellent lesson to us all, for, although the price of real estate had fallen to about one-fourth of its former value, the people were better off now than formerly, owing to better management and more prudent economy.
The Scandinavians had now commenced to take a lively interest in the political discussions which were agitating the entire country at that time. The all absorbing political question of the day was “slavery” or “no slavery” in the new territories. It is unnecessary to say that the Scandinavians were almost to a man in favor of liberty to all men, and that they consequently joined the Republican party, which had just been organized for the purpose of restricting slavery.
In the winter of 1861, while I was holding the office of auditor the second term, the legislature of Minnesota appointed a committee to revise the tax laws. This committee invited five county auditors, of which number I had the honor to be one, to assist in its work. The tax laws which were formulated by this general committee were in force over twenty years.
It was about this time the great American statesman, W. H. Seward, visited Minnesota. I heard him make his famous speech in St. Paul, in which, with the gift of prophecy, he depicted the future grandeur of the twin cities. I also heard Owen Lovejoy, a member of congress from Illinois, and one of the leading anti-slavery agitators of the times.
During the presidential election of 1860 the political excitement ran very high in the whole country. The Southern states had assumed a threatening position, and expressed their intention to secede from the Union if Lincoln was elected president. Throughout the whole country political clubs were organized. The Democrats formed companies which they called “Little Giants,” which was the nickname given to Stephen A. Douglas, their candidate for president.
The Republicans also organized companies which they called “Wide Awakes.” I was chosen leader of the Republican company in Red Wing. Political meetings were very frequent during the last few weeks before election, and among the most prominent features of those meetings were processions and parades of the companies, which were uniformed, and carried banners and torches. During the campaign C. C. Andrews and the late Stephen Miller, respective candidates for presidential electors on the Democratic and Republican tickets, held meetings together and jointly debated the important questions of the day, taking of course opposite sides, but within a year both were found as officers in the Union army, gallantly fighting for the same cause.
About this time a company of militia organized in Red Wing, and I was one of the lieutenants, and took active part in its drill and maneuvers. Although none of the men who took part in these movements could foresee or suspect the approach of the awful struggle which was to plunge the country into a deluge of fire and blood, still they all seemed to have a presentiment that critical times were near at hand, and that it was the duty of all true citizens to make ready for them. It is a significant fact that fifty-four men out of our little company of only sixty, within two years became officers or soldiers in the volunteer army of the United States. Although the Scandinavian emigrants had been in the state only a few years, they still seemed to takeas great an interest in the threatening political difficulties of the times, and were found to be just as willing as their native fellow-citizens to sacrifice their blood and lives for the Union.