Arrival at Boston--Adventures between Boston and New York--Buffalo--An
Asylum--Return to New York--A Voyage--On the Farm in New Hampshire.
The good brig Ambrosius landed us in Boston on June 29, 1851, but during
the voyage about one-half of the passengers were attacked by small-pox
and had to be quarantined outside the harbor. My good friend and I were
fortunate enough to escape this plague; but instead of this I was taken
sick with the ague on our arrival at Boston.
Now, then, we were in America! The new, unknown country lay before us,
and it seemed the more strange as we did not understand a word of the
English language. For at that time the schools of Sweden paid no
attention to English, so that although I had studied four languages,
English, the most important of all tongues, was entirely unknown to me.
The first few weeks of our stay in Boston passed quietly and quickly,
but the ague grew worse and my purse was getting empty. My friend,
however, had more money than I, and as long as he had a dollar left he
divided it equally between us. I cannot resist the temptation to relate
a serio-comical escapade of this period, one that to many will recall
similar occurences in their own experience as immigrants ignorant of the
language of the country.
In Gothenburg we had become acquainted with a bright young man from
Vexioe, Janne Tenggren by name, who had also served in the army. When we
met him he had already bought a ticket on a sailing vessel bound for
New York, so that we could not make the voyage together. But we agreed
to hunt each other up after our arrival in America. We left Sweden about
the same time with the understanding that if we arrived first we should
meet him in New York, and if he arrived first he should go to Boston to
meet us there.
About a week after our arrival in Boston, we heard that the vessel on
which he had embarked had arrived, and I immediately left for New York
to fulfill our promise. But, unfortunately, I found he had already gone
west, so I bought a return ticket to Boston the same day. The journey
was by steamboat to Fall River, thence by rail to Boston. We left New
York in the evening. I remained on the deck, and went to sleep about ten
o'clock on some wooden boxes. About eleven o'clock I awoke, saw the
steamer laying to and, supposing we were at Fall River, hurried off and
followed the largest crowd, expecting thus to get to the railroad depot.
Striking no depot, however, I returned to the harbor, only to find the
steamer gone, and everybody but myself had vanished from the pier.
There I stood, in the middle of the night, without money, ignorant of
the language, and not even knowing where I was! Tired and discouraged I
finally threw myself down on a wooden box on the sidewalk, and went to
sleep. About five o'clock in the morning a big policeman aroused me by
poking at me with his club. This respectable incarnation of social order
evidently took me for a tramp or a madman, and as he could not obtain
any intelligible information from me in any language known to him, he
took me to a small shoe store kept by a German.
Fortunately, my acquaintance with the German language was sufficient to
enable me to explain myself, and I soon found that I had left the
steamer several hours too early; that the name of this place was New
London, that another steamer would come past at the same time the next
night, so that all I had to do was to wait for that steamer and go to
Boston on the same ticket.
I spent the day in seeing the city and chatting with my friend, the shoe
maker, and in the evening returned to the wharf to watch for the Boston
steamer.
This being my ague day, I had violent attacks of ague and fever, so that
I was again forced to lie down to rest on the same wooden box, and again
went to sleep. After a while I was aroused by the noise of the
approaching steamer; rushed on board in company with some other
passengers, and considered myself very fortunate when reflecting that I
would surely be in Boston the next morning. I had made myself familiar
with the surroundings during the day, and when the steamer started, I
noticed that it directed its course towards New York, instead of Boston.
I had no money to pay my fare to New York, could neither borrow nor beg,
and so I crawled down in a little hole in the fore part of the steamer,
where the tackles and ropes were kept, thus, fortunately, escaping the
notice of the ticket collector.
The next evening I again embarked for Boston and finally arrived safely
at my destination.
We stayed in Boston several weeks, and during that time my ague caused a
heavy drain on our small treasury. We had no definite plan, did not know
what to do, and as we had never been used to any kind of hard work,
matters began to assume a serious aspect, especially in regard to
myself. But then, as now, the hope of many a young man was the Great
West which, at that time, was comparatively little known even in Boston.
Toward the close of the month of July we, therefore, went to Buffalo,
which was as far as our money would carry us. Here we put up at a cheap
boarding house kept by a Norwegian by name of Larson, with whom we
stopped while trying to get work. But having learned no trade and being
unused to manual labor, we soon found that it was impossible to get a
job in the city; so we left our baggage at the boarding house and
started on foot for a country place named Hamburg, some ten miles
distant, where we learned that two of our late companions across the
ocean had found employment. On the road to Hamburg, about dusk, we
reached a small house by the wayside, where we asked for food and
shelter. I was so exhausted that my friend had to support me in order to
reach the house. We found it occupied by a Swedish family, which had
just sat down to a bountiful supper. Telling them our condition, we were
roughly told to clear out; in Sweden, they said, they had had enough of
gentlemen and would have nothing to do with them here.
We retraced our steps with sad hearts until a short distance beyond the
house we found an isolated barn partly filled with hay. _There_ was no
one to object, so we took possession and made it our temporary home. I
am glad to say that during a long life among all classes of people, from
the rudest barbarians to the rulers of nations, that family of my own
countrymen were the only people who made me nearly lose faith in the
nobler attributes of man. I have an excuse, however, for this conduct in
the fact that in the mother-country, which they had left a year before,
they had probably been abused and exasperated on account of the foolish
class distinction then existing there. They evidently belonged to that
class of tenants who were treated almost like slaves. The following day
we found our late companions a mile from our barn, both working for a
farmer at $15.00 per month, which was then considered big wages. They
were older men and accustomed to hard labor, so that their situation was
comparatively easy. They received us kindly and procured work for
Eustrom with the same farmer, while I, still suffering with the ague,
could not then attempt to work, and therefore returned to my castle in
the meadow, (the hay-barn). There I remained about a week living on
berries which I found in the neighboring woods and a slice of bread and
butter, which Eustrom brought me in the evening, when with blistered
hands and sore back, he called to comfort me and help build better air
castles for the future.
A council was finally held among us four, and it was decided to send me
back to Buffalo with a farmer who was going there the following morning.
One of the men Mr. Abraham Sandberg on parting gave me a silver dollar,
with the injunction to give it to someone who might need it worse than
I, whenever I could do so. I have never met Abraham since; but I have
regarded it as a sacred duty to comply with his request, and, in case
these lines should come before his eyes I wish to let him know that my
debt has been honestly paid.
On reaching the old boarding house in Buffalo the landlord promised that
he would send me to a hospital where I could receive proper treatment
and care. I made up a little bundle of necessary underwear, and in an
hour a driver appeared at the door; I was lifted into the cart and off
we went through the muddy streets to the outskirts of the city, where I
was duly delivered at a large building which I supposed to be the
hospital. It was near evening, and I was brought into a large
dining-room, with a hundred others or more, served with supper, corn
mush and molasses water, after which I was shown to a bed in a large
room among many others. I suffered with fever, and for the first time in
my life with loneliness. Exhausted nature finally took out its due, and
I slept soundly until awakened in the morning by a loud sound of a gong.
As soon as dressed I walked out in the yard, or lawn, back of the
building. On one side was a high plank fence, behind which I heard some
strange sounds. I found a knot-hole, and, peeping through this, I
observed another lawn, on which were many people. They were strange
looking; I never saw any like them before. Some were swinging, some
dancing, others shouting, singing and weeping and behaving in a most
out-of-the-way manner. I wondered and wondered, and finally it dawned
upon me that it must be a lunatic asylum. It was, in fact, as I since
learned, the county poor farm, where one part was used for the lunatics
and the other for paupers like myself. Has it come to this? I asked
myself; is this the goal of all my ambition and hopes? Going back to the
room, where I had slept, I stealthily took my little bundle, slipped out
through a side door into a back yard, found a gate open and was soon in
the street. I started on a run with all the power in me, as if pursued
by all the furies of paupers and lunatics, never stopping until I was
near the old boarding house, where I was taken in exhausted and in deep
despair. I would have killed the landlord for deceiving me if I had been
able to do so. One good thing resulted from the sad experience of that
day: the mental shock on discovering where I was, cured me for the time
being of the ague.
The next day my friend returned from Hamburg, where he could no longer
get any employment on account of his blistered hands, and poor health in
general. We now put our wise heads together and agreed that we had
already had enough of the West for the time being. Having plenty of good
clothes, bedding, revolvers and other knick-knacks, we sold to our
landlord whatever we could spare, in order to raise money enough to pay
our way back to Boston.
During our stay in Buffalo, our renowned countrywoman, Jenny Lind,
happened to give a concert there. We were standing on the street where
we could see the people crowd into the theatre, but that was all we
could afford, and we never heard her sing. Our host advised us to go and
ask her for help; but our pride forbade it.
At this time the Swedes were so little known, and Jenny Lind, on the
other hand, so renowned in America, that the Swedes were frequently
called "Jenny Lind men," this designation being often applied to myself.
Having purchased tickets for Albany, we returned East in the month of
August. I still remember how we rode all night in a crowded second-class
car, listening to the noisy merry-making of our fellow-passengers; but
we understood very little of it, for up to this time we had lived
exclusively among our own countrymen, and learned only a few English
words--a mistake, by the way, which thousands of immigrants have made
and are still making.
Arriving at Albany, we sat down by an old stone wall near the railroad
depot, to talk over our affairs. Fate had been against us while we
remained together, and we probably depended too much upon each other.
Accordingly, we decided to part for some time and try our luck
separately; and if one of us met with success he would, of course, soon
be able to find a position for the other. We decided by drawing lots
that Eustrom should go to Boston and I to New York. When we had bought
our tickets there remained one dollar, which we divided, and we left for
our respective places of destination the same evening.
Our landlord in Buffalo had given us the address of a sailors'
boarding-house in New York, which was also kept by a Norwegian by the
same name of Larson. So when I left the Hudson River steamer early the
next morning, I paid my half-dollar to a drayman, who took me to said
boarding house. I found Mr. Larson to be a kind, good-natured man, told
him my difficulties right out, and asked him to let me stop at his house
until I could find something to do. He agreed to this, and for a week or
so I tried my best to get work. But, when asked what kind of work I
could do, I was compelled to answer that I had learned no trade, but
that I would gladly try to learn anything and do anything whatever, even
sweep the streets, if necessary. As a result of my protracted sickness,
I was so weak and exhausted that nobody thought I would be able even to
earn my bread. As to easy or intellectual work, I had no earthly chance,
as long as I did not know the English language. Finally Mr. Larson took
me to a ship-owner's office. I still remember that a Norwegian captain
was cruel enough to remark in my hearing, that he did not intend to take
any half-dead corpses along with him to sea.
After two weeks of fruitless efforts to get work for me, my host finally
declared that he could not very well keep me any longer, because his
accommodations were crowded with paying customers; nevertheless, he
allowed me to sleep in the attic free of charge, while I had to procure
my food as best I could, which I also did for another two weeks. Being a
convalescent, I had a ravenous appetite, and, indeed, I found how hard
it is to obtain food without having anything to pay for it. Of the few
articles of clothing which I brought with me from Buffalo, I had to
sacrifice one after another for subsistence. When all other means were
exhausted, I was compelled to go to the kitchen-doors and tell my
desperate and unfortunate condition by signs, and more than one
kind-hearted cook gave me a solid meal.
Tramps! In our day there is a great deal of talk about tramps, and it
has become customary, to brand as a tramp, any poor wandering laborer
who seeks work. There are undoubtedly many who justly deserve this
title; but I think there are tramps who are not to blame for their
deplorable condition, and who deserve encouragement and friendly
assistance, for I have been one of them myself, without any fault or
neglect on my part. It always provokes me to hear a young or
inexperienced person use the expression "tramp" so thoughtlessly, and in
such a sweeping manner. Long ago I made up my mind that no tramp should
ever leave my door without such aid as my resources would allow. It is
better to give to a thousand undeserving, than to let one unfortunate
but deserving suffer.
My good host, like his Buffalo namesake, finally contrived to get rid of
me by representing me as a sailor, and hiring me to the captain of the
bark "Catherine," a coasting vessel bound for Charleston, S. C., telling
me that I was to serve as cabin boy. My wages were to be five dollars a
month, of which he received seven dollars and a-half in advance, so that
I could pay my debts and buy a sailor's suit of clothes.
On the second day of our voyage we encountered a storm. I was on deck
with the sailors and the captain stood on the quarter-deck. We were
coursing against the wind and were just going to turn when the captain
called on me to untie some ropes. Understanding very little English, and
being no sailor, I naturally knew nothing about the names of the
different ropes, and I grabbed one after another, but invariably missed
the right one. The captain was swearing with might and main in English.
Seeing that I did not understand him he suddenly roared out angrily the
name of the rope in good Swedish and added: "Do you understand me now,
you confounded blockhead!" Turning to him, cap in hand, I answered: "No,
captain, I do not know the name of a single rope." "And still," he
continued "you have followed the sea three years, what a dunce you are."
I answered: "Indeed Mr. Captain, I have never been a sailor, and will
never be worth anything at sea. But I am willing and anxious to do all
you ask if within my power." The captain, whose name was Wilson, was a
Swedish American and, although somewhat gruff, he was in fact one of the
noblest men who ever commanded a ship. He immediately saw how the matter
stood; the boarding house man had cheated both him and me and from that
hour Captain Wilson became my friend and benefactor.
Afterwards I found out of the whole crew, which numbered twenty-six men,
nine-tenths were Scandinavians, but they always used the English
language while on board the ship. Captain Wilson told me to see him in
his cabin as soon as the work was performed. Here he asked me about my
circumstances, and I told him the short story of my life, which elicited
his sympathy to such an extent that he even asked me to pardon his rude
behavior toward me. He assigned me to a place to sleep in the cabin;
told the officers not to give me any orders as he was going to do that
himself, and treated me with the utmost kindness and consideration in
every respect.
After this I was excused from all work properly belonging to a sailor,
but kept the cabin in order, and helped the steward in waiting at the
table, and the officers with their calculations. During my spare hours I
read and conversed with the captain and his two mates, one of whom was a
Dane and the other an Irishman, both splendid fellows. The first mate
was preparing the second mate for a captain's examination, and I, having
recently taken a course in mathematics, at a military school, was able
to assist them in their studies.
On the table in the cabin was a large English Bible, with which I spent
many happy hours, and by which I learned the English language. At first
I used to pick out chapters of the New Testament, which I knew almost by
heart, so that I could understand them without a dictionary or an
interpreter. After my first conversation with the captain I did not
speak another word in the Swedish language during the voyage, and when I
returned to Boston, three months afterwards, it seemed to me that I
could talk and read English about as well as Swedish.
I made two trips with the captain from New York to Charleston and back
again. At the wharf of Charleston, I was, for the first time in my life,
brought face to face with American Negro slavery in its most odious
aspect. Crowds of Negroes were running along the pier pulling long
ropes, by means of which the ships were loaded and unloaded. Each gang
of Negroes was under the charge of a brutal overseer, riding on a mule,
and brandishing a long cowhide whip, which he applied vigorously to the
backs of the half-naked Negroes. During the night they were kept penned
up in sheds, which had been erected for that purpose near the wharf.
They were treated like cattle, in every respect. This sight influenced
me in later life to become a Republican in politics.
After our second return to New York, Capt. Wilson assumed the command of
one of the first clipper ships which carried passengers to California in
those days. This was at the most stirring time of the gold fever, and
the captain kindly offered to take me along and let me stay out there,
an offer which thousands would have accepted. But I was never smitten
with the gold fever, and, having a distaste for the sea, I said good-bye
to the kind captain, never to see him again. My wages were to have been
only five dollars a month, but he generously paid me eight dollars, so
that I had earned enough money to pay my way to Boston, whence my friend
Eustrom had written me and urged me to come.
I arrived in Boston about the middle of December, and, when I returned
to the old boarding house, I spoke English so well that my acquaintances
hardly believed it possible that I could be the same person. Mr. Eustrom
was now working as wood polisher. He had made many friends and lived
happily and contented on $4 a week. By strict economy these wages
sufficed for board, lodging, and clothes. It happened to be an
unfavorable time of the year when I arrived, however, and many men who
had been employed during the summer were now discharged at the approach
of winter. Mr. Eustrom's employer had a good friend in New Hampshire, an
old Swedish sailor, Anderson by name, who was farming up there. He
promised to let me come and live with him and do whatever chores I could
until something might turn up the next spring.
A few days afterwards I went by rail to Contocook where I was met by Mr.
Anderson, who took me out to his hospitable home a couple of miles from
the town. This Anderson was a remarkable man. Having no education to
speak of, he was a better judge of human nature and practical affairs of
life than any other man I ever met. He was pleased with me, and said he
wished I would sit down in the evening and tell him about Sweden, and
explain to him what I had learned at school. Poor Anderson! He had one
fault, rum got the better of him, and it was cheap in New England at
that time, only sixteen cents a gallon. He bought a barrel of it at a
time, and did not taste water as long as the rum lasted.
The day after my arrival he asked me if I would like to go with him into
the woods to help cut some logs. Of course I would, and we took our axes
and started off. It was a very cold December day, and I had thin clothes
and no mittens. Mr. Anderson went to cut down a tree, and I commenced to
work at one which was already felled. This was the first time I swung an
axe in earnest, and after a short while I felt that my hands were
getting cold. But I made up my mind not to stop until the log was
finished. By holding the axe handle very tight it stopped the
circulation of the blood through my fingers, and when I finally stopped
and dropped the axe I could not move my fingers, for eight of them were
frozen stiff. Mr. Anderson now took off his cap, filled it with snow,
put my hands into the snow, and thus we ran to the house as fast as our
legs would carry us. The doctor tried his very best; but, nevertheless,
in a few days the flesh and the nails began to peel off, and two doctors
decided to amputate all the fingers on my right hand. Fortunately I did
not give my consent, but told them that I would rather die of gangrene
than live without hands, for my future depended exclusively on them.
My friend Eustrom, having heard of my misfortune, soon came to visit me,
and brought with him an old Irish woman who was something of a doctor,
and cured my hands by means of a very simple plaster which she prepared
herself. But I was forced into complete inactivity for more than three
months, during which time I was entirely helpless, and had to be washed,
dressed, and fed like an infant. But, as to me, the old proverb has
always proved true: "When things are at the worst they'll mend." There
were men and women in my accidental home who willingly tended to me in
my trouble. May God bless them for it! In the latter part of March, Mr.
Anderson, who had always treated me with the greatest kindness, quite
unexpectedly told me that I was now able to work again and could try to
get a place with some other family in the neighborhood, because he could
not keep me any longer.
Our nearest neighbor was a genuine Yankee, Daniel Dustin by name. He was
very rich, well read, liberal minded, respectable and honest, but so
_close_ that he would scarcely let his own family have enough food to
eat, and his wife was even more stingy. Mr. Dustin agreed to let me work
for my board until spring, and then he would give me five dollars a
month, which offer I cheerfully accepted. He immediately took me out
into the woods to chop wood for the summer, and he was to haul it home.
The new, tender muscles and nails on my fingers made wood chopping very
painful to me, and I could feel every blow of the axe through my entire
body. Never has any man worked so hard for me, when I afterwards hired
help for good wages, as I worked for my board here; and, by the way,
this board consisted chiefly of potatoes and corn meal cake. When the
spring work commenced I got five dollars a month, and had to get up at
five o'clock in the morning to do the chores, and then work in the field
from seven in the morning until dark.
In the beginning of June I got a letter from my parents, stating that my
father and brother were going to leave for New York immediately, and
they asked me to meet them there and go West with them. I had never
complained in my letters to my parents, but, on the other hand, I had
not advised them to come to America, either. They had been advised to do
so by some of my fellow-passengers on the "Ambrosius," who went to
Illinois, and were highly pleased with their prospects. So I went to
Boston again. My father's voyage had been delayed, and I had to wait for
him over a month, during which time I got sick, and would have been in a
sorry plight, indeed, if it had not been for my friend Eustrom, who now
felt like a rich man, with his six dollars a week. A couple of years
later he became the partner of his employer.