The Project Gutenberg eBook of Giants in the Earth
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: Giants in the Earth
Author: Ole Edvart Rölvaag
Translator: Lincoln Colcord
Release date: March 1, 2025 [eBook #75491]
Language: English
Original publication: United States: A. L. Burt Company, 1927
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GIANTS IN THE EARTH ***
Transcriber’s Notes
Misspelled words have been corrected. These are identified by
♦ symbols in the text and are shown immediately below the
paragraph in which they appear.
Details and other notes may be found at the end of this text.
GIANTS IN THE EARTH
“_There were giants in the earth
in those days; and also after that,
when the sons of God came in unto
the daughters of men, and they
bare children to them, the same
became mighty men which were
of old, men of renown._”
Genesis vi: 4
GIANTS IN THE EARTH
By O. E. RÖLVAAG
Translated from the Norwegian
English Text By LINCOLN COLCORD and the Author
[Illustration: A. L. Burt logo]
A. L. BURT COMPANY Publishers New York
Published by arrangement with Harper & Brothers
Printed In U. S. A.
GIANTS IN THE EARTH
COPYRIGHT, 1927, BY HARPER & BROTHERS PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.
FORTY-NINTH PRINTING, DECEMBER, 1929
M-D
TO THOSE OF MY PEOPLE WHO
TOOK PART IN THE GREAT SETTLING,
TO THEM AND THEIR GENERATIONS
I DEDICATE THIS NARRATIVE
CONTENTS
FOREWORD ix
INTRODUCTION xi
BOOK I: THE LAND-TAKING
TOWARD THE SUNSET 3
HOME-FOUNDING 22
“ROSIE!—ROSIE!” 62
WHAT THE WAVING GRASS REVEALED 110
FACING THE GREAT DESOLATION 156
THE HEART THAT DARED NOT LET IN THE SUN 197
BOOK II: FOUNDING THE KINGDOM
ON THE BORDER OF UTTER DARKNESS 249
THE POWER OF EVIL IN HIGH PLACES 295
THE GLORY OF THE LORD 354
THE GREAT PLAIN DRINKS THE BLOOD OF CHRISTIAN 424
MEN AND IS SATISFIED
FOREWORD
In offering this novel to the English-reading public, I feel the need
of an explanation. Book I of _Giants In The Earth_ was published in
Norway (Aschehoug & Co.) as a separate volume, in October, 1924; Book
II, one year later.
I am aware of the slight similarity existing between Johan Bojer’s _The
Emigrants_ and certain portions of the First Book of my novel; and lest
the reader should consider me guilty of having plagiarized him, I find
it necessary to offer the information that _The Land-Taking_ was in
the hands of the Norwegian book dealers a little better than one month
before Bojer’s book appeared. In a letter to me, dated January 11,
1925, Mr. Bojer writes: “It certainly was fortunate for me that I got
my book finished when I did. Had it appeared much later, I should have
been accused of having plagiarized you.”
The work of translating this novel has been a difficult task. The
idiom of the characters offered serious problems. These settlers came
from Nordland, Norway; and though the novel is written in the literary
language of Norway, the speech of the characters themselves naturally
had to be strongly colored by their native dialect; otherwise their
utterances would have sounded stilted and untrue. To get these people
to reveal clearly and effectively their psychology in English speech
seemed at times impossible; for the idioms of a dialect are well-nigh
untranslatable. A liberal use of footnotes was unavoidable.
If the old saying, that many cooks spoil the broth, is true, then
surely the English text cannot be of much account; for many have
worked at it. The following friends have helped with the translation:
Mr. Ansten Anstensen, Columbia University; Miss Ruth Lima, Concordia
College, Moorhead, Minnesota; Dr. Nils Flaten, Miss Nora Solum,
Prof. Olav Lee, Miss Esther Gulbrandsen—all four of whom are fellow
teachers in St. Olaf College; and Atty. John Heitmann, Duluth,
Minnesota. I feel also greatly indebted to Dr. and Mrs. Clarence
Berdahl, University of Illinois, for their many valuable suggestions
and corrections. What I asked of these friends was a literal
translation. They complied so willingly and so cheerfully. I take this
opportunity to thank them all!
But most of all do I owe gratitude to my friend Lincoln Colcord,
Minneapolis, Minnesota, who unified and literally rewrote the English
text. As I got the translation from the others, I would wrestle with
it for a while, and then send it on to him. When he had finished a
division he and I would come together to work it over, he reading
the manuscript aloud, I checking with the text of the original. How
intensely we struggled with words and sentences! It would happen
frequently that several pages had to be rewritten. But he never tired.
His has been a real _labor amoris_. Were it not for his constant
encouragement and for his inimitable willingness to help, this novel
would most likely never have seen the light of day in an English
translation.
O. E. Rölvaag.
St. Olaf College,
Northfield, Minnesota,
_July 15, 1927._
INTRODUCTION
I
It is a unique experience, all things considered, to have this novel
by O. E. Rölvaag, so palpably European in its art and atmosphere, so
distinctly American in everything it deals with. Translations from
European authors have always been received with serious consideration
in the United States; in Rölvaag we have a European author of our
own—one who writes in America, about America, whose only aim is to tell
of the contributions of his people to American life; and who yet must
be translated for us out of a foreign tongue. I think I am right in
stating that this is the first instance of the kind in the history of
American letters.
There are certain points of technique and construction which show
at a glance that the author of this book is not a native American.
Rölvaag is primarily interested in psychology, in the unfolding of
character; the native American writer is primarily interested in
plot and incident. Rölvaag is preoccupied with the human cost of
empire building, rather than with its glamour and romance. His chief
character, Beret, is a failure in terms of pioneer life; he aims to
reveal a deeper side of the problem, by showing the distress of one who
could not take root in new soil. Beret’s homesickness is the dominant
_motif_ of the tale. Even Per Hansa, the natural-born pioneer, must
give his life before the spirit of the prairie is appeased. This
treatment reflects something of the gloomy fatalism of the Norse mind;
but it also runs close to the grim reality of pioneering, a place the
bravest art would want to occupy. _Giants In The Earth_ never turns
aside from the march of its sustained and inevitable tragedy. The story
is told almost baldly at times, but with an unerring choice of simple
human detail. When we lay it down we have gained a new insight
into the founding of America.
II
Ole Edvart Rölvaag was born April 22, 1876, in a small settlement on
the island of Dönna, in the district of Helgeland, just south of where
the Arctic Circle cuts the coast of Norway. The place is far up in the
Nordland. Strictly speaking, the settlement has no name; the cove where
it lies is called _Rölvaag_ on the map, but it is merely an outskirt of
one of the voting precincts on the island. Rölvaag, it will be seen,
took his place name after coming to America; he has explained this
practice in a footnote in the present work. His father’s Christian name
was Peder, and in Norway he would have been Pedersen; his own sons, in
turn, would have been Olsen. The name is pronounced with umlauted _ö_
rolled a little, as in _world_; the last syllable, _aag_, is like the
first syllable in _auger_.
All the people in this settlement were fishermen. In summer they fished
in small open boats, coming home every night; in winter they went in
larger boats, carrying crews of from four to six men, to the historic
fishing grounds off the Lofoten Islands, where the Maelstrom runs and
the coast stretches away to North Cape and beyond. It was a life full
of hardship and danger, with sorrow and poverty standing close at hand.
The midnight sun shone on them for a season; during the winter they
had the long darkness. The island of Dönna is a barren rock covered
with gorse and heather—hardly a tree in sight. It looks like a bit of
the coast of Labrador. An opening between low ledges of granite marks
the cove named _Rölvaag_; at the head of the cove the houses of the
settlement stand out stark and unprotected against the sky line. Behind
them loom the iron mountains of the coast. A gloomy, desolate scene—a
perilous stronghold on the fringe of the Arctic night. There Rölvaag’s
forebears had lived, going out to the fisheries, since time immemorial.
His father, who is still alive, is the image of a New England
sea captain. The family must have been a remarkable one. An uncle,
his father’s brother, had broken away from the fishing life and made
himself a teacher of prominence in a neighbouring locality. An older
brother had the mind of a scholar; but something happened—he went on
with the fishing, and died long ago. There was a brilliant sister,
also, who died young. These two evidently overshadowed Rölvaag while he
was growing up; his case as a child seemed hopeless—he could not learn.
Nevertheless, he had a little schooling, mostly of a semireligious
nature. The school lay seven miles away, across the rocks and moors;
that gave him a fourteen-mile walk for his daily education. He went
to school nine weeks a year, for seven years. This ended at the age
of fourteen, when his father finally told him that he was not worth
educating. That was all the schooling he had in Norway.
Once during the period of childhood he was walking in the dusk with his
mother; they had been gathering kelp on the rocks which they boiled
and fed to the cattle; and now they were on their way home. His mother
took him by the hand and asked him what he wanted to be when he grew
up. “I want to be a poet,” he told her. This was the only time he ever
revealed himself to a member of his family. He remembers the quiet
chuckle with which his mother received the news; she did not take
him to task, nor try to show him how absurd it was, but she couldn’t
restrain a kindly chuckle as they went along the rock path together.
That winter they had only potatoes and salt herring to eat, three times
a day; his mother divided the potatoes carefully, for there were barely
enough to go around.
In place of education was the reading—for this was a reading family.
The precinct had a good library, furnished by the state. Rölvaag had
learned to read after a long struggle, and his head was always in
a book. The first novel he ever read was Cooper’s _The Last of the
Mohicans_ in the Norwegian. All of Cooper’s novels followed, and the
novels of Dickens and Captain Marryat and Bulwer-Lytton. Then
came the works of Ingemann, the Danish historical novelist; the works
of Zakarias Topelius, the great Swedish romanticist; the works of
the German, Paul Heyse; and the complete works of their own great
novelists, especially Björnson and Jonas Lie. For miscellaneous reading
there were such things as the tales of Jules Verne and H. Rider
Haggard and Alexandre Dumas, Carlyle’s _The French Revolution_, and
Stanley’s _Across the Dark Continent_. Neither did they lack the usual
assortment of dime novels and shilling-shockers, in paper covers. The
list could be extended indefinitely; the parallel with the reading of
the better-class American boy of a generation ago is little short of
astonishing.
This reading, promiscuous but intensive, lasted through the period of
his youth. Once it was rumoured that at a certain village, fourteen
miles away, a copy of _Ivanhoe_ could be obtained; Rölvaag set out on
foot to get it, and was gone two days on the journey. There is another
incident, slight but deeply revealing, which shows the promise wrapped
up in the husk of boyhood. In a moment of exaltation he decided to
write a novel of his own. He may have been eleven or twelve when this
creative impulse seized him. All one afternoon he spent in his bedroom
writing; with infinite labour he had completed as many as five pages
of the novel. Then his elder brother, who shared the room with him,
came in—the brilliant brother of whom he stood in awe. “What are you
doing there?” asked the brother. “Nothing,” Rölvaag answered, hastily
trying to conceal the fruits of his first literary effort. “Let me
see it!”—the brother had quickly sensed what was going on. “I won’t!”
And so the battle had started—a terrific struggle that nearly wrecked
the room, in the course of which the five pages were torn to shreds.
But the brother had not seen a word of them. Rölvaag never attempted
literary composition again until he was completing his education in
America, fifteen years afterward.
Awhile later we find him reading Cooper and Marryat aloud to the
fishermen at Lofoten, during the winter lay-up; there was a
splendid library at this remote station, too, maintained by the state
for the use of the fishing fleet. By this time Rölvaag had become a
fisherman himself, like everyone else in the community. He went on his
first trip to the Lofoten fishing grounds at the age of fifteen. In
all, he fished five years, until he had just passed twenty. Every year
he was growing more discontented. In the winter of 1893 a terrible
storm devastated the fishing fleet, taking tragic toll among his
friends and fellow fishermen. The boat he sailed in escaped only by a
miracle. This experience killed his first romantic love of the fishing
life; he sat down then and wrote to an uncle in South Dakota, asking
him for a ticket to the United States. Not that he felt any particular
call to go to America; he only thought of getting away. He longed
for the unknown and untried—for something secret and inexpressible.
Vaguely, stubbornly, he wanted the chance to fulfil himself before
he died. But the uncle, doubtless influenced by Rölvaag’s family
reputation, refused to help him; and the fishing life went on.
Two more years passed, years of deepening revolt—when suddenly the
uncle in South Dakota changed his mind. One day a ticket for America
arrived. The way of escape was at hand.
Then a dramatic thing happened. All the fishermen went to the summer
fair at the market town of Björn. At this fair, boats were exposed for
sale, the finest fishing craft in all Norway. Rölvaag’s master sought
him out and took him down among the boats. His admiration for this
master was extravagant; he speaks of him to-day as a sea king, the
greatest human being he has ever known. The man led him directly to
the best boat hauled out on the beach. They stood admiring her. He led
him aft, under her stern, where they could see her beautiful lines. He
patted her side as he spoke. He said: “If you will send back the ticket
to your uncle, I will buy this boat for you. You shall command her; and
when she has paid for herself she shall be yours.”
The offer swept him off his feet. Never, he affirms, can he hope
to attain in life again a sensation of such complete and triumphant
success as came to him at that moment. A new boat, the backing of the
man he admired and loved above all others, a place at the top of his
profession at the age of twenty, a chance to reign supreme in his
little world. And yet, nothing beyond—it meant that this was all. To
live and die a fisherman. No other worlds—the vague, beautiful worlds
beyond the horizon. “I will have to think it over,” was his answer. He
turned away, went up on a hillside above the town, and sat there alone
all the afternoon.
This young man of twenty sitting on a hillside on the coast of Norway,
wrestling with his immense problem, takes on the stature of a figure
from the sagas. Which way will he make up his mind? “It was a fine,
clear day in Nordland,” he tells me, speaking of the incident thirty
years afterward. A fine, clear day—he could see a long way across the
water. But not the shape of his own destiny. The life he knew was
calling him with a thousand voices. How could he have heard the hail
of things not yet seen? Where did he get the strength to make his
momentous decision? He came down from the hillside at last, and found
his master. “I am sorry,” he said, “but I cannot accept your offer. I
am going to America.”
III
Rölvaag himself has told about the journey in his first book,
_Amerika-Breve_ (Letters from America), published in 1912, a work which
is largely autobiographical and which struck home in a personal way
to his Norwegian-American readers. He landed in New York in August of
1896. He was not even aware that he would require money for food during
the railway trip; in his pocket were an American dime and a copper
piece from Norway. For three days and nights, from New York to South
Dakota, he lived on a single loaf of bread; the dime went for tobacco
somewhere along the vast stretches unfolding before him Through an
error in calculation his uncle failed to meet him at the country
station where he finally disembarked. He had no word of English with
which to ask his way. The prairie spread on every hand; the sun was
going down. He walked half the night, without food or water, until at
last he found Norwegians who could direct him, reached his uncle’s
farm, and received a warm welcome.
Then began three years of farming. At the end of that time he knew
that he did not like it; this was not the life for him. He had saved a
little money, but had picked up only a smattering of English. A friend
kept urging him to go to school. But his father’s verdict, which so
far had ruled his life, still had power over him; he firmly believed
that it would be of no use, that he was not worth educating. Instead
he went to Sioux City, Iowa, and tried to find work there—factory
work, a chance to tend bar in a saloon, a job of washing dishes in a
restaurant. But nothing offered; he was forced to return to the farm.
He had now reached another crossroads in his life; a flat alternative
faced him—farming or schooling. As the lesser of two evils, he entered
Augustana College, a grammar or preparatory school in Canton, South
Dakota, in the fall of 1899. At that time he was twenty-three years old.
Once at school, the fierce desire for knowledge, so long restrained,
took him by storm. In a short while he discovered the cruel wrong that
had been done him. His mind was mature and receptive; he was able to
learn with amazing ease; in general reading, in grasp of life and
strength of purpose, he was far in advance of his fellow students. He
graduated from Augustana in the spring of 1901; that fall he entered
St. Olaf College, with forty dollars in his pocket. In four years he
had worked his way through St. Olaf, graduating with honours in 1905,
at the age of twenty-eight. On the promise of a faculty position at
his _alma mater_, he borrowed five hundred dollars and sent himself
for a year to the University of Oslo in Norway. Returning from this
post-graduate work in 1906, he took up his teaching at St. Olaf
College, where he has been ever since. Professor Rölvaag now
occupies the chair of Norwegian literature at that institution.
IV
I have mentioned the _Amerika-Breve_, published in 1912. There is an
earlier work, still in manuscript—a novel written during his senior
year at St. Olaf College. In all, Rölvaag has published six novels,
two readers for class use, a couple of handbooks on Norwegian grammar
and declamation, and one volume of essays. In 1914 appeared his
second book, _Paa Glemte Veie_ (_The Forgotten Path_), a relatively
unimportant product. Then came the war, which threw consternation into
all creative work. Rölvaag walked the hills of southern Minnesota, his
mind a blank, facing the downfall of civilization, seeing the death of
those fine things of life which he had striven so hard to attain. It
was during the war period that he compiled his readers and handbooks,
for the publishing board of the Norwegian-American Lutheran Church.
He had married in 1908. In 1920 a tragedy occurred in his family—one of
his children was drowned under terrible circumstances. This seems to
have shaken him out of the war inertia and stirred his creative life
again. That year he wrote and published his first strong novel, _To
Tullinger_ (_Two Fools_), the story of a rough, uncultivated couple,
incapable of refinement, who gain success in America and develop
the hoarding instinct to a fantastic degree. This book, too, made a
sensation among Norwegian-Americans.
Then, in 1922, came _Laengselens Baat_ (_The Ship of Longing_), which
seems to have been Rölvaag’s most introspective and poetical effort up
to the present time. It is the study of a sensitive, artistic youth who
comes to America from Norway full of dreams and ideals, expecting to
find all that his soul longs for; he does not find it, with the result
that his life goes down in disaster. Needless to say, this book was not
popular with his Norwegian-American audience. The truth-teller of
_To Tullinger_ was now going a little too far.
All of these works were written and published in Norwegian. They were
brought out under the imprint of the Augsburg Publishing House, of
Minneapolis, and circulated only among those Norwegian-Americans who
had retained the language of the old country. The reason why none of
them had reached publication in Norway is characteristic. In 1912
the manuscript of _Amerika-Breve_ had been submitted to Norwegian
publishers. They had returned a favourable and even enthusiastic
opinion, but had insisted on certain changes in the text. These
changes Rölvaag had refused to concede, feeling that they marred the
artistic unity of his work. In anger and disappointment, he had at once
published with the local house; and with each successive volume the
feeling of artistic umbrage had persisted—it had not seemed worth while
to try to reach the larger field.
But in the spring of 1923, an item appeared in the Norwegian press
to the effect that the great novelist Johan Bojer was about to visit
the United States, for the purpose of collecting material on the
Norwegian-American immigration. He proposed to write an epic novel on
the movement. This news excited Rölvaag tremendously; he felt that the
inner truth of the Norwegian-American immigration could be written only
by one who had experienced the transplanting of life, who shared the
psychology of the settlers. His artistic ambition was up in arms; this
was his own field.
He immediately obtained a year’s leave of absence from St. Olaf
College, and set to work. The first few sections of _Giants In The
Earth_ were written in a cabin in the north woods of Minnesota. Then he
felt the need of visiting South Dakota again, to gather fresh material.
In midwinter of that year he went abroad, locating temporarily in a
cheap immigrant hotel in London, where he worked on the novel steadily.
When spring opened in 1924, he went to Norway. There he met Bojer,
visiting him at his country home. Bojer was delighted to learn that
Rölvaag, of whom he had heard a great deal, was also working on
a novel of the Norwegian-American settlement; the two men exchanged
ideas generously. “How do you see the problem?” Rölvaag asked. The
answer showed him that Bojer saw it from the viewpoint of Norway, not
of America; to him it was mainly a problem of emigration. This greatly
relieved Rölvaag’s mind, for there was no real conflict; he set to work
with renewed energy, and soon finished the first book of _Giants In The
Earth_.
In the meanwhile it had been placed with Norwegian publishers—the
same firm, by the way, which had lost _Amerika-Breve_ twelve years
before. It appeared in the latter part of 1924, under the title _I
De Dage_ (_In Those Days_), a month in advance of Bojer’s _Vor Egen
Stamme_ (_Our Own Tribe_), better known to us by its English title of
_The Emigrants_. A year later the second book of the present volume
was brought out, under the title _Riket Grundlaegges_ (_Founding the
Kingdom_).
In Norway these two books have run through many editions; they have
been hailed on every hand as something new in Norwegian literature.
Swedish and Finnish editions will be published in 1927. Arrangements
are being made for a German translation, and the book will probably
be off the press in Germany soon after it has appeared in the United
States. Rölvaag’s vigorous, idiomatic style (which, incidentally, has
been the despair of those who have worked over the English translation)
is an outstanding topic of recent Scandinavian criticism. The eminent
Danish critic, Jörgen Bukdahl, for instance, in his latest work, _Det
Skjulte Norge_ (_The Latent Norway_), devotes a whole chapter to
Rölvaag and his novels of pioneering in South Dakota. A new name has
been added to the literary firmament of Norway.
V
Does Rölvaag’s work belong legitimately to Norwegian or to American
literature? The problem has unusual and interesting features. The
volume before us deals with American life, and with one of the most
characteristically American episodes in our history. It opens on the
western plains; its material is altogether American. Yet it was written
in Norwegian, and gained its first recognition in Norway. Whatever
we may decide, it has already become a part of Norwegian literature.
Rölvaag’s art seems mainly European; Rölvaag himself, as I have said,
is typically American. His life and future are bound up in the New
World; yet he will continue to write in a foreign language. Had he been
born in America, would his art have been the same? It seems unlikely.
On the other hand, had he remained in Norway—had he accepted the boat
that fine, clear day in Nordland—how would his art have fared?
But such speculation, after all, is merely idle; these things do
not matter. It has not yet been determined, even, what America is,
or whether she herself is strictly American. And any sincere art is
international. Given the artist, our chief interest lies in trying
to fathom the sources of his art, and to recognize its sustaining
impulses. What were the forces which have now projected into American
letters a realist of the first quality writing in a foreign language a
new tale of the founding of America? It is obvious that these forces
must have been highly complex and that they will continue to be so
throughout his working life; but beyond that we cannot safely go. The
rest is a matter of opinion. When I have asked Rölvaag the simple
question, Did Norway or America teach you to write? he has invariably
thrown up his hands.
The same speculation, in different measure, applies to a considerable
quantity of Norwegian-American literary production which as yet our
criticism knows nothing about. The Norwegians are a book-loving people;
no set of adverse conditions can for long restrain them from expressing
themselves in literary form. Here in the Northwest, during the last
thirty or forty years, they have built up a distinctive literature,
written and published in the Norwegian language, but concerned wholly
with American life. Until quite recently, in fact, the region
supported a Norwegian fiction magazine.
There are the five substantial novels of Simon Johnson, for instance,
with many short stories by the same author. There are the romantic
novels of H. A. Foss; and the poetry, short stories, novels, and
travelogues of Peer Strömme. There are the polemical and poetical works
of O. A. Buslett, obscure and fantastic. There are the three novels
and four collections of short stories by the able writer, Waldemar
Ager. There is the lyric poetry of Julius B. Baumann and O. S. Sneve,
the collected works of both of whom have now been brought out. There
are the amazing Biblical dramas of the farmer-poet Jon Norstog—huge
tomes with the titles of _Moses_, and _Israel_, and _Saul_, set up by
his own hand and published from his own printing press, in a shanty
on the prairies of North Dakota—works that reveal the flash of genius
now and then, as I am told. Do all these serious efforts belong to
Norwegian or to American literature? Their day is nearly done; the
present generation of Norse stock has another native language. But it
would be of value to have some of this early Norwegian-American product
translated into English, to enrich our literature by a pure stream
flowing out of the American environment—a stream which, for the general
public, lies frozen in the ice of a foreign tongue.
Lincoln Colcord.
Minneapolis, Minnesota,
_January, 1927._
_Book I_
THE LAND-TAKING
I. Toward the Sunset
I
Bright, clear sky over a plain so wide that the rim of the heavens cut
down on it around the entire horizon.... Bright, clear sky, to-day,
to-morrow, and for all time to come.
... And sun! And still more sun! It set the heavens afire every
morning; it grew with the day to quivering golden light—then softened
into all the shades of red and purple as evening fell.... Pure colour
everywhere. A gust of wind, sweeping across the plain, threw into life
waves of yellow and blue and green. Now and then a dead black wave
would race over the scene ... a cloud’s gliding shadow ... now and
then....
It was late afternoon. A small caravan was pushing its way through
the tall grass. The track that it left behind was like the wake of a
boat—except that instead of widening out astern it closed in again.
“Tish-ah!” said the grass.... “Tish-ah, tish-ah!” ... Never had it said
anything else—never would it say anything else. It bent resiliently
under the trampling feet; it did not break, but it complained aloud
every time—for nothing like this had ever happened to it before....
“Tish-ah, tish-ah!” it cried, and rose up in surprise to look at this
rough, hard thing that had crushed it to the ground so rudely, and then
moved on.
A stocky, broad-shouldered man walked at the head of the caravan. He
seemed shorter than he really was, because of the tall grass around him
and the broad-brimmed hat of coarse straw which he wore. A few steps
behind him followed a boy of about nine years of age. The boy’s blond
hair was clearly marked against his brown, sunburnt neck; but the
man’s hair and neck were of exactly the same shade of brown. From the
looks of these two, and still more from their gait, it was easy to
guess that here walked father and son.
Behind them a team of oxen jogged along; the oxen were drawing a
vehicle which once upon a time might have been a wagon, but which now,
on account of its many and grave infirmities, ought long since to have
been consigned to the scrap heap—exactly the place, in point of fact,
where the man had picked it up. Over the wagon box long willow saplings
had been bent, in the form of arches in a church chancel—six of them
in all. On these arches, and tied down to the body on each side, were
spread first of all two handwoven blankets, that might well have
adorned the walls of some manor house in the olden times; on top of
the blankets were thrown two sheepskin robes, with the wool side down,
which were used for bed-coverings at night. The rear of the wagon was
stowed full of numberless articles, all the way up to the top. A large
immigrant chest at the bottom of the pile, very long and high, devoured
a big share of the space; around and above it were piled household
utensils, tools, implements, and all their clothing.
Hitched to this wagon and trailing behind was another vehicle, homemade
and very curious-looking, so solidly and quaintly constructed that it
might easily have won a place in any museum. Indeed, it appeared strong
enough to stand all the jolting from the Atlantic to the Pacific....
It, too, was a wagon, after a fashion; at least, it had been intended
for such. The wheels were made from pieces of plank fitting roughly
together; the box, considerably wider than that of the first wagon, was
also loaded full of provisions and household gear, covered over with
canvas and lashed down securely. Both wagons creaked and groaned loudly
every time they bounced over a tussock or hove out of a hollow....
“Squeak, squeak!” said the one.... “Squeak, squeak!” answered the
other.... The strident sound broke the silence of centuries.
A short distance behind the wagons followed a brindle cow. The
caravan moved so slowly that she occasionally had time to stop and
snatch a few mouthfuls, though there was never a chance for many at
a time. But what little she got in this way she sorely needed. She
had been jogging along all day, swinging and switching her tail, the
rudder of the caravan. Soon it would be night, and then her part of the
work would come—to furnish milk for the evening porridge, for all the
company up ahead.
Across the front end of the box of the first wagon lay a rough piece
of plank. On the right side of this plank sat a woman with a white
kerchief over her head, driving the oxen. Against her thigh rested the
blond head of a little girl, who was stretched out on the plank and
sleeping sweetly. Now and then the hand of the mother moved across the
child’s face to chase away the mosquitoes, which had begun to gather as
the sun lowered. On the left side of the plank, beyond the girl, sat a
boy about seven years old—a well-grown lad, his skin deeply tanned, a
certain clever, watchful gleam in his eyes. With hands folded over one
knee, he looked straight ahead.
This was the caravan of Per Hansa, who with his family and all his
earthly possessions was moving west from Fillmore County, Minnesota,
to Dakota Territory. There he intended to take up land and build
himself a home; he was going to do something remarkable out there,
which should become known far and wide. No lack of opportunity in that
country, he had been told!... Per Hansa himself strode ahead and laid
out the course; the boy Ole, or _Olamand_, followed closely after, and
explored it. Beret, the wife, drove the oxen and took care of little
Anna Marie, pet-named _And-Ongen_ (which means “The Duckling”), who was
usually bubbling over with happiness. Hans Kristian, whose everyday
name was _Store-Hans_ (meaning “Big Hans,” to distinguish him from
his godfather, who was also named Hans, but who, of course, was three
times his size), sat there on the wagon, and saw to it that everyone
attended to business.... The cow Rosie trailed behind, swinging and
switching her tail, following the caravan farther and farther yet into
the endless vista of the plain.
“Tish-ah, tish-ah!” cried the grass.... “Tish-ah, tish-ah!” ...
II
The caravan seemed a miserably frail and Lilliputian thing as it crept
over the boundless prairie toward the sky line. Of road or trail there
lay not a trace ahead; as soon as the grass had straightened up again
behind, no one could have told the direction from which it had come
or whither it was bound. The whole train—Per Hansa with his wife and
children, the oxen, the wagons, the cow, and all—might just as well
have dropped down out of the sky. Nor was it at all impossible to
imagine that they were trying to get back there again; their course
was always the same—straight toward the west, straight toward the sky
line....
Poverty-stricken, unspeakably forlorn, the caravan creaked along,
advancing at a snail’s pace, deeper and deeper into a bluish-green
infinity—on and on, and always farther on.... It steered for Sunset
Land!...
For more than three weeks now, and well into the fourth, this caravan
had been crawling across the plain.... Early in the journey it had
passed through Blue Earth; it had left Chain Lakes behind; and one
fine day it had crept into Jackson, on the Des Moines River. But that
seemed ages ago.... From Jackson, after a short lay-up, it had pushed
on westward—always westward—to Worthington, then to Rock River.... A
little west of Rock River, Per Hansa had lost the trail completely.
Since then he had not been able to find it again; at this moment he
literally did not know where he was, nor how to get to the place he
had to reach. But Split Rock Creek must lie out there somewhere in the
sun; if he could only find that landmark, he could pick his way still
farther without much trouble.... Strange that he hadn’t reached Split
Rock Creek before this time! According to his directions, he should
have been there two or three days ago; but he hadn’t seen anything
that even looked like the place.... Oh, my God! If something didn’t
turn up soon!... My God!...
The wagons creaked and groaned. Per Hansa’s eyes wandered over the
plain. His bearded face swung constantly from side to side as he
examined every inch of ground from the northeast to the southwest.
At times he gave his whole attention to that part of the plain lying
between him and the western sky line; with head bent forward and eyes
fixed and searching, he would sniff the air, like an animal trying to
find the scent. Every now and then he glanced at an old silver watch
which he carried in his left hand; but his gaze would quickly wander
off again, to take up its fruitless search of the empty horizon.
It was now nearing six o’clock. Since three in the afternoon he had
been certain of his course; at that time he had taken his bearings
by means of his watch and the sun.... Out here one had to get one’s
cross-bearings from the very day itself—then trust to luck....
For a long while the little company had been silent. Per Hansa turned
halfway around, and without slackening his pace spoke to the boy
walking behind.
“Go back and drive for a while now, Ola[1].... You must talk to mother,
too, so that it won’t be so lonesome for her. And be sure to keep as
sharp a lookout as you can.”
[1] In most dialects of Norway the name Ole becomes Ola when spoken.
“I’m not tired yet!” said the boy, loath to leave the van.
“Go back, anyway! Maybe you’re not, but I can feel it beginning to tell
on me. We’ll have to start cooking the porridge pretty soon.... You go
back, and hold her on the sun for a while longer.”
“Do you think we’ll catch up with them to-night, Dad?” The boy was
still undecided.
“Good Lord, no! They’ve got too long a start on us.... Look sharp, now!
If you happen to see anything suspicious, sing out!” ... Per Hansa
glanced again at his watch, turned forward, and strode steadily onward.
Ole said no more; he stepped out of the track and stood there
waiting till the train came up. Then Store-Hans jumped down nimbly,
while the other climbed up and took his seat.
“Have you seen anything?” the mother asked in an anxious voice.
“Why, no ... not yet,” answered the boy, evasively.
“I wonder if we shall ever see them again,” she said, as if speaking to
herself, and looked down at the ground. “This seems to be taking us to
the end of the world ... beyond the end of the world!”
Store-Hans, who was still walking beside the wagon, heard what she said
and looked up at her. The buoyancy of childhood shone in his brown
face.... Too bad that mother should be so scared!...
“Yes, Mother, but when we’re both steering for the sun, we’ll both land
in the same place, won’t we?... The sun is a sure guide, you know!”
These were the very words which he had heard his father use the night
before; now he repeated them. To Store-Hans the truth of them seemed as
clear as the sun itself; in the first place, because dad had said it,
and then because it sounded so reasonable.
He hurried up alongside his father and laid his hand in his—he always
felt safer thus.
The two walked on side by side. Now and then the boy stole a glance
at the face beside him, which was as stern and fixed as the prairie
on which they were walking. He was anxious to talk, but couldn’t find
anything to say that sounded grown-up enough; and so he kept quiet. At
last, however, the silence grew too heavy for him to bear. He tried to
say indifferently, just like his father:
“When I’m a man and have horses, I’m going to make a road over these
plains, and ... and put up some posts for people to follow. Don’t you
think that’ll be a good idea?”
A slight chuckle came from the bearded face set toward the sun.
“Sure thing, Store-Hans—you’ll manage that all right.... I might
find time to help you an hour or two, now and then.”
The boy knew by his father’s voice that he was in a talkative mood.
This made him so glad, that he forgot himself and did something that
his mother always objected to; he began to whistle, and tried to take
just as long strides as his father. But he could only make the grass
say: “Swish-sh, swish-sh!”
On and on they went, farther out toward Sunset Land—farther into the
deep glow of the evening.
The mother had taken little Anna up in her lap and was now leaning
backward as much as she could; it gave such relief to her tired
muscles. The caresses of the child and her lively chatter made her
forget for a moment care and anxiety, and that vague sense of the
unknown which bore in on them so strongly from all directions.... Ole
sat there and drove like a full-grown man; by some means or other he
managed to get more speed out of the oxen than the mother had done—she
noticed this herself. His eyes were searching the prairie far and near.
Out on the sky line the huge plain now began to swell and rise, almost
as if an abscess were forming under the skin of the earth. Although
this elevation lay somewhat out of his course, Per Hansa swung over and
held straight toward the highest part of it.
The afternoon breeze lulled, and finally dropped off altogether. The
sun, whose golden lustre had faded imperceptibly into a reddish hue,
shone now with a dull light, yet strong and clear; in a short while,
deeper tones of violet began to creep across the red. The great ball
grew enormous; it retreated farther and farther into the empty reaches
of the western sky; then it sank suddenly.... The spell of evening
quickly crowded in and laid hold of them all; the oxen wagged their
ears; Rosie lifted her voice in a long moo, which died out slowly in
the great stillness. At the moment when the sun closed his eye, the
vastness of the plain seemed to rise up on every hand—and suddenly the
landscape had grown desolate; something bleak and cold had come into
the silence, filling it with terror.... Behind them, along the
way they had come, the plain lay dark green and lifeless, under the
gathering shadow of the dim, purple sky.
Ole sat motionless at his mother’s side. The falling of evening had
made such a deep impression on him that his throat felt dry; he wanted
to express some of the emotions that overwhelmed him, but only choked
when he tried.
“Did you ever see anything so beautiful!” he whispered at last, and
gave a heavy sigh.... Low down in the northwest, above the little hill,
a few fleecy clouds hovered, betokening fair weather; now they were
fringed with shining gold, which glowed with a mellow light. As if they
had no weight, they floated lightly there....
The mother drew herself forward to an upright position. She still held
the child in her lap. Per Hansa and Store-Hans were walking in the dusk
far up ahead. For the last two days Per had kept well in advance of the
caravan all the time; she thought she knew the reason why.
“Per,” she called out, wearily, “aren’t we going to stop soon?”
“Pretty soon.” ... He did not slacken his pace.
She shifted the child over into the other arm and began to weep
silently. Ole saw it, but pretended not to notice, though he had to
swallow big lumps that were forcing themselves up in his throat; he
kept his eyes resolutely fixed on the scene ahead.
“Dad,” he shouted after a while, “I see a wood over there to the
westward!”
“You do, do you? A great fellow you are! Store-Hans and I have seen
that for a long time now.”
“Whereabouts is it?” whispered Store-Hans, eagerly.
“It begins down there on the slope to the left, and then goes around on
the other side,” said his father. “Anyway, it doesn’t seem to be much
of a wood.”
“D’you think they are there?”
“Not on your life! But we’re keeping the right course, anyhow.”
“Have the others been this way?”
“Of course they have—somewhere near, at any rate. There’s supposed
to be a creek around here, by the name of Split Rock Creek, or whatever
they call it in English.”
“Are there any people here, do you think?”
“People? Good Lord, no! There isn’t a soul around these parts.”
The sombre blue haze was now closing rapidly in on the caravan. One
sensed the night near at hand; it breathed a chill as it came.
At last Per Hansa halted. “Well, I suppose we can’t drive any farther
to-day. We and the animals would both drop pretty soon.” With these
words he faced the oxen, held his arms straight out like the horizontal
beam of a cross, shouted a long-drawn “Whoa!”—and then the creaking
stopped for that day.
III
The preparations for the night were soon made; each had his own task
and was now well used to it. Store-Hans brought the wood; it lay
strapped under the hind wagon and consisted of small logs and dry
branches from the last thicket they had passed.
Ole got the fireplace ready. From the last wagon he brought out two
iron rods, cleft in one end; these he drove into the ground and then
went back to the wagon for a third rod, which he laid across the other
two. It was also his duty to see that there was water enough in the
keg, no matter where they happened to stop; for the rest of it, he was
on hand to help his mother.
The father tended to the cattle. First he lifted the yoke off the oxen
and turned them loose; then he milked Rosie and let her go also. After
that he made up a bed for the whole family under the wagon.
While the mother waited for the pot to boil she set the table. She
spread a home-woven blanket on the ground, laid a spoon for each one on
it, placed a couple of bowls for the milk, and fetched the dishes for
the porridge. Meanwhile she had to keep an eye on And-Ongen, who
was toddling about in the grass near by. The child stumbled, laughed,
lay there a moment chattering to herself, then got up, only to trip on
her skirt and tumble headlong again. Her prattling laughter rang on the
evening air. Now and then the voice of the mother would mingle with it,
warning the child not to stray too far.
Store-Hans was the first to get through with his task; he stood around
awhile, but, finding nothing more to do, he strolled off westward. He
was itching to know how far it was to the hill out there; it would be
great fun to see what things looked like on the other side!... Now he
started off in that direction. Perhaps he might come across the others?
They surely must be somewhere. Just think, if he could only find them!
He would yell and rush in on them like an Indian—and then they would be
scared out of their senses!... He had gone quite far before he paused
to look back. When he did so the sight sent a shiver over him; the
wagons had shrunk to two small specks, away off on the floor of a huge,
dusky room.... I’d better hurry at once, he thought; mother will surely
have the porridge ready by this time! His legs had already adopted the
idea of their own accord. But thoughts of his mother and the porridge
didn’t quite bring him all the feeling of safety he needed; he hunted
through his mind for a few strains of a hymn, and sang them over and
over in a high-pitched, breaking voice, until he had no more breath
left to sing with.... He didn’t feel entirely safe until the wagons had
begun to assume their natural size once more.
The mother called to them that supper was ready. On the blanket stood
two dishes of porridge—a large dish for the father and the two boys, a
smaller one for the mother and And-Ongen. The evening milk was divided
between two bowls, and set before them; Rosie, poor thing, was not
giving much these days! The father said that he didn’t care for milk
this evening, either; it had a tangy taste, he thought; and he drank
water with his porridge. But when Ole also began to complain of the
tangy taste and asked for water, the father grew stern and ordered
him to go ahead and get that drop of milk down as quick as he could!
There was nothing else on the table but milk and porridge.
Suddenly Ole and Store-Hans flared up in a quarrel; one blamed the
other for eating too close to the edge, where the porridge was coolest.
The father paused in his meal, listening to them a moment, then
chuckled to himself. Taking his spoon and cutting three lines through
the crust of the porridge, he quickly settled the matter between them.
“There you are! Here, Store-Hans, is your land; now take it and be
satisfied. Ola, who is the biggest, gets another forty.... Shut up your
mouths, now, and eat!” Per Hansa himself got the smallest share that
evening.
Aside from this outbreak it was quiet at the table. A spell of silence
lay upon them and they were not able to throw it off.... As soon as the
father had eaten he licked his spoon carefully, wiped it off on his
shirt sleeve, and threw it on the blanket. The boys did likewise as
they finished; but And-Ongen wanted to tuck her spoon in her dress and
keep it there till morning.
They sat around in the same silence after they were done. Then she who
was the smallest of them repeated in a tiny voice:
“Thanks to Thee, Our Lord and Maker....
“Now I want to go to sleep in your lap!” she said, after the Amen. She
climbed up into her mother’s lap and threw her arms around her neck.
“Oh, how quickly it grows dark out here!” the mother murmured.
Per Hansa gave a care-free shrug of his shoulders. “Well,” he said,
dryly, “the sooner the day’s over, the sooner the next day comes!”
But now something seemed to be brewing back there over the prairie
whence they had come. Up from the horizon swelled a supernatural
light—a glow of pale yellow and transparent green, mingled with strange
touches of red and gold. It spread upward as they watched; the colors
deepened; the glow grew stronger, like the witching light of a fen
fire.
All sat silently gazing. It was And-Ongen, hanging around her mother’s
neck, who first found her voice.
“Oh, look!... She is coming up again!”
In solemn grandeur the moon swung up above the plain. She had been with
them many nights now; but each time she seemed as wonderful a sight
as ever. To-night a hush fell on their spirits as they watched her
rise—just as the scene had hushed them the evening before, far away to
the eastward somewhere on the plain. The silvery beams grew stronger;
the first pale fen fire began to shimmer and spread; slowly the light
mellowed into a mist of green and yellow and blue. And-Ongen exclaimed
that the moon was much bigger to-night; but it had seemed bigger the
night before also. Store-Hans again solemnly told her the reason for
it—that the moon had to grow, just as she did! This seemed to her quite
logical; she turned to her mother and asked whether the moon had milk
and porridge every evening, too.
Per Hansa had been sitting on the tongue of the wagon, smoking his
pipe. Now he got up, knocked out the ashes carefully, put his pipe in
his pocket, and wound up his watch. These duties done, he gave the
order to turn in for the night.
A little while later they all lay under the quilts, gazing off into the
opalescent glow. When the mother thought that the children had gone to
sleep she asked, soberly:
“Do you suppose we’ll ever find the others again?”
“Oh yes—I’m sure of it ... if they haven’t sunk through the ground!”
This was all Per Hansa said. He yawned once or twice, long and heavily,
as if he were very sleepy, and turned away from her.
... After that she said no more, either.
IV
Truth to tell, Per Hansa was not a bit sleepy. For a long while he lay
wide awake, staring into the night. Although the evening had grown
cool, sweat started out on his body from time to time, as thoughts
which he could not banish persisted in his mind.
He had good reason to sweat, at all the things he was forced to lie
there and remember. Nor was it only to-night that these heavy thoughts
came to trouble him; it had been just the same all through the day,
and last night, too, and the night before. And now, the moment he had
lain down, they had seized upon him with renewed strength; he recalled
keenly all the scruples and misgivings that had obsessed his wife
before they had started out on this long journey—both those which
had been spoken and those which had been left unsaid. The latter had
been the worst; they had seemed to grow deeper and more tragic as he
had kept prying into them in his clumsy way.... But she wasn’t a bit
stupid, that wife of his! As a matter of fact, she had more sense than
most people. Indeed she had!
... No, it wasn’t a pleasant situation for Per Hansa, by any means.
He had not seen a happy moment, day or night, since the mishap had
struck them on the second afternoon this side of Jackson. There the
first wagon had got stuck in a mud hole; in pulling it out they had
wrecked it so hopelessly that he had been forced to put back to Jackson
for repairs. Under the circumstances, it had seemed to him utterly
senseless to hold up all the rest of the company four days. He simply
wouldn’t listen to their waiting for him; for they had houses to build
and fields to break, if they were to get anything into the ground this
season. They must go on without him; he’d come along all right, in his
own good time.... So they had given him full instructions about the
course he was to follow and the halting places where he was to stop for
the night; it had all seemed so simple to him at the time. Then they
had started on together—Tönseten, who knew the way, and Hans Olsa, and
the two Solum boys. They all had horses and strong new wagons. They
travelled fast, those fellows!...
If he only had paid some attention to Hans Olsa, who for a long while
had insisted on waiting for him. But he had overruled all their
objections; it was entirely his own doing that Hans Olsa and the others
had gone on, leaving him behind.
But he soon had learned that it wasn’t so easy. Hadn’t he lost his way
altogether the other day, in the midst of a fog and drizzling rain?
Until late in the afternoon that day he hadn’t had the faintest idea
what direction he was taking. It had been after this experience that he
had formed the habit of keeping so far ahead of the caravan. He simply
couldn’t endure listening to her constant questions—questions which he
found himself unable to answer....
The only thing he felt sure of was that he wasn’t on the right track;
otherwise he would have come across the traces of their camps. It
was getting to be a matter of life and death to him to find the
trail—and find it soon.... A devil of a jaunt it would be to the
Pacific Ocean—the wagon would never hold out _that_ long!... Oh yes,
he realized it all too well—a matter of life and death. There weren’t
many supplies left in the wagon. He had depended on his old comrade and
Lofot-man,[2] Hans Olsa, for everything.
[2] A companion on the winter fishing grounds at the Lofoten Islands.
Per Hansa heaved a deep sigh; it came out before he could stop it....
Huh!—it was an easy matter enough for Hans Olsa! He had ample means,
and could start out on a big scale from the beginning; he had a wife
in whose heart there wasn’t a speck of fear!... The Lord only knew
where they were now—whether they were east or west of him! And they had
Tönseten, too, and his wife Kjersti,[3] both of them used to America.
Why, they could talk the language and everything....
[3] The combination _kj_ in this name is pronounced like _ch_ in
_church_; the final _i_ has the sound of _y_ in _godly_.
And then there were the Solum boys, who had actually been born in this
country.... Indeed, east or west, it made no difference to them where
they lay that night.
But here was he, the newcomer, who owned nothing and knew nothing,
groping about with his dear ones in the endless wilderness!... Beret
had taken such a dislike to this journey, too—although in many ways
she was the more sensible of the two.... Well, he certainly had fixed
up a nice mess for himself, and no mistake!
He wondered why he had ever left Fillmore County; as he lay there
thinking it over, he couldn’t understand what had prompted him to do
such a thing. He could easily have found a job there and stayed until
his wife got up from childbed; then he could have moved west next
spring. This had been what she had wanted, though she had never said it
in so many words.
The quilt had grown oppressively heavy; he threw it aside.... How long
it took her to go to sleep to-night! Why wouldn’t she try to get as
much rest as possible? Surely she knew that it would be another tough
day to-morrow?...
... Just so that confounded wagon didn’t go to pieces again!...
V
The night wore on. The children slept quietly and peacefully. The
mother also seemed to have found rest at last. Per Hansa thought that
she was sound asleep; he began to move slowly away from her. He threw
his hand over on the quilt between them as if making a motion in his
sleep.... No, she didn’t stir; he lay quiet for a while, then moved
again. In so doing his hand happened to fall on that of Store-Hans;
it was so chubby and round, that hand, so healthy and warm, and quite
firm for the hand of only a child. Per Hansa lay still for a long time,
holding the boy’s hand with a desperate earnestness.... Slowly the
troublesome thoughts seemed to lighten and lift; his courage ebbed back
again; surely everything would come out all right in the end!
Little by little he slipped the quilt off, crept out of bed as quietly
as a mouse, got into his trousers, and pulled on his shoes.
Outside, the misty sheen of the moonlight shimmered so brightly
that it blinded him. Near at hand, the prairie was bathed in a flood
of tarnished green; farther off the faint blue tones began to appear,
merging gradually into the purple dimness that shrouded all the horizon.
Per Hansa looked for the North Star, found it, turned about until he
had it over his right shoulder; then he glanced at his watch, took a
few steps, hesitated, and looked back as if taking a bearing of the
wagons and the star. The next moment he faced about resolutely, and
hurried off westward.
It felt good to be moving again; he almost broke into a trot. There
were the oxen, busily grazing; they needed to get their fill all right,
poor devils!... Rosie lay closer to the wagons; his eyes had passed
over her at first, a dark spot in the vague, deceptive light. The cow
must have noticed the shadow gliding along so swiftly; she gave a long
moo.... This enraged Per Hansa; he broke into a run and got out of her
sight as quickly as he could, for fear she would moo again.... If she
only hadn’t waked Beret!
He set his course toward the point where he thought the crest of the
ridge must lie. Now and then he stopped and looked around, to find out
if he could still see the wagons. When he had lost them at last, and
they were wholly swallowed up in the night, he gave an involuntary
gasp—but clenched his teeth and went on.
The ridge lay farther off than he had thought. He had walked for a
solid hour before he finally reached what he felt to be the highest
point; he reckoned that he must be at least four miles from camp....
There he fell to examining the ground carefully; but first of all he
looked at his watch again, and then at the North Star and the moon,
trying to fix the bearings of the camp in his mind.
On the other side of the ridge the lay of the land seemed to be
different; the slope was a little steeper; a thick underbrush covered
it; through the tall bushes the moonlight shimmered strangely....
Per Hansa felt no fear, but every sense within him was alert. First
he searched the northerly slope of the hill, beyond the edge of the
thicket, stooping over as he went, his eyes scanning every foot of the
ground. When he had found no trace of what he was looking for, he
came back to the same starting point and searched an equal distance in
the opposite direction; but he discovered nothing on this tack, either.
Now he began to walk along the edge of the thicket, in and out,
crisscrossing the line in every direction; he pushed his way into each
little grassless opening, and kicked over the earth there, before he
went on. Sweat was running off him in streams. A quarter of an hour
went by; he was still searching frantically.... All at once, right
at the edge of the woods, he struck a piece of level ground with a
larger clearing on it; in the middle of this clearing lay a wide, round
patch in the grass. Per Hansa threw himself down on his knees, like a
miser who has found a costly treasure; he bent over and sniffed the
ground. His blood throbbed; his hands shook as he dug.... Yes, he was
right—here there had been a fire! It couldn’t have been many days ago,
either; the smell of the ashes was still fresh.... His eyes had grown
so moist and dim that he had to wipe them.... But he wasn’t crying—no,
not yet!...
He began to crawl around on all fours, farther and farther down the
slope. Suddenly he stopped, sat up on his haunches, and held something
in his hand that he was examining closely....
“I’ll be damned if it isn’t fresh horse dung!” ... His voice rang
with a great joy. He tried the stuff between his fingers—crumbled it,
sniffed at it ... there was no doubting the fact any longer.
Now he got up, walking erectly with a confident step, like a man who
has just made a lucky strike, and began to search along the whole
slope.... He might as well go ahead and find the ford to-night; then he
wouldn’t be delayed by hunting for it in the morning. The underbrush
thickened as he made his way down the slope.... Here, then, was Split
Rock Creek; and here they had camped, as Tönseten had said they
would!...
Once he had reached the edge of the creek, it did not take him long to
find the ford that the others had used; the ruts still stood there
plainly, as fresh and deep as if they had been made that very day. For
a while he paused at the edge of the water, and looked about him....
Had they chosen the best crossing, after all? The bank of the creek on
the other side formed a bend; the brink looked pretty steep. At last
he waded out into the water, with his shoes still on.... Oh, well, the
grade wasn’t so steep that the oxen couldn’t easily make it; there
would be a bad jolt here at the edge, but after that they would have an
even slope up the bank.... Stepping out on the opposite shore, he stood
as if rooted to the ground.
... “What in the devil...!”
Per Hansa bent over and picked up the object that lay before him; he
held it out in the moonlight, turned it over and over in his hands,
smelled of it ... then took a bite.
... “By God! if it isn’t one of Hans Olsa’s dried mutton legs!”
He straightened himself up and gazed with deep thankfulness into the
quivering bluish-green haze that glowed all around him.... “Yes, that’s
the way it goes, when people have more than they can take care of!”
... He stuck the mutton leg under his arm; whistling a love ballad of
Nordland, which seemed to have come into his mind unconsciously, he
crossed the creek again.
On the way back he took his own time. Nothing mattered now; the night
was fair and mild; his aching weariness was gone; he felt refreshed
and strengthened. His wife and children were sleeping safe and sound;
of food they still had supplies for a couple of weeks; and now he had
found the trail again and could be certain of it all the way to Sioux
Falls.... That wretched wagon was the only difficulty; it would have to
hang together for a few days more!...
When he drew near enough to the wagons to make them out clearly in the
moonlight, he slackened his pace, and a shiver passed over him.
Wasn’t some one sitting there on the wagon tongue? Surely that was a
human form?
In growing apprehension, he hurried on.
“Good Heavens, Beret! What are you doing out here in the middle
of the night?” His voice was full of alarm, yet softened by his great
concern for her.
“It felt so awful to lie there alone, after you had gone.... I could
hardly breathe ... so I got up.”
The words came with difficulty; he realized that her voice was hoarse
with weeping; he had to pull himself sharply together in order to keep
his own tears back.
“Were you awake, Beret?... You shouldn’t lie awake that way in the
night!” he said, reproachfully.
“How can I sleep?... You lie there tossing back and forth, and say
nothing!... You might have told me. I know very well what’s the matter!”
Suddenly she could stand it no longer. She ran over to him, flung her
arms around his neck, and leaned close against him. The dam of her
pent-up tears broke in a flood of emotion; she wept long and bitterly.
“Now calm yourself, dear.... You must calm yourself, Beret-girl!” ...
He had put his arm lovingly around her, but found it hard to speak....
“Don’t you see that I’ve got one of Hans Olsa’s dried mutton legs under
my arm?” ...
... That night Per Hansa was good to his wife.
II. Home-founding
I
On the side of a hill, which sloped gently away toward the southeast
and followed with many windings a creek that wormed its way across the
prairie, stood Hans Olsa, laying turf. He was building a sod house. The
walls had now risen breast-high; in its half-finished condition, the
structure resembled more a bulwark against some enemy than anything
intended to be a human habitation. And the great heaps of cut sod,
piled up in each corner, might well have been the stores of ammunition
for defence of the stronghold.
For a man of his strength and massive build, his motions were unusually
quick and agile; but he worked by fits and starts to-day. At times he
stopped altogether; in these pauses he would straighten himself up and
draw his sleeve with a quick stroke across his troubled face; with each
stroke the sleeve would come away damper; and standing so, he would fix
his gaze intently on the prairie to the eastward. His eyes had wandered
so often now over the stretch of land lying before them, that they were
familiar with every tussock and hollow.... No—nothing in sight yet!...
He would resume his task, as if to make up for lost time, and work hard
for a spell; only to forget himself once more, pause involuntarily, and
stand inert and abstracted, gazing off into the distance.
Beyond the house a tent had been pitched; a wagon was drawn up close
beside it. On the ground outside of the tent stood a stove, a couple
of chairs, and a few other rough articles of furniture. A stout,
healthy-looking woman, whose face radiated an air of simple wisdom and
kindliness, was busy preparing the midday meal. She sang to herself as
she worked. A ten-year-old girl, addressed by the woman as Sofie, was
helping her. Now and then the girl would take up the tune and join in
the singing.
Less than a quarter of a mile away, in a southeasterly direction, a
finished sod house rose on the slope of the hill. Smoke was winding up
from it at this moment. This house, which had been built the previous
fall, belonged to Syvert Tönseten.
Some distance north from the place where Hans Olsa had located, two
other sod houses were under construction; but a hillock lay between,
so that he could not see them from where he stood. There the two Solum
boys had driven down their stakes and had begun building. Tönseten’s
completed house, and the other three half-finished ones, marked the
beginning of the settlement on Spring Creek.
The woman who had been bustling about preparing the meal, now called
to her husband that dinner was ready—he must come at once! He answered
her, straightened up for the hundredth time, wiped his hands on his
trousers, and stood for a moment gazing off eastward.... No use to
look—not a soul in sight yet!... He sighed heavily, and walked with
slow steps toward the tent, his eyes on the ground.
It was light and airy inside the tent, but stifling hot, because of the
unobstructed sunlight beating down upon it. Two beds were ranged along
the wall, both of them homemade; a big emigrant chest stood at the
head of each. Nails had been driven into the centre pole of the tent,
on which hung clothing; higher up a crosspiece, securely fastened, was
likewise hung with clothes. Two of the walls were lined with furniture;
on these pieces the dishes were displayed, all neatly arranged.
A large basin of water stood on a chair just inside the tent door. Hans
Olsa washed his face and hands; then he came out and sat down on
the ground, where his wife had spread the table. It was so much cooler
outside. The meal was all ready; both mother and daughter had been
waiting for him.
“I suppose you haven’t seen any signs of them yet?” his wife asked at
last.
“No—nothing at all!”
“Can you imagine what has become of them?”
“The Lord forgive us—if I only knew!”
Her husband looked so anxious that she asked no more questions. Out
of her kind heart rose a hopeful, “Don’t worry, they’ll get here all
right!” ... But in spite of the cheerfulness of the words, she could
not give them that ring of buoyant confidence which she would have
liked to show.
... “Of course!” said the girl with a laugh. “Store-Hans and Ola have
two good pairs of eyes. Leave it to them—they’ll find us!”
The father gave her a stern glance; he didn’t tell her in words to
stop her foolish chatter—but she said no more. Without speaking once,
he ate his dinner. As soon as he had finished, he tossed his spoon on
the blanket, thanked them for the food, got up gloomily, and went back
to the hal-fcompleted wall. There he sat down awhile, as if lost in
thought ... gazing eastward. His large, rugged features were drawn and
furrowed with anxiety.... “God Almighty!” he sighed, and folded his big
hands. “What can have become of Per Hansa?”
His wife was watching him closely as he sat there on the wall. By and
by she told her daughter to finish washing the dishes, and started to
go over where he was. When he saw her coming, he tried to begin working
as if there were nothing on his mind.
“Hans,” she said, quickly, when she had reached his side, “I think you
ought to go out and look for them!”
He waited until he had got a strip of sod in place before he answered:
“Easier said than done ... when we haven’t the faintest idea where to
look ... on such stretches of prairie!”
“Yes, I know; but it would make us all feel better, anyway ... as
if we were doing something.”
Hans Olsa laid another strip of turf; then he stopped, let his hands
fall to his sides, and began thinking aloud as he gazed off into the
distance....
“I know this much—you don’t often find a smarter fellow than Per
Hansa.... That’s what makes it so queer! I don’t suppose he’s able to
get much speed out of his oxen; but one thing I’m certain of—he has
been hurrying as fast as he could. And we surely didn’t come along very
fast ... but now it’s the fifth day since we arrived here! If he made
use of these bright moonlight nights, as he probably did, I begin to be
afraid that he’s gone on west of us somewhere, instead of being still
to the eastward.... It’s certainly no child’s play to start looking for
him!”
Hans Olsa slumped down on the wall, the picture of dejection. His wife
quickly found a place beside him. Together they sat there in silence.
The same fear that she felt him struggling with, a fear thrown into
sharp relief by the things he had just been saying, had long since
gripped her heart also.
“I feel so sorry for Beret, poor thing ... and the children. You must
remember, though, that he couldn’t go very fast on account of her
condition.... I think she is with child again!” She paused. “I dreamed
about them last night ... a bad dream....”
Her husband glanced sidewise at her. “We mustn’t pay attention to such
things. A bad dream is a good sign, anyway—that’s what my mother always
said.... But I suppose I’ll never forgive myself for not waiting for
him.” He got up heavily and laid another strip of turf. “He’s always
been like that, Per Hansa; he never would take help from any man. But
this time he’s carried it a little too far!”
His wife made no answer. She was watching a short stout man with a
reddish beard who had started up the slope from the direction of the
house to the south of them. He had cheeks like two rosy apples, a quick
step, and eyes that flitted all about; he was noted among them for
his glib tongue and the flood of his conversation. With hands stuck
into the waistband of his trousers, and elbows out akimbo, the man
looked half as broad again as he really was.
“Here comes Tönseten,” said the woman. “Why don’t you talk it over with
him? I really think you ought to go out and look for them.”
“Seen anything of them yet, Hans Olsa?” asked the man, without further
greeting, as soon as he arrived.... “Well, well! this looks fine! Ha,
ha! It’s a warm house, you know, that’s built by the aid of a woman’s
hand.”
Hans Olsa wheeled on him. “You haven’t caught sight of them yourself,
Syvert, have you?”
“Caught sight of them? Why, man alive, that’s just what I’ve come up
here to tell you! I’ve had them in sight for over an hour now. Seems
to me you ought to be able to see them easy enough—you who carry your
eyes so high up in the air!... Good Lord! it won’t be long before they
arrive here, at the rate they’re coming!”
“What’s that you say?” the others burst out with one voice.... “Where
are they?” ...
“I reckon Per Hansa must have got off his course a little. Maybe the
oxen didn’t steer well, or maybe he didn’t figure the current right....
Look to the westward, neighbours! Look over there about west-northwest,
and you’ll see him plain enough.... No need to worry. That fellow never
would drown in such shallow water as this!... I wonder, now, how far
west he’s really been?”
Hans Olsa and his wife faced around in the direction that Tönseten had
indicated. Sure enough, out of the west a little caravan was crawling
up toward them on the prairie.
“Can that be them?... I really believe it is!” said Hans Olsa in a half
whisper, as if hardly daring yet to give vent to his joy.
“_Of course_ it is!” cried his wife, excitedly.... “Thank God!”
“Not the least doubt of it,” Tönseten assured them. “You might as
well go and put your coffeepot on the stove, Mother Sörrina![4]
That Kjersti of mine is coming over pretty soon; she’ll probably have
something good tucked under her apron.... In half an hour we’ll have
the lost sheep back in the fold!”
[4] The name properly is Sörine, with the accent on the second
syllable; but in the dialect of Helgeland it is pronounced Sörrina,
with the accent on the first. These people all came from the district
of Helgeland, in Norway.
“Yes! Heavens and earth, Sörrina!” cried Hans Olsa, “fetch out the best
you’ve got!... Per, Per, is it really you, old boy?... But why are you
coming from the west, I’d like to know?”
Tönseten coughed, and gave the woman a sly wink.
“Look here, Mother Sörrina,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes, “won’t
you be good enough, please, to take a peek at Hans Olsa’s Sunday
bottle?... Not that _I_ want anything to drink, you understand—I should
say not. Good Lord, no! But think of that poor woman out there, who
has been suffering all this time without a drop! And I’d be willing to
bet that Per Hansa wouldn’t object to having his stomach warmed up a
little, too!”
At that they burst out laughing, from mingled joy and relief; but
Tönseten’s laughter at his own joke was the loudest of all.... Work was
resumed at once; Syvert began to carry the sods for Hans Olsa to lay
up, while Mother Sörrina went off in a happy frame of mind, to make her
preparations for the reception of the wanderers.
Before the half hour allotted by Tönseten had passed, the caravan came
slowly crawling up the slope. Per Hansa still strode in the van, with
Store-Hans at his side; Ole walked abreast of the oxen, driving them
with the goad. Beret and And-Ongen sat in the wagon. Rosie came jogging
along behind at her own gait; she gave a loud, prolonged “moo-o-o-o” as
she discovered the other animals across the prairie.
Both families stood ready to receive them; Hans Olsa and Sörine,
Tönseten and his Kjersti, all watching intently the movements of the
approaching company; but the girl couldn’t possess her patience
any longer, and ran down to meet the new arrivals. She took Store-Hans
by the hand and fell in beside him; the first question she asked was
whether he hadn’t been terribly scared at night?...
As the slope of the hill grew steeper, the oxen had to bend to the yoke.
“Hey, there, folks!” shouted Per Hansa, boisterously. “Don’t be
standing around loafing, now! It’s only the middle of the afternoon.
Haven’t you got anything to do around here?”
“Coffee time, coffee time, Per Hansa ... ha, ha, ha!” Tönseten was
bubbling over with good spirits. “We thought we might as well wait a
little while for you, you know.”
... “You’ve found us at last!” said Hans Olsa, with a deep, happy
chuckle.... He didn’t seem able to let go of Per Hansa’s hand.
“Found you? Why, devil take it, it’s no trick to follow a course out
here! You just have to keep on steering straight ahead. And you had
marked the trail pretty well, all the way along. I found plenty of
traces of you.... I guess we stood a little too far to the westward,
between Sioux Falls and here; that’s how it happened.... So this is the
place, is it?... The pastures of Goshen in the land of Egypt—eh?”
“Just so, just so!” cried Tönseten, nodding and laughing. “Pastures
of Goshen—right you are! That’s exactly what we are going to call the
place—_Goshen_—if only you haven’t sailed in to mix things up for us!”
...
Beret and the child had now got down from the wagon; the other two
women hovered around her, drawing her toward the tent. But she hung
back for a moment; she wanted to stop and look around.
... Was this the place?... _Here!..._ Could it be possible?... She
stole a glance at the others, at the half-completed hut, then turned
to look more closely at the group standing around her; and suddenly it
struck her that _here something was about to go wrong_.... For several
days she had sensed this same feeling; she could not seem to tear
herself loose from the grip of it.... A great lump kept coming up
in her throat; she swallowed hard to keep it back, and forced herself
to look calm. Surely, surely, she mustn’t give way to her tears now, in
the midst of all this joy....
Then she followed the other two women into the tent; seeing a chair,
she sank down in it, as if her strength had gone!
Sörine was patting her on the shoulder.... “Come, get your things off,
Beret. You ought to loosen up your clothes, you know. Just throw this
dress of mine around you.... Here’s the water to wash yourself in. Let
down your hair, and take your time about it.... Don’t mind Kjersti and
me being around.”
After they had bustled about for a little while the others left her.
The moment they had gone she jumped up and crossed the tent, to look
out of the door.... How will human beings be able to endure this
place? she thought. Why, there isn’t even a thing that one can _hide
behind_!... Her sensitive, rather beautiful face was full of blank
dismay; she turned away from the door and began to loosen her dress;
then her eyes fell on the centre pole with its crosspiece, hung with
clothes, and she stood a moment irresolute, gazing at it in startled
fright.... It looked like the giants she had read about as a child; for
a long while she was unable to banish the picture from her mind.
Outside the tent, Ole stood with his hand resting on one of the oxen.
He was disgusted; the older people seemed to have clean forgotten his
existence. They never would get done talking—when he, too, might have
had a word to put in!...
“Hadn’t we better unhitch the oxen, Dad?”
“Yes, yes—that’s right, Ola. We might as well camp down here for the
night, since we’ve run across some folks we used to know.... How about
it, you fellows?” He turned to the other two. “I suppose there’s a
little more land left around here, isn’t there, after you’ve got
through?”
“_Land_? Good God! Per Hansa, what are you talking about? Take whatever
you please, from here to the Pacific Ocean!” Tönseten’s enthusiasm
got so far away with him that he had to pull one of his hands out of
his waistband and make a sweeping circle with it in the air.
“You must take a look around as soon as you can,” Hans Olsa said, “and
see if you find anything better that meets your fancy. In the meanwhile
I’ve put down a stake for you on the quarter section that lies north
of mine. We’ll go over and have a look at it pretty soon. Sam Solum
wanted it, but I told him he’d better leave it till you came.... You
see, you would be next to the creek there; and then you and I would
be the nearest neighbours, just as we’ve always planned. It makes no
particular difference to Sam; he can take the quarter alongside his
brother’s.”
Per Hansa drew a deep breath, as if filling himself with life’s great
goodness.... Here Hans Olsa had been worrying about him, and with
kindly forethought had arranged everything to his advantage!... “Well,
well, we’ll have to settle all that later, Hans Olsa. For the present,
I can only say that I’m deeply thankful to you!... Unhitch the beasts,
there, Ola!... And now, if you folks have got anything handy, to either
eat or drink, I’ll accept it with pleasure.”
... “Or _both_, Per Hansa!” put in Tönseten, excitedly.
“Yes, both, Syvert. I won’t refuse!”
Soon they were all gathered around a white cloth which Mother Sörine
had spread on the ground. On one side of it lay a whole leg of dried
mutton; on the other a large heap of _flatbröd_, with cheese, bread,
and butter; in the centre of the cloth stood a large bowl of sweet
milk, and from the direction of the stove the breeze wafted to them a
pleasant odour of fried bacon and strong coffee. Mother Sörine herself
took charge of the ceremony, bringing the food and urging them all
to sit down. The stocky figure of Per Hansa rocked back and forth in
blissful delight as he squatted there with his legs crossed under him.
“Come, Sörrina, sit down!” he cried. “I guess we’ve fallen in with
gentlefolks, by the looks of things around here.... I suppose you
think you’re old Pharaoh himself—eh, Hans Olsa?”
“Who do you call me, then?” inquired Tönseten.
“You, Syvert? Well, now, I really don’t know what to say. Of
course you’d like to be His Majesty’s butler, but you mustn’t be
encouraged—remember what happened to that poor fellow!... I think we’d
better make you the baker—it might be safer, all around. What’s your
idea, Hans Olsa?”
By this time they were all laughing together.
In the midst of the jollification came Sörine, carrying a plate with
a large bottle and a dram glass[5] on it.... “Here, take this off my
hands, Hans Olsa—you will know what to do with it!”
[5] This bottle and glass would have been old family pieces from
Norway, the bottle shaped something like an hourglass, with a
contraction in the middle to be grasped by the hand.
Tönseten fairly bubbled over in his admiration for her:
“Oh, you sweet Sörrina-girl!—you’re dearer to my heart than a hundred
women!... What a blessing it must be, to have a wife like that!”
“Stop your foolishness!” said Kjersti, but her voice didn’t sound too
severe.
For a long while they continued to sit around the cloth, chatting,
eating, and drinking, and thoroughly enjoying themselves. Hans Olsa
seemed like a different man from the one who had eaten here at noon.
His loud voice led the cheerful talk; his ponderous bulk was always the
centre of the merriment; it seemed as if he would never tire of gazing
into that bearded, roguish face of Per Hansa’s.
Once, as Per Hansa was slicing off a piece of mutton, he regarded the
cut thoughtfully, and asked:
“I suppose you brought all your supplies through safe enough?”
“Oh, sure,” answered Hans Olsa, innocently. “We had no trouble at
all—didn’t lose anything; that is, except for the leg that we left
behind somewhere, east on the prairie. But that’s hardly worth
mentioning.”
Per Hansa paused with the piece of meat halfway to his mouth, and
looked at Sörine with an expression of deep concern:
“The devil you say! Did you lose one of your legs...?”
Mother Sörine laughed heartily at him. “Oh no—not quite so bad as
that.... But a leg of mutton might come in handy later on, I’ll tell
you; there aren’t too many of them to be had around here.”
Per Hansa chewed away on the meat and looked very serious. At last he
said:
“That’s always the way with folks who have more of the world’s goods
than they can take care.... But I’ll promise you one thing, Sörrina: if
I can get my old blunderbuss to work, you’re going to have your lost
leg back again.... How about it, fellows? Have you seen any game that’s
fit to eat out here?”
III
They sat on until the first blue haze of evening began to spread
eastward over the plain. The talk had now drifted to questions of a
more serious nature, mostly concerned with how they should manage
things out here; of their immediate prospects; of what the future might
hold in store for them; of land and crops, and of the new kingdom which
they were about to found.... No one put the thought into words, but
they all felt it strongly; now they had gone back to the very beginning
of things....
As the evening shadows deepened the conversation gradually died away
into silence. A peculiar mood came drifting in with the dusk. It seemed
to float on the evening breeze, to issue forth out of the heart of the
untamed nature round about them; it lurked in the very vastness and
endlessness surrounding them on every hand; it even seemed to rise like
an impalpable mist out of the ground on which they sat.
This mood brought vague premonitions to them, difficult to
interpret.... No telling what might happen out here ... for almost
anything _could_ happen!...
They were so far from the world ... cut off from the haunts of their
fellow beings ... so terribly far!...
The faces that gazed into one another were sober now, as silence
claimed the little company; but lines of strength and determination on
nearly every countenance told of an inward resolve to keep the mood of
depression from gaining full control.
Per Hansa was the first to rouse himself and throw off the spell. He
jumped up with nervous energy; a shiver passed over him, as if he were
having a chill.
“What is it—are you cold?” asked his wife. She had instinctively sensed
his mood as she looked at him—and loved him better for it. Until that
moment, she had supposed that she herself was the only one who felt
this peculiar influence.
“Such crazy talk!” he burst out. “I believe we’ve all lost our senses,
every last one of us! Here we sit around celebrating in broad daylight,
in the middle of summer, as if it was the Christmas holidays!... Come
on, woman, let’s go over to our new home!”
Everyone got up.
“You must do exactly as you please about it, Per Hansa,” spoke up
Hans Olsa with an apologetic air. “Don’t feel that you must take this
quarter if you don’t like it. But as far as I can see, it’s as good
a piece of land as you could find anywhere around—every square foot
of it plowland, except the hill over there. Plenty of water for both
man and beast.... As for my part, if I can only sit here between you
and Syvert, I certainly won’t be kicking about my neighbours.... But
I don’t want you to feel that you have to take this quarter on my
account, you understand.... If you do take it, though, we must get one
of the Solum boys to go down to Sioux Falls with you the first thing
to-morrow, so that you can file your claim. You’ll have to do that in
any case, you know, whichever quarter you take.... There’s likely to
be a lot of people moving into this region before the snow flies;
we five oughtn’t to part company or let anyone get in between us....
You’ve heard my best advice, anyway.”
“Now, that’s the talk!” Tönseten chimed in, briskly. “And considering
the size of the head it comes from, it isn’t half bad, either. You’re
damned well right, Hans Olsa. Before the snow flies you’re going to
see such a multitude swarming around these parts, that the thundering
place won’t be fit to live in! Remember what I say, boys, in times to
come—bear it in mind that those were Syvert’s very words!... You’ve
got to go straight to Sioux Falls to-morrow morning, Per Hansa, and no
two ways about it! If one of the Solum boys can’t go along to do the
talking for you, why, I shall have to buckle down to the job myself.”
Once more Per Hansa’s heart filled with a deep sense of peace and
contentment as he realized how matters were being smoothed out for him.
They seemed to move of their own accord, but he knew better.... Was
he really to own it? Was it really to become his possession, this big
stretch of fine land that spread here before him? Was he really to have
his friends for neighbours, both to the north and to the south—folks
who cared for him and wanted to help him out in every way?...
He was still chuckling with the rare pleasure of it as he asked, “You
haven’t discovered any signs of life since you came?”
“Devil, no!” Tönseten assured him. “Neither Israelites nor Canaanites!
I was the first one to find this place, you know.... But there’s no
telling how soon the drift will loosen, the way folks were talking
back East last winter. And now the land office for this whole section
of country has been moved to Sioux Falls, too. That means business;
the government, you may be certain, has good reason for doing such a
thing.” Tönseten spoke with all the importance of a man who has inside
knowledge.
Per Hansa looked at him, and a bantering tone came into his voice:
“I see it clearly, Syvert—it would never do to keep you around here
as a mere baker! We’ll have to promote you to a higher office, right
away.... Now, boys, I’m going over to see this empire that you two have
set aside for me. Ola, you hitch up the oxen again and bring the wagons
along.”
With these commands he walked rapidly away; the others had almost to
run in order to keep up with him. Strong emotions surged through him as
he strode on....
“It lies high,” he observed after a while, when they had looked all the
plowland over.... “There must be a fine view from the top of that hill.”
They were bending their steps in this direction, and soon had reached
the highest point. It seemed so spacious and beautiful to stand high
above the prairie and look around, especially now, when the shades
of evening were falling.... Suddenly Per Hansa began to step more
cautiously; he sniffed the air like an animal; in a moment he stopped
beside a small depression in the ground, and stood gazing at it
intently for quite a while; then he said, quietly:
“There are people buried here.... That is a grave!”
“Oh no, Per Hansa! It can’t be possible.”
“No doubt about it,” he said in the same subdued but positive tone.
Tönseten and Hans Olsa were so astonished that they could hardly credit
the fact; they came over at once to where Per Hansa stood, and gazed
down into the hollow.
Hans Olsa bent over and picked up a small stone that his eyes had
lighted on; he turned it around in his hand several times.... “That’s
a queer-looking piece of stone! I almost believe people have shaped it
for some use.... Here, see what you make of it, Syvert.”
Tönseten’s ruddy face grew sober and thoughtful as he examined the
object.
“By thunder! It certainly looks as if the Indians had been here!... Now
isn’t that rotten luck?” ...
“I’m afraid so,” said Per Hansa, with a vigorous nod. Then he added,
sharply, “But we needn’t shout the fact from the house-tops, you
know!... It takes so very little to scare some folks around here.”
He waited no longer but walked hastily down the hill; at the foot he
called to Ole, telling him not to drive any farther; but first he
turned to Hans Olsa to find out whether they were well across the line
between the two quarters.
“No use in building farther away from you than is absolutely
necessary,” he said. “It’s going to be lonesome for the women-folks at
times.” ...
... Awhile later, Tönseten was dragging his way homeward. For reasons
that he wouldn’t admit even to himself, he walked a good deal heavier
now than when he had climbed the slope that afternoon.
Per Hansa returned with his other neighbour to the wagons, where Beret
and the children were waiting. Again he inquired about the line between
the two quarters; then asked Beret and Hans Olsa to help pick the
best building place; his words, though few and soberly spoken, had in
them an unmistakable ring of determination.... This vast stretch of
beautiful land was to be his—yes, _his_—and no ghost of a dead Indian
would drive him away!... His heart began to expand with a mighty
exaltation. An emotion he had never felt before filled him and made
him walk erect.... “Good God!” he panted. “This kingdom is going to be
_mine_!”
IV
Early the next morning Per Hansa and one of the Solum boys set out on
the fifty-two-mile journey to Sioux Falls, where Per Hansa filed an
application for the quarter-section of land which lay to the north
of Hans Olsa’s. To confirm the application, he received a temporary
deed to the land. The deed was made out in the name of _Peder Benjamin
Hansen_; it contained a description of the land, the conditions which
he agreed to fulfil in order to become the owner, and the date, _June
6, 1873_.
Sörine wanted Beret and the children to stay with her during the
two days that her husband would be away; but she refused the offer with
thanks. If they were to get ready a home for the summer, she said, she
would have to take hold of matters right away.
... “For the summer?” exclaimed the other woman, showing her
astonishment. “What about the winter, then?”
Beret saw that she had uttered a thought which she ought to have kept
to herself; she evaded the question as best she could.
During the first day, both she and the boys found so much to do that
they hardly took time to eat. They unloaded both the wagons, set up the
stove, and carried out the table. Then Beret arranged their bedroom in
the larger wagon. With all the things taken out it was quite roomy in
there; it made a tidy bedroom when everything had been put in order.
The boys thought this work great fun, and she herself found some
relief in it for her troubled mind. But something vague and intangible
hovering in the air would not allow her to be wholly at ease; she had
to stop often and look about, or stand erect and listen.... Was that
a sound she heard?... All the while, the thought that had struck her
yesterday when she had first got down from the wagon, stood vividly
before her mind: here there was nothing even to hide behind!... When
the room was finished, and a blanket had been hung up to serve as a
door, she seemed a little less conscious of this feeling. But back in
the recesses of her mind it still was there....
After they had milked the cow, eaten their evening porridge, and talked
awhile to the oxen, she took the boys and And-Ongen and strolled away
from camp. With a common impulse, they went toward the hill; when
they had reached the summit, Beret sat down and let her gaze wander
aimlessly around.... In a certain sense, she had to admit to herself,
it was lovely up here. The broad expanse stretching away endlessly in
every direction, seemed almost like the ocean—especially now, when
darkness was falling. It reminded her strongly of the sea, and yet it
was very different.... This formless prairie had no heart that
beat, no waves that sang, no soul that could be touched ... or cared....
The infinitude surrounding her on every hand might not have been so
oppressive, might even have brought her a measure of peace, if it had
not been for the deep silence, which lay heavier here than in a church.
Indeed, what was there to break it? She had passed beyond the outposts
of civilization; the nearest dwelling places of men were far away. Here
no warbling of birds rose on the air, no buzzing of insects sounded;[6]
even the wind had died away; the waving blades of grass that trembled
to the faintest breath now stood erect and quiet, as if listening,
in the great hush of the evening.... All along the way, coming out,
she had noticed this strange thing: the stillness had grown deeper,
the silence more depressing, the farther west they journeyed; it must
have been over two weeks now since she had heard a bird sing! Had they
travelled into some nameless, abandoned region? Could no living thing
exist out here, in the empty, desolate, endless wastes of green and
blue?... How _could_ existence go on, she thought, desperately? If
life is to thrive and endure, it must at least have something to hide
behind!...
[6] Original settlers are agreed that there was neither bird nor insect
life on the prairie, with the exception of mosquitoes, the first year
that they came.
The children were playing boisterously a little way off. What a
terrible noise they made! But she had better let them keep on with
their play, as long as they were happy.... She sat perfectly quiet,
thinking of the long, oh, so interminably long march that they would
have to make, back to the place where human beings dwelt. It would be
small hardship for her, of course, sitting in the wagon; but she pitied
Per Hansa and the boys—and then the poor oxen!... He certainly would
soon find out for himself that a home for men and women and children
could never be established in this wilderness.... And how could she
bring new life into the world out here!...
Slowly her thoughts began to centre on her husband; they grew warm
and tender as they dwelt on him. She trembled as they came....
But only for a brief while. As her eyes darted nervously here and
there, flitting from object to object and trying to pierce the purple
dimness that was steadily closing in, a sense of desolation so profound
settled upon her that she seemed unable to think at all. It would not
do to gaze any longer at the terror out there, where everything was
turning to grim and awful darkness.... She threw herself back in the
grass and looked up into the heavens. But darkness and infinitude lay
there, also—the sense of utter desolation still remained.... Suddenly,
for the first time, she realized the full extent of her loneliness,
the dreadful nature of the fate that had overtaken her. Lying there on
her back, and staring up into the quiet sky across which the shadows
of night were imperceptibly creeping, she went over in her mind every
step of their wanderings, every mile of the distance they had travelled
since they had left home....
First they had boarded the boat at Sandnessjöen.... This boat had
carried them southward along the coast.... In Namsos there had been a
large ship with many white sails, that had taken her, with her dear
ones, and sailed away—that had carried them off relentlessly, farther
and farther from the land they knew. In this ship they had sailed for
weeks; the weeks had even grown into months; they had seemed to be
crossing an ocean which had no end.... There had been something almost
laughable in this blind course, steadily fixed on the sunset! When head
winds came, they beat up against them; before sweeping fair breezes
they scudded along; but always they were westering!...
... At last they had landed in Quebec. There she had walked about the
streets, confused and bewildered by a jargon of unintelligible sounds
that did not seem like the speech of people.... Was this the Promised
Land? Ah no—it was only the beginning of the real journey.... Then
something within her had risen up in revolt: I will go no farther!...
... But they had kept on, just the same—had pushed steadily
westward, over plains, through deserts, into towns, and out of them
again.... One fine day they had stood in Detroit, Michigan. This wasn’t
the place, either, it seemed.... Move on!... Once more she had felt
the spirit of revolt rising to shout aloud: I will go no farther!...
But it had been as if a resistless flood had torn them loose from
their foundations and was carrying them helplessly along on its
current—flinging them here and there, hurling them madly onward, with
no known destination ahead.
Farther and farther onward ... always west.... For a brief while there
had been a chance to relax once more; they had travelled on water
again, and she could hear the familiar splash of waves against the
ship’s side. This language she knew of old, and did not fear; it had
lessened the torture of that section of the journey for her, though
they had been subjected to much ill-treatment and there had been a
great deal of bullying and brawling on board.
At last the day had arrived when they had landed in Milwaukee. But here
they were only to make a new start—to take another plunge into the
unknown.... Farther, and always farther.... The relentless current kept
whirling them along.... Was it bound nowhere, then?... Did it have no
end?...
In the course of time they had come jogging into a place called Prairie
du Chien.... Had that been in Wisconsin, or some other place named
after savages?... It made no difference—they had gone on. They had
floundered along to Lansing, in Iowa.... Onward again. Finally they
had reached Fillmore County, in Minnesota.... But even that wasn’t the
place, it seemed!...
... Now she was lying here on a little green hillock, surrounded by
the open, endless prairie, far off in a spot from which no road led
back!... It seemed to her that she had lived many lives already, in
each one of which she had done nothing but wander and wander, always
straying farther away from the home that was dear to her.
She sat up at last, heaved a deep sigh, and glanced around as if
waking from a dream.... The unusual blending of the gentle and forceful
in her features seemed to be thrown into relief by the scene in which
she sat and the twilight hovering about her, as a beautiful picture is
enhanced by a well-chosen frame.
The two boys and their little sister were having great fun up here. So
many queer things were concealed under the tufts of grass. Store-Hans
came running, and brought a handful of little flat, reddish chips of
stone that looked as though they had been carved out of the solid rock;
they were pointed at one end and broadened out evenly on both sides,
like the head of a spear. The edges were quite sharp; in the broad end
a deep groove had been filed. Ole brought more of them, and gave a
couple to his little sister to play with.... The mother sat for a while
with the stones in her lap, where the children had placed them; at last
she took them up, one by one, and examined them closely.... These must
have been formed by human hands, she thought.
Suddenly Ole made another rare discovery. He brought her a larger
stone, that looked like a sledge hammer; in this the groove was deep
and broad.
The mother got up hastily.
“Where are you finding these things?”
The boys at once took her to the place; in a moment she, too, was
standing beside the little hollow at the brow of the hill, which the
men had discovered the night before; the queer stones that the children
had been bringing her lay scattered all around.
“Ola says that the Indians made them!” cried Store-Hans, excitedly. “Is
it true, mother?... Do you suppose they’ll ever come back?”
“Yes, maybe—if we stay here long enough....” She remained standing
awhile beside the hollow; the same thought possessed her that had
seized hold of her husband when he had first found the spot—here a
human being lay buried. Strangely enough, it did not frighten her; it
only showed her more plainly, in a stronger, harsher light, how
unspeakably lonesome this place was.
The evening dusk had now almost deepened into night. It seemed to
gather all its strength around her, to close in on every side, to have
its centre in the spot where she stood. The wagons had become only
a dim speck in the darkness, far, far away; the tent at Hans Olsa’s
looked like a tuft of grass that had whitened at the top; Tönseten’s
sod house she was unable to make out at all.... She could not bring
herself to call aloud to the boys; instead, she walked around the
hollow, spoke to them softly, and said that it was time to go home....
No, no, they mustn’t take the stones with them to-night! But to-morrow
they might come up here again to play.
... Beret could not go to sleep for a long time that night. At last she
grew thoroughly angry with herself; her nerves were taut as bowstrings;
her head kept rising up from the pillow to listen—but there was nothing
to hear ... nothing except the night wind, which now had begun to stir.
... It stirred with so many unknown things!...
V
Per Hansa came home late the following afternoon; he had so many words
of praise for what she and the boys had accomplished while he had
been gone, that he fairly bewildered her. Now it had taken possession
of him again—that indomitable, conquering mood which seemed to give
him the right of way wherever he went, whatever he did. Outwardly, at
such times, he showed only a buoyant recklessness, as if wrapped in
a cloak of gay, wanton levity; but down beneath all this lay a stern
determination of purpose, a driving force, so strong that she shrank
back from the least contact with it.
To-day he was talking in a steady stream.
“Here is the deed to our kingdom, Beret-girl! See to it that you take
good care of the papers.... Isn’t it stranger than a fairy tale, that
a man can have such things here, just for the taking?... Yes—and
years after he won the princess, too!” He cocked his head on one side.
“I’ll tell you what, it seems so impossible and unheard of, that I
can’t quite swallow it all yet.... What do you say, my Beret-girl?”
Beret stood smiling at him, with tears in her eyes, beside the
improvised house that she had made; there was little for her to say.
And what would be the use of speaking now? He was so completely wrapped
up in his own plans that he would not listen nor understand. It would
be wrong, too, to trouble him with her fears and misgivings.... When
he felt like this he was so tender to her, so cheerful, so loving and
kind.... How well she knew Per Hansa!...
“What are you thinking about it all, my Beret-girl?” He flung his arm
around her, whirled her off her feet, and drew her toward him.
“Oh, Per, it’s only this—I’m so afraid out here!” She snuggled up
against him, as if trying to hide herself. “It’s all so big and open
... so empty.... Oh, Per! Not another human being from here to the end
of the world!”
Per Hansa laughed loud and long, so that she winced under the force
and meaning of it. “There’ll soon be more people, girl ... never you
fear.... By God! there’ll soon be more people here!”
But suddenly another idea took hold of him. He led her over to the
large chest, made her sit down, and stood in front of her with a
swaggering air:
“Now let me tell you what came into my mind yesterday, after I had got
the papers. I went right out and bought ten sacks of potatoes! I felt
so good, Beret—and you know how we men from Nordland like potatoes!” he
added with a laugh. “This is the point of it: we’re not going to start
right in with building a house. The others are just foolish to do it.”
His voice grew low and eager. “They’re beginning at the wrong end, you
see. For my part, I’m going over to Hans Olsa’s this very night and
borrow his plow—and to-morrow morning I shall start breaking my ground!
Yes, sir! I tell you those potatoes have got to go into the ground
at once. Do you hear me, Beret-girl? If the soil out here is half as
good as it’s cracked up to be, we’ll have a fine crop the very first
fall!... Then I can build later in the summer, you know, when I am
able to take my time about it.... Just wait, my girl, just wait. It’s
going to be wonderful; you’ll see how wonderful I can make it for you,
this kingdom of ours!” He laughed until his eyes were drawn out in two
narrow slits. “And no old worn-out, thin-shanked, pot-bellied king is
going to come around and tell me what I have to do about it, either!”
He explained to her at great length how he intended to arrange
everything and how success would crown his efforts, she sitting there
silently on the chest, he standing in front of her, waving his arms;
while about them descended the grandeur of the evening. But with all
his strength and enthusiasm, and with all her love, he didn’t succeed
in winning her heart over altogether—no, not altogether. She had heard
with her own ears how no bird sang out here; she had seen with her own
eyes how, day after day as they journeyed, they had left the abodes of
men farther and farther behind. Wasn’t she sitting here now, gazing off
into an endless blue-green solitude that had neither heart nor soul?...
“Do you know,” she said, quietly, as she got up once more and leaned
close against him, “I believe there is a grave over there on the hill?”
“Why, Beret! Did you find it? Have you been going around brooding over
that, too?... Don’t worry, girl. He’ll bring us nothing but good luck,
the fellow who lies up there.”
“Perhaps.... But it seems so strange that some one lies buried in
unconsecrated ground right at our very door. How quiet it must be
there!... The children found so many things to play with, while we were
up on the hill last night, that I let them go again to-night. Come, we
had better begin to look for them.... It is beautiful up there.” She
sighed, and moved away.
They climbed the hill together, holding each other’s hands. There was
something in that sad resignation of hers which he was powerless
against. As he walked beside her and held her hand, he felt as if he
could laugh and cry in the same breath.... She was so dear, so dear to
him. Why could he never make her understand it fully? It was a strange,
baffling thing! But perhaps the reason for it lay in this: she was not
built to wrestle with fortune—she was too fine-grained.... Oh, well—he
knew one person, at any rate, who stood ready to do the fighting for
her!
* * * * *
Per Hansa had so much to think about that night that a long time passed
before he could get to sleep. Now was a good chance to make his plans,
while Beret lay at his side, sleeping safe and sound; he must utilize
every moment now; he didn’t feel very tired, either.
There seemed to be no end to the things he needed. But thirty dollars
was all the money he had in the world; and when he thought of what
would have to be bought in the near future, and of everything that
waited to be done, the list grew as long as the distance they had
travelled.... First of all, house and barn; that would need doors and
windows. Then food and tobacco; shoes and clothing; and implements—yes,
farming implements! If he only had horses and the necessary implements,
the whole quarter-section would soon blossom like a garden.... The
horses he would have to do without, to begin with. But he ought to
get at least one more cow before fall came—no dodging that fact....
And pigs—he absolutely had to have some pigs for winter!... If the
potatoes turned out well, there would be plenty to feed them on....
Then he would buy some chickens, as soon as he could run across any
folks who had chickens to sell. Things like that would only be pleasant
diversions for Beret.... There certainly seemed to be no end to all
that he needed.
... But now came the main hitch in his calculations: Beret was going
to have a baby again.... Only a blessing, of course—but what a lot of
their time it would take up, just now!... Oh, well, she would have to
bear the brunt of it herself, as the woman usually did. A remarkably
brave and clever wife, that she was ... a woman of tender kindness,
of deep, fine fancies—one whom you could not treat like an ordinary
clod.
... How hard he would strive to make life pleasant for her out here!
Her image dominated all the visions which now seemed to come to him
of their own accord.... The Whole farm lay there before him, broken
and under cultivation, yielding its fruitful harvests; there ran many
horses and cows, both young and grown. And over on the location where
to-day he was about to build the sod hut should stand a large dwelling
... a _white_ house, it would be! Then it would gleam so beautifully in
the sun, white all over—but the cornices should be bright green!...
When, long ago, Per Hansa had had his first vision of the house, it had
been painted white, with green cornices; and these colours had belonged
to it in his mind ever since. But the stable, the barn, and all the
rest of the outhouses should be painted red, with white cornices—for
that gave such a fine effect!... Oh yes, that Beret-girl of his should
certainly have a royal mansion for herself and her little princess!...
VI
As Per Hansa lay there dreaming of the future it seemed to him that
hidden springs of energy, hitherto unsuspected even by himself, were
welling up in his heart. He felt as if his strength were inexhaustible.
And so he commenced his labours with a fourteen-hour day; but soon,
as the plans grew clearer, he began to realize how little could be
accomplished in that short span of time, with so much work always ahead
of him; he accordingly lengthened the day to sixteen hours, and threw
in another hour for good measure; at last he found himself wondering
if a man couldn’t get along with only five hours of rest, in this fine
summer weather.
His waking dreams passed unconsciously into those of sleep; all that
night a pleasant buoyancy seemed to be lifting him up and carrying
him along; at dawn, when he opened his eyelids, morning was there
to greet him—the morning of a glorious new day.... He saw that it
was already broad daylight; with a guilty start, he came wide awake.
Heavens! he might have overslept himself—on _this_ morning!... He
jumped into his clothes, and found some cold porridge to quiet his
hunger for the time being; then he hurried out, put the yoke on the
oxen, and went across to Hans Olsa’s to fetch the plow.... Over there
no life was stirring yet. Well, maybe they could afford to sleep late
in the morning; but he had arrived five days behind the others, and
had just been delayed for two days more; they had a big start over him
already. His heart sang as he thought how he would have to hurry!... He
led the oxen carefully, trying to make as little noise around the tent
as possible.
Dragging the plow, he drove out for some distance toward the hillock,
then stopped and looked around. This was as good a place as anywhere
to start breaking.... He straightened up the plow, planted the share
firmly in the ground, and spoke to the oxen: “Come now, move along, you
lazy rascals!” He had meant to speak gruffly, but the thrill of joy
that surged over him as he sank the plow in his own land for the first
time, threw such an unexpected tone of gentleness into his voice that
the oxen paid no attention to it; he found that he would have to resort
to more powerful encouragement; but even with the goad it was hard to
make them bend to the yoke so early in the morning. After a little,
however, they began to stretch their muscles. Then they were off; the
plow moved ... sank deeper ... the first furrow was breaking....
It would have gone much easier now if Ole had only been there to drive
the oxen, so that he could have given his whole attention to the plow.
But never mind that!... The boy ought to sleep for at least another
hour; the day would be plenty long enough for him, before it was
through.... Young bulls have tender sinews—though for one of his age,
Ole was an exceptionally able youngster.
That first furrow turned out very crooked for Per Hansa; he made
a long one of it, too. When he thought he had gone far enough and
halted the oxen, the furrow came winding up behind him like a snake.
He turned around, drove the oxen back in the opposite direction, and
laid another furrow up against the one he had already struck.... At the
starting point again, he surveyed his work ruefully. Well, the second
furrow wasn’t any _crookeder_ than the first, at all events!... When he
had made another round he let the oxen stand awhile; taking the spade
which he had brought out, he began to cut the sod on one side of the
breaking into strips that could be handled. This was to be his building
material.... Field for planting on the one hand, sods for a house on
the other—that was the way to plow!... Leave it to Per Hansa—he was the
fellow to have everything figured out beforehand!
By breakfast time he had made a fine start. No sooner had he swallowed
the last morsel than he ordered both the boys to turn to, hitched the
oxen to the old homemade wagon, and off they all went together toward
the field, Per Hansa leading the way.... “You’d better cook the kettles
full to-day!” he shouted back, as they were leaving. “We’re going to
punish a lot of food when we come in!”
Now Per Hansa began working in real earnest. He and Store-Hans, with
plow and oxen, broke up the land; Ole used the hoe, but the poor fellow
was having a hard time of it. The sod, which had been slumbering
there undisturbed for countless ages, was tough of fibre and would
not give up its hold on the earth without a struggle. It almost had
to be turned by main strength, piece by piece; it was a dark brownish
colour on the under side—a rich, black mould that gave promise of
wonderful fertility; it actually gleamed and glistened under the rays
of the morning sun, where the plow had carved and polished its upturned
face.... Ole toiled on, settling and straightening the furrows as best
he could, now and then cutting out the clods that fell unevenly. When
Per Hansa had made a couple of rounds, he let the oxen stand awhile to
catch their breath, and came over to Ole to instruct him. “This
is the way to do it!” he said, seizing the hoe. “Watch me, now—_like
this_!” He hewed away till the clods were flying around him.... When
they quit work at noon a good many furrows lay stretched out on the
slope, smiling up at the sun; they were also able to bring home with
them a full wagonload of building material; at coffee time they brought
another; at supper another. But when, arriving home at the end of the
day, they found that supper was not quite ready, Per Hansa felt that
he must go after still another load; they had better make use of every
minute of time!
VII
He began building the house that same evening.
“You ought to rest, Per Hansa!” Beret pleaded. “Please use a little
common sense!”
“Rest—of course! That’s just what I propose to do!... Come along,
now, all hands of you; you can’t imagine what fun this is going to
be.... Just think of it—a new house on our own estate! I don’t mean
that you’ve got to work, you know; but come along and watch the royal
mansion rise!”
They all joined in, nevertheless ... couldn’t have kept their hands
off. It gave them such keen enjoyment that they worked away until
they could no longer see to place the strips of sod. Then Per Hansa
called a halt—that was enough for one day. They had laboured hard and
faithfully; well, they would get their wages in due time, every last
one of them—but he couldn’t bother with such trifles just now!
... That night sleep overpowered him at once; he was too tired even to
dream.
From now on Per Hansa worked on the house every morning before
breakfast, and every evening as soon as he had finished supper. The
whole family joined in the task when they had nothing else to do; it
seemed like a fascinating game.
To the eyes of Tönseten and Hans Olsa, it appeared as if nothing
short of witchcraft must be at work on Per Hansa’s quarter section; in
spite of the fact that he and his entire family were breaking ground
in the fields the whole day long, a great sod house shot up beside the
wagon, like an enormous mushroom.
Per Hansa plowed and harrowed, delved and dug; he built away at the
house, and he planted the potatoes; he had such a zest for everything
and thought it all such fun that he could hardly bear to waste a moment
in stupid sleep. It was Beret who finally put a check on him. One
morning, as he threw off the blanket at dawn, on the point of jumping
up in his reckless way, she lay there awake, waiting for him. The
moment he stirred, she put her arms lovingly around him and told him
that he must stay in bed awhile longer. This would never do, she said;
he ought to remember that he was only a human being.... She begged him
so gently and soothingly that he gave in at last and stayed in bed with
her. But he was ill at ease over the loss of time. It wouldn’t take
long to lay a round of sod, and every round helped.... This Beret-girl
of his meant well enough, but she didn’t realize the multitude of
things that weighed on his mind—things that couldn’t wait, that had to
be attended to immediately!
... Yes, she was an exceptional woman, this Beret of his; he didn’t
believe that her like existed anywhere else under the sun. During the
last two days she had hurried through her housework, and then, taking
And-Ongen by the hand, had come out in the field with them; she had
let the child roam around and play in the grass while she herself had
joined in their labour; she had pitched in beside them and taken her
full term like any man. It had all been done to make things easier for
him ... and now she was lying awake here, just to look after him!
... He thought of other things that she had done. When they had
harrowed and hoed sufficient seed ground, Beret had looked over her
bundles and produced all kinds of seeds—he couldn’t imagine how or
where she had got them—turnips, and carrots, and onions, and tomatoes,
and melons, even!... What a wife she was!... Well, he had better stay
in bed and please her this time, when she had been so clever and
thoughtful about everything.
However it was accomplished, on Per Hansa’s estate they had a field
all broken and harrowed and seeded down, and a large house ready for
thatching, by the time that Hans Olsa and the Solum boys had barely
finished thatching their houses and started the plowing. Tönseten,
though, was ahead of him with the breaking—Per Hansa had to accept
that—and was now busy planting his potatoes. But Syvert had every
reason to be in the lead; his house had been all ready to move into
when they had arrived. That little stable which he had built wasn’t
more than a decent day’s work for an able man. And he had horses,
too.... Of course, such things gave him a big advantage!
They finished planting the big field at Per Hansa’s late one afternoon;
all the potatoes that he had brought home from Sioux Falls had been
cut in small pieces and tucked away in the ground.... “Only one eye to
each piece!” he had warned Beret as she sat beside him, cutting them
up. “That’s enough for such rich soil.” ... The other seed, which she
had provided with such splendid forethought, had also been planted. The
field looked larger than it really was. It stood out clearly against
the fresh verdure of the hillside; from a little distance it appeared
as if some one had sewn a dark brown patch on a huge green cloth....
That patch looked mighty good to Per Hansa as he stood surveying the
scene, his whole being filled with the sense of completed effort. Here
he had barely arrived in a new country; yet already he had got more
seed into the ground than on any previous year since Beret and he had
started out for themselves.... Just wait! What couldn’t he do another
year!
“Well, Beret-girl,” he said, “we’ve cleaned up a busy spring season,
all right! To-night we ought to have an extra-fine dish of porridge, to
bless what has been put into the ground.” He stood there with sparkling
eyes, admiring his wonderful field.
Beret was tired out with the labour she had undergone; her back
ached as if it would break. She, too, was looking at the field, but the
joy he felt found no response in her.
... I’m glad that he is happy, she thought, sadly. Perhaps in time I
will learn to like it, too.... But she did not utter the thought; she
merely took the child by the hand, turned away, and went back to their
wagon-home. There she measured out half of the milk that Rosie had
given that morning, dipped some grits from the bag and prepared the
porridge, adding water until it was thin enough. Before she served it
up she put a small dab of butter in each dish, like a tiny eye that
would hardly keep open; then she sprinkled over the porridge a small
portion of sugar; this was all the luxury she could afford. Indeed, her
heart began to reproach her even for this extravagance. But when she
saw the joyful faces of the boys, and heard Per Hansa’s exclamations
over her merits as a housekeeper, she brightened up a little, cast
her fears to the wind, and sprinkled on more sugar from the bag....
Then she sat down among them, smiling and happy; she was glad that she
hadn’t told them how her back was aching....
... They all worked at the house building that night as long as they
could see.
VIII
Per Hansa’s house certainly looked as if it were intended for a royal
mansion. When Tönseten saw it close at hand for the first time he
exclaimed:
“Will you please inform me, Per Hansa, what the devil you think you’re
building? Is it just a house, or is it a church and parsonage rolled in
one?... Have you lost your senses altogether, man? You won’t be able to
get a roof over this crazy thing in a month of Sundays!... Why, damn it
all, there aren’t willows enough in this whole region to thatch a half
of it! You might just as well tear it down again, for all the good it
will do.”
“The hell you say!” cried Per Hansa, genially. “But there it stands, as
big as Billy-be-damned, so what are you going to do about it?...
The notion I had was this: I might as well build for my sons, too,
while I was about it. Then when they got married and needed more room
they could thatch a new section any time.... What ails you, Syvert?
Isn’t there plenty of sod for roofing, all the way from here to the
Pacific coast?”
But Tönseten took a serious view of the affair:
“I tell you, Per Hansa, there’s no sense in such a performance. It
isn’t the sod, it’s the poles—you know it damned well!... You’d better
go right ahead and tear it down as fast as ever you can!”
“Oh, well, I suppose I’ll have to, then,” said Per Hansa, dryly.
As a matter of fact, it was hardly to be wondered at that Tönseten grew
excited when he saw this structure; it differed radically from the one
he had built and from all the others that he had ever seen. He wondered
if such a silly house as this could be found anywhere else in the whole
country.... His own hut measured fourteen by sixteen feet; the one that
the Solum boys were building was only fourteen feet each way; Hans Olsa
had been reckless and had laid his out eighteen feet long and sixteen
feet wide.... But look at this house of Per Hansa’s—_twenty-eight_ feet
long and _eighteen_ feet wide! Moreover, it had _two_ rooms, one of
them eighteen by eighteen, the other eighteen by ten. The rooms were
separated by a wall; one had a door opening toward the south, the other
a door opening toward the east. Two doors in a sod hut! My God! what
folly! In the smaller room the sod even had been taken up, so that the
floor level there was a foot below that of the larger room. What was
the sense of that?... If we don’t look out, thought Tönseten, this
crazy man will start building a tower on it, too!
Things surely looked serious to Tönseten. In the first place, Per Hansa
plainly was getting big-headed; heavens and earth, it was nothing
but an ordinary sod hut that he was building! In the second place,
it wasn’t a practical scheme. If he were to search till doomsday, he
wouldn’t be able to find enough willows for the thatching. Why, he
might just as well thatch the whole firmament, and be done with it!...
As soon as he had looked his fill, Tönseten trotted right over to Hans
Olsa’s, told him all about it, and asked him to go and reason with the
man.... But, no, Hans Olsa didn’t care to meddle in that affair. Per
Hansa had a considerable family already; it might grow in the next
few years; at any rate, he needed a fairly large house. Above all, he
wasn’t the man to bite off more than he could chew.
“But that’s just it—he doesn’t know what he’s bitten off! He doesn’t
know anything at all about building a house!” With these drastic
words, Tönseten went directly to the Solum boys; they had been born
and brought up in America, and knew what was what. Now they must go,
right away, and talk to Per Hansa about this crazy building that he was
putting up! The only way out of it that he could think of was for them
and himself—and maybe Hans Olsa—to go in a body and show him what to
do, and help him to build a house then and there. The thing that he had
put up was frankly impossible; the poor man would ruin himself before
he got a decent start!...
To his great disappointment, the Solum boys wouldn’t go, either. It was
Per Hansa’s own business, they said, what sort of a house he wanted to
build for himself. So Tönseten had to give it up as a bad job. He shook
his head solemnly.... A damned shame, that a perfectly good man had to
go to ruin through sheer folly!
Per Hansa had put a great deal of thought into this matter of building
a house; ever since he had first seen a sod hut he had pondered
the problem. On the day that he was coming home from Sioux Falls a
brilliant idea had struck him—an idea which had seemed perhaps a little
queer, but which had grown more attractive the longer he turned it over
in his mind. How would it do to build house and barn under one roof? It
was to be only a temporary shelter, anyway—just a sort of makeshift,
until he could begin on his real mansion. This plan would save time and
labour, and both the house and the barn would be warmer for being
together.... He had a vague recollection of having heard how people
in the olden days used to build their houses in that way—rich people,
even! It might not be fashionable any longer; but it was far from
foolish, just the same.
It will go hard with Beret, he thought; she won’t like it. But after a
while he picked up courage to mention his plan to her.
... House and barn under the same roof?... She said no more, but fell
into deep and troubled thought.... Man and beast in one building? How
could one live that way?... At first it seemed utterly impossible to
her; but then she thought of how desolate and lonesome everything
was here and of what a comfortable companion Rosie might be on dark
evenings and during the long winter nights. She shuddered, and answered
her husband that it made no difference to her whichever way he built,
so long as it was snug and warm; but she said nothing about the real
reason that had changed her mind.
This answer made Per Hansa very happy.
“Beret-girl, you are the most sensible woman that I know!... Of course
it’s better, all around, for us to build that way!”
He, too, had reasons that he kept to himself.... Now he would get ahead
of both Hans Olsa and the Solum boys! None of them had even begun to
think of building a barn yet; while according to his plan, his barn
would be finished when his house was done.
IX
One evening Per Hansa came over with his oxen to Hans Olsa’s to borrow
his new wagon; the time had come to get his poles for the thatching.
The others had been able to gather what they needed along the banks of
a creek some ten miles to the southward, where a fringe of scattering
willows grew; but it was small stock and a scanty supply at that; their
roofs were certainly none too strong, and might not hold up through
the next winter.... Per Hansa had a bigger and more original scheme in
mind. If conditions were really as bad as Tönseten had made out, he’d
have to find something besides willow poles for rafters on that house
of his. The busy season of spring was over; now he proposed to rest on
his oars awhile ... take a little time to nose around the prairie at
his leisure. He had been told that the Sioux River was only twenty-five
or thirty miles away; big stands of timber were reported to lie in that
direction, and several settlements of Trönders,[7] who had lived there
for a number of years; many other interesting things would turn up,
of course—things that he hadn’t heard about; he wanted to see it all
and get a running idea of the whole locality. He confided to Hans Olsa
where he was going, but asked him not to mention it to anyone else....
“We might as well keep this matter to ourselves, you know. Besides,
something has got to be done about getting fuel for the winter.”
[7] People from the district of Trondhjem, Norway.
He brought the wagon home that evening, merely explaining that he and
Store-Hans were going out to gather wood. Ole would have to look after
the farm while they were away, and take the full responsibility on
his shoulders. Store-Hans, who had been chosen to go on the trip, was
overjoyed at the news; but his brother was reduced to the verge of
tears at such an outrageous injustice. The idea of taking that _boy_
along, and letting a grown man loaf around the house with nothing
to do! For the first time his faith in his father’s judgment was
shattered.... And the situation grew worse and worse as Ole watched
the extensive preparations for the trip; it looked for all the world
as if they intended to move out West! The father was taking along a
kettle, and was measuring out supplies of flour, and salt, and coffee,
and milk, besides a big heap of _flatbröd_ and plenty of other food.
But, heaviest blow of all, the rifle—Old Maria—was brought out from
the big chest! Ole wept at that in sheer anger. Ax, rope, and sacks,
too—everything was going!... And on top of it all, this youngster who
wasn’t dry behind the ears yet had grown so conceited that he
wouldn’t deign to talk to his brother; he kept fussing and smirking
around his father all the time, speaking to him in low, confidential
tones, and pushing himself to the front on every occasion! He seemed
to be bubbling over with foolish questions. Shouldn’t they take this
along, and _this_, and _this_?... But when at last he came dragging a
piece of chain, even Per Hansa had to laugh outright. “That’s the boy,
now! I might have forgotten the chain. And how could we go to the woods
without a chain, I’d like to know?”
Beret got the food ready for the journey. Her face wore a sad, sober
expression.... Yes, of course, the house must have a roof; she knew
that perfectly well. How could they live in a house without a roof?...
But now he was going to be away for another two-day stretch—two whole
days and a night!... It wasn’t so bad in the daytime ... but at
night...!
“You’d better take the children with you and go over to Mother
Sörrina’s to-morrow evening,” Per Hansa advised her, cheerfully. “You
can spend the whole evening there, you know, visiting and talking.
It’ll make the time pass quicker, and you won’t be so lonesome.... You
do that, Beret!”
To this suggestion she answered neither yes nor no. In her heart she
knew very well that she wouldn’t follow his advice. She never could
forget that evening of his trip to Sioux Falls, when she and the
children had come down the hill toward the wagons; the air of the place
had suddenly filled with terror and mystery. The wagons had floated
like grey specks in the dusk; and all at once it had seemed as if the
whole desolation of a vast continent were centring there and drawing a
magic circle about their home. She had even seen the intangible barrier
with her own eyes ... had seen it clearly ... had had to force herself
to step across it.... Now she went on getting the food ready for them
as well as she could; but from her sad lips there came not a word.
This was destined to be a memorable journey, both for those who
went and for those who stayed at home.... Before it was over the latter
were in a panic of apprehension and fear. The second day passed as the
first had done; the second night, too; the third day came ... noon, but
no one in sight.
Beret had not really begun to expect them until sometime during the
second day; Per Hansa had told her not to begin looking before they
came in sight. Nevertheless, she had found herself unconsciously doing
it shortly after dinner on the very first day. She knew that it was
foolish—they hadn’t even got there yet; but she couldn’t refrain from
scanning the sky line in the quarter where they had disappeared.... She
went to bed with the children early that evening.
The following evening she took them up on the hill; they sat there
silently, gazing eastward over the plain. From this elevation her
sight seemed to take flight and carry a long, long distance.... In the
eastern sky the evening haze was gathering; it merged slowly into the
purple dusk, out of which an intangible, mysterious presence seemed to
be creeping closer and closer upon them. They sat trying to pierce it
with their gaze; but neither wagon nor oxen crossed the line of their
vision.... Ole took no interest in keeping watch; it was more fun for
him to look for queer stones around the grave.... When the day was
well-nigh dead and nothing had appeared, Beret suddenly felt that she
must talk to some one to-night ... hear some human voice other than
those of the two children. Almost in spite of herself, she directed her
steps toward Hans Olsa’s.
—Hadn’t Per Hansa returned yet?
—No. She couldn’t imagine what had become of him! He surely ought to
have been home by this time.
—Oh, well, she mustn’t worry; he had probably travelled a long way on
this trip; no doubt he had made use of the opportunity to look around
for winter fuel.
—Winter fuel?... She had never given a thought to that before; but of
course they would need wood if they were going to stay through the
winter. It suddenly occurred to her how much there was for Per
Hansa to plan about and worry over; but she also felt a twinge of
jealousy because he had not confided in her.... Winter fuel? Of course;
it was the thing they needed most of all!
Mother Sörine was well aware that her neighbour did not have any
courage to spare. She realized, too, how lonesome it must be for
Beret, to sleep over there in the wagon with only the children. As the
visitors were leaving she got up, called her daughter, and insisted on
accompanying them back to the wagon. They chatted gaily and freely all
the way ... and that night there was no magic circle to step across!
Some time after noon on the third day Per Hansa and Store-Hans came
home with a load so big that the oxen were just barely able to sag up
the slope with it. It was like an incident out of a fairy tale, that
famous load. There was a stout timber for the ridgepole, there were
crossbeams and scantlings, and rafters for the roof; but Ole only
sneered at such prosaic things. Was _that_ all they had gone for, he’d
like to know? Farther down in the load, however, lay six bundles of
young trees; their tops had been trimmed off, and the soil had been
carefully wrapped around their roots with strips of bark.... “Those
are to be planted around the house!” Store-Hans explained. “Would
you believe it. Mother—in this bundle there are twelve plum trees!
They grow great big plums! We met a man who told us all about them.”
Store-Hans caught his breath from sheer excitement.... There were still
stranger things in that load. In the back of the wagon, as the father
unloaded, an opening almost like a small room was gradually revealed.
Here lay two great bags—two bags brimful of curious articles. One of
them evidently contained fish; the other seemed to hold the flayed
carcass of a calf; at least, Ole thought so, and wanted to know where
it had come from.
“_Calf!_” exclaimed Store-Hans. “What makes you think it’s a calf?” ...
Per Hansa winked slyly at his travelling companion; the wink warned
him that he’d better say no more—for a little while!... Store-Hans
assumed a knowing silence; but it could be seen with half an eye that
he was bursting with important secrets. At last he was no longer able
to contain himself.
... “_Antelope!_” he burst out, ecstatically.
Beret watched with speechless admiration the unloading of all the
wonderful things that they had brought; she was so overjoyed to have
her dear ones with her again that she could have burst into hysterical
tears; as she stood beside the oxen she stroked their necks fondly,
murmuring in a low voice that they were nice fellows to have hauled
home such a heavy load.
... “Well, there!” said Per Hansa at last, when he had cleared the
wagon. “Now, this is the idea: Store-Hans and I have figured on having
fresh fish to-day, cooked in regular Nordland fashion, with soup and
everything. We nearly killed ourselves, and the beasts, too, to get
here in time.... Beret, what the devil have we got to put all this meat
and fish into?”
Store-Hans ate that day as if he could never get enough; there seemed
to be no bottom to the boy.... When he had finished the father chased
him off to bed at once; and strange to say, he wasn’t at all unwilling
though it was only the latter part of the afternoon. When evening came
the mother tried to shake life into him again, but without success;
once he roused enough to sit up in bed, but couldn’t get so far as to
take off his clothes; the next moment he had thrown himself flat once
more and was sleeping like a log.
As time went on this first expedition of Per Hansa’s came to be of
great consequence to the new settlement on Spring Creek.... In the
first place, there were all the trees that he had brought home and
planted. This alone excited Tönseten’s enthusiasm to such a pitch
that he was for leaving at once to get a supply of his own; but Hans
Olsa and the Solum boys advised him to wait until the coming fall, so
Tönseten reluctantly had to give up still another plan.
... But there were other things to do when fall came, and several
years went by before the others had followed Per Hansa’s lead. This is
the reason why, in the course of time, a stout grove of trees began to
grow up around Per Hansa’s house before anything larger than a bush was
to be seen elsewhere in the whole neighbourhood.
But the most important result of all, perhaps, was the acquaintance
with the Trönders eastward on the Sioux River, which sprang out of this
journey. Amid these strange surroundings, confronted by new problems,
the two tribes, Trönder and Helgelander, met in a quite different
relationship than on the Lofoten fishing grounds. Here they were
glad enough to join forces in their common fight against the unknown
wilderness....
... The Great Plain watched them breathlessly....
III. “Rosie!—Rosie!”
I
The food supply was steadily vanishing. Bags and sacks yawned empty and
had nothing to yield. The settlers shared freely with one another as
long as they had anything left; but even at Hans Olsa’s, where plenty
usually reigned, the food at last began to give out. Among the menfolk
a crumb of tobacco was as rare as gold.... High time that they took the
situation in hand and did something about it! Besides, the season was
getting so far advanced that they would soon have to start in haying.
No two ways about it—they must make a trip to town.
All the men, accordingly—Per Hansa, and Tönseten, and Hans Olsa, and
the two Solum boys—met together one Sunday to discuss the matter.
A trip to town in those days was a serious affair, which had to be
planned carefully from beginning to end. The seventy or eighty miles
through desolate country was in itself no trifle; one couldn’t expect
to be back in less than four days, even with horses. And under pressure
of time, it was hard to accomplish everything that one wanted to do.
Provisions of all sorts must be replenished for the next season; first
of all came food, and after that clothing; then tools and farming
implements, as far as their money would go. If it wouldn’t go far
enough they would have to find some other way out of the fix, but they
must hold down to essentials in order to keep alive.... As yet, no one
in the Spring Creek settlement was in a position to carry any produce
along, to be sold for cash or given in exchange for wares. But they all
looked forward to the time when this would be possible; it would be
harder work to haul a load both ways, of course; but what a help it
would be—and what a satisfaction—to have their own products to barter!
They at once agreed that some of the menfolk would have to stay at
home, in case anything untoward happened.... It was a singular thing,
not a soul in this little colony ever felt wholly at ease, though no
one referred to the fact or cared to frame the thought in words. All of
a sudden, apparently without any cause, a vague, nameless dread would
seize hold of them; it would shake them for a while like an attack of
nerves; or again, it might fill them with restless apprehension, making
them quiet and cautious in everything they did. They seemed to sense an
unseen force around them.... The men grew taciturn under the strain;
they would cast about for some task or other on which they could
work off the spell. With the women it found an outlet in talk; they
often became extravagantly loud and boisterous over nothing at all.
Few realized what this strange feeling was; none of them would have
admitted that he was afraid.
... Yes, God defend them! Man’s strength availed but little out here.
They had already experienced it more than once. Terrible storms would
come up—so suddenly, with such appalling violence!... Mother Sörine had
reason to be frightened of these storms. Less than a week ago their
tent had been carried away in one of them; Sörine, trapped inside and
half choked, had been swept along with the canvas. Hans Olsa had laid
the tent rope across his shoulder, planted his feet solidly in the
ground, and summoned all his giant strength; but he had been whirled
away like a tuft of wool. It had turned out all right, however; no one
was seriously hurt ... this time.
And then, the Indians!... “_Injuns_,” as the red children of the great
plain were called in common speech. Kjersti, Tönseten’s wife, didn’t
mind the storms so much; they never committed inhuman outrages ...
weren’t out for your scalp, at any rate! But fear of the Indians was
ever vividly present in her mind. Not a day passed that she didn’t
search the sky line many times.... Why, one of the savages actually
lay buried over on Per Hansa’s land! And where the dead had their
abode, the living were sure to come.... Since she had learned of the
grave she was always on the lookout....
Truth to tell, her fear of the Indians was very natural. She and Syvert
had heard the tale of the terrors of ’62 so often that they could have
repeated it word for word, as if from an open book. When they were
living in Fillmore County, Minnesota, two refugees from the Norway Lake
massacre had drifted into the place; the story of the horrors they
had undergone had taken on new and grewsome details as it passed from
mouth to mouth; out here now on the open prairie, where no hiding place
could be found, the form in which Kjersti remembered it had assumed the
fantastic proportions of a myth.
Tönseten, however, wasn’t a bit afraid of the Indians—not he! Who
ever heard of such nonsense? Why should he or anyone else fear them,
now that they had become peaceful and civilized? He tried his best to
instill this idea into the others.... Per Hansa would sit listening to
Tönseten with a quizzical smile on his face. “That’s right, Syvert—go
on,” he would agree. “All the Indians have turned into honest-to-God
gentlemen these last ten years, with red skullcaps, and wooden shoes,
and long pipes, and everything else they need. It’s no trick at all,
you know, for a savage to learn fine manners, as crowded with folks to
teach him as it is out here!” ... From the Trönders on the Sioux River,
Per Hansa had learned a great deal of valuable information about the
Indians; he had heard of a place, not very far away, called Flandreau
or some such outlandish name, where they had a permanent colony; west
from this place an Indian trail ran all the way through to Nebraska,
and along this route the red man was said to make his yearly journeys.
More than likely, Per Hansa thought, his own quarter-section lay
directly in their path; he inferred this from the grave on the hill and
from what he had heard.... If it were true, the fact would be certain
to come to light before the summer was over. In the meanwhile—well, no
use to cross a bridge until you came to it.
The men never spoke of the Indians while the womenfolk were around.
But at other times, whenever the subject came up for discussion, Ole
and Store-Hans stood listening with open mouths.... The grave where
they found the stones had now begun to strike a chill into their
hearts; but it also exerted a strange and irresistible fascination.
... So here they all were, afraid of something or other. But the women
were the worst off; Kjersti feared the Indians, Sörine the storms; and
Beret, poor thing, feared both—and feared the very air.
The outcome of their deliberations that Sunday was only what might have
been expected; it seemed the logical thing for Hans Olsa and Tönseten
and Henry Solum, each of whom owned horses and wagon, to make up the
party for the journey. That would give three men and three separate
teams; such a caravan ought to be able to haul home on one trip
whatever the settlement could afford to buy.
Per Hansa was badly out of sorts that day; every word that he let fall
had a bitter sting to it; he said little and sat morose and silent
most of the time. In his eyes, the whole affair had the appearance of
having been settled beforehand. He and the other Solum boy were to
stay at home and look after the settlement; that was the plan, though
it hadn’t been stated in outright terms. It looked to Per Hansa like a
pretty mean piece of business.... For his part, he took it as a matter
of course that he was a better man for the trip to town than Syvert
Tönseten or Henry Solum—neither of whom, God knows, had any more wits
than he could get along with!... In all their talk, no one had even
hinted at that side of the question. And certainly Per Hansa wasn’t the
sort of man to force himself down anybody’s throat.... But, by God!
it was disgusting to have to lie around the house with the womenfolk
while the others were off on such a fine expedition!... The thirst for
adventure was burning in his blood.
When the party left on Monday morning Per Hansa was in a towering ill
humour; he rose with the others at dawn, woke Ole, and hitched the oxen
to the plow. On that day he broke up an acre and a half of prairie,
with only the crude implements at hand—a record that stood for many
years in that part of the country.
But at quitting time that night, when he paced around the field and
discovered what an enormous day’s work he had done, he felt so elated
that he began to whistle the tune of an old ballad.... Just look at
that! If they didn’t hurry back, he’d have the whole farm broken up
before they arrived.... By God! he’d show them! He’d give them a chance
to see for themselves who was the better man!
II
The next day he did not drive himself so hard; but he turned off a good
day’s work, just the same.
Per Hansa was again in a good humour that afternoon as he and Ole
sauntered home from the field; he felt that during this interval he
would easily get ahead of Tönseten. Ole’s tired feet dragged at every
step; his voice was hoarse from steadily shouting at the oxen.
They had not got far on their way home when Store-Hans came running out
to meet them; he began shouting as soon as he caught sight of them, and
arrived all out of breath.
“Dad ... quick ... people are coming!” ...
The news sounded so incredible that Ole stopped short in his tracks and
stared at his brother with his mouth wide open, but the father only
laughed as he looked indulgently at the boy.
“Of course people are coming!” he said with a chuckle.... “And you’ll
grow up to be a man, too, some day—at about the same rate, I guess!
You’ve both got a long distance yet to travel.”
But Store-Hans was too excited to be thrown off the track by his
father’s kindly sarcasm.
“Look!... _look there_!” he cried, pointing toward the southwest....
“Mother thinks they may be Indians!” ...
Per Hansa took in the whole western horizon in one swift glance....
“Huh!” he grunted ... and immediately began to walk faster. The longer
he looked, the more haste he made. At last he was taking such mighty
strides that the boys had to run in order to keep up with him.
Beret was standing just beyond the wagon, holding And-Ongen in her arms.
“They have come,” she said in a calm voice; but her sad, resigned face
was pale and drawn.
“Well, don’t stand there!... Go and look after the cooking as if
nothing had happened!” ... He spoke rapidly, with a metallic ring in
his voice.
In an instant he was over at the new house, which as yet was only half
thatched. The boys followed close at his heels; he spoke to them in
quick, low tones; all his words had the same hard, metallic ring.
“Hans, run over to Sam’s and tell him what’s up.... Hurry, now!”
“Yes.” ... The boy hesitated.
“_Hurry_, I said!”
“Yes, sir!” ... Store-Hans found his legs and was off like lightning.
Per Hansa turned to Ole. “You go and get Old Maria. You’ll find her in
the big chest—and something to load her with in the till. Stand the
gun and everything just inside the door here.... And listen”—his face
was hard set—“when I _whistle_, I want her—but not before!... Are you
afraid?”
“N-n-no.” ... Ole ran to execute the order.
Per Hansa began to work away at the thatching as if nothing unusual
were going on; but his eyes were steadily fixed on the approaching
train. Little by little, as he watched, he grew calmer; the look of
anxiety slowly faded away from his features, to be replaced by the
half-sly, half-roguish expression of his lighter moods.... No war
party, this—nothing but harmless families roaming over the plain!
Just then Ole arrived with the rifle.
“Never mind,” said Per Hansa. He was laughing now. “Go back and hide
those things where you found them.... That fellow Store-Hans is a
regular little rascal—the way he nearly scared us out of our wits!”
“But don’t you want the gun, Father?”
“No, I guess not.... Go and put her back—then come and run an errand
for me.”
The boy ran inside, and returned in a moment empty-handed. Per Hansa
was sitting on the edge of the roof; he kept looking off to the
westward as he gave his orders:
“Run over and tell Sörrina that the Indians are coming, but don’t
frighten the life out of her. Tell her it’s only a wandering tribe—just
peaceful people like ourselves.... And tell her they are likely to camp
for the night over here on the hill; if she is afraid, she can stay
with us.... Don’t get off a lot of wild talk, now. Be sensible!”
Almost before he had heard the words, Ole was gone.... Per Hansa came
down to the ground, heaved an armful of sod up on the roof, and then
climbed back unconcernedly to his work.
The band of Indians crawled slowly toward them out of the west. Per
Hansa counted the teams—fourteen in all, he made it—but he couldn’t be
certain of the exact number; they drove close together and were headed
straight in the direction of the settlement.... No doubt about it any
longer—here lay an old Indian trail!
He was kneeling on the roof awhile later, trying to fit a strip of
sod in place, when suddenly a figure stood below him; it had appeared
so swiftly and silently that Per Hansa was startled in spite of
himself.... The next moment he saw that it was Sam Solum, frightened
and excited, gun in hand. He had run so fast that Store-Hans had been
left far behind.
“You must be going hunting to-night,” Per Hansa observed, dryly.
“Haven’t you seen ’em?... Don’t you know...?” Sam had to stop to catch
his breath.
“Seen who?”
“The Indians!... They’re right on top of us!”
“I see you look like the scared fool you are, all right!... What
are you ramming around with that rattletrap of a gun of yours for? Put
it out of sight as quick as you can! Then come here and help me with
the thatching.... Store-Hans, you’d better go and stay with mother.”
Sam did as he was bid, without half understanding; he took his gun
inside the house, stood it against the wall, and came out again; in
front of the door he paused, staring open-mouthed at the approaching
train.... Seated above him on the roof, Per Hansa glanced alternately
westward and down at the puzzled youth.
“I suppose we ought to warn Kjersti—she’s always so skittish,” he
said with a grin. “Why don’t you go down and tell her that our red
neighbours are coming?... But don’t scare the wits out of the poor
woman!”
Sam hesitated; the task obviously wasn’t to his liking.
... “Or should we wait, and let the Indians take her scalp?”
At these words Sam jumped, then suddenly broke into a run.
Per Hansa laughed heartily as he watched him go.
“Hey, there! Don’t tear off as if your pants had caught fire!” he
shouted. “You needn’t be in such an awful sweat about Kjersti, either!”
But Kjersti herself had seen the enemy; she must have been on the
lookout, as usual.... At that moment she hove in sight on the slope of
the hill, leading her cow.
At the same time Ole arrived, with Sörine and the girl close behind
him; but Sörine, unfortunately, hadn’t thought of her cow, which was
grazing off on the prairie to the westward, some distance from Hans
Olsa’s house.
Soon they were all gathered in a little knot—the three women, Ole, and
the Solum boy; but Store-Hans felt that it would be safer with his
father, and had gone over to where Per Hansa was still working....
Kjersti was moaning and wailing because her Syvert was away at a time
when the Lord sent such tribulations upon her; Mother Sörine was
comforting her as best she could, saying that, after all, Indians
were only people—human beings ... just human beings!... Beret listened
in stony silence to it all.
At last Per Hansa took a quick slide down from the roof and went over
to the agitated group.
“What have we here—a sewing circle?... By George! It seems to me that
three nice modest girls like you oughtn’t to be standing around and
making eyes at strange menfolk. They’ve got their own women with ’em,
too.... Maybe the squaws would have a word or two to say about that!”
Per Hansa’s sally broke the tension; Beret immediately resumed her
preparations for supper, and Mother Sörine began to help her; Kjersti
found a pail and milked her cow; and Per Hansa himself went back to his
roof and laid a few more strips of sod before supper was ready.
III
... While they sat waiting for the porridge to cool, they watched with
anxious attention the Indian band as it crept up the slope of the hill
toward the crest. The foremost team reached the summit, passed some
distance beyond it on the other side, and came to a halt; at that they
all drew up, the whole train forming a crescent around the brow of
the hill, facing the house of Per Hansa. One by one the horses were
unhitched from the rickety wagons and turned loose on the prairie....
Per Hansa’s face brightened still more as he noticed this move. People
who did a thing like that could have no evil intentions!
Just then, however, Sörine’s cow, which was still grazing some distance
off on the prairie, suddenly seemed to go crazy. She bellowed loud
and long, lifted her head and tail high in the air, and galloped away
toward the wagons of the newcomers. All watched her in amazement.
Sörine burst out crying, blaming herself for being so shortsighted as
to forget all about her precious cow.... As he saw the beast gallop
away, Per Hansa cursed it from the bottom of his heart.
In an instant, before the little company sitting there had found
time to gather their scattered wits, all the rest of their cattle were
smitten by the same craze. At the first bellow of Sörine’s cow they had
looked up inquiringly, had caught sight of the new arrivals, and at
once had started off behind their leader—Rosie first, then Kjersti’s
Brindlesides—both rearing their tails on high and galloping straight
toward the camp of the Indians.
... “Damn the luck!” muttered Per Hansa between his teeth. “There goes
the milk for our porridge!... The devil salt and burn their blasted
tails!”
A far-away “moo-o-o” drifted in from the north, and there the Solum
boys’ Daisy came running at full speed, to join the deserters![8]
[8] The cattle of the first settlers, from the wandering habits they
had formed during the outward journey, had to be watched, for they
wanted to join every caravan that came along.
At that Per Hansa burst into a loud laugh.... “You’d better go after
your cow,” he said to Sam, “unless you want to munch dry porridge all
winter!”
The women took the matter each in her own way, according to her feeling
for her particular cow. Kjersti wept and took on, vowing that this
was the worst thing that had ever happened to her—it was just awful;
Sörine’s eyes were moist, but she believed that her cow would come
back, just the same; she had never seen a better cow than Dolly and had
tended her like a mother.... But Beret remained quite calm; she seemed
more annoyed than frightened. Why didn’t one of the men go after the
cows?... When they remained sitting and made no move, she rose and laid
her spoon aside.
“We must get them at once,” she announced, firmly. “If the Indians were
to leave to-night, the cows would follow—that is perfectly plain!” ...
She took And-Ongen in her arms and started for the hill.
“Good Heavens, Beret,” cried Kjersti in despair. “You must be crazy!”
Per Hansa gazed fondly at his wife; across his face came a light that
almost made him handsome.... _There_ was a woman for you!... He got
up before she had gone many steps, and ran to her side.
“Go back and eat, Beret-girl! There isn’t anything to worry about,
really and truly.... Leave the cows to me. It can just as well wait
till after we have eaten.... We must behave like well-mannered folk,
you know.”
As they sat over the last of their porridge Per Hansa drew such ghastly
pictures to Sam of the cruelty with which the Indians would probably
treat the cows, that the women shuddered at his words.... “I’ve often
heard—have read it in books, too—that Indians would rather take the
scalp of a cow any day, than of a man.... Haven’t you ever read about
it? Huh! that’s strange!... Well, they’re just crazy, you see, for the
scalp of a cow. They dry them out and use them for winter caps!” ...
Beret looked at him reproachfully. It seemed to her that it ill
behooved him to talk in this fashion; if they were all afraid, they
couldn’t help it; the words sounded coarse in his mouth, and seemed to
coarsen him also.... “Can’t you shut up with that talk!” she said in
her quiet, cutting way, without looking up. “It isn’t such a brave and
manly thing, to terrorize poor womenfolk who are frightened already.”
Per Hansa fell suddenly silent; his face grew burning red. In all the
years that they had lived together it had never happened till now that
she had shamed him before others. And she had spoken so quietly—hadn’t
even looked up!... He ate his porridge slowly and thoughtfully. What
she had said kept repeating itself in his mind, and cut deeper each
time.
At last he laid his spoon aside and got to his feet; he stuck his pipe
in his mouth—the pipe that had been empty and cold so long now, for
lack of fuel—and began sucking the stem.
“I suppose in all fairness, Sam, you ought to go chasing your own
damned beast—you who are such a sharper in both the American and Indian
languages!” he snapped out.... “But—oh, well, there might be some women
over there who were worth having a look at!” he muttered with plain
insinuation. “I guess I’d better go myself and make it a good
_job_!”
Store-Hans jumped up like a flash and put his hand in his father’s....
Per Hansa glanced down into the beaming, ruddy face that smiled up at
him and begged so earnestly.... But the boy uttered never a word.
“Come along, then,” said the father. Still holding the outstretched
hand, he began to walk away.
“Hans, come here!” his mother cried out, sharply. A wild anxiety had
come into her voice—a note of desperate pleading.
“No,” said Per Hansa, shortly. “Hans is going with me.” ... He waited
for no answer, but grasped the boy’s hand firmly and started off.
IV
Store-Hans had been too absorbed in what was going on to notice the
clash between his parents. As they went along, his whole being was
athrill with excitement; he took long, manly strides, and chattered on
in a low, rapid voice, but always returned to the same question:
—What was his father going to do to the Indians?
—Do?... Per Hansa’s mind refused to act any further. The biting words
of his wife, spoken in the plain hearing of all, kept ringing in his
ears.
“Yes, Dad, what are you going to do?”
“We’ll see about that later.” ... He tried to wrench himself out of his
abstraction, repeating in a loud tone: “We’ll see later—when the time
comes!”
“Are you ... are you going to fight them, Dad?”
Per Hansa gave the boy’s hand a good squeeze. “I guess we’ll have to be
satisfied with a scalp or two!”
The only thing Store-Hans knew about scalping was that it was the most
dreadful thing in the world; as to the actual process, he had only a
hazy idea. Now he asked, fearfully, what did it mean, anyway—to scalp
some one?
—Oh, nothing much.... Didn’t he know how it was done?
“No.... Please tell me, Dad?”
Per Hansa shifted the empty pipe to the other corner of his mouth; he
laughed as he said:
“You see, Store-Hans, when the hide begins to get good and dry on the
heads of some people, then the Indians peel it off.”
“Does it grow out new again?” Store-Hans gave a sidewise glance at the
top of his father’s head; before he realized it, his hand had gone up
under his own cap.
“Oh, I suppose so.”
“But ... but doesn’t it hurt awfully?”
“No, not at all ... that is, when the skin is good and dry.”
That seemed quite logical; Store-Hans grasped it immediately.
“But what do they do with the scalp?”
“What do they do with the scalp?” Per Hansa spoke slowly, as if his
mind were elsewhere.... “They use it, I guess ... for mittens, and
things like that.... They turn the hair side in, you see.” ...
“Oh, you’re only fooling!” cried Store-Hans, lengthening his stride in
order not to fall behind.
“Maybe I am fooling.... I thought you knew all about it, though.”
The boy was dying to ask about other things; but he was getting afraid
to raise his voice now—his throat, too, seemed very dry.... And,
besides, they were drawing so near to the Indian camp now, that his
eyes kept him fully occupied.
There was a good deal to see, up there on the hill.... A big tent,
or wigwam, had been pitched in the centre of the crescent, with four
smaller ones on each side. A troop of brown, half-naked children were
running around among the tents.... They seemed to be playing games,
thought Store-Hans; and immediately he picked up courage. He saw women
moving about, too.... There couldn’t be any real danger here!
The rough tents, constructed of poles and hides, stood some
distance back of the semicircle of oddly-assorted vehicles. Halfway
between, a group of dusky squaws were busy at a fire, carrying wood
from the wagons and throwing it on; around the fire several bronzed
men were sitting motionless, with their legs crossed under them....
These men were smoking—that was the first thing that caught Per Hansa’s
eye. The flames of the camp fire threw a lurid glare over the figures
sitting around it, turning their copper-coloured faces to a still
deeper hue, their raven hair to a more intense and glistening black.
They smoked on in silence.
When the two visitors had arrived within the illuminated circle, one
of the Indians pointed to them with his pipe; a few words were spoken
among them in a guttural tongue; beyond this the coming of Per Hansa
and his son created not a ripple of excitement.
Per Hansa stepped forward and greeted them in English—he had picked
up enough words for that. The greeting was returned in the same
language.... One of the braves put something that sounded like a
question; two of the others, sitting beside him, added to it.... Per
Hansa stood helpless for a moment; he could not understand a word.
But in this crisis Store-Hans, who had been half hiding behind his
father, came to his aid; he whispered, rapidly:
“They want to know if we live here.”
“How the devil could you tell that?... By God! I guess we do!” Per
Hansa nodded emphatically toward the Indians. “Tell them there isn’t
any doubt of it—not the least doubt in the world—but say it nicely,
now!”
Store-Hans stepped out in front, facing the seated redskins; he tried
his best to make them understand, using what little English he had
learned during the past winter.
* * * * *
The visit was soon over; after that strange, impassive meeting there
seemed to be nothing else for Per Hansa to say or do. The stray cows,
all four of them, had finally lain down beside the Indian wagons; he
would only need to round them up and drive them home.... Yet there
was something that made it almost impossible for him to tear himself
away. The odour from the pipes wafted to him so enchantingly on the
evening breeze, enthralled and held him captive. He hadn’t had a decent
smoke for over two weeks, and he could smell that this was good strong
tobacco.
At last the temptation grew altogether too powerful; he simply couldn’t
resist it any longer. He glanced around the circle, picked out the face
that looked to him the most approachable, then took the empty pipe from
his mouth and indicated by signs that he needed something to fill it
with.
The man he had chosen understood him perfectly. He gave a laugh,
remarked something to the others, pulled a large leather pouch from his
shirt, and held it out with a dignified gesture. Per Hansa grasped the
pouch with an eager hand, took a deep dive into it, and gave his pipe
a good fill.... “Many thanks, good friend! If Hans Olsa happens to get
back before you’re gone, I’ll see that you are well repaid!... Hans,
translate that to him the best way you know how.... What a thundering
shame that we can’t talk with such good folks!” ... Per Hansa went over
to the fire, raked out a glowing ember, lit his pipe, and pulled at it
long and deeply, while an expression of rare contentment passed over
his face.
V
Turning away from the fire, as he stood there enjoying his smoke, he
noticed a face on the ground at his side—a face that peered out of
the folds of a gaudily coloured blanket, so close to the fire that it
startled him.... Good Lord! was the man trying to singe himself?
Per Hansa stared down into the face incredulously; the form in the
blanket gazed up as fixedly at him in return. It struck him at once
that the Indian must be suffering terrible pain; his features were
distorted in agony.
“Store-Hans!” he called, hastily. “Come here and ask this fellow
what’s the matter with him. It looks to me as if he were fighting death
itself!”
Again Store-Hans had to try out his meagre stock of newcomer English
on the Indians. The face moaned; in a moment it gave answer. The boy
repeated his question; a second answer came, and then another long moan.
“He says his hand is hurt,” Store-Hans reported.
“Is that it? Too bad!... Tell him I’d like to take a look at that hand
of his.”
But Store-Hans didn’t have to repeat the request. The man had been
lying there watching them as they spoke together, looking closely and
intently at Per Hansa. Now he got up beside him without a word; first
he removed the blanket from his arm, and then unwound a bundle of dirty
coloured rags that were wrapped around his hand.
When this was done, he held out an ugly-looking claw, swollen to the
size of a log; not only the hand, but the wrist and a large part of the
arm as well were badly swollen and infected. The evil seemed to have
its source in a festering wound in the palm of the hand.... Per Hansa
examined the hand, felt of it, squeezed it, and turned it over, as if
he had done nothing else all the days of his life but tend to such
cases. The flesh was as hard to the touch as a block of wood; but the
wound itself didn’t look serious.
“Sure enough!” he observed, wisely. “If this doesn’t end up with blood
poisoning my name isn’t Per! Maybe it’s come to that already.... Tell
him”—he turned to Store-Hans—“tell him we’ve got to have some warm
water at once—and more rags. But they must be clean—_clean white rags_,
tell him!... See what a good job of talking you can do, now!” With
these words, he went back to his examination.
The job of talking, however, was more than Store-Hans could handle—he
stuck in it halfway. That his father wanted warm water he could make
them understand; but the other request for clean white rags was either
beyond his English or a little too much for their comprehension.
The sick Indian had kept his eyes intently fixed on the man who was
examining his hand with all the assurance of an expert. Others had
now risen and come up to them, one by one. A close circle had formed
about the little group. The women were also joining it; the children
stopped playing and slipped in among their elders; at last the whole
camp had gathered in a silent ring around the three.... Per Hansa’s
face wore a sober expression, but all the while he kept drawing long,
deep puffs from his pipe.
“Seventeen devils of a claw you’ve got, man!” he exclaimed at last,
when he had finished his diagnosis.... “I can’t see any way out of
it, Store-Hans. You’ll have to run home and get mother. Tell her an
old chief is lying over here almost ready to die—tell her it’s blood
poisoning. She must bring the small kettle, and all the clean rags she
can spare. Can you remember to say _white_ rags?... And she must bring
a pinch of salt, too.... The man has got to have help this very night,
tell her.... Now run along. You aren’t afraid, are you?”
Certainly Store-Hans wasn’t frightened any longer; this was the
greatest experience he had ever had or ever expected to have.... He had
already pressed his way through the throng when his father thought of
something which he had forgotten, and called him back.
... “Tell Sörrina to go home and see if there isn’t a drop left in Hans
Olsa’s bottle. Even if it isn’t more than a thimbleful, we ought to
have it; it’s a matter of life or death here.... And mother must bring
some pepper.... Let’s see, now, how well you can remember everything!”
The boy was off like a flash. As soon as he had gone, Per Hansa began
treating the hand. First of all, he made them understand that he needed
water to wash his own hands.... “Yes, water, _water_!” he said, going
through the motion of dipping his hands and rubbing them. They caught
his meaning at once; the word was passed among them, and a woman
immediately brought some water in a tin bucket.
Per Hansa washed his hands very carefully; then he poured out the
water and motioned for more.... “Yes, yes—more, more!” ... He got it
at once and began to wash the wound—first the hand, and then the wrist
and the arm, but particularly the hand, and the wound itself most
of all.... Brown it had been in the beginning, that skin—and brown it
remained; Per Hansa couldn’t be certain whether he had got it clean.
But now he led the man as close to the fire as the heat would allow;
there he sat down with him, and began to draw on the great store of
experience he had gathered as a fisherman on the Lofoten seas. First
he massaged the flesh around the wound for a long time; then he moved
upward to the wrist, and afterward to the arm. He rubbed with the palm
of his hand, making circular motions, gently for a while, then stronger
and firmer; from time to time he bent over the hand, breathed heavily
on the wound, and continued the rubbing.
At last Store-Hans returned, bringing his mother, who carried all the
articles his father had sent for. Per Hansa noticed that she had put on
her Sunday clothes; for some reason, this pleased him. When she stepped
within the circle of the camp fire, she paused, greeted the strangers
quietly, and dropped a curtsy.
“What do you think you are doing here?” she asked in a low voice;
the words seemed to carry more of reproach than fear.... He suddenly
remembered the incident at supper awhile ago; the wave of bitterness
rose again in his heart.... What a silly question for a grown woman to
ask!
When she received no answer, she continued:
“Kjersti is crying her eyes out—and the rest aren’t much better off....
These people have got to look after themselves. You must come home at
once!”
Per Hansa still remained silent.... This speech was so unlike the Beret
that he knew, that he glanced up at her quickly.
“Give me that kettle!... Yes—water, _water_!” he shouted at them,
pointing to the kettle. But then he remembered Store-Hans.... “Tell
them that I want clean water—yes, clean, that’s it! And it must be hot,
too!”
Now he found time to turn to his wife.... “Oh, well, Kjersti isn’t
going to miscarry to-night!... But if you don’t want to stay here, to
help save a human life in dire distress, you’d better go home....
Here, give me the rest of the things!” Her words of an hour before were
again ringing loud in his ears; his own voice had taken on an added
harshness; he knew it and felt glad.
Beret said no more; she stood looking silently at him, flushed and
confused.
The kettle had now been placed on the fire.
“Where is the salt?... We need salt in the water.”
He took the antique whisky bottle that Sörine had sent; it was still
a good half full. The pepper, done up in a little package, had been
brought over in a cup. Per Hansa looked at it for a moment in grave
doubt.... “No, it’s too much—never in the world can he stand all
that!... Hold out your apron, Beret, to catch this.... There’s too much
pepper.”
“Now, don’t be so hasty!” she said. She took the pepper from him, made
a funnel of the bag, and held it out for him to pour in as much as he
wanted.
Then Per Hansa concocted for the sick Indian that “horse cure” which is
famous among all the inhabitants of Nordland. A goodly tablespoonful of
pepper lay in the cup; he filled it up with whisky, stirred it around,
put the bottle down on the ground, and motioned to the Indian to drink.
The man took the cup, sniffed at it, and smiled; then he put it to
his mouth and took a draught, smacking his lips and making a fearful
grimace.
“Tell him to drain it off at once, Store-Hans!... He’ll live through
it—though it does kick powerfully to begin with!”
The Indian downed the rest of the mixture without wincing.
As Per Hansa was pouring the whisky from the bottle a couple of the
others had suddenly grown restless; as soon as he set it down, one of
these rose to his feet with a jerk and sauntered in their direction;
the other followed close at his heels.
“They’re taking the bottle!” whispered Beret, frightened at their
manner.
Per Hansa whirled like a flash and caught hold of a brown arm; he
grasped it firmly and gave it a violent twist. A howl of pain echoed
through the camp.... “What the hell are you doing!” cried Per Hansa,
wrenching loose the bottle with his other hand. “That bottle belongs to
Hans Olsa. Don’t you dare to touch it!” He looked so fiercely at the
pair that they slunk off, afraid.
“Now come here and help me, woman!... Hold this bottle, and let the
liquor drip down on his hand while I rub it in.... Right on the
wound—only a drop at a time ... God! did you ever see a nastier-looking
hand?”
Beret did as he told her, but her own hand was shaking violently. He
looked at her closely. Her face was flushed; tears hung in her eyes....
And all at once the loud ringing of bitter words died away in his ears.
He massaged the hand of the Indian for a long while, pouring the whisky
on freely. Then he asked for the rags which she had brought. These he
dipped in the kettle, where the water was now boiling; he wrung them
out slightly and began swathing them around the hand—one rag over the
other. The man gasped and moaned in his great agony.
“Now, Beret, we ought to have a clean, dry cloth to wrap around the
whole business.... But probably you didn’t bring anything like that?”
She hesitated for an instant, then untied her apron and handed it over
to him. He knew that it was her very best apron. He could not bear to
take it, but he did not say so.
“That’s just it, Beret-girl—the very thing! If that doesn’t help him,
I don’t know anything in the wide world that would cure his hand!...
Now, take mother with you and go home, Store-Hans. You can see for
yourselves, there’s nothing to be afraid of here. I’ll bring the cows
back with me when I come.”
“But when will you come?” she asked with a tremor in her voice.
“Oh, I shall have to stay here part of the night, at least. If we can’t
make the swelling go down, and that right quick, there’s nothing
under God’s heaven that can save him! I’ll have to change the rags
every half hour.... But you go right along, now, and don’t worry!”
Beret paused a moment; she gazed at him, saying not a word, but her
mouth quivered. Then she took Store-Hans by the hand and walked away.
VI
During the first part of the night Per Hansa kept constant vigil
over the sick man, frequently looking at his watch and changing the
bandages; every time the hand was exposed, he rubbed in a few more
drops from Hans Olsa’s bottle. It was evident from the man’s face that
the pain was growing no worse; he even slept at intervals.
Midnight passed. The whole camp was now asleep; the men lay around like
mummies, wrapped in their gaudy blankets, their feet towards the fire.
Occasionally one of them would rise and throw on more wood; Per Hansa
noticed that it was always the same man.... The night was vast and
still; the glow of the fire spread a strange light a little way around
... beyond hovered impenetrable darkness.
Per Hansa felt tired and drowsy; he realized that he would have to pull
himself together in order to keep going through the middle watch....
Suddenly he pricked up his ears; in an instant he was wide awake.
He had heard a sound like steps in the grass, off on one side—steps
that seemed to be hesitating as if in fear. They trod cautiously,
drawing closer and closer; then they stopped, as if the person were
listening.... He glanced around; the sick man slept at his side; all
the others seemed to be sleeping. Who could it be, reconnoitring so
quietly out there?... He got up abruptly, stepped closer to the fire,
and stood fully revealed against the glare. Now the steps were heard
again, firmly approaching.... The next moment Beret stood within the
circle of the camp fire, silently looking at him.
Per Hansa’s eyes leaped out and embraced his wife’s form: a great glow
of love and tenderness surged through him.... “Beret-girl, come
here!” he called in a low voice. “Don’t be frightened; the whole crew
is asleep!”
She advanced slowly to the side of the fire where he stood; but she did
not look at him. Her face was flushed and swollen with weeping.... “How
she must have been crying!” he thought; and the memory of his harsh
words filled him with deep remorse. He went up to her timidly, took her
by the hand, and led her nearer the fire.... “Beret, you ought to be
sleeping at this hour of the night!... Have you been frightened again?”
Her body shook with sobs; they tore her so convulsively that she could
not speak a word. Like a crushed thing she sank inertly to the ground.
He threw himself down beside her, put one arm around her waist, and
sought her hand.... Then she began to weep softly; he heard it, and
stroked the hand he had found. After a while he had tried to say,
lightly: “I guess the old fellow is going to pull through, all right.”
... But the moment the words were out of his mouth he felt that he
hadn’t said the right thing; in his confusion, he asked her how all the
others were at home.
She made no response to either of his attempts; then he heard the sick
Indian stir, and looked around at him. The man lay wide awake, staring
at them fixedly with his black, beady eyes.
For a while Per Hansa busied himself once more with the injured hand;
the man sat up as the treatment went on; Beret rose and stood close by,
watching the operation.
“If you had a string to tie around the rags, so that they wouldn’t
loosen when they got dry, they would keep the heat longer,” she said in
a low voice, but calm and clear.
“Oh yes!... If I only had it!”
She turned away for a moment and began fumbling at her clothes;
then, with a bashful but determined air, she handed him one of her
home-braided garters.... “Will this do?” she asked.
“_Do_?... My God! Beret, that’s exactly what we need!” ... He bound up
the sick hand tightly, and tied the garter around the bandage.... “The
fellow’s better already!” he cried. “I can see it in his eyes—and
his hand feels softer.... But it’s still bad enough; he isn’t over it
yet, by any means!”
When the bandage had been firmly fastened the Indian got up, went to
one of the wagons, and fetched three heavy blankets; these he gave to
Per Hansa, motioning that they should cover themselves and lie down.
“Now, doesn’t that show, Beret, what decent people they are?... I think
the fellow will be able to take care of himself for a while. We might
as well turn in!” ... He wrapped one blanket around her, another around
himself; then they both lay down with their feet to the fire, and
pulled the third blanket over the two of them. Per Hansa put his arm
around his wife and held her close in a fond, protecting embrace. “Now
try to sleep, my dear Beret-girl!” he whispered, reassuringly.... She
dropped off almost at once, and slept until the crimson dawn fell on
the eastern prairie.
* * * * *
The Indians remained for another day and night. During their stay
Per Hansa spent more time with them than he did at home. Store-Hans
practically lived on the hill, keeping an eye on things. And Ole, too,
strolled over to the Indian camp at odd times.... But Sam Solum let the
savages severely alone; and the women, though they were curious to see
the camp, felt too timid to venture near.
The Indians, for their part, kept strictly to themselves. They did not
once approach the houses of the settlement; neither, strange to say,
did they allow their women to come over.
It was noon of the third day before they broke camp, to continue the
journey northward. The hand of the sick man still looked very bad, but
the immediate danger seemed to be over. Per Hansa had made a sling for
him, in which he carried his arm. When the long train of queer-looking
teams had got well under way, they saw the sick Indian coming down the
hill toward the house, leading a fully saddled pony by the bridle; one
of the wagons stood waiting for him farther along the hill.
The fellow is probably coming to say good-bye, thought Per Hansa;
he got up and went to meet him. Beret and the children followed slowly
a little way behind. The man walked straight up to Per Hansa and
uttered a few unintelligible words; he laid in Per Hansa’s hand the
bridle by which he was leading the pony; then he said a few more words,
made a short, stiff bow, turned on his heel and stalked away.... He was
a tall, broad-shouldered savage, well built and handsome.
“Has the old boy gone stark crazy?” exclaimed Per Hansa. “Can you
imagine what he means?”
“He wants to give you the pony!” shouted Store-Hans, his eyes round
with wonder.
Per Hansa roared out an emphatic protest, and started after the
stranger.... “No, no!” he cried. “That will never do!” ...
But the Indian only strode to the waiting wagon, climbed in, and rode
away.
“I’ve never seen the beat of it in all my born days!” said Per Hansa,
solemnly. He stood as if dumfounded, holding the bridle over his
arm.... “Saddle and everything!” ...
Store-Hans gave a leap into the air, turned a somersault, which
immediately had to be repeated. Never in his life had he felt so
supremely happy.... Then he and his brother ran over to claim the prize.
VII
In the evening of the following day the loaded wagons arrived from
town; they brought great stores of curiosities, and the men who drove
them had many remarkable tales to tell.
Hans Olsa, who had carried fifteen dollars in cash from Per Hansa to
buy merchandise with besides going surety for him for a plow and a
horse rake, came first to their house to unload, before going home.
There was a great mountain of bags and packages, sacks and boxes; but
best of all were the plow and the rake. The latter, especially,—it
was painted in such beautiful, rich colours, red, blue, and green; it
looked so impressive standing there in the yard, with its seat reared
high in the air ... like a veritable throne! Nothing would do but
Store-Hans must climb up and try it at once; he was wondering if they
couldn’t hitch their new pony to this wonderful rig!... Still more
marvellous things than this had come from town; but Store-Hans was
fully occupied for a while and did not see them till later. Over at
Tönseten’s stood a mowing machine, which could cut both hay and wheat;
this also had a seat high up in the air; and at the Solum boys’ the
sights were equally remarkable.
There was a grand celebration at Hans Olsa’s house that night. Tönseten
and Per Hansa arrived long before the others to have a talk together.
They found much to do, and many important matters to discuss and
settle. Everything that had been borrowed during the past season must
now be paid back, and that was a complicated affair; for at one time
one kind of measure had been used, at another time another; they were
all in the same boat. Everyone owed everyone else—and now it was time
to square the accounts. Hans Olsa, who during the shortage had had the
most to lend, was now left with enough supplies to stock a good-sized
store.
But the goods were what interested Per Hansa least of all just now;
he was eaten up with curiosity, and only wanted to ask questions; he
had to hear every detail of their difficulties and adventures on the
way.... Had they run across many people? What news had they picked up?
Did there seem to be many settlers moving west? How did the prospects
look where they had been?... Was he a fair-minded man, this fellow
they had bargained with—the one who had trusted them for the plow
and the rake? Did he look like a chap who would extend still further
credit to a poor devil who had an honest face and came to him in a
straightforward way?... God knows, Per Hansa needed such a blessed lot
of things!
—Yes, Hans Olsa would say that the man seemed to be a pretty decent
sort of fellow; he spoke only English, however, so one couldn’t get
far with him in the way of talk; this was a bad piece of news for Per
Hansa. His goods were fairly expensive, too; but one couldn’t expect
anything better out here.... On second thought, Hans Olsa seriously
doubted whether it would be possible to get further credit from him.
At the start of their dickering, the man wouldn’t listen to a word of
extending credit; but Syvert had argued with him so long and sensibly
that he had finally yielded, on condition that they both sign their
names as security for the plow and the rake.... By this time, anyway,
he knew they were going to buy so much from him that it wouldn’t have
paid him to be unreasonable.
The returned voyagers, however, thought that the folks at home had
stranger tales than their own to tell. It seemed nothing short of a
miracle that Per Hansa had been able to bring back to life an Indian
chief with one foot in the grave—those were the very words Kjersti had
used to her husband. Tönseten swore that he had never heard anything
so strange; by George! it was more exciting than any storybook ever
written!
... “I declare, Per Hansa,” said Hans Olsa, looking at him in open
admiration, “it’s a queer thing about you! No matter how hard you’re
put to it, you always give a good account of yourself!... I was dead
set on having you go along with us this trip; we could have arranged
it somehow, you know. Syvert and I were speaking about it only the
night before we left; but then we both decided that we could feel so
much more comfortable about going away, knowing that you were here....
It was an act of Providence, I say, to leave you home this time!” ...
Tönseten nodded yes-and-amen to all that Hans Olsa had said.
Per Hansa accepted their homage very modestly; he drew a deep breath
and started to reply; but words failed him, and he had to begin all
over again.
... “Oh, well—so much for that, boys. Forget it, now! I didn’t do
anything out of the ordinary. But I might as well own up that when
I told Ole to get Old Maria I didn’t have any courage to spare!...
There came the band of Indians, thirty strong or more—and here I stood,
alone with three crazy women!... It looked like far from plain sailing,
I can tell you!” ...
“I don’t doubt it a bit!” agreed Hans Olsa. “It’s a wonder to me that
you didn’t take the women and try to run away!”
“Yes, but where could I run to? Besides, they had horses.... The women
were crying and carrying on, you know.... And just then it crossed my
mind, Hans Olsa, that if you were only near enough to sing out to—and
you, too, Syvert—I’d gladly have given my right hand, or both of them!”
“Sam wasn’t much use to you, eh?” asked Tönseten.
“No, Syvert, Sam isn’t quite equal to such a job.” But then Per
Hansa felt that he had been too harsh; he quickly added: “Let’s hope
that he, too, will have guts some day.... The boy has plenty of good
qualities....”
Meanwhile Beret and Kjersti had arrived; the Solum boys turned up at
last, and then they were all gathered. The women had gone with Sörine
into her new house; they were curious to see what her husband had
brought; she had to give both of them a taste from this bag and that.
The menfolk remained sitting behind the barn; they had many weighty
matters to discuss, and didn’t want to be interrupted; just now the hay
cutting seemed to be the all-absorbing topic.... Per Hansa’s boys and
Hans Olsa’s girl were chasing one another around the sod hut, playing
“Indian.”
It was a strange thing, however, the number of trips the men had to
make into the barn to look at the window and door which Hans Olsa had
brought. There must indeed be something very odd about that window and
that door. The men never seemed to be done looking at them; they went
in and came out—came out only to go in again; each time they reappeared
they were laughing and talking more glibly. The children sneaked close
to the walls whenever the men were inside.... It must be some very
secret business they were about! Their voices sank so low—most of the
time nothing but whispering could be heard.... And such a volley of
hawking and coughing and clearing of throats came from the interior
of the barn, such a smacking of lips, such a steady gurgling—like
water running out of a bottle—that the children pressed against the
wall outside couldn’t help laughing.... There, one of them had given a
tremendous sneeze!... “Hush!” whispered Sofie. “That was Syvert—he must
have swallowed wrong!”
... Something very strange, indeed, whatever it was.... Now they heard
Tönseten swear that it was his turn. He had forgotten himself and
spoken out loud: “Can’t I treat Per Hansa to an honest drink, when he
has saved both my wife and my cow from dire death and scalping!... Toss
it off, Per, old boy, and let the rest of us get a chance!”
Then more jolly laughter and smacking of lips.
“What do you suppose they’re doing?” whispered Sofie, making a wry face.
“Drinking, of course!” said Ole, curtly, furious because he was not
allowed to be in on this.... Surely he was grown-up enough to take a
drink or two! He could drive the oxen fully as well as his father.
Then Sörine appeared in the doorway, shouting to them that now they
must all come in. In one of the boxes which her husband had brought she
had found two bottles. As far as she could make out, it was neither
kerosene nor liniment; she felt pretty sure that it wasn’t syrup!... It
would do no harm to find out exactly what the stuff was—to-night they
had good reason for rejoicing. She brought a glass, treated both of the
neighbour women, took a wee drop herself, and then called in the men.
All five of the menfolk entered in a body and drew up in a close group
at the door; at sight of the whisky they had suddenly become bashful
and cautious.
“You shouldn’t be handing around costly Christmas treats in the middle
of the haying season!” said Tönseten, craftily.... “What sort of a
housekeeper is this that you’ve got, Hans Olsa?”
“Oh, come on, Syvert!” laughed Sörine.
—What, _he_? Good gracious! _no_—he wouldn’t have anything. He couldn’t
stand liquor right after supper, anyway.... She ought not to lead a
weak brother into temptation!
But he was chuckling, and his four companions were chuckling with him.
Per Hansa pushed Hans Olsa forward.
“Here, Hans Olsa, you are the boss of this house. Show us how the thing
ought to be done.... Syvert, you see, isn’t feeling well, poor devil!”
—Now, it would never do for him to be first—this was Hans Olsa’s
ruling. Where he had been brought up, that wasn’t considered proper.
“If you don’t come at once and take this glass,” said Sörine with mock
severity, “I’ll pour it back into the bottle.... Then you can stand
there wishing for it as much as you please!”
... “Hold on, there, Sörrina—not so hasty, not so hasty I Be careful
with the blessings of the Lord!... Of course I’ll sample it for you, if
you’ve got to have it done!” ... It was Tönseten, after all, who had
first spoken and come forward. But it seemed to take him an awful while
to swallow that dram; he hawked and grinned over every little sip, and
said the liquor burnt his throat so unmercifully that he could hardly
get it down.... “Tell me, Hans Olsa, where did you find this stuff?”
“Now, heave it in, Syvert, so that the rest of us can have a whack
before it gets too cold!” laughed Hans Olsa. “You’ve got to help me
with that window, you know, before you leave to-night.”
“Right you are!... Yes, right you are!” agreed Tönseten, solemnly, and
emptied the glass without more ado.
Sörine treated them all.... And now the menfolk were sorry, but they
really had no time to stay indoors; Hans Olsa needed all their help to
get that window in before it came dark; and out they trooped in a
body again, as soon as they had emptied their glasses.
When the celebration was over and they finally set out for home that
night, it seemed to Kjersti that Syvert walked very queerly. No matter
how she adjusted her own steps, he would either range ahead of her or
lag behind; when the latter took place, he would suddenly discover
it and lurch forward, struggling hard to keep his balance; once he
had caught up with her again, he would come to a stop and stand there
babbling.
“What in the name of common sense are you mumbling about? What ails
you, Syvert dear?... You act as if you were walking and talking in your
sleep on the open prairie!”
“Hic!... Don’t know!” he sighed.... “Feel awright ... Maybe li’l’
queer.... Sort o’ diz’ ... sort o’ dizzy, y’ know.... Feet don’t work
prop’ly!” He lurched ahead like a boat scudding down the slope of a
wave.... “You know, I think ... abs’lutely I do ... must be that stuff
... that damned stuff of Sörrina’s!”
“Oh, well,” said Kjersti, consolingly, laughing to herself, “if it
isn’t anything worse than that, you’ll soon be all right again.”
VIII
It was two days later that the great misfortune befell them. And
according to the manner of such events, it came while everything seemed
safe and serene and even the thought of ill luck was far away.
They had finished their afternoon lunch. Hans Olsa was cutting hay;
his new machine hummed lustily over the prairie, shearing the grass so
evenly and so close to the ground that his heart leaped with joy to
behold the sight.... What a difference, this, from pounding away with
an old scythe, on steep, stony hillsides!... All the men had gathered
around to see him start; Per Hansa had returned home from that send-off
firmly determined to get another cow for the winter, even if he had
to steal one; for with such a machine it would be nothing to cut the
hay.
Per Hansa was finishing his thatching that afternoon. Ole and
Store-Hans were helping; even Beret came out from time to time to lend
a hand. The father was chatting with the boys, who answered him gayly;
now and then they became so boisterous and laughed so heartily together
that little And-Ongen wanted to get up on the roof with them. Some
distance away the pony was tethered; the boys petted him constantly,
and already he seemed so tame that in a short while it would be safe to
turn him loose.
Tönseten was breaking some new land, with Sam as helper; from his high
lookout, Per Hansa had just noticed how well Syvert was getting along
with his field. But wait a bit, my good Syvert, wait a bit!... Per
Hansa simply didn’t feel like hurrying to-day. He shouted down once
more to Beret, asking her to see whether the roof would hold water;
that was one of his little jokes. The point was this: it had sounded so
pleasant to hear her voice in the room below while he had been working
on the roof; but now that the thatch was on, the low tone in which
she naturally spoke didn’t carry through the thickness of the sod; he
missed hearing her, and liked to make her shout now and then.... He
seemed to notice that she was growing better satisfied with things as
they were out here.
Henry Solum was digging a well down by the creek. Everyone was busy
with his own particular task; the little frontier settlement hummed
with the keen joy of labour.
... Then the blow fell upon them—suddenly!
Kjersti noticed it first. At lunch time she had brought out a bite to
eat and a drop of coffee for the men. Plenty reigned just now, after
the trip to town. As she was about to enter her own house again it
occurred to her that she hadn’t seen Brindlesides, either on the way
over or on the way back.... The cow must have been in sight, somewhere
around. She turned and walked a little way beyond the corner of the
house, then stopped and surveyed the scene.... Kjersti kept on looking
until her eyes watered—until she could hear the heavy pounding of
her heart; but her cow was not to be seen on the whole wide prairie ...
and not a single one of the other critters, either!
In her wild excitement she ran straight to Sörine’s and rushed into the
house, crying:
“Have you any idea where your cow is?”
“My cow...?” Sörine noticed her agitated face, and could not say
another word.
“That’s just what I said, Sörrina!... Where is she—where is she?... Oh,
merciful Heaven!” ...
“You are scaring the life out of me, Kjersti! The cow must be right
around here.” ... But she didn’t wait for an answer; the women rushed
out of the house together.
... Sure enough, no cows in sight anywhere!
“I can’t understand it!” exclaimed Sörine.... “Can you?”
“They’ve run away!” cried Kjersti in despair.
“Of course they couldn’t have sunk through the earth!” Sörine was
always a sensible woman in a crisis.
“Oh, where are they?” wailed Kjersti. “Where have they gone?”
“We must tell the men this minute!” declared Sörine, firmly. She saw
that it was no use to waste time in waiting for her neighbour; leaving
Kjersti to look after herself, she hastened over to where her husband
was working.
Hans Olsa pulled up the horses abruptly when he saw the two women
straggling across the field.
... The cows? Oh, nothing worse than that!... Well, he hadn’t seen
hide nor hair of the cows; but they must be around somewhere.... He
was in such high spirits because of the smooth way the new machine
was running, and of the ease with which they would now be able to get
all the hay they needed, that he felt as if nothing could worry him
to-day.... It was a sin how nervous these women were. Good Lord! the
cows would show up all right at milking time!
“We must begin to search for them at once!” ... Sörine was so earnest
and determined about it, that almost unconsciously he found himself
looking around.... Strange, not a beast to be seen!... Then he, too,
became serious; he unhitched the horses, tied one of them to the mowing
machine, mounted the other, and rode up the hill.
“We must go and tell Per Hansa!” said Sörine, briskly.
“Oh, what’s the use!” wailed Kjersti, wringing her hands. “You can see
for yourself that they are gone!... Yes, gone—and if anyone is to find
them, we’ll have to do it!”
Sörine was now both angry and frightened—angry with Kjersti, frightened
over the cows. She hurried on ahead, the other trailing after.
But there was no information to be had at Per Hansa’s, either. None of
them there had thought of keeping an eye on the cows; the animals had
gone around loose every day, and had invariably come home at milking
time in the evening; they never had been in the habit of straying so
far away that they couldn’t be seen.... Ole could distinctly remember
having noticed them over by the creek, that very forenoon.
Per Hansa took the matter calmly and made a comforting suggestion; the
cows were probably lying down in the tall grass, somewhere along the
creek; they’d turn up safe and sound when it came milking time.... But
just then Hans Olsa rode up with a very sober face and related that he
hadn’t seen a sign of life stirring on the whole prairie!
When Hans Olsa took it that way, and spoke so seriously, Per Hansa,
too, began to get worried; he and the boys at once came down from the
roof.
“Take the pony, Ola, and ride down to the creek. Search upstream first,
then turn and go south. If you don’t see anything, you’d better notify
the Solum boys and Tönseten.” ... Per Hansa still believed that the
cows would come back all right of their own accord; but he proposed
that they all should quit work fairly early; then if the cows hadn’t
shown up they could get together and decide what was best to be done.
For surely the gnomes hadn’t taken them underground....
IX
The evening wore on; outside of every hut the settlers stood watching,
but no cows appeared. The uneasiness deepened, and that sneaking dread
which comes to all when life about them has suddenly and mysteriously
disappeared.... The wind blew from the southwest, driving heavy rain
clouds; they hung so low that the grass seemed to bend as they swept
over it where the plain swelled up to meet the sky.
A depressing gloom hovered over each of the four families sitting
around the supper table. At Per Hansa’s, little And-Ongen wept bitterly
and inconsolably because she hadn’t been taken along to pet Rosie while
her mother milked. As they were sitting down to supper, the child had
asked if they weren’t going to milk the cow to-night; Beret didn’t have
the heart to tell her what had happened, and said hastily that she had
milked already. The child felt that a great injustice had been done
her—that she had been defrauded of something which was hers by right.
She had burst out crying and had wanted to go to Rosie at once; but
the mother had said: No, Rosie had gone away as soon as she had given
her milk, and would not come back till to-morrow. And-Ongen had hung
tearfully around her mother’s neck, trying to make her promise never to
go milking again unless she took her along. The mother had comforted
her as best she could; although she had not said much, it had been more
affecting to look at her than at the child.
Store-Hans listened to them until, all at once, he had to lay his spoon
aside. He couldn’t have swallowed another mouthful of his porridge. He
got up quietly, his eyes on the floor, slipped outside, and ran behind
the house.... The very thought of eating was horrible; every spoonful
had threatened to choke him. It had seemed as if he were dipping the
spoon in Rosie’s very blood.... And dear Rosie, around whose neck he
had put his arms so many times, resting his cheek against her soft
skin.... He felt now that he loved her almost more than any living
being in the world!
The elder brother, who considered himself a full-grown man, had
remained at the table, gulping down large mouthfuls of milk and
porridge with an indifferent air. He noticed his brother go out; then
he said in a loud voice, just let the cows wait till he got hold of
them! He’d lash their hides so thoroughly that they wouldn’t ever dare
to play that trick again!... His father shot a glance at the boy,
which silenced him immediately. The next moment he, too, had lost his
appetite and laid his spoon aside. After a while he went out; though he
could hear where his brother was, by certain unmistakable sounds, he
did not try to find him; instead he climbed up on the roof and sat down
there alone.
A little later the whole colony gathered on top of the Indian hill near
Per Hansa’s. Per Hansa himself, with Beret and the child, came last
of all, although they had the shortest distance to walk. Away behind
them Ole sauntered along; but Store-Hans was nowhere to be seen. The
evening lay heavily on the plain. Toward the south, where the clouds
were massing together, it was already deepening into night. No life,
no sound—only the wind moaning under a lowering sky.... The evening
brought memories to them—memories of half-forgotten tales which people
had heard and repeated long, long ago, about happenings away off in a
far country. There it had been known to have actually taken place, that
both man and beast would be spirited away by trolls.... So many strange
things were hovering between heaven and earth, if one stopped to think
... and remember!... But that anything of the sort could happen out
here on the open prairie, where not so much as a single jutting cliff
or wooded ridge appeared, that was the strangest of all!
The folk stood around in gloomy silence; each was thinking the same
thoughts.
... “They _must_ be down by the creek!” repeated Tönseten for the
hundredth time.
The hopelessness in his voice struck the same chord of desolation
that possessed them all; no one had courage to ask Tönseten what he
supposed could have happened to the cows down there. When he got no
answer, he added with an even deeper note of melancholy:
... “Talk about mystery!”
The wind swept over them with a chilly breath, now and then flicking a
drop of rain from the dense clouds. Sam Solum rose from where he had
been sitting on the ground, and began to walk up and down as if he had
made up his mind.
“In my opinion,” he announced, firmly, “it’s the doings of the red
man!... He’s at his work again!”
All turned to look at him.
“You saw how crazy mad the cows acted that night when the Indians came?
Well, most likely they noticed it, too, and have come back here after
them. That’s where we’ll have to look for our cows, my friends!” ...
Sam spoke in a bold, convincing voice; now he had solved the riddle for
them and felt very superior.
His idea at once gained general acceptance; it was at least a natural
explanation. To the women it sounded very reasonable; they wondered
why they hadn’t thought of it themselves; for they had all seen how
crazy the cattle acted that night.... Hans Olsa and Tönseten pondered
deeply over the problem for a while; they said nothing at first; this
explanation had at least dispersed the feeling of weirdness that had
gripped the colony; but the longer they thought, the more they realized
that scant consolation lay in the theory that the Indians had enticed
the cattle away; for where could they find the Indians, or how could
they recover the cattle after they had been found? If they had stolen
them, they meant to keep them—and keep them they could.
Tönseten marched straight up to Per Hansa; he spoke rapidly, in a voice
of great determination:
“If that’s the case, by God! you’ve got to go and get the cows the
first thing in the morning—you who are so friendly with the Indians....
We must have our cows right away!”
“Yes, good Heavens!” Kjersti put it. “How can we get along if
that drop of milk is taken away from us?... You ought to go this very
minute!”
Per Hansa sat gazing steadily off into the distance; but he said never
a word. At Kjersti’s remark, however, it seemed as if something had
suddenly stung him; he bounded up from the ground like a rubber ball.
“That’s just the job for you and Sam!... Come on, wife, let’s go home
and get to bed.”
With these words he stalked away; everyone could see that now Per Hansa
was thoroughly angry.
X
Rest was a long time in coming to them at Per Hansa’s that night; a
strange uneasiness had entered there and would not leave the house.
Store-Hans had not accompanied them to the hill; his brother found him
sitting outside when he came home, and told him what Sam had said; he
added it as his own opinion that undoubtedly the Indians had been there
and stolen all the cows!... Ole had then left his brother and gone in
to bed; the father and mother were inside already, getting ready for
the night; but time went on and the other boy did not come.... After a
while the mother had gone out to look for him; she had called several
times and had walked around the house; finally she had received a
gruff answer from the gable of the roof. There sat the boy, staring
out into the darkness. He refused to come down until she spoke to him
harshly, saying that she would call his father if he did not mind her
at once.... Then he slid down quickly and silently, ran into the house,
slipped off his clothes, and flung himself into bed.
Quiet gradually settled on the room; the father and mother had at last
retired. As they were on the point of falling to sleep, a violent
sob came from the boys’ bed; silence immediately followed—breathless
silence; then came another sob, more violent than the first—a strangled
gasp of anguish.... The mother called across the room, asking what
was the matter—was Store-Hans sick? At that he broke down in
earnest, with long heaves and gasps, with sobs so violent that they
threatened to choke him. Beret spoke to him gently and soothingly;
little by little the storm over there in the dark abated, lulled away,
and finally seemed to die out altogether ... except for a flutter
or two.... Suddenly there arose a hoarse sound like that of bellows
inhaling the air, which ended in a tear-choked gasp: “Rosie!...
_Ro-o-sie_!”
“Stay where you are, Beret,” said Per Hansa. “I’ll get up and tend to
the little fellow!” He pulled on his trousers, and went over in the
dark to the boys’ bed; his voice was so low that it could hardly be
heard.
... “Come, Hansy-boy, I’ll tell you a secret!”
He put his arm around the youngster, lifted him out of bed, took a coat
from the wall and wrapped it around him, then carried him outside. Over
by the woodpile, which they had hauled home together from the Sioux
River, he sat down with the boy in his lap.... They began to talk. At
first only the father did the speaking; but after a while, between
sobs, Store-Hans began to join in. The wind, driving warm raindrops
full in their faces, seemed to ask if they had gone crazy, sitting
out here at this hour of the night; but they paid not the slightest
attention....
Store-Hans was finding consolation in his father’s wise and kindly chat.
... “It’s a burning shame,” Per Hansa was saying, “that we haven’t got
two ponies! Then you could go with me to-morrow when I ride out to
fetch those pesky cows!”
—Oh!... Did he know where they were, then?—slipped out between two sobs.
“Of course I do!”
Store-Hans snuggled deeper into his father’s lap at this assurance,
feeling an infinite, blissful safety there.
—Was it the Indians who had taken them?
“Certainly not! Those were honest Indians.... You could see that for
yourself.”
—But where were the cows, then?
“Oh, they’ve just strayed off so far that they can’t find their
way home again.... But don’t worry, boy. To-morrow morning I’m going to
ride out and get them, never fear!”
A long silence followed this promise; Store-Hans felt a blissful
happiness settling upon him; the sobs gradually ceased.
“The Indians don’t scalp cows, do they?”
“No, indeed!... They aren’t such barbarians!”
“They are good people, aren’t they, Dad?”
“Yes, just ordinary folks.”
“Cows wouldn’t be anything for Indian braves to fight for, would they?”
“I should say not!... And much less for _chiefs_!”
It was growing very late; the raindrops were still falling steadily;
the father said that they ought to be getting back to bed. But
Store-Hans seemed well contented where he was.
“Are you going to start early to-morrow?”
“I suppose so.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“That depends on how far I have to go.”
“There won’t be any danger if the Indians come back while you are
away.... I can talk to them, you know!”
“Right you are, son!... Nothing to worry about as long as I have you
here at home!”
Then Per Hansa got up and carried the boy back to bed.
Store-Hans fell asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow.
But some time later in the night he suddenly rose to his knees.
“Here I come, Rosie!” he cried out, clearly—then sank back in a heap on
the pillow, and slept on.
XI
At the first faint streaks of day Per Hansa slipped out of bed, made
a fire, and put on the coffeepot. His wife, he noticed, was already
awake. He told her to stay in bed; to this she made no reply
in words, but she got up immediately, dressed herself, and began to
prepare him a meal. A small lamp burned in the room; the day was yet
too young to give much light.
Per Hansa sat down at the table and began to eat; the coffee wasn’t
quite ready; his wife stood over by the stove, waiting for it to boil.
An air of fixed determination hung about her; although she had not
spoken, he felt it just the same.
All night long Beret had been lying there with her eyes wide open,
staring up at a picture that would not go away; a picture of a
nameless, blue-green solitude, flat, endless, still, with nothing to
hide behind.... Some cows were grazing on it.... Yes, animals of flesh
and blood were there ... and in the next moment they were not there!...
The picture had been full of unearthly, awful suggestions. She had lain
awake in terror, lost in her own imaginings, wrestling with fearsome
thoughts that only increased the dread in her soul.... And now he
was leaving her—now he would probably stay away for a long time and
she would have no knowledge of where he was faring.... It must have
been the Indians who had taken the cows. Could it have been anything
else—could it have been?... She knew too well how hasty and fearless
her husband was, plunging headlong into whatever lay before him!... The
thought made her tremble.
... It seemed plain to her now that human life could not endure in
this country. She had lived here for six weeks and more without seeing
another civilized face than those of their own company. Not a settled
habitation of man lay nearer than several days’ journey; if any visitor
came, it was a savage, a wild man, whom one must fear!... To get what
supplies they needed they must journey four whole days, and make
preparations as if for a voyage to Lofoten!... What would happen if
something sudden should befall them ... attack, or sickness, or fire
... yes, _what would they do_?
... Ah no, this wasn’t a place for human beings to dwell in....
And then, what of the children? Suppose they were to grow up here,
would they not come to be exactly like the red children of the
wilderness—or perhaps something worse?... It was uncivilized; they
would not learn the ways of man; no civilization would ever come....
Never, never, would it be otherwise!
... Perhaps, then, it was an act of Providence that the cattle had been
lost.... It ought to show them how things stood out here—that man could
not exist in this savage, desolate wilderness; they ought to be able to
see that much, at any rate.... Even he might see it, too!...
She could not tell whether she had slept at all that night; it did not
seem so; she had heard her husband’s first move when he began to stir.
She remembered, too, the last thought she had been struggling with in
bed; she shuddered at it, now that there was a light in the house.
There in the darkness she had felt that it would be a blessing if the
cows never turned up.... How could she ever have thought it? That, too,
was only a part of the hideous evil out here!...
“You aren’t going alone?” she asked, from over by the stove.
He had not mentioned going yet; he gave her a quick look.
“We’ll see.”
“Will you be gone long?”
“You’d better not look for me till you see me.... I may be gone
overnight.”
She asked no more for a time; in a few moments she came and poured out
his coffee.
“Which way are you going?”
“I don’t exactly know yet.... Eastward, I suppose.”
“You are doing a wrong thing, and I must tell you so!” she said,
decisively, putting the coffeepot back on the stove.... “A wrong
thing!” she repeated with even more emphasis.
The vehemence of her tone took hold of him.
“Perhaps it is,” he answered, rather meekly.... “But we must try to get
the cows back somehow, just the same.”
“No more than the others!” she exclaimed, her agitation suddenly
flaring up.... “If they can do without them, we can too!”
“But look here, Beret,” he reasoned, trying to calm her, “you know that
it’s necessary for some one to go and look for the cattle. Hans Olsa
hasn’t time to do it, because of the haying; and as for the others, I
haven’t much faith in them.... There aren’t many to choose from here,
you know.”
“Does it seem right to you, then,” she burst out, wildly, “that I
should be left alone here with the children while you are chasing
around in the wilderness?... You may be gone for a day or a week—how
can I know?... Why can’t Sam or Henry go? They have no one sitting at
home waiting for them!” She did not look up from the floor while she
was speaking; deep passion burned in her words.
... Now she has fallen into one of her unreasonable moods, thought Per
Hansa; but perhaps she couldn’t help it, poor thing!... “It’s this way,
Beret, you see: I don’t believe it would be any use for those fellows
to go.”
“Then Tönseten will have to do it!” ... Now she was going to cry—he
heard it in her voice.
“Oh, God Almighty!... then the cows would surely come home!” he
groaned, not far from tears himself.
She did not answer; her rigid form remained standing over by the
window, staring out into the drab, dismal dawn.
Per Hansa said no more, either; he gulped down his coffee hurriedly,
found his hat and put it on; then he went to the door, paused an
instant, opened it quietly, and stepped outside. There he stood still
for a moment.... No, no—he couldn’t leave Beret this way!... But what
had struck her? It was beyond his comprehension! She had more common
sense than any other person he knew; yet here she was, talking more
unreasonably than a cross child. What strange influence had come over
her since they had arrived out here?... He oughtn’t to leave her this
way—but what could he do?... In a deep quandary, he walked over to the
woodpile, saddled and bridled the pony, which was tethered close by ...
then paused again.
XII
Before he could make up his mind to jump into the saddle he heard
footfalls behind him, and turned toward the house. It had flashed
through his mind: here she is coming now; everything will be all right
and I can be off at once.... I need to hurry!
But in the same flash he had realized that it wasn’t from the direction
of the door that the sound had come.... He turned to find Hans Olsa
rounding the corner of the house. Did Hans Olsa think of going? Well,
that was another matter; that man was equal to any task. But who would
drive the mowing machine while he was gone? And it looked like fine
weather for making hay—it seemed to be clearing.... All these thoughts
passed through Per Hansa’s head as he watched his neighbour draw near;
he wished that Hans Olsa hadn’t come just now ... no, not just now! His
usual frankness was lacking in his greeting:
“You seem to be out early, Hans Olsa.”
“And so are you, I see. I sort of expected it; I wanted to talk to you
before you went.... You’re going, aren’t you?”
Per Hansa glanced aside and did not answer immediately; at last he
said, after a long pause: “Some one will have to go, I suppose.... It
seems best for you to keep on with the haying, so that we can get the
job done.... I am no hand at machinery, you know.”
“I know that you can ride faster than I can—that is the better
reason.... Guess what Sörrina told me last night?”
Per Hansa made no attempt at it; he wasn’t in a mood to solve riddles
just now. His eyes were on his neighbour, but his thoughts were in the
house.... She must have heard their voices by this time.... Would she
come out?
... “Well,” said Hans Olsa, raising his eyebrows significantly,
“yesterday morning Sörrina suspected that cow of ours of wanting male
company!”
Per Hansa came back to reality with a violent jolt.
“What’s that you say, Hans Olsa?”
“Those were her very words—‘male company’!... Do you suppose that
old cow of mine could have taken it into her head to ramble all the
way back to Fillmore County, just for _that_—and the others followed
her?... The idea occurred to me, anyway; and I thought it best to tell
you at once, before you got away.”
“Ha-ha!... Ha-ha!... She had to have a man, that old dame of yours—and
led the others with her into temptation!”
... “Well, who knows?”
“Good enough!” ... Per Hansa leaned forward and untied the horse; he
sprang quickly into the saddle.... “I was thinking of the Trönders
all last night; now I’m going over and make them a visit. There’s no
telling when you’ll see me back. Perhaps you’ll keep an eye on things
for me here, while I am gone?” ... He paused, glanced toward the
house, and added in a low voice: “Be sure and send Sörrina over here
to-night.... And you keep on with the haying as hard as you can; it
looks to me as if it were going to clear up soon!”
He headed the pony past the house and around it to the side where the
door lay; there he drew up, coughed loudly, listened a moment—then rode
away.
... In the window looking toward the east a woman’s face, tear-stained
and swollen with weeping, watched his figure grow less and less in the
dim grey light of the breaking day, until at last it had disappeared
altogether.... To her it seemed as though he were sinking deeper and
deeper into an unknown, lifeless sea; the sombre greyness rose and
covered him.
* * * * *
Soon the word was passed around that Per Hansa had set out eastward
to the Sioux River, to look for the cattle; everyone was willing to
let the matter rest at that. His pony was fleet-footed; there was no
need for any of the others to take up the search; they had better
wait to see what luck he had.... Not that Tönseten had any faith or
hope in the trip. He had kept turning the matter over in his mind all
night; he had got from Kjersti a detailed account of how the
cattle had behaved when the Indians came, and when he had risen that
morning he had been fully convinced that Sam’s solution of the riddle
was the right and only one. To Tönseten’s mind, all that remained of
the problem was how to get hold of the beasts again without causing
bloodshed and war—how to wrest them from the possession of the redskins
before they had gobbled them all up.... When he heard of Per Hansa’s
intended visit to the Trönders, he spluttered with anger; he was
disgusted, too, with Hans Olsa because he had not dissuaded him from
such a brainless move.... But his anger at Per Hansa simply knew no
bounds. So—he was not the courageous fellow, then, that he posed as
being! Didn’t he know that the responsibility for getting the cattle
back rested solely on him? For he had been the one who was so friendly
with that robber brood. He hadn’t chased them back where they had come
from, as he should have done. Oh no, he had taken gifts from them
instead—and been gloriously fooled into the bargain! And why did he
waste his time now, in revelling with the Trönders on the Sioux River?
The man had better be made to understand that they needed their cows at
once!... Tönseten went about breathing fire and brimstone, and didn’t
care who heard him.
The gloom of this loss lay heavy upon the others as well; they went
about their work as usual, but their eyes strayed elsewhere.
Evening came, but neither Per Hansa nor the cattle. Folks did not
care to go to bed; they sat about staring and waiting. All of Hans
Olsa’s family went over to Beret’s; Tönseten and Kjersti, having first
stopped at Hans Olsa’s and found them out, went there, too. The Solum
boys could see no reason for moping around their hut alone; they soon
joined the others.... But none of them found cheer in this place,
either. Beret seemed distant and strangely calm, as if the whole affair
didn’t in the least concern her. They wondered at her manner, it was no
unnatural.
When they were leaving, however, she said, quietly, as if musing
to herself:
“Somehow, I can’t figure this out.... Night has come now; Per Hansa is
wandering off there alone in this endless wilderness. And four grown
men are sitting here talking the time away.... But aren’t the cattle
just as much theirs as his?... No, I can’t seem to figure it out at
all....”
Over in the bed little And-Ongen began to cry for her father; the
mother went and sat down beside her; she kept her eyes on the floor.
Her words still lingered in the air; not a voice cared to answer.
There seemed to be nothing to say, and the silence only made the gloom
deeper....
When the others had gone and the children were asleep, Beret rose and
hung some heavy clothes up over the windows—the thickest clothes she
could find—to shut out the night—She felt that she could never go to
bed, with all the eyes out there staring in upon her....
... Last of all, she pulled the big chest in front of the door.
XIII
The following day there was no getting the boys down from the roof;
they climbed up immediately after breakfast and sat there hour after
hour. The forenoon passed; noon came. Ole jumped down to eat, but
Store-Hans remained at his post; the mother let him stay. Coffee time
finally went by, yet no one in sight....
Then, all of a sudden, eager shouts rang out from the roof; Store-Hans
was screaming in an excited voice that now ... right over there ... dad
was coming!... Yes, now he was coming! Ole’s voice joined in.... And he
has the rattle with him, too!
“Come on—let’s run and tell the others!” cried Ole.... “Mother first!”
shrieked Store-Hans, forgetting that they had both been shouting the
news. They jumped down from the roof together, jerked open the door,
and announced in one breath that their father was coming; the next
instant they were gone. The word was first carried to Hans Olsa,
then to Tönseten, last of all to the Solum boys. In each place the
same message: “Dad is coming!”—that from Ole.... “And he’s got the
cows!”—this from Store-Hans.
Sure enough, here came Per Hansa riding the pony, and driving before
him a small herd of cows. As the caravan came in sight from the several
huts, each family proceeded to count the animals.... What was the
meaning of this? Were they seeing double?... They counted over again
with the same result; every person who tried his hand got one cow
too many! There should be only four—now there were five. No getting
away from it: five there were! They were easy enough to count; they
straggled over the prairie one by one, like beads on a string.... Per
Hansa on the pony brought up the rear.
As the people stood outside, looking at the approaching train, they
instinctively set out for Per Hansa’s. Each had to get his own cow; all
were eager to learn where Per Hansa had been these last two days, and
to find out about that fifth cow!
The last question had already been answered in part; before the train
had arrived they had made out that the fifth animal wasn’t a cow at
all! No cow, indeed—but a yearling bull!... Per Hansa himself was
barely recognizable; his face was grimy and streaked with sweat, which
had been running down it in streams, and still ran as freely as ever.
But what they first noticed about the man was that he carried something
strapped to his chest—some sort of a box, it looked like.... No—wonder
of wonders!—it was a bird cage, made of thin slats; and inside lay a
rooster and two hens!
Beret had stepped outside the house at last; she came forward without
paying any attention to the others; they felt embarrassed now, and did
not dare to approach her; some of them even shrank back as she came
near.
... “Per, what have you brought?” she asked in a low, tender voice, as
if she were shy of him.
Per Hansa was unfastening the cage; he seemed wearied to the point
of stupor.
“Oh, well,” he said with an effort, “since I had to go so far, I
thought I might as well do something worth while.” ... He handed her
the cage.... “Here are your chickens, Beret.... I don’t know whether
there’s any life left in them yet, or not.”
Beret took the cage, turned slowly away, and walked toward the house.
The others all thronged about him, eager to hear what adventures he had
met with.
Tönseten pushed in ahead:
“I say, Per Hansa, who is that fellow you brought with the rest of the
cattle?”
The shadow of a grin brightened the grimy face:
“That fellow?... Oh, just a Trönder.”
“Oh-ho!... then he must be a good one! Trönders, they say.... But where
did you pick him up?”
Per Hansa pretended not to hear; he dismounted and threw the bridle
to Store-Hans.... “Water him now, and feed him well!... Where did I
pick that fellow up? Oh, I beguiled a kind Trönder woman into letting
me take him for a year. I promised her ten dollars into the bargain;
that makes exactly two dollars and a half for your share, Syvert. But
that’ll be cheaper for you in the long run, you see, than to chase up
and down the whole of Dakota Territory looking for your cow!”
Sörine and Kjersti were both very outspoken in their gratitude to Per
Hansa; they plainly meant every word that they said. But it seemed to
Per Hansa that the deepest word of wisdom on this occasion was offered
by Kjersti. She stood listening patiently until the story of his long
ride had come to an end; then she remarked, as if quietly musing:
“When lust can be so strong in a dumb brute, what mustn’t it be in a
human being!... I shall never forget this trick you have turned, Per
Hansa!”
... At that they all laughed heartily.
IV. What the Waving Grass Revealed
I
That summer Per Hansa was transported, was carried farther and ever
farther away on the wings of a wondrous fairy tale—a romance in which
he was both prince and king, the sole possessor of countless treasures.
In this, as in all other fairy tales, the story grew ever more
fascinating and dear to the heart, the farther it advanced. Per Hansa
drank it in; he was like the child who constantly cries: “More—more!”
These days he was never at rest, except when fatigue had overcome him
and sleep had taken him away from toil and care. But this was seldom,
however; he found his tasks too interesting to be a burden; nothing
tired him, out here. Ever more beautiful grew the tale; ever more
dazzlingly shone the sunlight over the fairy castle.
How could he steal the time to rest, these days? Was he not owner of
a hundred and sixty acres of the best land in the world? Wasn’t his
title to it becoming more firmly established with every day that passed
and every new-broken furrow that turned?... He gazed at his estate and
laughed happily, as if at some pleasant and amusing spectacle.... Such
soil! Only to sink the plow into it, to turn over the sod—and there was
a field ready for seeding.... And this was not just ordinary soil, fit
for barley, and oats, and potatoes, and hay, and that sort of thing;
indeed, it had been meant for much finer and daintier uses; it was the
soil for wheat, the king of all grains! Such soil had been especially
created by the good Lord to bear this noble seed; and here was Per
Hansa, walking around on a hundred and sixty acres of it, all his very
own!
A beautiful, alluring thought had begun to beckon him. His first
quarter-section was rightly only tillage land; the quarter next to
it to the east would be about what he needed for hay and pasture for
the cattle; yes, he could even use the one to the west of it, too, if
his plans worked out; but he wanted the one to the east first, for it
had open water on the creek. These two quarter-sections would make an
estate more magnificent than that of many a king of old.... He never
mentioned this dream to anyone; he could see no way at present of
getting hold of another quarter; but his boys were growing bigger day
by day; in time they would be able to earn the wherewithal.... No hurry
yet ... this was just the beginning!
And there were many other tantalizing, delectable thoughts, of
things that would have to come first, before the fine estate was
won. The live stock, for instance; in the course of time he would
have great numbers—horses and pigs and cattle, chickens and ducks
and geese—animals both big and small, of every kind. There would be
quacking and grunting, mooing and neighing, from every nook and corner
of the farm.... The place would need plenty of life, for his Beret to
mother!
But dearest to him of all, and most delectable, was the thought of the
royal mansion which he had already erected in his mind. There would
be houses for both chickens and pigs, roomy stables, a magnificent
storehouse and barn ... and then the splendid palace itself! The royal
mansion would shine in the sun—it would stand out far and wide! The
palace itself would be white, with green cornices; but the big barn
would be as red as blood, with cornices of driven snow. Wouldn’t it be
beautiful—wasn’t it going to be great fun!... And he and his boys would
build it all!
And stranger things than this transpired in fancy—just as in the
fairy tale: they seemed to lie enchanted under the most prosaic and
deceptive semblances, invisible to the eye of man; but then he came and
touched them, pouring on a few drops from the magic horn; the charm was
instantly broken, and behold, treasures sprang forth, shining in all
their newborn freshness and beauty!... Just now, for instance,
he beheld a vision so fair that his face shone with a glowing light
that transfigured his coarse features; he had suddenly discovered a
new object outside the palace of his dreams.... Yes, sir—there it was!
Nothing less than a snow-white picket fence around a big, big garden!
And many trees grew there, both within and without; some bore apples,
others various kinds of fruit: and some ... _some had cones_ ... yes,
trees with _pine cones_ on them!... Per Hansa’s eyes swam and shone;
a sudden moisture dimmed his sight; dear God, there really were pine
cones hanging from some of the trees!... He didn’t know where they
waited for him, those trees ... but they would come!...
And so Per Hansa could not be still for a moment. A divine restlessness
ran in his blood; he strode forward with outstretched arms toward the
wonders of the future, already partly realized. He seemed to have the
elfin, playful spirit of a boy; at times he was irresistible; he had to
caress everything that he came near.... But he never could be still.
To remain inactive over the Sabbath would drive him into a fit of ill
humour; by noon he had to go outdoors and stir around. If nothing else
turned up, he took a long jaunt over the prairies; on these trips he
selected many a pretty spot that would be a fine site for a home....
Some day a settler will locate here, he thought; I’ll remember this,
and show him where to build!... Wherever he went, no matter how far, he
found the same kind of soil.
... Endless it was, and wonderful!...
II
One Sunday evening the boys had come home wild with excitement. They
had made a long trip westward on the prairie to some big swamps which
lay out there, with tall grass growing from them, and long stretches of
open water in between. They told of thousands upon thousands of ducks,
so tame that you could almost take them in your hand. Store-Hans
vowed that never in his life had he seen anything like it. He described
the ducks, how many and how tame they were, until the words stuck in
his throat, and his whole body trembled; his brother raged on even
worse.
From then on the boys were always talking about the ducks. Was there
no way to get them?... But they had no shotgun, the father said, and
Old Maria had not been built for that purpose; as it was, they had
only a small supply of “feed” for her, which must be kept in case ...
well, no one could tell. Just what it was that “no one could tell,”
he didn’t say; but they understood this much that no ducks would ever
be shot with that gun. So the ducks continued to live there, swimming
leisurely about in countless numbers, and flying from one pond to the
next whenever the boys came too close. And not even a good-sized pebble
to be found ... plague take it all!
Ever since the boys had first discovered the ducks they had made a
practice of going out to look at them every Sunday. Each time the birds
seemed to have multiplied in numbers. Soon the boys never pretended to
speak of anything else between themselves; they thought only of the
ducks, and of how to get hold of them.... Their father had not yet
found time to go with them and behold this wonder.
Then one Sunday afternoon, in the early part of August, Per Hansa went
for a stroll westward with Store-Hans. Ole was told to stay at home;
it would never do to let mother sit there alone, the father said, when
she had three grown men in the family; Ole, the older of the two boys,
would have to take his turn first. The boy raised such a commotion
over this disappointment that his mother said they had better take him
along. The father was firm, however; next Sunday he himself would stay
at home, and then Ole could go; but to-day the boy must do as he had
been told.
So it fell to Per Hansa and Store-Hans to make the trip alone. Plenty
of ducks there were, no doubt about that. When he first saw the place
Per Hansa was reminded of the great bird cliffs in Finmarken.
Store-Hans pointed at the birds, whispering hoarsely to his father,
until he choked, and tears came in his eyes.
—Wasn’t there any possible way to get a few of ’em?
—Well—the father seemed quite serious—one might try salt on their tails.
—Salt on their tails? Was that any good?
—Oh yes—they often did it in the olden days.
But then the father had to laugh, and that spoiled it all. As he
stood there gazing longingly at the birds no boy could have been more
thrilled by the wonderful spectacle. By George! there would _have_ to
be some way out of this fix; he’d have to _make_ a way when he got time
to cast about!... Maybe the fairy tale had nothing to say about the
king’s having a shotgun; but he ate plenty of ducks, just the same!...
What had been done once could be done again!
Store-Hans didn’t exactly approve of his father’s jocular air; this was
no fooling matter. If he only wanted to, he could easily rig up some
sort of a contrivance for catching them; he could work miracles when he
tried ... Well then, why didn’t he begin to get busy. He certainly saw
how thick they were!...
But Store-Hans had to possess his soul in patience awhile longer; no
birds were captured on their first trip to the swamps.
It was on the way home from this trip that Per Hansa made his startling
discovery. Store-Hans had taken a short cut home; he had to hurry back
and tell his brother what they had seen. But the father never liked to
follow an old path while there was still unexplored land left around
him; accordingly, he made a long détour to the westward. He had often
wondered how far west his land extended, but had never taken the time
to pace it off. Since he was headed in that direction now, he might as
well pace down the western border line of his and his neighbours’ new
kingdom.
He had a pretty good idea of the location of Tönseten’s south line, as
well as of the corners on it where his east and west lines began;
the southeast corner, in fact, was near Tönseten’s house. He cut across
country until he judged himself to be about on this south line, and
walked east for some distance; then he decided that it would be too far
to go all the way in, just to pick up the corner; so he turned west
again. He would have to be satisfied with an approximate position of
Tönseten’s southwest corner to-day.... About _here_, it ought to be,
he thought; he stopped, gazed around, and took his bearings for the
walk north. He had been following this course for perhaps a hundred
paces when the toe of his boot suddenly struck against a small stake—a
little fellow who stood hiding there, nodding in drowsy lonesomeness,
just at the edge of a thick tuft of grass. Per Hansa looked down, saw
the stake, and brought up with a violent start.... Here was Tönseten’s
southwest corner! What, had Syvert been so cautious as to put down
stakes here, too? A very careful man was Syvert, indeed!
Per Hansa bent down closer to examine the stake. Yes, he was right—it
was a corner stake; there stood the description, indicating both
section and quarter. But the name below ... _the name_ ... good God!
what was this? He dropped to his knees and peered at it until the
letters danced before his eyes; he wondered if he were dreaming. The
name on the stake wasn’t _S. H. Tönseten_ at all, as it should have
been; it was just _O’Hara_ ... nothing else but _O’Hara_! The letters
had been carved on the stake with a knife, and the arrow pointed east,
to Tönseten’s quarter!... When Per Hansa finally rose, he smoothed the
grass carefully over with his hand, where his knees had bent it to the
ground; the action was quite involuntary.
... “Well!” he exclaimed, and walked hastily away. But presently he
stopped, turned around, and went back to the stake, to read the name
once more. In order to be sure that his eyes hadn’t deceived him,
he spelled it out letter by letter, tracing the carving with his
forefinger.... No doubt about it—the thing was true!
And now he laid his course to the northward, walking slowly. The
radiant, happy look had vanished from his face; it looked old and worn.
All at once, as if struck by a new thought, he quickened his pace. He
hurried on until he had reached the vicinity of Hans Olsa’s south line,
dividing his land from Tönseten’s; here he began to search the ground,
first to the eastward, then to the westward, working slowly forward
into the next quarter-section.
At last he found it—another stake, Hans Olsa’s southwest corner!... He
looked carefully around; no one was in sight. Then he fell on his knees
and examined the stake; he didn’t bother to glance at the description
this time; but the name—the name! Tears suddenly came to his eyes as he
stooped over; for an instant he found it hard to see.... But there it
was, exactly as he had feared; this stake had _Joe Gill_ carved on it
... _Joe Gill_, when it should have been _H. P. Olsen_!... He got up at
last; his round, jovial face now looked drawn and sinister.
Moving mechanically, he strode toward the north until he had reached
the line between Hans Olsa’s quarter and his own; there he repeated
his tactics of a while before, zigzagging back and forth over a broad
space; but though he kept tacking around for a long time, he was
unable to locate any stake. That a stake was there, however, he felt
very certain; it was unthinkable that this misfortune should have
befallen both Tönseten and Hans Olsa, and not have run him down at
the same time.... He searched until he had to give it up in despair;
then he went north to the line between himself and Henry Solum, and
fell to searching in this locality; but no, he couldn’t find any stake
here, either. It was now growing so late that he had to quit and go
home.... A short while before, he had been as happy and light-hearted
as a child; he came home full of a weariness greater than he had ever
known....
III
... By God! the trolls must be after him! It was only natural that he
should meet them somewhere out here; but to think of their coming
in just this dirty fashion!... Ah, well, trolls were trolls, no matter
how they came!...
Per Hansa didn’t know what to do with himself that evening; he felt
that the only thing that would relieve him just now would be to hitch
the oxen to the plow and break a stretch of new land. He looked
longingly at the oxen, and at the plow over yonder.... No, it was the
Sabbath—and evening already.
His discovery had been so utterly disheartening that he could not have
mentioned it to anyone for the price of his soul. He would have liked
to tell his wife about it, and hear her opinion; but that was out of
the question; she was disturbed enough already.... But Per Hansa had
to do something, or he would go mad; he walked across the yard and
sat down on the woodpile; there he remained a long while, staring
listlessly at the ground.
... These trolls would not be easy to cope with—not if he knew them!...
But why hadn’t he been able to discover their tracks on his own
quarter? That was the strangest thing of all!
The boys were only waiting for a chance to talk with their father, now
he had been west to the swamps and had seen how thick the birds were
there. They came up and spoke to him, but got no response; first one
of them tried, and then the other; soon they both were talking at him
together; a little later their mother came out and asked him something,
but he paid no attention. He sat there in a silence like a stone
wall....
He’s probably thinking of the ducks, Store-Hans decided; the knowledge
made him very happy. Of course he was thinking of the ducks, and would
soon hit upon some fine way to capture them!... At last Store-Hans
could no longer restrain himself; he edged over to his father’s side,
laid his hand on the stout thigh, and said in a deep joy:
... “Weren’t there a lot of ’em, Dad?” ...
“_What_?”
“Did you ever see so many ducks in all your life?”
“Ducks?... No.”
“You think we can get some of them, don’t you?” asked the boy, in
a hushed, confidential tone.
But the father made no answer; he was already far away and did not
hear. Just then the mother came out with the milk pail on her arm and
called loudly to Rosie. This reached Per Hansa’s ears; he got up and
took the pail from her.... “I might as well do the milking, since I’m
only sitting here idling away my time.” ... He seemed so absent-minded
that she looked hard at him; as he walked away his head drooped
forward, his shoulders were slouched down, his whole body seemed
strangely shrunken....
The next morning he was up earlier than usual; he left the house
without saying a word. As soon as he was gone, Beret got up and went
to the window to see what became of him. The early dawn was still in
the sky; she saw him stride off westward; soon the slope of the hill
hid him from view.... It’s only the ducks, she thought; I’m glad that
he and the boys have found some diversion; but just the same, he ought
not to wear himself out over such trifling things.... Beret turned away
from the window, her face heavy with sadness.
The boys were up and the food was on the table when Per Hansa
returned.... He was heated as if from a brisk walk, his wife noticed.
She had to look at him a second time; there was something queer
about his face this morning; it seemed so hard set and forbidding;
although it glowed with the heat of his body, it lacked any warmth of
expression. Instinctively she asked:
“Is anything wrong with you, Per?”
“No.” ... But he did not look up.
As soon as he had eaten he left the table, telling the boys to come
along and help him; now was a good time to pace out the west line of
their land; it had to be done soon, anyway; perhaps they would break a
stretch of ground out there.... His words sounded cold and distant; he
went out, and said no more.
Beret watched him narrowly.... There’s certainly something the matter
with him, she thought.
Striking west from the house, Per Hansa paralleled his own south
line, between his land and Hans Olsa’s; he knew exactly how far in
from this line the house had been built; so he merely kept along with
it, counting the paces. When he had reached the western limit of his
quarter, he stood still; the grass had been trampled down all over the
place.... “This is where it ought to be; the line should run straight
north from here.” ... He walked a few paces north to show them the
direction.... “There ought to be a small black stake driven down in
the grass here somewhere, but I can’t seem to find it. Let’s go south
first; look sharp and see if you can’t pick it up. If we don’t find it
there, we’ll go the other way. Keep your eyes open, now, every step!”
“When did you put a stake down here?” asked Ole.
His father apparently didn’t hear him.... “It ought to be right here;
funny, that we can’t find it!... The cattle must have tramped it into
the ground.”
All three of them kept searching steadily the whole forenoon; the
father seemed so excited, and walked so fast, that the boys could
hardly keep up with him. They made tack after tack, north until they
stood on Henry’s land, south to Hans Olsa’s; they did not go in single
file, but walked abreast, four or five paces apart.
... “Look in the grass, boys—look carefully in the grass!” the father
repeated a thousand times.
Whenever they reached the end of the line they zigzagged east and west;
they looked everywhere, and combed the ground; but with all their
labour and painstaking care, no stake could be found. The boys noticed
something very odd about their father’s manner: the longer their
search went on unsuccessfully, the less impenetrable became that wall
of isolation around him. When they finally stopped on the last tack,
looked around, and saw that they had covered every possible place, his
voice sounded almost joyful.... “It must be that the cows have tramped
it down!... Well, no harm done ... it was nothing but an old stick,
anyway.”
IV
Beret soon came to realize that he was absorbed in things of which she
was not to know. Whenever she happened to speak to him unexpectedly he
seemed to be present and yet absent; even when he made an effort to
converse naturally, he kept her at a distance; all his ardour seemed
to have disappeared, and with it the childlike joyousness that she had
loved so much in him, though she had been unable to respond to it....
No more did she hear his cheerful, fairy-tale banter about the royal
mansion, and the king and queen; she was aware how often he lay awake
at night, or tossed restlessly about in his sleep.... In a short while
she became fully convinced that something had happened at last which
he had to conceal from her; but she could not imagine what it might
be. The whole affair was so unlike him, that it worried her night and
day.... What, in Heaven’s name, could there be to conceal out here?
This mood lasted with him throughout the week. On the morning of the
next Monday he was up early.... Beret had been lying awake the latter
part of the night, feeling keenly that he was wrestling beside her
with a monster which would not leave him in peace; but after a while
she had fallen asleep again. When she finally opened her eyes the dim
grey of dawn was creeping through the window; her husband was up and
gone. The room somehow gave her the sensation that he must have left a
long time ago; not a sound could be heard anywhere.... Beret got up,
dressed herself hurriedly, and went outdoors. The plow was still there,
she noticed, and the oxen lay a short distance from the house; but Per
Hansa was nowhere in sight.... She felt so forlorn, so helpless, filled
as she was with gnawing loneliness. Here she stood, abandoned in the
great solitude, not knowing where he had gone nor what the trouble
was.... What had happened to him? What was he struggling with, that had
to be kept from her?... She called his name aloud a couple of times;
but her voice trembled so strangely that she did not dare to call
again. The sound died away unheeded.... It seemed to Beret that
she had never felt the awful desolation of the place weigh so heavily
upon her as on this morning.
In the meantime Per Hansa was engaged in a very curious task west on
the prairie. He had risen before daylight; had gone out and hunted up
the spade, which he had stuck under his arm; then he had started off in
a general westerly direction. He made a longer détour than necessary
around Hans Olsa’s house, watching closely as he went by to see if
anyone there was up and stirring; once safely past, he quickened his
gait.... So he came to a place at the southwest corner of Hans Olsa’s
land, where a black imp stood nodding sleepily in the grass; there he
came to a halt and looked about in all directions.... Not a soul to be
seen. His eyes were snapping now; his mouth was tight and drawn; all
his features seemed hardened into solid rock.... “God!” he muttered,
“Hans Olsa has got himself into a nice mess!” ... He grasped the thing
firmly, pulled it slowly out of the ground, and laid it aside with
great care. Then he examined the hole, planning what he had better do;
when he was finished, it was going to be hard to see that _here_ a
stake had ever been standing! He worked now with deep forethought and
cunning; first he brought some loose soil from a distance in the spade,
and filled the hole almost to the top; next he stopped it up with a
sod plug; the grass of the plug grew as stout and green as that around
it; he also took good care not to tramp down the grass near the hole,
placing his feet lightly, as if he were afraid to rest his full weight
on them.
At last he had finished and stood regarding his handiwork.... “If they
only give the grass time to grow a little. I’ll be damned if they can
chase Hans Olsa away on account of that stick of wood!” ... Then Per
Hansa went on to the place when he had found the stake of Tönseten’s
land; here he repeated the performance, but was even more careful not
to trample down the grass.
When he returned home that morning he did not arrive from the west, but
from the north. The boys were eating breakfast; the mother was
busy, but she kept a watch through the window; she saw him come into
the yard, stop by the woodpile and throw down the spade—then pause and
glance hastily toward the house; but she went on with her work as if
she had noticed nothing. Soon after she heard his footfall outside,
passing along the wall.... He had gone into the stable!... He stayed
there for some time before he came into the house.
As he entered the room Beret glanced at him from the corner of her
eye.... Yes, there he stood, the man she knew ... but in his face
shone something hard and menacing.... To-day they were going to plow,
he told the boys—yes, _plow_! Both they and the oxen would get their
bellyful.... His voice had the same unnatural, metallic hardness as his
face; it seemed as if sparks flew when he spoke.
The stable was unoccupied as yet; at present it served as tool room,
carpenter shop, and storehouse combined; Beret also used it for hanging
spare clothes.... After they were gone, she happened to go into the
stable looking for some garments that needed mending. There, quite by
chance, she found the stakes; Per Hansa had hidden them behind the
clothes. Burnt black to withstand the moisture, they hardly differed in
colour from the walls; she would not have seen them at all, except for
the carved letters; these stood out in the natural colour of the wood
and looked like large worms in the black sod; they startled her—she had
to see what they were. She picked the two stakes up and stood turning
them over in her hands.... Here were some figures and letters ... more
letters, that joined together and made something like names.... “Joe
Gill,” said one; the other, “O’Hara.” ...
... What strange names, she thought.... Did people really have such
names? If so, they must be Indians!... She kept turning the stakes over
and over. The ends tapered down to a sharp point; they must have been
made to stand in the ground; in fact, little particles of soil were
clinging to them now. Where could Per Hansa have found them?... She put
them back, found the garments she was looking for, returned to the
house, and sat down to mend....
But she could not dismiss those mysterious stakes from her mind....
What did the numbers mean ... the numbers and letters ... and then, the
names?... They must be landmarks. And they had been standing in the
ground, too.... It suddenly occurred to her that he must have put them
in there recently; it was only last week that she had hung up those
clothes.... Perhaps ... could he have done it this very morning?... She
laid her work aside and went out to the stable to examine them once
more.... Yes, certainly they had been in the ground—just so far down
they had been!
Back at her sewing again, her hands moved more and more slowly as she
thought.... He had been struggling with something which must be kept
from her.... His voice was sharper to-day, his face more determined....
It _must_ be that he had brought them back with him this morning....
... Her thoughts slowly began to spin; the longer they spun, the less
she liked the web; after a while she became so frightened that her hand
shook and she had to drop her sewing....
When he came home for dinner, she told herself, she would ask him for
an explanation of this matter; her fear was somewhat appeased by this
resolution.... But then he came, still in a rigid, forbidding mood; and
her thoughts grew so unspeakably dark and ugly that she could not utter
them. At the same time, he seemed relieved in a measure, and more like
himself.
After supper that night she heard him go into the stable and rummage
around; then he came out and went across the yard. She stole to her
post at the window; there he stood by the block, chopping up a stick
of wood; it was burnt black, and tapered at one end; it had stood in
the ground. He picked up every piece that he had split and cut them
into short kindling wood!... He took another black stick and did the
same with it.... Then he went down on his knees and began to gather
the kindling, piece by piece, on his arm.... Now, what in the
world.... Here he came, bringing it all into the house!...
Beret had timidly withdrawn to the corner by the stove; he saw her
standing there but did not look at her directly; then he took off the
lid of the stove and dumped in the armful of kindling.
... “Are you making a fire now?”
“Just some rubbish I picked up around the chopping block.”
She wanted to run around the stove and stop him, but could not; she
felt that her knees would not carry her even those few steps. A
question trembled on her lips; she must ask him now ... but the words
would not come ... her tongue refused to obey.
... No, she could not ask such a question!... It was so hideous, so
utterly appalling, the thought which she harboured; God forgive him, he
was meddling with other folks’ landmarks!... How often she had heard it
said, both here and in the old country: a blacker sin than this a man
could hardly commit against his fellows![9]
[9] In the light of Norwegian peasant psychology, Beret’s fear is
easily understandable; for a more heinous crime than meddling with
other people’s landmarks could hardly be imagined. In fact, the crime
was so dark that a special punishment after death was meted out to it.
The visionary literature of the Middle Ages gives many examples.
She stood motionless in the corner beyond the stove, watching her
husband burn the proofs of his guilt; the terror that possessed her now
was immeasurably greater than that which she had felt in the morning,
when she had called his name and got no answer....
... That night Per Hansa slept the sleep of the righteous in spite of
what he had done; now it was Beret who had a monster to wrestle with....
V
During the weeks that followed. Per Hansa’s temper made him hard
of approach; the man seemed driven by a restless energy, an
indomitable will that knew but one course—to break as much new land as
possible each day.... “Do you intend to break the whole quarter-section
this fall?” Hans Olsa asked him more than once. He had broken a large
part of it already; a new piece was added every day; but still he found
no rest, nor would the joyous peace of the early summer return to
him.... His face now always wore that forbidding, menacing look, which
often would flare up into a flame, and his voice would suddenly be hard
as flint.
Before his thoughts stood ever the same problem: How would it turn out
when the trolls came? Would he be able to hack off their heads and
wrest the kingdom from their power?... It might happen that he would be
going about with some object in his hand, and would suddenly grip it
hard; all his strength would be needed to wield the enchanted sword....
For these would be archtrolls, no less. Here they had come and,
disregarding all law and justice, had taken land in an unlawful manner.
There was another chain of thought which frequently led him on: Perhaps
these men would never come back? They might just have happened along
here the previous fall, before Tönseten arrived; have taken a liking
to the place, and put down their stakes; and then have failed to go to
the land office until _after_ Tönseten’s visit there, at which time
they would have found their claims taken up and recorded by another; or
still more likely, for some reason or other they had never gone to the
land office at all, but had allowed their claims to go by default....
That _might_ have happened.
... But no, the explanation didn’t sound reasonable; those stakes
hadn’t stood in the ground all winter—they didn’t look that way....
By God! the trolls had arrived _after_ Tönseten’s sod house had been
built; they had “beheld the land, and seen that it was good”!... So,
there was nothing to do but wait for them to come back.... Not by a
breath or a syllable did Per Hansa betray the secret of what he had
done. At one time he had strongly considered telling Hans Olsa, but had
finally given up the idea; better to keep him out of this for the
time being!... In all this trouble, it never once occurred to him that
had there been a prior claim on these quarters, Tönseten and Hans Olsa
couldn’t have filed on them, and that the act of putting down claim
stakes made no difference at all.
Beret’s thoughts continued to spin; the web had grown so dreadful to
look at that she longed to cast it aside, but lacked the power....
He has done it, he has done it!—the thoughts spun on.... Here we are
sitting on another man’s land, and Per Hansa intends to stay!... He has
destroyed another man’s landmarks.... Oh, my God!...
In a certain sense, however, his guilt began to appear less fatal
in her eyes as she continued to look at it; surely there was enough
land out here for everyone; whether they got this quarter or another
made no difference. She could not understand why one should make a
fuss over a thing like that.... But the dishonourableness of the act
made her shrink back in disgust.... And now a new terror—the terror
of consequences! Per Hansa, poor fellow, could not even speak the
language. How would he ever defend himself, when the case came up?...
The stories that she had heard, both in Norway and east in Fillmore,
of how people in this wild country would ruthlessly take the matters
of law and justice into their own hands, also crept into the web of
her thoughts. Here he was, unable to give a satisfactory explanation,
guilty before the law of one of the blackest crimes that it was
possible for man to commit.... He was so hasty and quick-tempered, too,
whenever things went wrong; and now he was in a mood which made people
afraid to approach him....
... Beret would look at her web until her whole body trembled and she
had to reach out and grasp something to steady herself.
VI
Beret had now formed the habit of constantly watching the prairie;
out in the open, she would fix her eyes on one point of the sky
line—and then, before she knew it, her gaze would have swung around
the whole compass; but it was ever, ever the same.... Life it held
not; a magic ring lay on the horizon, extending upward into the sky;
within this circle no living form could enter; it was like the chain
inclosing the king’s garden, that prevented it from bearing fruit....
How could human beings continue to live here while that magic ring
encompassed them? And those who were strong enough to break through
were only being enticed still farther to their destruction!...
They had been here four months now; to her it seemed like so many
generations; in all this time they had seen no strangers except
the Indians—nor would they be likely to see any others.... Almost
imperceptibly, her terror because of the stakes which her husband had
burned had faded away and disappeared.... They had probably belonged
to the Indians, so it did not matter; he had become fast friends with
them....
People had never dwelt here, people would never come; never could they
find home in this vast, wind-swept void.... Yes, _they_ were the only
ones who had been bewitched into straying out here!... Thus it was
with the erring sons of men; they were lost before they knew it; they
went astray without being aware; only others could see them as they
were. Some were saved, and returned from their wanderings, changed into
different people; others never came back.... God pity them: others
never came back!...
At these times, a hopeless depression would take hold of her; she would
look around at the circle of the sky line; although it lay so far
distant, it seemed threatening to draw in and choke her....
... So she grew more taciturn, given to brooding thoughts.
But then the unthinkable took place: some one from outside broke
through the magic circle....
It happened one evening. Ole had ridden the pony west to the swamps;
on the way home he noticed a large white speck moving along through
the haze on the eastern horizon. It did not seem so very far
away; as he watched it came creeping closer; the boy was so startled
that he could hear the beating of his own heart; he had to investigate
this thing. The pony was fleet-footed; he had plenty of time to make a
turn to the eastward; he rode directly toward the speck. When he had
satisfied himself that west-movers were coming—the wagons indicated
that—he turned toward home and urged the pony till his body lay flat to
the ground. On the way in he stopped at Tönseten’s with the news, then
at Hans Olsa’s; hastening on to his own house, he shouted loudly for
them to come out and look ... come out in a hurry!
... What a strange feeling it gave them!... Two horses in front of a
wagon; the wagon covered, just like their own!... And like their own,
it came slowly creeping out of the eastern haze; like them, these folks
were steering for Sunset Land.... Alas! thought Beret, some one else
has been led astray!
The wagon held on toward Tönseten’s; it reached his place and halted.
The incident was so unusual and startling that all in the little
settlement forgot their good manners and rushed pell-mell over to
Tönseten’s. Even Beret could not keep away; she put on a clean apron,
took And-Ongen by the hand, and joined the others.... The whole colony,
young and old, were gathered there when she arrived—everyone except Per
Hansa.... He came up silently at last, carrying a heavy stick.
The company consisted of four men; they were from Iowa.... No, they
didn’t intend to stop here; they were bound for a place about seventy
miles to the southwest; the land was nearly all taken up around here,
they had been told.... Tönseten and the Solum boys were conversing
with them in English; Hans Olsa, together with the women and children,
stood respectfully listening; as for Per Hansa, he was all eyes and
ears, scrutinizing the four visitors from head to foot, trying to make
out what they were saying.... His grip on the stick relaxed; hadn’t he
understood that they were going seventy miles farther?...
At last he grew impatient, because he was unable to follow the
conversation as well as he wished; he grasped Tönseten by the arm and
pinched it so hard that he turned around angrily; but the next second
he was talking again.
“What sort of people are they?”
“Germans.... Don’t bother me now!”
“You must tell them not to stop.... We want only _Norwegians_ here, you
know!”
But Tönseten had no time now to waste words on Per Hansa; that could be
attended to in due season; he was deep in a long discussion with the
strangers, all about the prospects for the future out here.
These four unexpected evening arrivals stayed with them overnight, and
went on their way the next morning; the Spring Creek settlers had never
seen them before; they would perhaps never see them again; but they
all felt that this was the greatest event which had yet happened in
the settlement.... Seventy miles farther into the evening glow these
fellows were going—seventy long miles! Then this place would no longer
be life’s last outpost!... Folks were coming, were passing on ... folks
who intended to build homes!...
... A living bulwark was springing up between them and the endless
desolation!...
Before the Germans left in the morning they came to examine Per Hansa’s
house; Tönseten had told them of one of his neighbours who had built a
dwelling and stable under one roof; they thought it would be well worth
the trouble to go and look at a structure of that kind; they themselves
were just beginning, and needed ideas. While they were there Per Hansa
got a chance to sell them some potatoes and vegetables, to the amount
of two dollars and seventy-five cents; this was the first produce to be
sold out of the settlement on Spring Creek.... Tönseten didn’t take it
kindly at all; he could have done as much himself; but who would ever
have thought of such a thing?... He certainly watches his chances, that
fellow Per Hansa!
VII
The strangers finally managed to make a start late that forenoon; the
Spring Creek folks stood watching the wagon as it grew smaller and
smaller, until it was only a dot on the horizon, receding farther and
farther under the brow of the heavens; at last it disappeared—but
whether into the earth or into the sky, no one could tell....
This visit affected each one differently, according to his own traits
and peculiarities; but with all it was a new incentive to let their
eyes scan the prairie. They had always done this, of course; but more
often it had been with the object of straightening their tired backs
for a moment, than to seek for actual traces of wandering fellow
beings.... The visit had encouraged them all, but Tönseten and his
wife were especially firm and optimistic in their faith; from now on
Syvert always spoke of the future with fervent conviction, and Kjersti
went about listening to him in a glow of silent but none the less
ardent devotion. The Solum boys also had little doubt of the omen—this
wagon was only the forerunner of more to come! The next in order of
enthusiasm was Sörine, to whom faith imparted a glad calmness. Hans
Olsa let every day be sufficient unto itself, enjoyed the confident
spirits of the others, and set himself every day to accomplish
something needful; he was not a fast worker, but got things done with a
peculiar sureness of purpose and steadiness of gait; it did not seem of
great importance to him how many new people came; the important thing
was how they got along—the folks who were here already.
Per Hansa was even louder in his optimism than Tönseten. Now there were
settlers to both the east and the southwest of them; far away to the
northeast, too, folks were known to have taken up land; the time wasn’t
far distant when they would have near neighbours all around. There were
moments, even, when he felt confident that he would live to see the day
when most of the land of the prairie would be taken up; in such moods,
there was something fascinating about him; bright emanations of
creative force seemed to issue out of his square, stocky figure; his
whole form became beautiful, the lines of his face soft and delicate;
whenever he spoke a tone of deep joy rang in his words.... But these
moods did not last; when there came a pause in the fairy tale, Per
Hansa fell silent about the future, worked, intensely and grew cross
and irritable; at such times he was a hard man to deal with.
To Beret the visit had seemed nothing but a brief interruption to
the endless solitude. The facts were unchangeable—it was useless to
juggle with them, or delude oneself; nothing but an eternal, unbroken
wilderness encompassed them round about, extending boundlessly in every
direction; that these vast plains, so like infinity, should ever be
peopled and settled, would be a greater miracle than for dead men to
rise up and walk!...
It happened about a week later, that another caravan came creeping
slowly out of the evening. This was a great procession—six teams of
horses, with the same number of wagons.... Darkness was already falling
when they were sighted. Per Hansa’s boys wanted to start out at once,
and were quarrelling over who should ride to meet the strangers; but
the father suddenly came and told them both to stay at home; he spoke
in such a determined voice that they understood it would be useless
to mention the matter again.... They shouldn’t be running out to meet
every stranger, he went on, as though they had never seen people
before! Time enough to speak with these newcomers to-morrow. He was
going over now to find out if they needed any potatoes.... He suited
the action to the word.
At Hans Olsa’s house the caravan had not yet been sighted; Per Hansa
saw a light in the window as he passed. Tönseten was standing outside
when he arrived there; the caravan lay some distance off to the
southward, steering too far west to fetch the settlement.
“You’re going to have visitors,” Per Hansa greeted his neighbour.
“It looks that way!” chuckled Tönseten.... “Though I’m afraid
they’re heading a little too far west.”
They stood gazing at the train of wagons, now less than a hundred yards
away; through the dusk they could just make out the forms of the men
driving. Kjersti stood behind them in the door, laughing to herself and
wondering how she could put them all up for the night.... Oh, well, if
it couldn’t be arranged here, Per Hansa would have to take some of them
home to his place.
... “I wonder what kind of people they are?” Tönseten mused.... “Are
they going to pass right by an open door?”
“That’s just what they’re doing!” said Per Hansa, curtly, fearing that
now the trolls were upon them.
“But surely they can see us?”
“They ought to, if they have eyes!”
The caravan had now drawn abreast of them to the southwest; it was
so near that they could hear the panting of the horses; then the
foremost wagon swung off a trifle and took a more westerly course; they
evidently had no intention of camping here for the night.
“You’d better go over and talk to them, Syvert,” said Kjersti....
“We’ll make room for them somehow.”
Tönseten gazed at them open-mouthed; tears of disappointment stood in
his eyes.... “That’s a fine way to act!” he spluttered.... “Hadn’t we
better go over and invite them?”
Per Hansa’s eyes flashed daggers; his face lighted up with irresistible
forcefulness.... “We won’t bother about that just yet.... They might be
high-toned, you know—heading for Hans Olsa’s place, or mine!”
The train moved slowly on toward the northwest, until it was on the
line between Hans Olsa’s and Tönseten’s; there the wagons stopped and
the horses were unhitched; the newcomers had evidently decided to pitch
their camp for the night.
... “It’s the strangest thing I ever saw!” said Tönseten, as if
speaking to himself. “Can you imagine anyone coming into a
neighbourhood where the houses are standing around as thick as fleas
on a dog’s back, and not even wanting to talk to the folks who live in
’em?... I call it a damned outrage! What’s the matter—are they afraid
of us?”
“It doesn’t seem as if they can really be civilized people!” put in
Kjersti.
“Most likely they’ve got some nice-looking girls aboard, and are afraid
the place is full of knock-about single men!” Per Hansa explained,
calmly.
The three puzzled folks stood there watching and wondering; through the
deepening dusk they couldn’t make out clearly what the strangers were
doing.... Apparently they were building a fire down on the slope; a
glare of flames intermittently rose and spread, waned and reappeared;
it seemed to flit back and forth on the ground.
“Do you know what, Syvert?” Per Hansa suggested, mischievously....
“Since those fellows won’t come and talk to us, we’d better take a
trip over and visit them. We might even talk them into buying some
potatoes—eh? We must watch our chances, you know.” ... He was anxious
to get a look at them.
Tönseten could see no particular objection, especially since Per Hansa
had an errand with them; but it did seem rather humiliating to go and
shake hands with folks who had refused to say “hullo” to them.... But
after a moment they started on their way.
They had walked only a few steps, however, when he drew up with a jerk.
“Let’s go over to Hans Olsa’s and take him along; he’d like to shake
hands with them too, you know.”
—Not at all—certainly not!—was Per Hansa’s decisive reply. Hans Olsa
knew no more English than he did; and it was devilish awkward to stand
around and stare strangers in the face, without knowing a word they
said; he himself would never have thought of going if it hadn’t been
that they ought to make use of the opportunity to sell some potatoes!...
They went on a few steps farther, and then Tönseten stopped again;
his courage was dripping away.... Suppose they were Scandinavians?
—What nonsense!... Per Hansa kept right on walking. Neither Swedes nor
Danes behaved in that boorish fashion; anyway, they probably had all
gone to bed at Hans Olsa’s; they always turned in early there.
The fire burned lustily over on the prairie; four women went to and fro
placing dishes of food on a big green cloth spread on the ground; some
of the men had already gathered around it; others were occupied with
the wagons.... As they drew near, Per Hansa counted ten men in all; he
scrutinized their faces closely, one by one; but he found none that
he liked.... Tönseten went briskly up to the fire and greeted those
who were sitting around; Per Hansa did likewise. The strangers plainly
sneered at their greeting; they said something among themselves which
Per Hansa did not understand....
—Where did these men come from? Tönseten asked, boldly.
—From down in Iowa.
—Were they going far west?
—No!
This much Per Hansa was able to follow; but here he began to lose the
meaning; the men spoke English too fast, and Tönseten wasn’t much
better; not that it made any difference, however; Per Hansa knew
all that he needed to know.... _They had come at last_!... Of the
conversation that followed he only understood that it was about land
and that the men were making sport with Tönseten, who had grown angry
and now spoke still faster.... It was unbelievable how fast Syvert
could rattle off the English!... The strangers’ mockery was getting
rather ugly now; he could tell it by the sound of their laughter....
Damn it all, to think that he couldn’t talk to them!
“Huh!” exclaimed Tönseten, turning suddenly to his neighbour ... “Can
you imagine what they are saying?... They ... they insist that both my
quarter and Hans Olsa’s belong to them!”
“You don’t say!... What about _mine_?”
But Tönseten paid no further attention to him; he was off again in his
squabble with the Irishmen, and growing more and more excited with
every word.... It struck Per Hansa that if Syvert didn’t stop a moment
to catch his breath, he was either going to explode, or else he would
burst into tears; he grasped his arm firmly.
“What do they say, Syvert?”
“They say they’ve taken up all the land between the creek and the
swamps over to the westward, a strip two quarter-sections wide....
And they talk rougher and wilder than anything I ever heard; they’re
threatening murder, and fire, and state’s prison!”
“Do they say when they were here?”
“Last summer, and late in the fall, and early this spring, too!”
“What cultivation have they done to meet the law?” ... Per Hansa spoke
calmly and thoughtfully.
“They claim that they’ve been granted exemption from the government
because they were soldiers in the Civil War!... Isn’t that the devil’s
own luck?”
“Ask to see their papers.”
“They say they’ve got the papers. They’ll produce them in the morning,
all right!”
“Then we might as well go home and get to bed!” said Per Hansa,
calmly.... “But be sure to ask whether they need any _potatoes_!” he
added with a flash of roguishness.
But Tönseten had not heard; he was once more absorbed in wrangling. The
men about the fire had now all risen; those who were working at the
wagons had joined them; a close circle had formed around the pair. Per
Hansa watched in silence, his pipe hanging unlighted from one corner of
his mouth; when his eyes caught those of one of the strangers he held
on some time before letting go.
“Well,” he put in, dryly, as Tönseten stopped to catch his breath,
“don’t they want to buy any potatoes?” ...
“_Potatoes_!” cried Tönseten.... “You ought to hear how savagely
they talk! They say they don’t need to show any papers to thieves and
claim jumpers like us!”
“All right.... Have they got their stakes down here, too?”
“On both quarters, they say!” ...
Per Hansa saw that if Tönseten kept on much longer, he would go to
pieces entirely; that would be rather embarrassing for both of them.
“Come on, Syvert, let’s go home to bed.... It looks as though we
couldn’t make a deal in potatoes, anyway!”
At that he calmly began to elbow his way out of the circle; Tönseten
saw him going, grew alarmed, and hurried after. Some one of the Irish
must have tripped him; he stumbled and nearly lost his balance; this
made them all laugh—but one man in particular roared with glee; his
jeering voice had an offensive, deliberately insulting tone.
... Per Hansa wheeled suddenly and stood glaring at them; Tönseten
glanced at him and grew frightened in earnest.
... “Come on!” he cried with chattering teeth, and took to his heels.
... “Hell, Syvert—wait a minute!”
Per Hansa kept searching the crowd until he found the face from which
that insolent jeering came; a grim, cold sneer had spread over his own.
At last he located the fellow, close at hand; he held his clenched fist
under the man’s nose, drew his head well down between his shoulders
in order to get more power, and said in a dry, rasping voice, in the
broadest Nordland dialect:
“Now, by God! you’d better shut up your mouth or I’ll wipe that grin
off your face for you!”
His eyes actually seemed to scorch the man; then he let up,
straightened his shoulders, and glanced around at the crowd.
... Apparently no one was anxious to have anything to do with him; the
jeering laughter died away. Then he let his gaze travel slowly back to
the first man; the fellow had sense enough not to laugh any more....
And so, since he couldn’t talk to them, there was nothing left for
Per Hansa to do but go away....
Off in the dark he could hear a faint calling; by the sound of
Tönseten’s voice he was not far from tears now.
“I’ll take all our papers along to-morrow and show them—they’ll see
what’s what!” he blubbered, as Per Hansa came up.... “You shouldn’t be
so hasty! Suppose they had all fallen upon us!... Good heavens!...”
“Well, you can try your papers on them, if you want to.... But let me
tell you this, my good Syvert: with these people you can’t use either
the ‘Catechism’ or the ‘Epitome’; they don’t live according to the
Scriptures!” ...
Tönseten drew a long and heavy sigh.... “My God! what troubles a man
may fall into!... It makes me shudder to think how wild they talked!”
When they parted it was agreed that all the menfolk should meet early
next morning, to counsel together as to what must be done. Per Hansa
was to notify Hans Olsa and the Solum boys, and bring all three over to
Tönseten’s.
“Don’t breathe a word to Kjersti about how things are!” Per Hansa
warned him.... “If the women ever get hold of this, they’ll die of
fright!... We’ll find a way out somehow—I tell you we will!”
VIII
As he walked homeward Per Hansa was a totally different man from the
one who had gone over to Tönseten’s a couple of hours before. Then he
had carried a heavy burden of worry and care; but now he walked with
a lightsome, buoyant step, very well pleased with the turn events had
taken. His mood lightened and brightened as he figured things out and
added up the total. The problem came out just right.... These fellows
were nothing but a pack of scoundrels; the thought was so comforting
to him that he felt like thanking the Lord. They had not filed their
claims at all; he doubted very much if they were soldiers; if they
had had a clear case, they would have produced their papers at
once.... Why, one only needed to look at their faces! Next moment he
began to whistle, striking up the merry tune of an old polka. It wasn’t
so much because they would not be able to chase him away that he was
glad; but because now he was once more a guiltless man! He felt so
light-hearted and free again that he could have leaped up and soared
through the air.... How fine life was, after all! He didn’t know, just
at present, exactly how he was to snatch his neighbours out of the grip
of the trolls; but matters would straighten themselves out somehow; the
magic sword would be there when he needed it!...
When he got home the boys were sitting up in bed, undressed and waiting
for him; Beret stood by the stove, roasting a substitute for coffee
which she made from potatoes; the room was filled with smoke and the
door stood open. She looked at him in the faint glimmer from the lamp;
his face bore nothing but signs of good, she saw; then no danger hung
over them! Perhaps a few more settlers would arrive as the years
passed.... The boys were asking questions both together in a steady
stream; now and then she quietly slipped in a question of her own;
but the flood of talk from the bed was so torrential that she could
scarcely be heard. The father had to go over and give them a box or
two on the ears, to quiet them down; but it turned into skylarking
instead of chastising, with screams of laughter and a new flood of
questions; they had forgotten their anger at not being allowed to go
with him!... The wife asked, and the boys asked over and over again:
what nationality the newcomers belonged to, how many they were, and
whether they were going to settle here; how many horses they had, how
many cattle; whether they had any women; what they had brought in
their wagons; if they had bargained for many potatoes; and the like.
It seemed as if their curiosity could never be satisfied.... But the
father was in such a good humour that he had a bantering answer for
everything, no matter what silly questions they asked; he entered
wholeheartedly into the hilarity of the boys, till he too was talking
only nonsense.... These folks were all Irish, he explained; their
women were terrible trolls, with noses as long as rake handles....
Settle here? Not they! No, they were going on to the end of the world,
and a long way farther. They were much, much uglier than the Indians,
and spoke so terribly fast that it sounded like _this_.... He hardly
thought there would be a chance to sell any potatoes; troll women ate
the flesh of Christian men, instead of potatoes—didn’t they know that?
Just the same, he was going to take a couple of sacks along to-morrow,
to see whether he couldn’t tempt them away from their regular fare....
His banter grew so boisterous at last that Beret was half-frightened;
but his voice sounded so bright and cheerful, and had such a warm,
infectious gladness running through it, that she could not find it in
her heart to reprove him. When they went to bed later in the evening he
put his arm lovingly around her and fell asleep almost immediately....
She felt sure there could be no danger this time.
But before she was awake, and long before the faintest light of day
shone into the room, Per Hansa was up again; he ate some cold porridge
left from the night before, put the deed into his pocket, and went over
to the Solum boys’ place; there he roused them, and waited till they
had eaten a mouthful or two; then all three continued on to Hans Olsa’s.
As they walked along Per Hansa reviewed the situation for them; with
the help of their questions, he gradually explained his plan:
“It’s this way, boys: there’s no danger for any of us three; our
neighbours are the ones who are in trouble and stand in need of help;
but as for that, you realize as well as I do that we wouldn’t have a
very pleasant future ahead of us, either, if they were chased away from
here.... Now, you’re a pretty good talker, Henry, and had better be
spokesman for the rest of us; Tönseten gets excited so easily you know;
then you, Sam, must translate for Hans Olsa and me, in order that we
may follow what’s going on. Those fellows must be made to show their
papers; be sure to look closely at dates and signatures and that sort
of thing, to satisfy yourself that they haven’t been tampered
with.... After that, we want to know if they have planted _stakes_
here, and where they are! Just tell them straight from the shoulder, in
good plain English, that here we are, and here we intend to stay until
some one kicks us out.... Put all the guts into it that you can!”
The Solum boys took a sensible view of the whole matter; to Henry it
seemed just an amusing interruption to their loneliness; the idea of
chasing people away from a place that was nearly destitute of human
beings already, seemed comical.... Even Sam was brave to-day; these
were white folks, with whom one could talk and reason; that wasn’t so
dangerous!...
Per Hansa told them to keep on to Tönseten’s; he and Hans Olsa would
come as soon as they could.
IX
Everything about Hans Olsa was of unusual dimensions; his great body
made strangers stop and look; it loomed up like a mountain when he rose
to his full height; his strength was in proportion to his bulk; things
that he took hold of often got crushed in his grip. New ideas found
their way behind that big forehead with great difficulty; he had to
look at a thought for some time before he could comprehend it; on the
other hand, it invariably held true that when an idea had once become
well lodged in there, it would remain clear and unchanged forever. His
mind worked in the same way as his body; he was slow to grasp, but
rarely dropped anything after he had picked it up; on this account he
always found it difficult to turn back, once he had chosen his path.
Right and wrong were eternal verities with him, which could not be
changed and must not be tampered with; right was right, and wrong was
wrong; thus it had always been, and thus it must remain as long as the
world should stand.
When Per Hansa entered his neighbour’s house that morning, he found
himself immediately embarrassed; both husband and wife were up, and
he did not care to speak of their predicament while Sörine was
listening; the women ought to be kept out of this! Time was pressing,
however, and he couldn’t waste it in lengthy explanations; besides,
Hans Olsa and his wife had already discovered the camp to the westward
and were planning to go over and visit the strangers, with Tönseten as
an interpreter.... Per Hansa hardly knew which way to turn; he looked
at Sörine’s face, and again, as so often before, was impressed by the
goodness and intelligence in it; then he made up his mind and related
frankly the whole experience which had befallen him and Tönseten the
night before.
... “Now, Sörrina, I know you are a sensible woman and will keep your
mouth shut,” he added, quickly, when he was through. “Beret doesn’t
know anything about this, neither does Kjersti; there’s no need of
alarming folks who are in a bad way already.... Not that we need to
worry over this business; I’m sure they’ll take it peaceably when we
show them our papers.... Now we must hurry. Get your deed, Hans Olsa!”
But it was a sheer impossibility for Hans Olsa to hurry in a matter
of this kind; he had to ask about it over and over again. Facts were
facts, which in this case were clear beyond questioning: He himself
had gone to the land office in person; Tönseten had put his finger
on precisely this quarter-section on the map, and had asked in Hans
Olsa’s name if it could be taken up; there had been nothing in the
way, not the slightest claim; it was so stated in the document; and he
had moved directly on to his land and had done everything that the law
prescribed. If anything was wrong, the government would have to clear
it up; but how could anything possibly be wrong?...
“Why, certainly,” said Per Hansa, with shrewd common sense.... “The
government is all right in its place—no one questions that! But out
here this morning, the government is a little too far away ... that’s
where the trouble comes in.”
“You don’t mean that they actually intend to _kick us out_?”
demanded Hans Olsa in an astonished voice, unconsciously stretching his
huge frame.
“That’s just what they intend to do, as I understand them.... We’ll
have to show them where we stand, in black and white!” ... Per Hansa
looked at the woman.
“You don’t say, Per Hansa! Are there ... are there many of them?”
“I counted ten men and four women; I believe that’s all there are.” ...
The ghost of a smile passed over Per Hansa’s face.
Hans Olsa sat in silence for a while, with the deed folded up in his
hand: then he smoothed it out again and looked at it closely. The
greater part of it was unintelligible to him, but he understood all the
essentials: the date, the description of the land, the signature of
the government, and his own. All this was correct in every way; and up
to this very minute he had kept his part of the contract to the letter
of the law. He handed the paper to Per Hansa, and said in a ponderous
voice:
“Do you see anything wrong there?”
Per Hansa was growing impatient; here they sat, wasting precious time;
his laugh had a hard, short ring:
“No! It isn’t you who are wrong in this case, you see; it’s those
devils who have squatted here on your land!”
“Do they look like peaceable folks?” asked Sörine, calmly.
“One would suppose so ... they have their women along!”
Hans Olsa spoke slowly: “We’d better go over and talk to them.”
“That’s the idea!... Just put the deed in your pocket, and let’s get
started!”
X
Tönseten and the Solum boys were waiting impatiently when the others
arrived. Later on, Tönseten let it out that he had told his wife the
whole story as soon as he had come home the night before; neither of
them had slept a wink all night. He was nervous and jumpy this
morning, and wanted to start out immediately.
“No, this won’t do,” said Per Hansa, firmly. “We mustn’t go without a
plan. How are we going to tackle the business when we get there?”
“We’ve got to drive them away from here!” cried Tönseten, excitedly.
“Fine!... But the question is: How are we going about it?”
“We’ve got to convince them that we are here with the full sanction of
law and justice,” said Hans Olsa, solemnly.
“You’re damned right we must!” flashed Per Hansa.... “Have you got your
paper, Syvert?”
—No, Tönseten had thought of bringing the deed with him, but he feared
it would be too risky.... “They might take it away from me, and then
I’d be in a devil of a hole!” Tönseten’s face was so agitated that it
was a pity to look at.
But Per Hansa now took charge in a determined manner.... “Go in and
get that deed immediately, Syvert, so that we can get going!... Don’t
worry—we’ll see to it that no one molests you!”
And so they started. On the way over, Per Hansa explained the tactics
they were to follow; Henry Solum and Tönseten should be the spokesmen,
Sam the interpreter; Per Hansa took pains to impress upon Sam how
important it was that he translate correctly and rapidly, so that he
and Hans Olsa could keep abreast of proceedings.... “I think it will be
best for you, Henry, to cut loose; then you, Syvert, can put in your
oar when you think it’s needed. But don’t say much; and for Heaven’s
sake, be careful not to talk too fast; you know how quickly you get
short-winded. Remember we have the whole day ahead of us!”
Tönseten was highly displeased with this plan of Per Hansa’s, but he
lacked the strength to protest; matters had reached such a bad pass
already that they could hardly get worse....
It was plainly evident that the strangers had not overslept themselves
that morning; although the hour was still very early—full daylight
had barely come—all hands were busily at work when the five settlers
reached the camp. Two of the wagons had already been unloaded; a few
of the men were beginning to open up the others, while the rest of the
crew were putting up a large tent.
Per Hansa and Henry Solum walked ahead; then came Hans Olsa and Sam;
Tönseten, who at first had trotted along with the van, had now quietly
dropped back to the rear.
“Ah-ha!” observed Per Hansa to his companions. “They’re planning to
settle here, it seems!... Now, first you must ask to see their papers;
and then the stakes—insist on the _stakes_! Talk pleasantly to begin
with ... but it won’t do any harm to have a little sport with them, you
know. If they get ugly, just tease them on awhile.”
Their friendly greetings were returned in a churlish fashion; the
strangers didn’t seem anxious for company; each man went about his task
without paying the slightest attention to the visitors.
—What were they doing here? Henry demanded.—This quarter had been taken
up long ago.
—Indeed? Two of the men stopped their work and entered the conversation.
—Yes, the man who owned the land was standing right there—Henry pointed
to Hans Olsa.—That fellow; he had his papers along, too; and now
they must show their papers! If the land office had granted the same
quarter-section to two different men, a bad mistake had been made, but
it could easily be cleared up.
—Well, so they wanted to see the papers—was that the idea? Had they
brought their _spectacles_? A roar of laughter from the others greeted
this sally; but the man who had spoken wasn’t exactly laughing—he
held his head tilted on one side, his whole face screwed into an ugly
leer.... Sam translated as accurately as he could.
—Yes, Henry continued in a firmer and more imperative tone, they had
come to see both their papers and their stakes! Furthermore, there was
a court in Sioux Falls to settle such matters. They had been living
here all summer, breaking and planting, and hadn’t the least
thought of moving away.... Per Hansa sensed by the tone of Henry’s
voice that he was speaking well.
“That’s right, Henry.... Give ’em hell!”
The man who had spoken with such an evil look a moment before, now
threw down his sledge hammer and came up to them.
—All right, boys! Since they wouldn’t take his word for it, he’d soon
show them in black and white! The papers had been packed away somewhere
and couldn’t be found just now. They would have to wait awhile to look
at them; but he would show them the stakes! They’d better come right
along with him now; he was in a devil of a hurry; he had both plowing
and building to do before the snow flew.
The stranger began to walk rapidly westward; Per Hansa was right at his
heels; as they hurried on, he breathed a prayer that the grass might
have sprung up freshly where he had done that little piece of work!...
The man seemed very certain about his direction. As they approached
Hans Olsa’s southwest corner, he slackened his pace and began pushing
the grass aside with his foot; Per Hansa had in the meanwhile
discovered with his eyes the exact spot where the stake had stood. He
all but laughed aloud; indeed, the rain and the sun of the good Lord
had done their work well; not a blade of grass seemed displaced, not a
broken stalk could be seen!... Besides, the man was mistaken about the
location of the spot; he had gone too far to the north and west before
he got down on his knees to scan the ground. He did a thorough job,
however; walked a few steps, knelt and examined the ground round about;
rose, went forward a little distance, got down on his knees again; but
all the while he was moving farther and farther away from the right
spot.... Per Hansa could hardly restrain himself; quiet chuckles were
beginning to rise in his throat; but he realized the danger in time,
and coughed them away.
The man searched and searched, back and forth, around and around; at
first he went at it hastily, as if finding the stake were the
easiest thing in the world; after a while he looked more slowly and
cautiously.... He was swearing like a trooper now; Per Hansa knew
enough English to understand most of it; he didn’t wonder that the
fellow felt moved to say a little something, under the circumstances....
At last the searcher got up and called loudly to the others.... A man
came over from the camp—a small man with reddish hair and a face as
freckled as a moor dotted with heather. They began to talk together in
low tones, from time to time casting angry glances at Hans Olsa; they
searched the whole region again, but found no trace of what they were
looking for.
Hans Olsa made strenuous efforts to take in what was happening; his
big, rough-hewn face, with the rugged features that ordinarily were
the picture of trust and honesty, had become strange to behold. He
gazed at these two men, hurrying here and there, trying to prove that
he was a scoundrel; he heard what Sam managed to translate of their
complimentary remarks about him; and it all seemed to awaken a new and
ominous force behind that impassive countenance; his big childlike
eyes blazed with astonishment, occasionally emitting sharp flashes; he
trembled slightly all over, though he was not aware of it.
Suddenly the two men abandoned the search, exchanged a few heated
remarks, turned away, and went back to the camp without saying another
word.... The five settlers followed.
“If they have no better luck with the papers,” said Per Hansa, “things
don’t look very bright for them!”
When the five reached the camp all ten of the strangers stood in a
group, talking angrily together. The women were nowhere in sight; as
the Nordlanders came up a burly, red-faced man stepped out from the
group, evidently their leader.... “God be with you, Henry.... Stand
right up to him and talk him down!” Per Hansa whispered to the Solum
boy.... It was clearly evident from the man’s face that a storm was
brewing; the fact that the big Irishman carried a sledge hammer in
his hand also attracted Per Hansa’s attention.
“Where are the men who claim to have taken up this land?” he snapped at
them.
—Right there, those two!—Henry pointed to Tönseten and Hans Olsa.—That
one—Tönseten—owned the quarter to the south; this one—Hans Olsa—the one
they now stood on.
The Irishman singled out Hans Olsa and looked him up and down.
—What was the matter with that fellow—was he deaf and dumb? He couldn’t
seem to get his mouth open! The man fingered his sledge hammer, and
glared around at Henry as if he would swallow him up.
—Oh no, Hans Olsa had his faculties, all right! He just couldn’t talk
English.
Sam was translating all this as best he could.
—Well, he could tell this dirty son-of-a-——that he was a thief and a
blackguard who had destroyed another man’s landmarks!
Sam translated rapidly, trembling with fear.
The Irishman came closer.
—If the whole damned gang of sneaking swine didn’t get off their land
right away, he’d give them something to start with!—Perhaps they’d
understand that language better!—The man swung his sledge hammer.
“Look out, now!” shouted Per Hansa. “Here the trouble starts!” ...
And so it did, only much faster than he or any of the others had
anticipated. When Hans Olsa saw the Irishman loom up before him in that
threatening attitude, he stared at him blankly, and stood for a moment
as if rooted to the ground. Then, all of a sudden, the upper part of
his body seemed to stretch; he stepped aside to evade the onslaught
... his left fist shot out and struck the man below the ear. There was
a crashing sound; with a loud groan the man sank in a heap and lay
perfectly still.
“Look out there, Henry!” cried Per Hansa.... “See that you get
your man, and I’ll get mine!... Wait a minute!”
The crowd had drawn back in front of one of the empty wagons; they
stood as if dazed. Hans Olsa stared at them wildly, took a step
forward, and stumbled over the heap on the ground. Regaining his
balance, he stopped, bent over, and plunged both hands into the inert
heap of flesh; the next instant he lifted it high in the air and flung
it bodily over the heads of the crowd, where it crashed into the wagon
standing behind. The wagon shook violently at the impact.... At the
same moment the group scattered and took to their heels southward
across the prairie. From one of the wagons, still covered by its
canvas, sounded a scream of terror; four women came tumbling out and
followed after the men.
Hans Olsa stood motionless, quivering in every muscle; he seemed like a
man half stunned.
Per Hansa jumped to his side and slapped him on the shoulder:
“Goodness! Hans Olsa, that was beautiful! I don’t believe there’s
another man in the whole country who could do such a thing!... Now I
think we can safely go home; those folks aren’t likely to start any
more arguments about land!”
Hans Olsa was slowly regaining his natural poise; he stroked his face
and sighed deeply, like one recovering from an attack of delirium.
“I’m afraid I handled him pretty roughly; you’d better go and look at
him, Per Hansa.”
Per Hansa laughed confidently.... “No, leave him alone; just do as I
say, now! We’re going straight home, the whole lot of us.... Later in
the day I’ll take a little trip of my own out westward!”
They did as he bade them—though Tönseten could not be found anywhere;
he had vanished from the scene long before. In the latter part of the
afternoon Per Hansa returned to the camp of the Irish, to find out what
they were doing and how they were getting along; he took Store-Hans
with him as interpreter.... He found the whole camp moved to one
of the two quarter-sections lying west of Tönseten’s and Hans Olsa’s
land.
Per Hansa made frequent visits to them during the next few days; before
the third day was over, he had sold them more than ten dollars’ worth
of potatoes; he felt that he had struck up a profitable business.
* * * * *
The Irish finally settled on these two quarters west of them. They
returned east to Iowa just before the snow fell in the fall; but early
the following spring they came back with a large company, and started
their permanent settlement.
XI
On the morning when the men had gone out to parley with the Irish,
Kjersti was left all alone in the house. She felt gloomy and depressed;
there had been little or no sleep for either of them during the night;
Syvert had tossed to and fro in bed, telling and retelling the same
unhappy story—of the terrible folks who had come, of what they proposed
to do, and of the dreary future that awaited him and Hans Olsa, who
would now be forced to start everything anew.... Perhaps they had
better just move east again, and be done with it! He had lain twisting
and turning as he bemoaned their fate, his mood steadily growing
gloomier and gloomier.... This had kept up so long that it had driven
her nearly distracted; at last she had grown tired of his everlasting
whimpering and had told him so in plain words. As yet, she pointed out,
no one in the settlement had lost either life or limb; their papers
were all correct, law and justice ruled the land, and five strong men
were here on hand to look after things ... _four_, at any rate! And at
the worst, these were white people, thank the Lord!...
All this and more she had said to Syvert; every word of it had been
well meant and fully considered. But he had grown angry and had accused
her of not having a particle of common sense; then one word had
led to another. When the quarrel had finally worn itself out they had
found themselves at opposite ends of the earth, though lying side by
side in the same bed.
It was lonesome after the men had left that morning; Kjersti kept the
coffeepot on the stove, and laid on a couple of fresh sticks of wood;
he would be sure to look in for a drop when he came back!... Then she
put on Syvert’s old hat and went over to see Beret; she wanted to find
out what Per Hansa had told her when he came home the night before.
She got little information or comfort there, however.... First she
recounted most of what Tönseten had let out to her—that people had
arrived who claimed to own Hans Olsa’s land, as well as his own; that
these people wouldn’t listen to reason, so in all probability they
would have to seek the aid of the law.... Hadn’t Per Hansa told her
what had happened?
The boys were eating their breakfast; Beret sat over by the stove,
dressing the child; she made no answer to Kjersti; her face flushed but
she did not look up.
Ole, however, laughingly began to repeat some of the crazy stories his
father had told them the night before; Store-Hans remembered more of
them, and helped his brother out when his memory failed; the boys were
still highly excited, and kept on making such a noise and chatter that
Kjersti threw up her hands, begging them for the Lord’s sake to be
quiet!...
Beret listened in a rigid, frozen silence; she let the boys say
anything they wanted to, as if she lacked the strength to make them
stop.... One thought seemed to possess her whole being: he had
destroyed the stakes on other people’s land—and now he was going to
drive them away!... Good God! could this be possible?...
But at last the boys went so far that she had to interfere; they had
begun to laugh together in a coarse, bold way, and use evil words....
How truly it is said, she thought, that the seed which is sown in
secret bears fruit openly!... With the child in her arms, she got
up decisively, crossed the room, and flashed out at the boys; she was
very stern now, and scolded them harshly.
All the while Kjersti had been growing more disturbed; she had to find
consolation somewhere, and said, as if trying to bolster herself up:
“This can’t be anything to worry about! Why, we have been given this
quarter, and were the first to arrive here!”
“What about Per Hansa’s land?” asked Beret.
“It seems they don’t intend to claim that, according to what Syvert
says.... I don’t know why!”
“Probably nothing can be done about it,” said Beret, quietly. “There
is no telling who may have been wandering around out here before we
came.... Many may have been here.”
This aimless talk only irritated Kjersti.
“I should think they would keep all that straightened out—the people
whose business it is to look after such things! If Syvert weren’t such
a milksop of a man, he would have gone after the sheriff at once....
Folks are put in prison for such deeds in America!”
Beret was silent for a moment; she bent over the child, while a deep
flush slowly covered her face; then she said in a low voice:
“The guilty will receive their punishment in the end!” ... As soon as
she had spoken, she got up and left the house abruptly; outside, she
put down the child, and stood like a stone image looking westward;
there she remained standing until Kjersti came out.
“I see them coming now,” she said, as the other appeared. At that,
Kjersti had to hurry off home, to get the breakfast for Syvert.
But Tönseten had returned long before the others; he was in bed when
she came in; though the fall day was mild, he had covered himself up
with the heavy blanket. At first she couldn’t get a word out of him;
she thought he must be ill, especially as he refused the coffee which
she poured out for him.... They can’t possibly have done him an injury?
she thought. She began plying him with questions, and kept on
until he finally admitted that they had come to blows out there on the
prairie. His words were thickly interspersed with moans and groans; she
began to fear in earnest that they had maltreated him; she felt him all
over, and demanded to know where he had been hit.
... “Where did they hit me?... Why talk!” He would say no more on the
subject. Then he gave a heavy sigh, adding: “It’s terrible!” ...
It was impossible for him to lie there long, however, without seeking
an outlet; he had to confide in some one, or he would burst; so he
finally told her his version of everything that had taken place that
morning. Some of the things he had seen; the rest were phantoms of
his own terror; he enlarged on certain points in his narrative very
fully—especially the awful language which the Irish had used, and the
effective replies which he had made to them. The general impression
given by his story was that in all probability he would have brought
the Irish around all right, if Per Hansa and Henry Solum hadn’t stirred
them up to fight; they had done just exactly the wrong things. And so
a big ruffian had rushed forward with a sledge hammer; and Hans Olsa
had gone into a mad rage and killed the man! From now on there would be
nothing but war and bloodshed; so they might as well pack up and move
right away! What a tragedy it was!...
Tönseten stayed safely in bed until late in the afternoon; then Kjersti
came and told him that the strangers had gone. He got up immediately to
see if it was true.... After that he seemed quite like himself again.
For a long time the Irish were the standing topic of discussion in the
little settlement.
But whenever they were mentioned, Beret kept silent; she took no
part in the joy and relief of the others, for there were certain
circumstances connected with the affair which she couldn’t get out of
her mind; the longer she looked at them the uglier they appeared.
... He had destroyed the stakes; and worse than that, he had kept
it secret from everyone ... even from her!
... Shame had probably made him do that.... To be sure, she knew now
that the stakes had been put down unlawfully. But suppose it had been
otherwise—would he have done any different?... Was this the person in
whom she had believed no evil could dwell?... Had it always been thus
with him?
... Lives might have been lost; that, too, would have been his
fault.... Nevertheless, he seemed to feel nothing but joy over the
thing that he had done!...
... The explanation was plain; this desolation out here called forth
all that was evil in human nature. Land fully as good as theirs
extended round about them for thousands of miles; but then these people
had come, and had immediately wanted to seize what had already been
taken, thinking that it would be an easy matter, since they were the
stronger; then her own husband had used deceit and force to drive them
away; and now all was well!...
What would become of children who had to grow up in such an
atmosphere?... Their own children!... She listened to her boys gloating
over the incidents of the recent encounter—and her soul shuddered.
... No, she knew _one_ who could not endure it forever out here!
One afternoon a few days later the Irish came over to Per Hansa’s to
buy more potatoes; they stayed for some time and asked for information
on various matters; the boys translated the questions to their father
as well as they could; Per Hansa thought the Irish were excellent folk!
At both Tönseten’s and Hans Olsa’s they had noticed the strangers come
and go; in the evening they all went to Per Hansa’s to learn how the
Irish had behaved.
... “Finest people in the world!” Per Hansa assured them, pacing the
floor, uplifted by a surge of high spirits that somehow had to find an
outlet. No sooner did he sit down than he was up again; his sallies
of humour had a dashing quality that made them positively contagious.
Tönseten was in a continual gale of hilarity; Kjersti and Sörine,
who sat on the big bed with their knitting, had to let their work drop
at intervals to laugh at Syvert’s and Per Hansa’s extravagances. Beret
had just laid the child in the other bed, and was sitting beside her on
the edge; both boys were listening eagerly to the talk of their elders.
That evening Per Hansa told them all about the stakes; of how he
had found them, of what he had thought, and of the way he had
finally disposed of them. He related the story in a loud voice, with
boisterous, care-free zest; he made it sound exactly like a fairy
tale.... Many words of praise were bestowed on his wise action;
Tönseten was especially effusive—there was a neighbour for you! As
for Kjersti, she was moved almost to tears over such a man. What a
difference from that spineless jellyfish of a husband of hers!
“I’ll have to admit,” said Hans Olsa, soberly, “that you played a risky
game; and it was the hand of the Lord that kept you from telling. For
if they had been able to show that their stakes had ever been on my
land, we’d probably be building a new house now, somewhere out to the
westward. All our work this summer would have been for others.... My
thanks to you, Per Hansa!”
As Beret listened to the tale, she had to examine the narrator closely;
surely this couldn’t be Per Hansa! She remembered the morning when he
had brought the stakes home; how he had chopped them up and put them
furtively into the stove; and how his temper had taken hold of him at
that time.... This was an entirely different person!
... So it had come to this, that he no longer felt ashamed of his
sinful deed ... and that respectable folks sat around, rejoicing with
him over it!... She got up quickly, overcome by a sudden feeling of
suffocation; involuntarily, with out stopping to think, she said in a
level, biting tone:
“Where I come from, it was always considered a shameful sin to destroy
another man’s landmarks.... But here, I see, people are proud of such
doings!”
Her outburst shocked the others into silence—all but Per Hansa.
With a loud laugh he reached out clownishly, trying to catch her in his
arms.
“Oh, Beret, come on, now!... Just kick the dog that bites you—that’s
always the easiest way out, and the simplest, too!”
“I understand that perfectly well—though it makes poor Christianity....
But you were anything but confident, I noticed, that night when you
stood over by the block, chopping up the stakes.” She turned away from
him and seemed to speak to them all.... “Remember what the Book says:
‘Cursed be he that removeth his neighbour’s landmarks! And all the
people shall say, Amen.’ ... words like these we used to heed.... In my
opinion, we’d better take care lest we all turn into beasts and savages
out here!” ...
Per Hansa laughed again with unnecessary loudness; but in the midst of
the laugh he stopped, a wave of anger suddenly surging over him:
“We need a preacher, I hear.... Well, now we’ve got one!”
To this Beret made no reply; instead, she left the room abruptly.
Outside, it was pitch dark; she knew not where to turn nor what she
did; then she stumbled over the plow standing in the yard, and sank
inertly on the plow beam.... As she sat there the storm within her
slowly died away; deep melancholy came instead.... Long after the
others had gone she remained in the same position. Per Hansa had not
come out to look for her.... When she went in at last he had gone to
bed; she could not make out if he was sleeping, but she did not speak
to him. The boys also had gone to bed....
During the days that followed, words were few and distant between Per
Hansa and his wife.
V. Facing the Great Desolation
I
In the beginning of October a memorable event stirred the little Spring
Creek settlement. This, the greatest happening of the year, chose an
opportune moment for its arrival.
It was shortly after dinner. In the early morning Per Hansa, Hans
Olsa, and Henry Solum had gone east to the Sioux River after wood;
Tönseten was so sorely troubled by rheumatism that he hadn’t been able
to go along; anyway, he had wood enough on hand to last until after
Christmas, and hauling would be easier on the snow. He did want some
trees for planting; but as it was getting so late in the fall, with
little likelihood of their taking root, he had given up the project.
Beret sat by the window at home; she was knitting some sort of a round
affair—something so tiny that Store-Hans had asked her whether it was a
new thumb for one of dad’s mittens?... His mother had given him a queer
smile, and answered, maybe it was....
Beret had grown more sober as the autumn came, more locked up within
herself; a heavy heart lay all the time in her bosom, but she tried
her best to hide it from her husband.... Her knitting needles worked
rapidly, with an involuntary rhythm; but her mind was not on her task;
she barely glanced at the knitting as she emptied a needle; her gaze
constantly wandered out-of-doors, flitting back and forth over the
section of the plain that lay in her view. Her face wore that weary,
abandoned expression which had now become habitual to it whenever she
was left alone; a sense of such deep melancholy lay upon her, that her
whole appearance seemed to reflect a never-ending struggle with
unreality.... Round after round was added to the knitting; her gaze
continued to wander....
... Without volition, it fastened on an object somewhere out there—and
stayed. The knitting sank to her lap; she sat and gazed for a long
time, motionless, self-absorbed. Deep compassion was mingled with her
melancholy, as in the heart of one who would gladly give up life to
save another from destruction.
... There must be many in that caravan!... She leaned forward, trying
to count the wagons.... No, she could not make them out; the wagon
train had already crossed the sky line and had come some distance
toward her, settling into the blue-green stillness that lay over the
intervening prairie.
... Some one else has gone astray!... Poor folks—poor folks!
Suddenly a strong impulse took hold of her to do something to save
these people; she felt as if she ought to go and tell them to turn
back; yes, turn back—turn back—before they had strayed any farther into
destruction!...
She laid her knitting on the table, went outside, and stood at the
door to look at them more clearly.... Were there five wagons in the
caravan?... That meant a good many people.
... “Almighty God!” she sighed, “show mercy now to the children of men!
Let not these folks be altogether lost in the trackless wilderness....
For it is only I who have sinned so sorely against Thee!”
Ole had gone to the woods with his father; Store-Hans at that moment
came riding up from the creek, where he had been to water the pony; he
saw his mother standing outside the door in an attitude of constrained
attention, and rode rapidly toward her.
“What do you want, Mother?... What are you looking at?”
His words brought her out of her deep abstraction; she took a few
steps forward, then halted again.... What was the use of trying?
She couldn’t even speak the language of these people!... A feeling
of unfathomable loneliness settled upon her; the cruelty of her fate
suddenly took on fanciful proportions.... Here she was, an exile in an
unknown desert; even when human beings passed, her own kind, she could
not talk with them! How could the Lord have found it in His heart to
smite a soul so heavily?... Beret put her hand up under her breast,
where her own heart was beating, and pressed convulsively....
“What is it, Mother—what is it?”
“Ride ... ride over to them and see if you can’t do something ... help
them out!”
The boy was suddenly all aglow with life; he wheeled the pony around,
followed the direction of his mother’s gaze, and immediately discovered
the caravan.
“We must tell Syvert at once!” ... Store-Hans turned his head, waiting
for his mother’s opinion.
... “Syvert?” ... A shadow spread over her face.... What possible help
could Syvert be to these poor people in their grievous need? She sighed
in hopeless impotence.... “No, just ride over and ask them if you can
do anything.... Tell them your father isn’t at home.”
Store-Hans couldn’t remember when he had ever heard his mother talk so
sensibly; he straightened himself in the saddle, sitting like a grown
man; then he spoke to the pony, gave it a slap with the flat of his
hand, and shouted to his mother: “Now I’m off!... You had better go and
tell Syvert!”
But other eyes than hers had wandered across the prairie to the eastern
sky line that day. All at once Sam came running to tell the news; he
stopped only an instant, then continued on toward Tönseten’s. Beret
went into the house, roused And-Ongen, who was asleep on the bed, and
took her along to tell Sörine; she, too, would be glad over a bit of
news.... On the way over she prayed fervently to the Lord for these
people, that they should not be lost in the blue-green endlessness....
She felt secretly glad because her husband was away from home.
II
Soon they were all gathered in front of Tönseten’s house, gazing with
absorbed curiosity at the approaching train; it had drawn so close now
that each wagon could be clearly distinguished; Store-Hans was riding
abreast of the foremost team.
Tönseten fussed about excitedly, constantly thrusting his hands in
and out of the waistband of his trousers; he was here, there, and
everywhere, muttering incoherently all the while.... Good Lord! he
thought, were these more Irish—as tough a gang as their last visitors?
And Hans Olsa far away at the Sioux River!... Here was a fine mess,
indeed!
Then Store-Hans came galloping in, and told a story so strange that all
were lost in amazement.
“They are _Norskies_!” he shouted as he pulled up.
“What’s that you say?” exclaimed Tönseten.
“Yes, Norskies, every single one, I tell you! A whole shoal of them—and
they are coming right here! They talk Norwegian, too.”
“Are you crazy!” shouted Tönseten.... At once he began to assume a
great dignity and authority; he ordered Kjersti indoors to put on
the coffeepot, and sent the other women to help her.... “Don’t you
hear Hans say that they are Norskies! Decent folks must get a decent
reception!”
And now he took Sam with him, and did like the patriarch of old: he
went out to meet the strangers, entreating them to enter in under his
humble roof.
A great event, indeed! The company consisted of five wagons and the
same number of horse teams; they were good horses, too—Tönseten
could see that they were in fine condition. There were twenty men in
the company, all Sognings and Vossings[10]—but mostly Sognings; the
majority of them were married men; some had large families back east
in Minnesota; all were out seeking new homesteads; they intended to go
back east in the fall, but would move west permanently as soon as
spring came next year. They had passed through Sioux Falls and had been
told at the land office of a settlement out here somewhere; so they
had thought they’d better look the place over; but they were heading
farther southwest, making for the James River or thereabouts.... Still,
it was no small joy to these west-movers, to come across a cluster of
sod huts inhabited by Norwegians out here on the endless prairie, and
to find this hospitable, talkative man who was everywhere bustling
about, trying to be of service to them.
[10] People from the districts of Sogn and Voss, in Norway.
They camped in the yard in front of Tönseten’s house. When he
discovered how many they were he said no more about coffee; but he
brought them potatoes and other vegetables, and generously shared
the evening milk with them. He would not hear of their sleeping in
the open that night.... Stay outside, he shouted, when they had come
to Norwegians who owned a new-built house? That would never, never
do!... At turning-in time, he and Kjersti crawled into bed first; then
the floor space was packed with as many of the strangers as it would
accommodate, the rest seeking shelter in the barn.
Tönseten didn’t get much rest that night; the worst of it was that
he couldn’t talk to Kjersti, at a time when he so sorely needed
her counsel.... Good God! how could he sleep, with this tremendous
responsibility suddenly thrust upon him? A whole settlement of
Norwegians snoring right in front of his bed!... Fine people, excellent
people, every one! And there would be still more in the company when
they moved west next spring.... Hang the luck!—that Per Hansa should be
far away on the Sioux River at this important moment!... If he could
only persuade them to settle here, the future would be secure for both
himself and his neighbours.... Yes, let him bring that about, and
things would look so bright that he could turn over in bed and drop
asleep every night with a thankful heart!
... He ought to start out right now, and get Per Hansa, who had such a
wonderfully persuasive gift of tongue. But he couldn’t discuss it with
Kjersti; neither could he see any way to get out of the house; men
lay snoring side by side, from the edge of the bed clear over to the
door!...
When all the strangers finally left the room in the morning, so that he
and Kjersti could get out of bed, Tönseten felt as if he hadn’t slept a
wink all night; he realized full well that now he rose to confront his
day of days.
He had no time to eat breakfast—he hardly noticed Kjersti when she
called him; already he was deep in conversation with the west-movers,
telling them all about the land around Spring Creek.... Surely they
wouldn’t leave without first looking at it?... What?... No, that
would be a great mistake, he’d better go along with them and show
them around; he was just the man for the job, he dared say, for here
he was thoroughly at home. Hadn’t he been the original discoverer of
the place, the first to select it, and the first to build here and
move in? He ought to have known what he was about when he chose _this_
particular spot—he who had been to Fox River, had visited Muskego
and Koshkonong, had travelled all over Minnesota, and even through
large parts of the Dakota Territory![11] ... Tönseten gave them a
full account of his expedition last fall to the western region where
they were bound; the land around Vermilion was quite familiar to him;
Yankton he had seen with his own eyes. At this point he spun into the
narrative a little yarn which he had fabricated last night in bed; it
wasn’t exactly gospel truth, but—well, it might have happened! It was
all about a man whom he had met in Yankton, an impoverished Scotchman,
who had tried homesteading for two whole years up in the James River
country; but the Indians and the fleas had been so annoying that they
had finally driven him out of the place; his wife had died, and his cow
had been stolen by the Indians!... Tönseten related the incident with a
great show of sympathy.
[11] These are the first three Norwegian settlements in the Northwest.
The Sognings and Vossings were an inquiring people; they had many
questions to ask; of course they would consider the Spring Creek
locality before leaving it—that was their business on this trip.
Immediately after breakfast they started out to survey the place.
Sam Solum went with them, talking and explaining volubly; Store-Hans
also tagged along, and with him was Sofie; but by noontime she was so
tired from scurrying around with Store-Hans, looking for badger holes,
and still more from listening to the ceaseless talk of Tönseten, that
she could endure it no longer and ran home. After she left Store-Hans
joined the rest of the group; now and then he would put in a word that
sounded grown-up when he thought the occasion called for it.
The prospective settlers kept asking and looking, and were still
undecided about the matter; they liked the place, and yet they didn’t;
the land seemed good; it lay nicely enough, and was easily tillable;
but how bare and endless the scene was for the eye to rest upon!...
Nothing but naked sky line all the way around!... It must be a desolate
place in winter, without even a bramble bush for shelter.... And what
were people to use for fuel? What for building material? Surely they
couldn’t live in sod huts all their lives!... These were a few of the
objections; and many more were added as the survey went on.
Tönseten fully realized what was at stake; he trembled with excitement;
that day he argued and chattered until the small of his back ached and
he had to sit down in sheer exhaustion.... But they were not able to
advance a single objection that he couldn’t meet and do away with.
... “Wood for fuel and shelter?” ... His voice lowered with fervent
zeal; his hands fought the air.... Wood? Man alive, this was exactly
one of their most valuable assets! Here folks could have just as much
woodland as they wanted—no more, and no less! One of his neighbours
had planted half an acre of trees this summer, and had now gone for
more seedlings; he would probably bring enough to plant another half
acre when he returned—more than he and his descendants could ever
use.... “I’ll just tell you, fellows, if it’s only wood, you can go
east to the Sioux River as soon as you’ve unloaded your wagons, and get
enough trees planted this very fall to last you for a thousand
generations! I’ll go along and help you, and it won’t cost you a
cent!... You see, folks, it’s really a matter to be thankful for, that
there aren’t any woods already standing here; in these few months since
we arrived, we’ve broken more land than one could break in ten years
in a cutover country; in two years I’ll have my whole quarter-section
under the plow!... For Heaven’s sake, fellows, don’t talk to me about
_wood_!”
In this fashion Tönseten talked against time; he pictured the future
to them with a fervour that was prophetic; his reddish beard glowed as
if with a living fire; his eyes beamed; his voice shook with emotion;
his body trembled; his arms made magnificent sweeping gestures in the
air.... He told about the schools which they would found, and the
church which they would build together; about the thriving town which
would spring up on the spot where they stood, and the railroads that
would crisscross the prairie in every direction; for the railroad had
already reached Worthington—soon it would be at Sioux Falls! Then they
would have only a twenty-five-mile journey to town—did they realize
that? Only _twen-ty-five mi-les_!... Tönseten chopped the words up into
syllables, and showed them each piece.... And just look at Sioux Falls!
Why, only a year ago he had been obliged to go all the way down to
Vermilion—not a sign of a land office in Sioux Falls at that time! But
you could just bet that the government knew what it was about in coming
so far north—just wait and see!... Tönseten apparently had the future
all charted and laid out in detail before him; he never stumbled, never
made a mistake; the man burned with an unquenchable fire.
... If they would settle here now, more would be sure to follow next
spring; then they would all be Norskies here—a settlement made to order
for all of them!... But suppose they went to a place where no one had
come yet? Couldn’t they understand that all of Dakota Territory would
never be peopled? Why, there weren’t enough folks in the whole world
for that, and never would be, either!... Or if they should be so
unfortunate as to choose a location where no one followed after?...
What then?...
The strangers listened seriously to him; they were forced to admit that
there was a good deal of common sense in what he said.
The party did not get back to camp until late in the afternoon. Then
they cooked a substantial meal from the potatoes which Tönseten had
given them; after that they held council; the majority were for
settling down right here.
When Tönseten heard the decision, he gave an excited laugh; he ran
hurriedly into the house and told Kjersti, who wept over the news; the
next instant he had bounced out again. He felt now that Destiny had
used him as her tool. He had only reached out his hand, and, lo! he had
brought in twenty neighbours with a single stroke—Norwegians, every
last mother’s son of them!... This good fortune seemed so overwhelming,
it had befallen him so suddenly, that he wasn’t willing to trust it
too far.... When the strangers hitched up their horses and crossed the
creek—they had decided to settle on the east side, with a chance to
expand southward—he felt obliged to go along with them; but after night
had fallen and they had pitched their tents, and he was forced to leave
them—then he was full of alarms.
... Many things might happen during the night!
III
They would soon have to make another trip to town. Beret looked forward
to it with dread; it meant that Per Hansa would be gone for a whole
week’s time. The evenings were long and the nights hung heavy over the
hut; she had to struggle with so many fearful fancies—fancies that
multiplied as time went on; though she felt unable to speak to him
about it—though he would be unable to help her if she did—yet it was
a great relief to have him near, for then it seemed as if the horror
dared not touch her. She dreaded each occasion which took him away from
home, even if it was only for half a day’s work with one of the
neighbours.... And now he would be gone for a whole week’s time!
... She realized, too, that they would have to have provisions for
the winter; the children were sadly in need of clothes, and Per Hansa
himself needed many things. But in her condition, these material
affairs became more and more unreal to her; it seemed as if she stood
apart from them—they did not concern her.... All this she kept to
herself, however; ah, what was the use of speaking where no one could
hear!... She helped him get ready for the journey as if nothing were
wrong; whenever he begged to know what he could buy for her and for
the house, she would stop to ponder the question with a distant look
in her eyes, as if trying to think of many things which she couldn’t
for the moment remember. At that he would joke her, saying she mustn’t
be backward about it, for now they had plenty of money; what was she
standing there thinking of?... To this question he either would receive
no answer at all, or else he would hear her repeat what she had just
been saying; or perhaps she would make some absent-minded, irrelevant
remark, as if she had not heard him.... At such times Per Hansa would
look at his wife and sigh; then he would take hold of her and swing her
around, trying to cheer her....
But beyond that he was too busy to pay much attention to her. On this
trip to town he was going himself; Tönseten had offered to lend him his
horses and wagon, and had promised to stay home and look after things.
The Sognings and Vossings were still here; they needed advice and help
in so many ways; and he, Tönseten, was just the man for that; he held
himself like a father to them—yes, like Providence itself!... Per Hansa
had a lot of plans to make before starting out; he wasn’t so short of
money now; the Irish were fond of potatoes and had been good customers;
as for the Sognings, they seemed even fonder of potatoes than the
Irish; he had managed to sell them more than ten dollars’ worth;
however it had happened, his cash supply was a good deal larger
to-day than when he had first arrived in the early summer.
On the other hand, there was no end to all the things he needed; he had
jotted down a long list of articles that simply had to be bought, and a
still longer list that he ought to get if the money only held out.
When the mother wasn’t listening he talked earnestly to the boys
of how they must look after the place during his absence. Ole, who
was the bigger, would have to assume responsibility for everything
out-of-doors; Injun, and Rosie, and the two oxen must be well taken
care of; and then the wood—he must promise to chop up stacks of
wood!... Store-Hans should serve as handy man to mother indoors; that
was no easy job, even for a clever fellow like him—he understood
that, of course?... The boys were far from enthusiastic over this
arrangement; Ole had been hoping that his father would let him go along
this time; he had taken pains to make himself useful on every occasion,
ever since the trip had first been mentioned. Store-Hans, for his
part, had harboured a secret hope that his father would bear in mind
how exceedingly practical it was to have him along—he was so quick and
handy about everything; he, too, had watched for every opportunity to
please his father; he and his brother had often fought for the chance
to run an errand. The disappointment hit Store-Hans the harder; here he
would have to go pottering around like a hired girl—just like another
woman! He fell to nagging, sulking, and fighting with his brother, all
of which did not help in the least.
The father pitied him more than his older brother; he called him into
the stable and talked to him long and confidentially, as though he were
an old man with a long beard on his chin.... “You see, mother isn’t in
such condition that we can both leave her,” he explained in a tone of
open comradeship. “So if you go, I’ll have to stay at home!” ...
This was more than Store-Hans could understand; there wasn’t anything
the matter with mother, was there? She looked well enough, except
for her face; but wasn’t that probably because cold weather was coming
on?
... “Oh, she’s healthy enough, Store-Hans—it isn’t that, you know.
But”—the father’s voice grew low and queer—“You’d better not tell
this to your brother—but there may be another little Store-Hans coming
around here, say about Christmas time; and mother will have to bear the
brunt of that business!... You understand, now, we mustn’t both leave
her.”
My, but this was strange! Deep wonderment rose in the eyes of
Store-Hans. How could another come here—another boy?... He didn’t
dare to ask; he turned his head away from his father; a glowing blush
covered his face.... Now he saw what the dream had meant that he had
had the other night; he had seen both Joseph and Benjamin playing just
beyond the house; and with them had been a tiny little fellow, who
wasn’t mentioned in the Bible story!
... Oh yes ... of course he would take care of mother!
But, here was another thing: couldn’t father get hold of a shotgun when
he went to town? The last time Store-Hans had been to the swamps the
ducks had been thicker than ever.... And the Irish had settled awfully
close to them!
... Well, the father didn’t know; he would see what he could do; he
had thought of another way to catch those ducks, but what it was he
wouldn’t let out now.
Indeed, Per Hansa’s mind was full of busy thoughts.... In the cellar
were many more potatoes than they could consume during the winter or
use as seed next spring; and now he was going to town with horses and
wagon; it would be strange enough if he couldn’t find people who needed
food. Alas! however, it was now already the twelfth of October; some
nights it froze—and potatoes were sensitive to cold! But ever since the
world was made the people of Nordland had known how to bring potatoes
safely all the way up to Lofoten, even in the middle of January.... It
could certainly be done again, with a little care!
Per Hansa pondered, looked at the weather, sniffed and tried the air.
On the afternoon before their departure he came to a decision:
there were more potatoes than they could use; if they froze, they
froze. Yes, sir! he would give it a try! And so he went over to
Tönseten’s and brought the wagon; he padded it thickly, bottom and
sides, with soft hay; then he loaded it with potatoes in bulk. On top
of the load he placed two sacks of rutabagas, and one of carrots;
finally he picked out some of the nicest melons that were left in the
cellar; these he tucked in between the sacks, covering everything with
hay, and spreading some old clothes over the load.
Early the next morning they started off; Henry Solum and Hans Olsa went
with him.
IV
The wagons drifted slowly through the outspread day, creeping on
through indolent, drowsy fall sunshine and blue-green haze, toward a
distant sky line from which hung a quivering yellow veil. For all they
drove, the sky line came no closer; but when the purple shadows of
evening fell, there seemed to be a chance, at least, that they might
reach it.
This was a great day for Per Hansa. Now he was travelling the very
trail he should have followed on his way out last summer; but in one
day’s march he traversed a stretch that then took him four times as
long.... All day the landscape was the same, yet its details seemed
ever changing and ever new; prairies that extended to the end of the
world; prairies that billowed into slopes, rose in low hills, then
flattened out again and sank away into an endless plain.
The caravan headed for the sky; it steered straight onward. Now, at
last, Per Hansa had time to look about him and rejoice in what he
saw.... And all he saw was beautiful. Even the others, who had gone
this way before, found many strange new things to look at, the farther
they advanced into the bluish-yellow haze.... Here and there a sod hut
peeped up from the ground, where last summer there was nothing but
gopher hills.
Their goal that first day’s journey was Split Rock Creek, where
they intended to camp for the night. They took turns with three teams
at hauling Per Hansa’s load, in order to ease up on his horses and so
make faster progress; thirty-eight miles they had come that day when
they finally reached Split Rock Creek, on the other side of the Sioux
River; there they found a ford over the creek, and pitched their camp
on the eastern shore.... When they had been crossing the Sioux River
earlier in the day—it seemed an almost unbelievably long while ago—they
had stopped long enough to catch three big pickerel. Now Per Hansa
slung a kettle over the fire and cooked the fresh fish for supper;
he buried some potatoes in the ashes next to the kettle. Soon they
were all seated on the bank, partaking of a lordly feast for them,
even though it was only of fish and potatoes.... The water purled by
below, murmuring gently, reminding them of much that was dear and half
forgotten.... Conversation flowed freely while they ate, but after they
had finished it began to lull away. They laid more wood on the fire
and got out their pipes; then they could better hear what the crooning
waters told. Deep silence fell.... A big star stood in the western sky,
looking into their faces.
When the pipes had been emptied a second time they rose, tended to the
horses for the night and crawled under the wagons; there they slept
dreamlessly until the day began once more to gild the blue wall of the
east. The coffee was boiled; enough cold fish and potatoes were left
from supper to make a meal; very soon each one was seated in his wagon
again, jogging still farther away from a place they knew ... a place
they seemed to remember ... a place far off under the western skies,
where a group of sod huts ought to be lying!... Wasn’t there such a
place out there somewhere. But it seemed strangely vague and distant
now!... Per Hansa braced up in his seat, put his mind intently on Beret
and Store-Hans—and then the sod huts stood out more vividly....
... Poor Beret-girl! If only she wouldn’t be too lonesome while he was
away!
This day’s journey also turned out to be full of interesting
things. As they went along, sod huts stood here and there moping
dejectedly, where, according to Hans Olsa and the Solum boy, no house
should have been.... Good Heavens! where had they all come from?
Settlers must be swarming out of the ground like ants in summertime!...
Well, no—not so terribly many; it was only this, that there shouldn’t
have been any at all!... Too bad! Why hadn’t these folks crossed a few
more sky lines to the westward before they settled down for good!
Late in the forenoon they came upon two sod houses which must have
sprung up since they were last here; neither Hans Olsa nor the Solum
boy could remember a trace of them. Low and forlorn they lay there on
the face of the prairie—only two sod huts, but situated so directly in
their course that they couldn’t resist stopping to learn what kind of
folks lived here.... Beyond the huts a man and his wife were hard at
work, breaking prairie; here, too, the sod must be tough of fibre, for
the job didn’t seem to be going very fast. What first arrested the eyes
of the travellers was the team that pulled the plow; an ox with shining
brass sockets on the ends of his huge horns had been yoked together
with a skinny poll-cow. The woman walked alongside the team, driving;
the man, whose patriarchal beard swept his chest, steered the plow,
pushing from behind with all his might.
These folks were Hallings[12]; Per Hansa and Hans Olsa were very glad
to hear it. A Halling is usually easy of approach; they at once struck
up a conversation with these people.... Only another incredible fairy
tale! With nothing but this team, the man related, he had brought his
family and all his earthly possessions the whole distance from Iowa, a
matter of over four-hundred miles—“a long, laborious journey,” as he
quaintly expressed it.
[12] People from Hallingdal, in Norway.
—They surely hadn’t made the whole trip with those horses? asked Per
Hansa.
—Why, certainly they had!... The Halling laughed.
—How long had it taken?
—Oh, not so very long—seven weeks and two days, to be exact. They
hadn’t been able to hurry, because of the cow; she was the one who
supplied most of their food, and so they had to be reasonable with her.
“Do tell me!” said Per Hansa, flabbergasted. “You don’t mean to say
that she’s milking, that cow of yours?”
“Certainly she’s milking!... That is, when we don’t drive her too hard.”
“By God! that must be a wonderful cow!... But say, now: don’t you need
some potatoes with the milk? I’ve got a whole load of ’em here that I’m
trying to sell.”
The Halling looked at him, his jaw dropping, and evidently wanted to
say something; but no sound came. A force was working there under the
long beard which gave his whole face a comical expression; it seemed
for a moment as if the man might be chuckling; but when Per Hansa
looked at him more closely, he discovered a film of moisture in the
man’s blinking eyes.
... “_Potatoes_, you say?... Well, now!” ...
The man wiped his eyes and regarded Per Hansa dumbly. His wife stood
beside him; her face was long and drawn.... Suddenly she wept....
“Have you got any food in the house?” demanded Per Hansa.
“Er—yes ... as long as the cow gives milk!” ... It was the woman who
supplied this information.
Then Per Hansa burst out laughing.... “Listen here, woman—you run in
after a pail, and we’ll treat you to a decent meal ... since we’re the
visitors!”
And this is sure: it didn’t take the woman long to produce the pail!
Per Hansa grabbed it from her, filled it with potatoes, and gave her a
quick look—then looked again; at that, he poured the potatoes out on
the ground, filled the measure once more, and gave her a second pailful.
... “There you are—one for each of you; don’t kill yourselves eating,
now!”
The man gazed at Per Hansa, blinked his eyes, coughed emphatically, and
said: “So far, so good.... But give me four more pailfuls, and
I’ll pay you a whole dollar when I get the money; you’ll probably be
passing here again.... If you should happen to die before that time,
the potatoes wouldn’t do you any good.”
“No, but I might need the dollar!” laughed Per Hansa. “But never
mind—thanks for your offer, just the same!... What do you say to eight
pailfuls and two dollars—when you get the money?”
Then the Halling laughed so that his big beard shook.... “Listen here,
man; why not sixteen pailfuls and four dollars? You’ll get your money
sometime.... To tell the truth, there’s very little to eat in our
house.” ...
The woman had already taken one pailful inside; now she was down on
her knees, gathering the loose potatoes in her skirt; she worked with
feverish haste, using both her hands, and eying Per Hansa askance from
time to time.
Per Hansa laughed good-naturedly at the Halling.... “Now I’ll just tell
you how we’ll do this: you have enough here for the time being; you can
wait till I get back home—and then I’ll bring you a whole load.... You
need food, man!... I’ll take the money when I get it.”
So the agreement was made; before they went on, however, Per Hansa gave
them one of the left-over fishes, half a pailful of carrots from the
sack, and the nicest melon he could find on the load.... “Don’t kill
yourselves eating, now!” were his parting words to the Hallings.
... Again he sat on the wagon, creaking along toward a yellowish-blue
horizon; he couldn’t remember when life had been so much fun!
V
Around noon of the day after their visit with the Hallings, the three
wagons entered Worthington. There was nothing much of an urban air
about the place; as yet, the town consisted merely of a couple of dozen
houses scattered all about, some just rough shanties, others only sod
huts; all bore the earmarks of having been hurriedly constructed,
and intended only for temporary shelter. The place had much the
appearance of a camp, that to-day would be here, but to-morrow might
have moved miles away. However, it contained a couple of stores; and
most important item of all—the railroad, the main artery of life in
this far region, had made its way thither.
Per Hansa drove from house to house, greeting the people with a
cheerful grin and asking in his broadest Nordland dialect if they
didn’t want any potatoes; he said nothing of the other wares which he
had brought. Luck wasn’t sitting in every doorway waiting for him,
however; the peddling proved to be a slow business. Not until he
reached a sod hut at the other end of the town did he make a bargain
worth mentioning; here he happened on a widow with two half-grown boys;
the widow was Danish and ran a small poultry farm.
... Yes, indeed, she needed potatoes, for both herself and the boys,
and for the birds as well; she hadn’t any money in the house, but she
had the chickens.... Wouldn’t he trade some potatoes for a fowl or two?
—Of course he would! Per Hansa was more than willing; after dickering
awhile, he bartered nine pails of potatoes for three young chickens.
—This is a mighty profitable deal!—he thought—The Hallings are good
people, but the Danes are even better.... “Listen, Mother, perhaps
you’d just as soon take three pailfuls more and give me the fourth
hen?” ... The widow agreed to that at once and Per Hansa felt that now
he had made a fine bargain indeed.
The widow, too, seemed very well satisfied; they beamed in mutual
gratitude, filled with generous thoughts. Their eyes looked into each
other’s....
... Per Hansa started to leave. But the widow wouldn’t hear of such a
thing; of course he mustn’t leave yet awhile! She had an old rooster
cooking on the stove; it had been boiling since early in the forenoon
and ought to be tender pretty soon; he must unhitch his horses and tie
them to the wagon, and then come inside; where there was enough for
three, there would always be something left over for a fourth....
Now he must go and do as she said, and then come right in!... Per Hansa
wasn’t refusing!
But when he saw the inside of the hut he grew more enthusiastic over
it than he had been over the widow; if her face had been bright and
cheerful, the face of the room in which he now found himself was even
more attractive; it seemed that he had never seen anything so cozy as
this room! It was only a sod hut, smaller than his own, with three tiny
chambers; but a homely feeling pervaded every nook and corner of it.
But best of all, the walls were not a dirty black like those in his
house; they were a dazzling white—a white so pure and gleaming that
it caught up and reflected the gold of the sun!... A real fairy house,
that’s what it was!
Per Hansa looked and looked—and forgot to sit down.
... “No, never mind the food, Mother,” he said. “I’d rather you would
tell me how you’ve gone about it to make things so extra fine in here!
Is this _paint_, I’d like to know?... It must be terribly expensive!”
... His face showed nothing but sheer good nature and open admiration
as he stood there looking into her eyes; she gave him a merry laugh, as
though she had known him for many a year.
—Oh no, it wasn’t paint at all—far from it! Just ordinary lime and
water!
—_Lime_?... What did they call that in English?... Lime, lime.... He
said the word over to himself a number of times.... My, how strange
everything was!... How did they mix it? Could it be bought in town? Was
it very expensive?
The widow gave him all the desired information while she prepared the
meal; she rattled on in a steady stream as she went about her work.
He needn’t worry about remembering the name; there was a Norwegian
lumberman in town who sold the stuff; perhaps he might be able to
barter potatoes for it!... _Thus_ and _thus_ he must mix it.
“You’re crazy, Mother!” interrupted Per Hansa; he stood in the middle
of the floor, overcome by a wild impulse to hug the cheery
widow.... “Do you actually think he might take potatoes? I’ve got some
carrots and melons, too!... I swear. Mother, that if I had met you in
time, I would have courted you!”
The man’s happiness was so rollicking and genuine that the widow
suddenly burst out laughing.... He might have done a worse thing than
that for himself! she answered. No telling how that courting might have
turned out!...
But now dinner was ready. In came two little boys, with ruddy, beaming
faces, just like their mother’s; it seemed to Per Hansa as if he would
never tire of looking at them; then he remembered the melons, and went
out for the best one he could find; he brought it in and placed it on
the floor.... He sat there eating the rooster with the widow and her
boys—and it all seemed exactly like a fairy tale. As clear as daylight,
luck was with him now!... Before he took his leave, he gave the boys
another melon, and half a pailful of carrots to the mother.
... “It’s a sin to ruin good-hearted people!” he said.
Indeed, luck followed Per Hansa that day. From the widow’s he drove
straight to the lumberman’s, and asked if he would barter some building
materials for a load of potatoes and other such delicacies; the man
came over to look at his load.... Yes, that wasn’t at all impossible.
What did he want, and how much of it, for his load?
Per Hansa gave a loud laugh at this question: “I really should have
everything you’ve got in the place!... But I’ll be reasonable and take
a few sacks of lime and a few pieces of boards. You carry lime, don’t
you?”
The dicker finally resulted in Per Hansa’s getting all the lime he
needed, more lumber than he expected, and even some nails thrown into
the bargain. The boards were planed smooth; Per Hansa handled them as
if they had been the fine leaves of some costly book.
... “A dandy boat this is going to make for the little fellow to rock
in!... Now he can come along any time!”
... He turned to the lumberman: “Next fall I’ll show up here and
buy out your whole shebang; I need all you’ve got, and lots more too,
let me tell you!”
After that he had to chat a little while with this man; it seemed so
pleasant to meet a Norwegian here; Per Hansa felt as if a part of
the town belonged to him. He found so many questions to ask, so many
matters that he wanted to be posted on; the lumberman, who wasn’t very
busy just then, seemed more than willing to talk and to hear how things
were getting on, out to the westward where they lived. Per Hansa sat
chatting with him a long time.
In the meanwhile his companions had finished their trading and had
eaten their dinner; when he finally drove up to the general store they
were loading their wagons with the merchandise they had bought. As soon
as this was done all three entered the store again.
The moment he got in there among the many different kinds of
merchandise, Per Hansa began to grow uneasy. Pleasant odours from all
the wares mingled in the air; a strong scent of whisky permeated the
whole place; he went sniffing about and stamping on the floor, moving
restlessly from one thing to another.
... “Oh, the devil! If I wasn’t so short of money!... But it won’t do
any harm to know where they keep things, when once we get the cash—eh,
boys?”
Before he started trading, Per Hansa had to make an agreement about the
plow and the rake, which stood on the books against him; the Solum boy
acted as interpreter.
—He could pay the whole amount, of course?—the trader asked, as if
taking it for granted.
—Is the fellow plumb crazy! Per Hansa shouted.
—Huh! how much could he pay, then?
“Tell him fifteen dollars, Henry—and that’s the last cent, too!”
The trader’s voice grew hard as he asked: Was _that_ all?
—Yes, that was all!—said Per Hansa; a hard note had come into his
voice, too.—He hadn’t anything more, unless the fellow wanted to take
his hide. But as for that—here he laughed and looked the man in
the eye—the hide was so old and wrinkled that it wasn’t good for much.
—We-ell—drawled the merchant—this was pretty poor business; but
he would let it pass this time. He’d be ashamed to take such a
weather-beaten hide.... Did Per Hansa have anything at home?
—You bet he had!—laughed Per Hansa.—A wife and three youngsters, and
one cow!... And something more coming!...
—Huh!—said the other, his face hardening again.—He could keep his wife
and youngsters; but the cow he would have to forfeit eventually, if he
couldn’t raise other means.... Business was business!
The matter was finally arranged, however, in the way that Per Hansa
wanted it; the balance of the amount should stand until next fall, at
fifteen per cent interest.
Then Per Hansa started to trade. The first thing he called for was
_net twine_!... The Solum boy and Hans Olsa burst out laughing; was he
planning to knit a net out here on the open prairie?... Never mind;
he needed _twine_—twine first and foremost! When he finally had found
a kind that he thought might do, he bought several balls; and then
he called for rope—he had to have rope for the sheeting—how could
he get along without _that_?... It seemed to his companions that he
was wasting good money; it was a long way to the Sioux River and few
trips could be made during the year! This they pointed out to him
emphatically. But it did not affect him at all.... “Just order that
rope for me, Henry!” commanded Per Hansa.
Now the real provisioning, for which he had come all this distance, was
ready to begin; he ordered a few trifles, in such a low, bashful voice,
that Henry had to ask him a second time before he understood; just
some calico of a gaudy pattern, a few bits of ribbon and thread, and
some soft, dainty white cotton goods. And, listen here—this was very
important—some Hoffman’s drops, and a small bottle of sweet oil!... It
was awfully awkward to have to use the Solum boy as interpreter in such
matters—he was only a bachelor and had tried so few things in this
world! Per Hansa managed to get what he wanted, however.... Next, the
real needs of the household had to be met; flour was the most important
item, and came first on the list; then cloth, and tobacco, and matches,
and kerosene; after that coffee, and molasses, and _salt_. This item of
salt again threw his companions into consternation; Per Hansa ordered
such an unreasonable quantity of it, and still he wondered if it
wouldn’t be too little!... Lord! there was no limit to all the things
Per Hansa thought he must have; but his money soon ran out and that put
an end to the trading.
At last they were ready to leave.
“Aren’t we going to have a single drop on this trip?” Hans Olsa mused
aloud.
“There you said something!” exclaimed Per Hansa. “That reminds me—I
was to get three bottles for Syvert! But not a word about it to
Kjersti—bear that in mind when we get home.... He’s going to use it as
liniment for his rheumatism, you know!”
The trader treated them all around before he filled the bottles. Henry
got two bottles for himself, and one for his brother; Hans Olsa had
brought along his Sunday bottle to be filled; as that would hardly be
enough he bought a smaller one, which he put in his pocket; Per Hansa
got two for himself, and three for Tönseten.... When the trader had
filled all their orders he felt that he had had such good business
with these fellows that he could well afford to stand another round
of treats—they seemed to be such decent folk, too! And before they
left they felt obliged to follow the good old custom of sampling one
another’s bottles. Good Lord! it wasn’t every day that they came
to town.... Hans Olsa was stepping very cautiously when he climbed
into his wagon; he planked himself down upon the seat with slow and
ponderous movements; but once down, there his big bulk sat secure.
It was late in the afternoon when they finally set out for home. Ninety
long miles lay ahead of them, but no one thought of that; they had
plenty of food, the vaulted heavens for a roof wherever they chose
to camp, and fair weather to send them on....
Per Hansa drove in the van; he was continually clucking to his horses.
His eyes were fixed on the western sky, already tinted by the strong
glow of evening.... God! how beautiful these prairies were!... Why
couldn’t they keep on driving all night long?...
When they at last pitched camp at the end of the day, and Hans Olsa had
made the fire and hung the porridge pot over it, Per Hansa sat down by
the firelight and began to whittle some shuttles for net knitting; he
made two shuttles, and then a reel.
His companions laughed at him and told him he must be crazy; first he
had thrown away good money on a lot of twine, and now he was wasting
his time over such nonsense!
... “Never mind,” said Per Hansa with his merry laugh. “One only talks
according to his sense!” ... He kept on working till he had finished
the reel.
VI
The days were long for the boys during their father’s absence. Ole
soon tired of standing at the chopping block without the company of
his brother; he idled aimlessly about, and made frequent errands into
the house to see whether he couldn’t hatch up something to break the
monotony. Store-Hans wasn’t much better off; the secret which his
father had entrusted to him was certainly interesting; but it wasn’t
quite fascinating enough to hold its own with the vision of the ducks
out there in the swamps. The father would surely bring something home
from town to solve this problem; he and his brother ought to be over
west reconnoitering every spare minute of the time. And now the Irish
had all gone away, too; their sod huts were standing empty; there would
be many curious things to look at and pry into!... Besides, their
mother said so little these days; it was no fun to be with her any
longer. Often when he spoke to her she was not there; she neither saw
nor heard him, said only yes and no, which seemed to come from
far away.... Probably she was brooding over the strange thing about to
happen, Store-Hans told himself; he often looked wonderingly at her,
thinking many thoughts beyond his years.... He remembered his father’s
words, and never left her for long, although it was very lonesome for
him in the house.
A couple of days after the men’s departure, she sent the boy over to
Kjersti to borrow a darning needle; she had hidden her own away so
carefully that she could not find it. Such things occurred commonly
now; she would put something away, she could not remember where, and
would potter around looking for it without really searching; at last,
she would forget altogether what she was about, and would sit down with
a peculiarly vacant look on her face; at such times she seemed like a
stranger.... Ole was sitting in the house that morning, finishing a
sling-shot which he had just made.
Suddenly Store-Hans came darting back with the needle; he had run until
he was all out of breath. He burst out with the strangest news, of
Tönseten’s having killed a big animal; it was awfully big—almost like
a bear!... Tönseten said it was a bear, so it must be true! Tönseten
and Kjersti were skinning him right now; Kjersti had told him that if
he would bring a pail, they could have fresh meat for supper. Both boys
immediately began pleading for permission to go and see the animal;
their mother scarcely answered; she gave them a pail and asked them not
to stay long.
The boys came runing down the hill just as Kjersti was cutting up the
carcass; Tönseten was struggling with the hide, trying to stretch it on
the barn door; his mouth bristled with nails, his hands were bloody—he
was a frightful spectacle!
“What’s that you’ve got?” asked Ole.
“Bear, my boy—bear!” ... Tönseten wagged his head, took the nails out
of his mouth, and spat a gob of tobacco juice.
“Bear!” snorted Ole, scornfully.
“That’s no bear!” put in Store-Hans, though less doubtingly.
“By George! boys, to-day he had to bite the dust!” ...
“But there aren’t any bears out here, I tell you!” Ole protested.
“Is that so—huh?... There isn’t an animal living that you can’t find
out here!” Tönseten spoke with such certainty that it was difficult for
the boys to gainsay him.
“Where did you get him?” Store-Hans asked.
“Out west of the Irish a little way.... There were two of ’em; they had
gone into the ground for the winter; this is the young one, you see—the
old mammy got away from me!”
“But you didn’t have any gun!” was Ole’s next objection.
“Better than that, my boy!... I went for him with the crowbar!”
Tönseten spat fiercely and looked at the boys.... “I smashed in his
skull!... With that old bar I’d tackle either a tiger or a rhinoceros!”
“What became of the old she-bear?” Ole asked, falling under the spell
of Tönseten’s enthusiasm.
“She went north across the prairie, lickety-split!... Come here,
now—take some of these chunks of meat home with you.... This will make
delicious stew, let me tell you!”
“Is it fit to eat?” asked Store-Hans, still doubting.
“Fit to eat? No finer meat to be found than bear meat—don’t you know
that?”
The boys followed him over to where Kjersti was still cutting up the
animal; it must have been a large carcass, for the cut meat made a
sizable heap.
“Is it ... is it really bear?” asked Ole, in a more humble tone.
“He’s meaty enough for it!... Here, give me the pail; Beret needs some
good, strengthening food.... Maybe you’ll take a little to Sörrina,
too; you can stop in with it on the way.... Careful—don’t spill it,
now!”
The boys loitered along on the way home; from time to time they had
to put down the pail, in order to discuss this extraordinary
event.... So there actually were bears slinking about this country!...
If bears, there must be lions and tigers and other such wild beasts;
this was worth while!... Suppose they were to go home and get Old
Maria, hunt up the she-bear herself, and put a big bullet clear through
her head? They thrilled with excitement.... “Do you dare to shoot her
off?” Store-Hans demanded of his brother; Ole scowled ominously and
clenched his fists.... “_I_!... I’d aim straight for her temple, and
she’d drop deader than a herring!” ... “Yes, aim at her _temple_!”
Store-Hans advised, soberly. “And if it’s close range, you must draw
the bead very fine!” ... “Fine as a hair!” said Ole, excitedly.
They picked up the pail at last, and finally succeeded in reaching
Sörine’s, where there was another long delay; a detailed account had to
be given of the marvellous feat which Tönseten had performed.
When they were about to leave Sofie came out and wanted to know if they
weren’t frightened; maybe the old mother bear was slinking about the
prairie right now, looking for her cub! The boys lingered to talk with
her; they drew a glowing picture for the girl of how they were going
home this minute to get Old Maria, and then go hunting for the she-bear
herself ... just watch them bring home a real roast pretty soon!... But
weren’t they scared? she asked.... “Scared?” exclaimed Store-Hans....
“Oh, fiddlesticks!” cried Ole. “Only girls and old women get scared!”
Sofie only laughed; at which they affected a swaggering gruffness and
tried to spit like Tönseten—but theirs wouldn’t come brown....
They were gone such a long time that their mother grew anxious; when
they came over from Sörine’s at last she stood outside the door
watching for them. She had dressed And-Ongen, and was almost on the
point of starting out to search; the boys were too preoccupied to
notice this; Store-Hans spoke first:
“Just think, there’s a big she-bear over there to the westward!” ...
“We’re going to take the gun and shoot her!” exclaimed Ole, gleefully.
“We’ll aim straight for her temple!” Store-Hans assured his mother.
“Now we’ll have plenty of bear meat!” continued Ole in the next breath,
with absolute confidence.
The boys were all raging excitement; their mood frightened Beret still
more; she grasped them frantically, one hand on the shoulder of each,
and gave them a hard shake.... They were to go inside this very minute,
and take their books! They weren’t going out of this house to-day!...
“Go in, don’t you hear me!... Go in!” ...
... But this wasn’t fair! Ole began reasoning with his mother; he used
strong words, his eyes flaming.... Didn’t she realize that there was a
real _bear_ over to the westward—a real full-grown _grizzly_ bear!...
Mother ... please ... _please_!... Dad wasn’t home, but the gun was all
loaded and ready; they could easily manage the rest of it! In an hour’s
time they would have that bear’s hide! Store-Hans even thought that he
could go straight to the lair.... _Right through the temple_ they would
put the bullet!... The boys carried on like a raging hurricane.
The mother had to use force to get them indoors.... “Go in, I say, and
take your books! Can’t you hear what I’m saying?” ...
This was hard on them; they burst into the house like two mad bull
calves; she had to repeat the order several times more before they
finally submitted and began to hunt for their books. At last Ole
snatched up the “Epitome,” his brother the “Bible History.” They
sat down to read by the table in front of the window, in a state of
mutinous rebellion.
Trouble soon arose. Each wanted the seat immediately in front of the
window, where the most light fell; and neither would give up the
position. A terrible battle broke out; Ole was the stronger, but his
brother the quicker. On account of his age and size Ole considered
himself the legitimate master of the house in the absence of his
father, and therefore had the right to do anything; he now burst
out with words which he had heard in the mouths of the men when
something went wrong with their work. As soon as Store-Hans heard
this he too began to use vile language; if Ole dared, he certainly
did; he knew those words, and plenty more!... The boys kept up their
scrimmage until they almost upset the table; their books suffered bad
treatment and lay scattered about on the floor. And-Ongen watched them
open-mouthed until she suddenly grew frightened and set up a howl.
Over by the stove the mother was washing the meat, putting it into a
kettle which she had placed on the fire.... Although she heard every
word, she kept on working in silence; but her face turned ashen grey.
When she had finished the task she went out hurriedly; in a moment she
came back with a willow switch in her hand. Going straight over to the
table, she began to lay about her with the switch; she seemed beside
herself, struck out blindly, hit whatever she happened to aim at,
and kept it up without saying a word. The switch whizzed and struck;
shrieks of pain arose. The boys at once stopped fighting and gazed
horror-stricken at their mother; they could not remember that she had
ever laid a hand on them before.... And now there was such a strange,
unnatural look in her eyes!...
They flew out on the floor to gather up their books, while the blows
continued to rain down upon them; And-Ongen stood in the middle of the
floor, screaming with terror....
Not until the mother struck amiss, breaking the switch against the
edge of the table, did she stop.... Suddenly she seemed to come to her
senses; she left the child screaming in the middle of the floor, went
out of the house, and was gone a long time. When she came back, she
carried an armful of wood; she went over to the stove and fed the fire;
then she picked up And-Ongen, and lay down on the bed with her.... The
boys sat quietly at the table reading; neither of them had the courage
to look up....
The house seemed strangely still after the passage of the storm.
Ole put his fingers into his ears to shut out the terrible silence;
his brother began to read aloud. It was bad enough for Ole, but worse
for Store-Hans; he now recalled clearly what his father had confided
in him; he thought of his own solemn promise; here he had been away
from the house nearly the whole day! He felt burning hot all over his
body.... He had opened the book where it told about the choosing of
the twelve disciples, and now he tried to read; but _that_ wasn’t the
stuff for him just now!... He turned the pages forward to the story
of Samson, and read it diligently; then to David and Goliath; then
to the story about Joseph and his brethren. The last eased his heart
somewhat.... Joseph was just the sort of boy that he longed to be!
Ole had felt ashamed at the sight of his mother bringing in the wood,
though that was not his task; his brother was to be the hired girl!...
Suddenly anger seized him; this time it certainly was the fault of
Store-Hans—he should have given him the place!... He dragged himself
through the _Third Article_, which he knew perfectly well already; when
the tumult within him had somewhat subsided he sat there thinking of
how shamefully Tönseten must have deceived them.... _He_ kill a bear!
It was nothing but a measly old badger! And now this nasty stuff was
cooking on the stove—they were going to have it for supper! And mother
was so angry that one would never dare to explain it to her!... There
sat his younger brother, snuffling and reading his brains out; plain to
be seen that he would never amount to anything!... Ole closed his book
with a bang, got up, and went outdoors to chop more wood; but he did
not dare to look at the bed as he passed....
Store-Hans sat over his book until it grew so dark that he could no
longer distinguish the letters.... From time to time he looked up;
his mother lay on the bed perfectly still; he could not see her face;
And-Ongen was fast asleep with her head high on the pillow. The boy
rose quietly, looked around—then took an empty pail and went out for
water. He left the pailful of water outside the door; then he
brought Rosie and Injun and the two oxen into the stable, and tied them
up for the night. He spoke loudly and gruffly to the animals; mother
should hear that he was tending to business!... When he finally brought
in the water his mother was up again; he could see nothing unusual
about her.
... No, she hadn’t been crying this time! The thought made Store-Hans
so happy that he went straight to his brother, who was toiling over
the chopping block as if possessed, and made friends with him again.
The boys stayed outside until it was pitch dark; they talked fast and
nervously, about a multitude of things; but that which weighed most
heavily on their hearts—the way their mother’s face had looked when she
whipped them—they could not mention.
Inside the house the lamp had been lit. And-Ongen toddled about the
floor, busy over her own little affairs; the boys came in quietly
and sat down to their books again; but very little reading was done
now.... At last the kettle of meat that had been boiling on the stove
was ready; the mother put the food on the table; the boys drew up, Ole
somewhat reluctantly.... “You get that troll stuff down!” he whispered
to his brother, making a wry face. To this command Store-Hans made no
answer; he had stuck his spoon into a crack between the boards of the
table; they were large, those cracks—he could see a broad section of
floor when he laid his eye down close. The earthen floor had such a
rich brown colour in the dim sheen of the lamp; the cracks in the table
made stripes across the shadow down there; it looked pretty, too—and
just then it had occurred to Store-Hans how nice it would be if they
could only have the floor looking like that by daylight.
The mother filled the big bowl from the kettle and put it on the table;
she had made a thick stew, with potatoes, carrots, and pieces of the
meat; it looked appetizing enough but somehow the boys felt in no hurry
to start. The mother came and sat down, bringing And-Ongen with her;
the child was so delighted over the holiday fare they had to-night that
she hurried to say grace.
She and the mother immediately began to eat; the boys no longer
had an excuse to sit watching. Store-Hans dipped up a spoonful of the
stew, blew on it, closed his eyes, and gulped it down. Ole did the
same, but coughed as if he had swallowed the wrong way; then he leaned
under the table and spat it out....
The mother asked quietly how they liked the supper.... At that, Ole
could no longer restrain himself; he looked at his mother imploringly,
and said in a tear-choked voice as he laid his spoon aside:
“It tastes like dog to me!”
To Store-Hans it seemed a shameful thing for Ole to speak that way of
food which their mother had prepared for them; he swallowed spoonful
after spoonful, while sweat poured from him.
“I have heard it said many times,” the mother went on, quietly, “that
bear meat is all right.... The stew has a tangy taste, I notice, but
not so bad that it can’t be eaten.... You’d better leave the meat if
you don’t like it.”
“It isn’t bear at all!” Ole blurted out.
“What?” cried the mother in alarm, lowering her spoon.
“It’s only a lousy old badger!... I’ve heard dad say often that they
aren’t fit to eat!” ...
“It’s true, every word of it!” cried Store-Hans, suddenly feeling
frightened and jamming his spoon farther down into the crack.... “I
could tell it by his tail—Syvert had forgotten to cut it off!... Oh,
I’m going to be sick—I can feel it coming!”
Beret got up, trembling in every limb; she took the bowl and carried
it out into the darkness; a long way from the house she emptied it on
the ground; And-Ongen cried and toddled after her.... The boys sat on
at the table, glaring reproachfully at each other; in the eyes of both
blazed the same accusation:
“A nice mess you’ve made of things! Why didn’t you keep your mouth
shut?”
The mother came in again; she set the empty kettle on the stove and
scoured it out carefully.... Then she cooked porridge for them,
but when it was ready she could eat nothing herself....
... That night she hung still more clothes over the window than she
had the evening before. She sat up very late; it seemed as if she was
unable to go to bed.
VII
She had been lying awake a long time; sleep would not come. Her
thoughts drifted....
... So it had come to this; they were no longer ashamed to eat troll
food; they even sent it from house to house, as lordly fare!
All night long as she tossed in bed, bitter revolt raged within her.
_They should not stay here through the winter_!... As soon as Per Hansa
came home they must start on the journey back east; he, too, ought to
be able to see by this time that they would all become wild beasts
if they remained here much longer. Everything human in them would
gradually be blotted out.... They saw nothing, learned nothing.... It
would be even worse for their children—and what of their children’s
children?... Couldn’t he understand that if the Lord God had intended
these infinities to be peopled, He would not have left them desolate
down through all the ages ... until now, when the end was nearing?...
After a while the bitterness of her revolt began to subside; her
thoughts became clear and shrewd, she tried to reason out the best way
of getting back to civilization. That night she did not sleep at all.
The next morning she got up earlier than usual, kindled the fire, got
the breakfast and waked the children. The food was soon prepared;
first she poured some water into the pot, put in a spoonful or two of
molasses, and added a few pieces of cinnamon; then she cut into bits
the cold porridge from last night, and put them into the big bowl; when
the sweetened water was hot she poured it over the porridge.... This
was all they had—and no one asked for more.
While she ate she looked repeatedly at the big chest, trying to
recall how everything had been packed when they came out last summer.
Where did she keep all the things now? She had better get the packing
done at once—then that job would be out of the way when he came home....
The greatest difficulty would be to obtain wagons.... Alas! those old
wagons! The smaller one he had taken apart and used in making the very
table around which they were now seated; as for the larger wagon, she
knew only too well that it would never hang together through the long
journey back; only the other day she had heard Per Hansa mention that
he intended to break it up, and see if he couldn’t make something or
other out of it.... Well—how to get the wagons would be his business!
They certainly couldn’t perish out here for want of a wagon or two! Was
there not One who once upon a time had had mercy on a great city full
of wicked people, only because one just human being interceded?
... One just human being.... Alas!... Beret sighed heavily and put her
hand up under her breast.
When there was no more porridge left in the bowl she rose, washed the
dish, and put it away on the shelf. Ole had nothing to do in the house
that morning; he walked toward the door, motioning to his brother to
follow; but Store-Hans shook his head. Then Ole went out; the other boy
sat there looking at his mother, not knowing what to do, unhappy and
heavy-hearted; he felt a sudden impulse to throw himself down on the
floor and weep aloud.
The mother was pottering about at some trifles, her thoughts constantly
occupied with the idea of returning to civilization. Into her serious,
grey-pale face, still soft and beautiful, had crept an expression of
firmness and defiance; soon this aspect grew so marked that her face
appeared to simulate anger, like that of one playing at being ferocious
with a child.
As soon as she had finished her housework she went over to the big
chest, opened the lid, sank down on her knees beside it, and began
to rearrange the contents. The task was quickly done; then she
took the clothes from the last washing, folded them up, and laid them
carefully in the chest; there weren’t many clothes left now! He ought
to realize that they would soon be naked if they stayed here much
longer! And where were they to get money for everything they needed out
here?... Beret stood up and looked around the room, trying to decide
what to pack first. On the shelf above the window lay an old Bible, a
gift to her from her grandfather; it was so old that it was hard to
read now, because of the many changes the language had undergone since
then; but it was the only one they had. This book had been in her
family many generations; her great-grandfather had owned it before her
grandfather; from her it should pass on to Store-Hans; thus she had
always determined when she thought of the matter. On top of the Bible
lay the hymn book, in which she had read a little every Sunday since
their arrival here....
She put both books in the chest.
Again Beret rose and glanced around the room. Perhaps she had better
take the school books, too; the boys were none too eager to use them;
they might as well be excused for the rest of the day; either that day
or the next the father would surely come.... She asked Store-Hans to
bring the books to her so that she could pack them.
Not until then did the boy fully take in what his mother was doing; it
startled him so that for a moment he could not get up.
“Mother, what are you doing?” ...
“We must begin to get ready!” ... She sighed, and pressed her hands
tightly under her burden; it was painful to her, stooping over so long
at a time.
“Get ready? Are ... are we going _away_?” ... Store-Hans’s throat
contracted; his eyes stared big and terror-stricken at his mother.
“Why, yes, Hansy-boy—we had better be going back where people live
before the winter is upon us,” she told him, sadly.
The boy had risen, and new stood at the end of the table; he
wanted to go to his mother but fear chained him to the spot; he stared
at her with his mouth wide open. At last he got out:
“What will dad say?” ... The words came accusingly but there were tears
in them.
She looked at him like one in a dream; again she looked, but could not
utter a word.... The sheer impossibility of what she was about to do
was written as if in fire on the face and whole body of the boy—as if
in rays that struck her, lighted everything up with an awful radiance,
and revealed the utter futility of it all.... She turned slowly toward
the chest, let down the lid, and sank on it in untold weariness....
Again the child stirred within her, kicking and twisting, so that she
had to press her hand hard against it.
... O God!... now _he_ was protesting, too! Was it only by ruthless
sacrifice of life that this endless desolation could ever be peopled?
... “Thou canst not be so cruel!” she moaned.... “Demand not this awful
sacrifice of a frail human being!” ...
She rose slowly from the chest; as she walked across the floor and
opened the door she felt as if she were dragging leaden weights.... Her
gaze flitted fearfully toward the sky line—reached it, but dared not
travel upward....
Store-Hans remained at the end of the table, staring after her; he
wanted to scream, but could not utter a sound. Then he ran to her, put
his arms around her, and whispered hoarsely between sobs:
“Mother, are you ... are you ... getting sick now?”
Beret stroked the head that was pressed so hard against her side; it
had such a vigorous, healthy warmth; the hair was soft and pleasant
to the touch; she had to run her fingers through it repeatedly....
Then she stooped over and put her arm around the boy; his response to
her embrace was so violent that it almost choked her ... O God! how
sorely she needed some one to be kind to her now!... She was weeping;
Store-Hans, too, was struggling with wild, tearing sobs. Little
And-Ongen, who could not imagine what the two were doing over there by
the door, came toddling to them and gazed up into their faces;
then she opened her mouth wide, brought her hand up to it, and shrieked
aloud.... At that moment Ole came ♦running down the hill, his feet
flying against the sky, and shouted out to them:
♦ “runing” replaced with “running”
“They are coming!... Get the coffee on!”
... Gone was the boy like a gust of wind; he threw himself on the pony
and galloped away to meet the returning caravan.
Beret and Store-Hans had both sprung to their feet and stood looking
across the prairie.... Yes, there they were, away off to the
southeast!... And now Store-Hans, also, forgot himself; he glanced
imploringly into his mother’s face, his eyes eagerly questioning:
“Would it be safe to leave you while I run to meet dad?”
She smiled down into the eager face—a benign, spreading smile.
“Don’t worry about me.... Just run along.” ...
VIII
The father sat at the table eating, with And-Ongen on his knee; the
boys stood opposite him, listening enthusiastically to the story of
his adventures along the way; the mother went to and fro between the
stove and the table. There was an enchanting joyousness about Per
Hansa to-day which coloured all he said; no matter how much he told,
it always sounded as if he were keeping back the best till later on.
This had a positively intoxicating effect on the boys; it made them
impatient and eager for more, and caused a steady flood of fresh
questions.
Even Beret was smiling, though her hand trembled.
At last the boys had to give an account of how they had managed affairs
at home. When, after much teasing and banter, Per Hansa had finally
heard the whole absurd story—it came little by little, in disjointed
outbursts—of Tönseten and the bear, and their ill-starred badger stew
of the night before, he laughed until the tears came and he had to
stop eating. His mirth was so free and hearty that the boys, too,
began to see the real fun of the incident, and joined in boisterously.
Beret stood over by the stove, listening to it all; their infectious
merriment carried her away, but at the same time she had to wipe her
eyes.... She was glad that she had remembered to take out of the chest
the things that she had begun to pack awhile before!
“Come here, Store-Hans,” said the father, still laughing. “What’s that
across the back of your neck?”
The question caught the boy unawares; he ran over and stood beside his
father.
“Why, it’s a big red welt!... Have you been trying to hang yourself,
boy?”
Store-Hans turned crimson; he suddenly remembered the fearful blows of
last night.
Ole glanced quickly at his mother.... “Oh, pshaw!” he said with a manly
air.... “That was only Hans and me fighting!”
“Ah-ha!” exclaimed the father, with another laugh. “So that’s the way
you two have been acting while I was away? Mother couldn’t manage you,
eh?... Well, now you’ll soon be dancing to a different tune; we’ve got
so much work on our hands that there won’t be any peace here day or
night.... Thanks for good food, Beret-girl!”
He got up, took the boys with him, and began to carry things in from
the wagon. Most of the load they stored away in the house; some extra
things, however, had to find a temporary place in the stable.
At length Per Hansa brought in a small armful of bottles and set them
on the table.
“Come here, Beret-girl of mine! You have earned a good drink, and a
good drink you shall have!” ... He went over to the water pail with the
coffee cup from which he had just been drinking, rinsed it out with a
little water, and emptied it on the floor; then he poured out a good
half cupful of whisky and offered it to her. She put out her hand as if
to push him away.... Yes, indeed, she would have to take it, he told
her, putting his arm around her waist and lifting the cup to her
lips. She took the cup and emptied it in one draught.... “There, that’s
a good little wife!... You’re going to have just another little drop!”
He went to the table again and poured out a second drink, but not so
much this time. “Two legs, and one for each! Just drink it down!... And
now you take care of the bottles!”
That was a busy day in the humble dwelling of Per Hansa. First of all,
he had promised a load of potatoes to the Hallings, who waited back
east somewhere under a bleak sky, without even a potato peeling to put
in their pot; he must carry food to them. When Beret heard how poorly
things were in that hut—about the woman with the drawn cheeks and the
starved look in her eyes—she straightway began to hurry him up; he must
go while he had the horses and wagon here. Couldn’t he get started
to-day?
“Not so hasty there, my girl, not so hasty!” laughed Per Hansa, his
face beaming.... “I’m not going to sleep with any _Halling woman_
to-night—that I can tell you!”
Now he was his old irresistible self again. How strong, how precious
to her, he seemed!... She felt a loving impulse to grasp his hair and
shake him....
Ole was immediately put to work knitting the net. The father had
already knitted four fathoms of it, by the light of the camp fire the
night before; he had sat up working over the net long after the others
had turned in.... The boys grew wild with enthusiasm at the sight of
the net; were they going fishing in the Sioux River? Both of them
immediately began begging to be taken along.... “Just keep your fingers
moving, Olamand—hurry them up, I tell you!” ... The father made a great
mystery of it, and refused to give any further explanation.
As for himself and Store-Hans, they busied themselves over the lime;
it was all carried inside and placed in a corner where no moisture
could reach it. The preparations for the mixing required a good deal
of work; the first thing was to make a wooden box sufficiently tight
to hold water. Well, there was plenty of lumber now, at any rate! Per
Hansa built the box and carried it down to the creek; there he
placed it under water, hoping that it would swell enough to be tight by
the time he needed it.
Evening fell all too soon on a wonderfully busy and joyful day. The
boys were at last in bed, fast asleep.
But Per Hansa had no time for rest; to-night that net simply had to
be finished. He finally made Beret go to bed, but she wasn’t a bit
sleepy; she lay there talking to him and filling the shuttles whenever
they were empty. He explained fully to her how he intended to use the
net; first he would set it in the Sioux River as he passed by there
to-morrow; he knew of just the place; he would leave it there until he
came back from the Hallings’. Unless the cards were stacked against him
he would bring back a nice mess of fish.... That, however, wasn’t his
great plan with the net, he told her; but she mustn’t say a word about
this to the boys. It was to be a big surprise for them; they were such
brave fellows! The fact of the matter was, he planned to catch _ducks_
with that net; that had been the real reason for his buying the twine;
there would be other fare than badger stew in this hut, he would just
let her know, if the weather only held a few days more!
All at once it occurred to Beret that she had forgotten to cover up the
windows to-night; she smiled to herself at the discovery.... What was
the need of it, anyway? Cover the windows ... what nonsense!... She
smiled again, feeling a languorous drowsiness creep over her.
Per Hansa knit away on the net, chatting happily with her as he worked;
a confident ring of joy sounded in all he said. He had fastened the
net to the bedpost, just as her father always had done. She listened
peacefully to his warm, cheerful voice, which after a while began to
sound more distant, like the indolent swish and gurgle of lapping ocean
waves on a fair summer’s night. Gradually she was borne away on this
sound, and slept the whole night through without stirring.
When she awoke next morning Per Hansa, still fully dressed, lay beside
her, over against the wall; he evidently had thrown himself down
to rest only a little while before. Light was creeping into the room;
directly in front of the bed lay a big white heap of something....
Those careless boys—had they thrown their clothes on the floor
again?... She stooped over to pick the clothes up and put them on the
bench; she grasped hold of the heap—and it was a new net, sheeted and
fully rigged, as a new net ought to be!
... Poor man!—he must have sat up all night!... She spread the quilt
carefully over him.
That morning Beret took some of the precious white flour and made a
batch of pancakes. He deserved to have one good meal before he went
away again!
He left right after breakfast. Beret worked industriously throughout
the day, while many thoughts came and went.... It must be her destiny,
this! There was One who governed all things.... He knew what was best,
and against His will it was useless to struggle!...
... Often that day she went to the window to look eastward. Every time
she looked, it seemed to be growing darker over there....
... That evening she again covered the window....
VI. The Heart that Dared Not Let in the Sun
I
During the first days of October a few white, downy snowflakes hung
quivering in the air ... floated about ... fell in great oscillating
circles. They seemed headed for nowhere; they followed no common
course; but finally they reached the ground and disappeared.
The air cleared again. There came a drowsy, sun-filled interval ...
nothing but golden haze ... quiet bereft of all life....
The sun had no strength these days. It peeped out in the morning,
glided across the sky as before, yet life it had not until toward
evening, as it was nearing the western rim of the prairie. Then it
awoke, grew big and blushing, took on a splendour which forced everyone
to stop and look; the western sky foamed and flooded with a wanton
richness of colour, which ran up in streams to meet the coming night.
Folks would walk about in the evenings speaking in low tones.... Never
in their lives had they seen such sunsets!...
... Day after day the same ... evening after evening. Strangely still
the days ... the evenings more mysteriously quiet. How could one lift
one’s voice against such silence!...
Then one morning—October was nearly passed—the sun could not get his
eye open at all; the heavens rested close above the plain, grey, dense,
and still. The chill of this greyness drove through the air though no
wind stirred. People went indoors to put on more clothes, came out
again, but froze worse than ever.... Bleak, grey, God-forsaken, the
empty desolation stretched on every hand....
Sometime in the afternoon snowflakes began to fall. They came
sailing down from the north until the air was a close-packed swarm of
greyish-white specks, all bound in the same direction. The evening was
short-lived that day, and died in a pitch-black night that weighed down
the heart....
... Again day came, and brought no other light than that which the
greyish-white specks gave.... All that day the snow fell—all the next
night....
At last it grew light once more—but the day had no sun. A cold wind
howled about the huts—left them, and tore down into the white snow
blanket, shaking out of it blinding swirls.... The swirls vanished
and reappeared—died down, flared up again and tore on.... New ones
constantly rose ... many....
II
Per Hansa and his boys worked like firebrands during the last days
before winter set in. Every task that came to their hands delighted
them; they went from one fairy tale into the next—came out again, and
there was a new one at hand; they gave themselves no peace, either by
night or by day.... But Beret could not share their mood; she would
watch them absently as they left the house; or when they were due to
return, she would wander about with And-Ongen on her arm, looking for
them through the window, and keeping a hot dish in readiness on the
stove. They were sure to be cold, poor fellows!... Then when they
were seated around the table, wrapped up in all their remarkable
experiences, the talk would jump from one incident to another, and
she would find herself unable to follow it. Their liveliness and loud
laughter only drove her heavy thoughts into a still deeper darkness.
She had to admit, however, that Per Hansa could accomplish the most
marvellous things; she could not imagine where he had learned it
all.... There were the walls, for example, of which he himself was
especially proud, and which Store-Hans never tired of admiring. He had
begun work on these walls immediately after he had returned from
the trip east to the Hallings’ with the potatoes. The lime had been
mixed according to directions, and spread over the walls—three coats of
it, no less; now the sod hut shone so brightly inside that it dazzled
the eyes.... Before the snow came, Beret thought it delightful to have
such walls; but after there was nothing but whiteness outside—pure
whiteness as far as the eye could see and the thought could reach—she
regretted that he had touched them. Her eyes were blinded wherever she
looked, either outdoors or indoors; the black-brown earthen floor was
the only object on which she could rest them comfortably; and so she
always looked down now, as she sat in the house. But hint at it, and
thus ruin his pleasure, she could not.... And it really didn’t matter
much to her; she would endure it for the brief time that remained!...
She was thankful enough, though, for all the fine fish that he had
brought home. Per Hansa had taken both boys with him on the great
expedition east to the Sioux River; there they had made a tremendous
catch with the help of the net, and Per Hansa had talked with the
Trönders about many extraordinary things, and had gained much valuable
information.... Heaps of frozen fish now lay outside all along the
wall; Per Hansa explained to her what a God-send it was that the snow
finally had come. Hm! Good Heavens! If it hadn’t come soon he would
have been obliged to go out and get it! Now he was spared that trouble;
with the aid of the snowdrifts they could have fresh fish through the
whole winter.... “Hey, woman!” he said with a laugh, whenever she
complained of how desolate it was since the snow had come. “Can’t you
understand that we could never manage things without the snow?... Hey,
wife—white and fine, both outdoors and indoors!... Wonder if something
couldn’t be done to the floor, too?” ...
Now it came to light what had been working in Per Hansa’s mind when he
had bought all that salt; he salted down quantities of the fish, and
packed them away in all the vessels they could spare.
But in the opinion of the boys, the duck hunt with the net was the
crowning adventure. Never had there been such an enthusiastic party;
the father was almost the worst of the three! Now the great secret of
his planning and scheming over the ducks was revealed. While Store-Hans
and his brother had only talked about capturing them and wondered what
could be done, Per Hansa had figured out every detail in his mind;
if the ducks got the best of him on one tack, he would fool them on
another; into the net somehow they must go!... For three nights they
had all stayed out in the swamps to the westward, toiling and fighting
among the myriads of birds; in the morning they would come home after
daylight, wet as crows, numb all over, and blue in the face with cold.
But they always brought a catch!... As soon as the evening came they
would be off again.
Each time Beret pleaded sadly, both by word and glance, for them to
stay at home.... They would wear themselves out this way. What could
they possibly do with all these fowl? Just wait and see; they might
not need so much food—something might happen.... The boys only laughed
at these objections; their mother sounded just like Sofie; probably
all women were alike—they had no sense. Just imagine such a ridiculous
idea—catch no more birds!... The father joined in with them and poked
mild fun at the mother. How silly it would be not to grab good food
when it lay right at their door! Suppose the swamps were to freeze up
to-night? And after they had picked the ducks, there would be fine
feather beds for both herself and Little Per!... Per Hansa’s voice
softened.... And besides, there was no more delicate fare than those
ducks on any king’s table!...
But she would not be carried along.... “We won’t need them!” she said,
dispiritedly ... and fell into silence.
Dusk settled, the menfolk left—and she was alone with the child again.
* * * * *
But at last winter shut down in earnest; the swamps froze up and duck
hunting came to an end for that year.
“I think we ought to carry some soup meat to our neighbours,” said
Per Hansa.... “This time it’ll be something better than badger stew!”
...
Every person in the little settlement had been rushed with work during
the last days before Father Winter came. They all had a feeling that he
wasn’t very far away, that old fellow, and thought it best to be well
prepared to receive him. Hans Olsa, Tönseten, and the Solum boys had
been east to the Sioux River again for wood; they had made two trips,
and home had seen very little of them lately. Few visits had been made;
everyone had been busy with his own affairs.... For other reasons than
this, visitors came but seldom to Per Hansa’s now; there was something
queer about the woman in that place; she said so little; at times
people felt that they were unwelcome there. She was apt to break out
suddenly with some remark that they could only wonder at; they hardly
knew whether to be surprised or offended.
But on the day when the boys carried a gift of ducks to all the houses
in the neighbourhood, proud of the dainty food they brought, and
relating what sounded like a fairy tale, everyone went over to Per
Hansa’s to learn how he had gone about catching these birds. For Ole
and Store-Hans wouldn’t tell, though they plied them with questions....
The Solum boys came first, with Tönseten and Kjersti hard upon their
heels; last of all came Hans Olsa and Sörine.
Once inside, they completely forgot their curiosity about the duck
hunting; they stood with their mouths open, looking up one wall and
down the next.
... Why ... why ... what in the wide world was this? Had they plastered
_snow_ on the walls? Sam thought it really was snow, and touched it
gingerly with his finger.... What was it, anyway? Could it possibly
be paint?... My stars, how fine it looked!... Per Hansa sat there,
sucking his pipe and enjoying his little triumph; it seemed to him
that he had never liked his neighbours so well as at this moment....
Beret went about listening quietly; in her face was a troubled
expression. Not for all the world would she have had the work on the
walls undone!...
Amazement was universal.... Sörine smiled in her pleasant, kindly way;
she went over to Beret and said with warm sympathy:
“Now you certainly have got a fine house!... You’ll thrive all the
better for it.” ... At that, she began to help her with the work. But
Kjersti, with an emphatic slap on her thigh, voiced it as her opinion
that it was a dirty shame that she and Sörrina had picked up such poor
sticks for husbands! Why couldn’t they ever hatch up some nice scheme?
Why was Per Hansa the only man among them with his head on the right
end? Yes, they certainly ought to feel ashamed of themselves, sitting
there!... Tönseten took offence at this; he felt constrained to remind
her that he was the fellow who had risen to the occasion and captured
the Sognings! She’d better remember that; for what would have become
of them all in the long run if the Sognings hadn’t joined them?...
“And I don’t exactly see what this new notion of Per Hansa’s is really
good for,” he spluttered on. “It’s getting to be so damned swell in
here that pretty soon a fellow can’t even _spit_!” ... Tönseten looked
accusingly at Beret; it was from her that Per Hansa got these stuck-up
airs. She was never willing to be like plain folks, that woman!...
The Solum boys took great delight in the white walls; this was really
beautiful. When they got married they would do the very same thing!
Hans Olsa sucked his pipe and said but little. This seemed very queer
to him; he turned it over and over in his mind, but couldn’t solve the
problem. Was this like Per Hansa, who had always confided everything
to him?... But here he was going about doing everything alone! When he
had learned how a black earthen wall could be made shining white at
so small a cost, why hadn’t he told the others? There was so little
cheer out here; they all sorely needed to share whatever they found....
The big, rugged features were very sober; he had to look hard at Per
Hansa. No, it was the same good-natured face that one liked so well to
have near by! This affair was just one of his many pranks; the
longer Hans Olsa gazed at his neighbour, the more plausible grew this
solution inside that big head of his.
Awhile later, as the two men stood together outside the door, watching
the falling snow, he said, quietly:
“You have made it pretty fine inside, Per Hansa; but He Who is now
whitening the outside of your walls does fully as well.... You
shouldn’t be vain in your own strength, you know!”
“Oh, nonsense, Hans Olsa!” laughed Per Hansa. “What are you prating
about?... Here, take along a couple more ducks for Sörrina!” ...
III
It was well enough that winter had come at last, thought Per Hansa;
he really needed to lay off and rest awhile. After a good square meal
of ducks or fresh fish, he would light his pipe and stretch himself,
saying:
“Ha!—now we’re really as well off here, my Beret-girl, as anybody
could ever wish to be!” ... He did not always expect an answer, and
seldom got one. Then he would throw himself on the bed and take a good
after-dinner nap, often sleeping continuously on into the night....
Life seemed very pleasant now!
In this fashion he spent quite a number of days; the bad weather still
held out. Per Hansa continued to do full justice to the fare. When he
had eaten his fill he would point out again to Beret how well off they
were, and go to his couch to sleep the sleep of the righteous. It was
almost uncanny—he could never seem to get sleep enough! He slept both
day and night; and still he felt the need of more rest.... Now and then
he would go to the door to look out at the weather, and glance across
toward the neighbours. No ... nothing to do outside—the weather was too
beastly! He would come in again, and stretch himself, and yawn....
The days wore on.
Yes, they wore on.... One exactly like the other....
Per Hansa couldn’t grasp the strange contradiction that had
begun to impress him; he knew that the days were actually growing
shorter—were being shorn more closely by every passing night;
but—weren’t they growing longer?
Indeed they were—no question about it! They finally grew so long that
he was at a dead loss to find something to do with which to end them.
He assured himself that all this leisure was very fine; that he needed
to ease up a bit; during the fall he hadn’t spared himself; now it felt
like a blessing to sit around and play the gentleman. Times would be
strenuous enough for him once more, when spring came with fair weather
and his great estate needed to be planted; he would just lay off and
rest for a while yet!...
The days only grew longer and longer.
In the end, this enforced idleness began to gall him. The landscape
showed a monotonous sameness ... never the slightest change.... Grey
sky—damp, icy cold.... Snow fell ... snow flew.... He could only
guess now where the huts of Hans Olsa lay. There wasn’t a thing to do
outdoors; plenty of wood lay chopped and ready for use; it took but a
little while to do the chores.... Beyond this, everything took care of
itself outside.
Per Hansa sat by the table, or lay down on the bed when he got tired of
sitting up; tried to sleep as long as possible; woke up with a start;
turned over and tried to sleep again; rose and sat by the table once
more, when he grew weary of lying down.
The days wore on, and yet got nowhere.... Time had simply come to a
standstill! He had never seen the like; this was worse than the deadest
lay-up in Lofoten!
The boys were almost as badly off; they too sat restless and idle;
and because they had nothing at all to occupy their minds they often
came to blows, so that the father had to interfere.... But he was
never very rough with them; poor boys, what else could they find for
amusement?... The mother always reminded him of their books.... Yes, of
course—certainly they must learn to read, the father said; no heathen
were going to grow up in his house! He tried to be stern with them
over this matter; but then ... after all, boys were boys, he remembered!
At length he realized that this sort of life could not go on. He didn’t
give a hang for the weather—put on his coat and bade the boys do the
same; then they went out and attacked the woodpile. They sawed and
they chopped; they lugged in wood and piled it up; first they stacked
up as much chopped wood as they could stow in the odd corners of the
house; then they built a curious little fort of chopped wood out in the
yard—very neatly and craftily constructed—and piled it full, too; this
work cheered them up and kept their minds occupied, though the weather
was bitterly cold and inclement. They toiled at it from early morning
until late at night, and hardly took time off to eat their dinner; the
boys began to get sick of the job and complained of being tired. The
woodpile lasted exactly four days; when they had chopped up the last
stick there was nothing left for them to do outside.
Then they sat idle again.
The bad spell of weather held out interminably. A cold, piercing wind
from the northeast blew the livelong day, and moaned about the corners
at night.... Snow flew ... more snow fell.
No sun.... No sky.... The air was a grey, ashen mist which breathed a
deathly chill; it hung around and above them thick and frozen.... In
the course of time there was a full moon at night, somewhere behind the
veil. Then the mist grew luminous and alive—strange to behold.... Night
after night the ghostly spectacle would return.
Per Hansa would gaze at it and think: Now the trolls are surely
abroad!...
* * * * *
One evening Tönseten and Kjersti came over. They sat and talked until
it grew very late. One could readily see that Syvert was out of sorts
about something; he puffed at his pipe in glum, ill humor, glared at
Per Hansa’s walls, and didn’t have much to say. When he did speak his
voice was unnecessarily loud.
Kjersti and Beret sat together on the bed; they seemed to be
finding a good deal to chat about.
Kjersti was in an unusually neighbourly mood; she had come over to
ask if ... well, if she couldn’t do something for Beret? She had some
woollen yarn at home in her chest, very soft and very fine. Would Beret
be offended if she knitted a pair of socks for the little newcomer
they were all awaiting?... It was fine yarn, the very finest! Beret
must just try to imagine how lonesome she was, sitting at home all
alone with that useless husband of hers—and no little newcomer to wait
for!... She had plenty of yarn; she could easily make the socks long
enough to serve as leggings, too. The work would really bring joy to
her—and to Syvert, too, poor fellow, to whom no little newcomer would
ever arrive!
... Ah, well!... God pity us, Syvert wasn’t so bad, after all—far be it
from her to complain!... At that, Kjersti happened to think of a story
she had heard, about a couple who couldn’t seem to get a child though
they wanted one very badly. Here the story was, since they happened
to be talking about such matters.... This wife had so little sense
that she sought the aid of a witch woman, who gave her both _devil’s
drink_ and _beaver-geld_; she rubbed herself with the stuff and drank
some of it, too, but no change came; that is, not until one summer
when a shoal of herring came into the fjord and with it a fleet of
strange fishermen.... Alas! desire makes a hot fire, once it has been
kindled! But what do you suppose?—her husband became just as fond of
that child as if he had been the father of it!... Wasn’t that a queer
thing?... But when the boy was a year old and was on the point of being
christened—well, on that very Sunday it happened, as they were sailing
across the fjord, that the boat capsized and the Lord took both mother
and child, right there and then! He had taken away what he had refused
to give in honour, and more besides.... There was something mysterious
about such things, didn’t Beret think so? And wasn’t it strange that
the father should have been so fond of _that_ child?... Kjersti
had known them both very well.
Beret listened attentively to this tale, putting in a word here and
there.
Over at the table, the men had pricked up their ears as the story
began; they heard it all. Per Hansa looked at Syvert and laughed;
Syvert, in turn, glared at the wall and said, angrily:
“I should think you’d be able to find something American to talk
about!... We’re through now with all that troll business over in
Norway!” ... He got up and started to go....
But Per Hansa wouldn’t listen to their leaving just yet; since they
had braved the weather to make a call they might as well sit awhile
longer.... “You’ll have the wind astern, Syvert, going home!... Come
on, sit down and behave yourself!”
* * * * *
On another afternoon all of Hans Olsa’s household came over. They
stayed till dark; then they began to say that perhaps they’d better be
going now—but they made no move to leave.... Sörine had brought a gift
for Beret. There had been a few bits of cloth lying around the house,
for which she could find no use; it had been rather lonesome these days
and she had needed something to do, so she had made a little article
for this newcomer whom everyone was waiting for!... At that, Sörine
drew out from her ample bosom a child’s cap, of red, white, and blue
stripes, with long silk ribbons, all sewed with the greatest care. It
was a beautiful cap; all had to see it; there were many warm words of
praise. Beret received it in silence; her eyes were wet as she took the
cap and laid it carefully in the big chest....
To-night it was Beret who refused to let the visitors leave. She
absolutely insisted. Such quantities of food lay outside around the
house—far more than they would ever need—that they might as well stay
for supper and help to eat it!... This proposal overjoyed Per Hansa. It
was the plain truth, as Beret said, they had more than they needed—and
there was plenty left in the Sioux River, for that matter;
to-night they were going to celebrate with fresh fish for supper!... He
went outside and brought in a generous supply of the frozen fish, which
he scaled and cut up; he was in the finest of spirits—it seemed just
like the good old days in Lofoten.
... That evening was a happy interlude for them all.
IV
... No, the days would not pass!... Why, here it was, only the middle
of November! It seemed to Per Hansa, as he sat by the table puffing his
pipe and following Beret around with his eyes, that many winters must
have gone by already.
He found himself watching Beret very often; during the last two weeks
he had discovered many things about her which he had never noticed
before. Just trifles, they were, but so many of them—one thing after
another. Sitting here now with nothing else to occupy his mind, he
began slowly and carefully to piece together what he had observed; the
result pleased him less and less as he went on adding. He tried to
wave the truth aside—to deny the plain facts; he even succeeded for a
while—in the beginning.... Goodness! nothing but trifles—things that
were always likely to happen under such circumstances!... Oh no! There
was no danger that Beret couldn’t stand her watch; things would right
themselves when the time came; for it was only the law of nature, which
man must obey.... Of course she couldn’t help dreading it, poor thing!
... Did her face seem a good deal more wasted this time—or was he
mistaken? She didn’t look well at all.... No.... Then why didn’t she
eat more? Good Heavens! she wasn’t trying to save on the food? Here was
everything—quantities of it: meat aplenty, and any amount of flour!...
She should help herself, this Beret-girl of his, or he would make her
dance to another tune!
One day at table he burst out with it, telling her that she
mustn’t act the stranger in her own house! He made his voice sound
gruff and commanding: Now she must sit up and eat like a grown
woman.... “Here, help yourself!” ... He took a big piece of fish from
the platter and put it on her plate; but she merely picked at it, and
left the most of it lying there.
“It is hard when you have to force every mouthful down,” she complained.
“But look here, you’ve got to eat, both for yourself and—Of course you
must eat!”
“Oh, well,” she said, wearily, as she got up and left the table.... “It
doesn’t matter much about the food.” ...
Lately he had also begun to notice that she lay awake the greater part
of the night; he always dropped off to sleep before she did; yet she
would be wide awake in the morning when he first stirred, although he
was by habit an early riser. And if by chance he woke up in the night,
he would be almost certain to find her lying awake beside him.... One
night she had called him; she had been sitting up in bed, and must have
been crying—her voice sounded like it. And she had only wanted him to
get up and see what ailed Store-Hans; he had been moaning in his sleep
all night, she said. Per Hansa had risen to look after the boy, and had
found nothing the matter, as he had expected.... That night he had been
seriously frightened. When he had come back to lie down she had started
crying so despairingly; he hadn’t been able to make any sense of the
few words he got out of her.... From that time on, he had been scared
to show her any tenderness; he had noticed that when he did so, the
tears were sure to come. And that, certainly, was not good for her!
As he sat through the long, long day observing his wife, he grew more
and more worried about Beret, poor thing. Every day there were new
trifles to be noticed.
She, who had always been so neat and could make whatever clothes she
put on look becoming, was now going about shabby and unkempt; she
didn’t even bother to wash herself. He realized that he had
noticed it subconsciously for a long time.... But now he seldom saw her
even wash her face. And her hair, her beautiful hair which he admired
so greatly and loved to fondle when she was in good spirits, now hung
down in frowsy coils.... Wasn’t it two days since she had touched her
hair? Well—_that_ he didn’t dare to mention!... How could he ever speak
of cleanliness at all to his Beret—his Beret who was always so prim
and often nagged him for being slovenly and careless about his own
appearance.... Not that she wasn’t pretty enough, just as she was, his
Beret-girl; this Per Hansa told himself many times. But one day as he
sat looking at her, he suddenly got up, went over to the window, and
stood there gazing out; and then he said:
“I really think you ought to go and fix up your hair, Beret-girl.... I
kind of feel that we’re going to have company to-day.”
She gave him a quick glance, blushed deeply, rose, and left the room.
He heard her go into the stable, where she stayed a long time; he
couldn’t imagine what she was doing in there at that hour of the day.
Her actions made him feel worried and uncertain. When she came in again
he did not dare to look at her.... Then she began to tidy herself; she
took some water and washed, loosened up her braids and combed her hair,
and afterward coiled it very prettily. She gave herself plenty of time,
and took careful pains.... At last he had to look at her; his whole
self was in the gaze that he fixed upon her; he would have liked to say
something kind and loving to her now. But she did not glance at him,
and so he dared not speak.... In a little while he found an excuse to
go out; passing close to her, he said in a tender, admiring voice:
“Now we’ve got a fine-looking lady!”
All the rest of that day he felt happier than he had been for a long
while.... Of course his Beret-girl would be all right.... Indeed, she
_was_ all right, as far as that went!...
But ... other days followed. Per Hansa remained idle and had nothing
to do but look at his wife. He looked and looked, until he had to
face the hard fact that something was wrong.
... Had she ever been so brooding and taciturn when she was with child
before? He could talk to the boys about the future until they would be
completely carried away by his visions; but whenever he tried to draw
her into the conversation he failed completely—failed, no matter which
tack he took nor how hard he tried. He understood it clearly: it wasn’t
because she did not want to respond—she _couldn’t_!... The pain of it
surged through him like a wave. God in Heaven, had she grown so weak
and helpless!... She wasn’t even able to take nourishment.... There
Beret sat in the room with them, within four paces—yet she was far, far
away. He spoke to her now, to her alone, but could not make her come
out of the enchanted ring that lay about her.... When he discovered
this, it hurt him so that he could have shrieked....
... Another queer thing, she was always losing the commonest
objects—completely losing them, though they were right at hand. He had
seen it happen several times without taking much notice; but by and by
it began to occur so frequently that he was forced to pay attention.
She would put a thing down, merely turn around, and then go about
searching for it in vain; and the thing would lie exactly where she had
placed it, all the time.... This happened again and again; sometimes
it struck them all as very funny.... “It looks as if your eyes were in
your way, Mother!” Store-Hans once exclaimed, laughing so heartily that
the others had to join in; but Per Hansa soon noticed that she was hurt
when they made fun of her.
One day she was looking for the scissors. She had been sitting by the
stove, mending a garment; had risen to put on more fuel; and when she
sat down again had been unable to find her scissors, which she held all
the while in her hand. She searched diligently, and asked the others
to help her. Suddenly Ole discovered the scissors in his mother’s
hand; he ran up to her and jerked them away; the boy was roaring with
laughter.... Then she burst into violent tears, laid her work
aside, threw herself down on the bed, and buried her face in the
pillow. All three menfolk felt painfully embarrassed.
And sometimes she had moments of unusual tenderness toward them
all—particularly toward Per Hansa. Her concern would grow touchingly
childlike; it was as if she could not do enough for him and the
children. But it was a tenderness so delicate that he dared not respond
to it. Nevertheless, he felt very happy when these moods came; they
gave him renewed courage.
... Of course she would be all right again as soon as it was over!...
And now the event could not be far away!...
V
Winter was ever tightening its grip. The drifting snow flew wildly
under a low sky, and stirred up the whole universe into a whirling
mass; it swept the plain like the giant broom of a witch, churning up a
flurry so thick that people could scarcely open their eyes.
As soon as the weather cleared icy gusts drove through every chink and
cranny, leaving white frost behind; people’s breaths hung frozen in the
air the moment it was out of the mouth; if one touched iron, a piece of
skin would be torn away.
At intervals a day of bright sunshine came. Then the whole vast plain
glittered with the flashing brilliance of diamonds; the glare was so
strong that it burnt the sight; the eyes saw blackness where there was
nothing but shining white....
... Evenings ... magic, still evenings, surpassing in beauty the most
fantastic dreams of childhood!... Out to the westward—so surprisingly
near—a blazing countenance sank to rest on a white couch ... set it
afire ... kindled a radiance ... a golden flame that flowed in many
streams from horizon to horizon; the light played on the hundreds
and thousands and millions of diamonds, and turned them into
glittering points of yellow and red, green and blue fire.
... Such evenings were dangerous for all life. To the strong they
brought reckless laughter—for who had ever seen such moon-nights?...
To the weak they brought tears, hopeless tears. This was not life, but
eternity itself....
Per Hansa sat in his hut, ate, drank, puffed at his pipe, and followed
his wife with his eyes in vague alarm; for the life of him he didn’t
know what to do. Where could he betake himself? It wouldn’t do for
him to go from house to house, when things were in such a bad way at
home.... No, here he was condemned to sit!... His temper was growing
steadily worse; he found it more and more difficult to keep his hands
off things.
He would be seized by a sudden, almost irresistible desire to take
Beret, his own blessed Beret, hold her on his knee like a naughty
child—just _make_ her sit there—and reason with her ... talk some sense
into her!
For this wasn’t altogether fair play on her part! Of course it was hard
for her these days; but after all, the time would soon come to an end;
and _that_ was something real to struggle with—something to glory in!
Besides, she had her wonted round of duties to perform.... But he!...
Here he was forced to sit in idleness, and just let his eyes wander!...
... And it wasn’t right for him to feel this way, either; but the
endless waiting had at last got on his nerves.... Strange, how long
it took! Hadn’t the time ought to be drawing near pretty soon?...
During these days he often thought about the matter of a name. He
immediately decided that if it turned out to be a girl, she should be
named _Beret_; that part of it was settled. But suppose she bore him a
boy? In that case he wasn’t so certain. Two boy’s names were running in
his mind, but—well, time would tell.... If she would only hurry up and
bring forth the child, he would guarantee to find a suitable name for
it!
He began to feel weak and miserable as he dragged himself about the
house.... Then, one day, came a fascinating thought: if he could
only make a short trip east to the Sioux River, to visit the Trönders!
This spell of cold weather was nothing to mind; it was a long way, to
be sure, but he felt that he could easily manage it. Hadn’t he sailed
a cockleshell of an eight-oared boat all the way from Helgeland to
West Lofoten in the dark of winter? This would be mere child’s play
compared to that journey.... What great sport it would be to fish with
a net through the ice! From the Trönders, who were old settlers in this
region, he could get a lot more valuable information; it was really
remarkable, what they had told him last time, about the fur trade with
the Indians north at Flandreau.... Whenever the thought of this journey
came to him he could hardly push it aside.
... Useless even to dream of such a thing! Here was poor Beret,
pottering helplessly about—he must think only of her.
And Per Hansa tried his best to think of her to some effect. He had
noticed that she minded the cold; she never complained, but he was well
aware of it; from now on he tended, the fire himself and kept the stove
red hot most of the day. In spite of that he couldn’t get the house
properly warm when the cold was at its worst; the earthen floor was
always cold and Beret’s feet seemed particularly sensitive.
One day Per Hansa got an idea which gave him much diversion. While they
had been busy chopping the wood he had selected a few of the largest
and straightest-grained sticks, trimmed them out square, and stood them
behind the stove to dry; he had promised himself that he would make
something out of them during the winter. Now he chose the best piece
he could pick out; he had decided to make a pair of clogs for Beret;
he knew by experience that such shoes were very warm while they were
new. For a long while he couldn’t think of any material to use for the
vamps; then he resolutely cut off a corner of the old sheepskin robe
which they used on their bed; he sheared the wool snug, and made the
vamps of that.... He did a neat, attractive job and felt rather proud
when the job was finished.
He brought the clogs to Beret and put them on her feet.
It was plain to be seen that she was touched by the gift; but then
she said something that he wished she had left unspoken:
“You might have thought of this before, it seems to me. Here I have
gone with cold feet all winter.” ... The words were uttered quietly;
she meant no reproach by them, but merely said what came into her mind.
He turned away and went out of the house; outside the door he paused,
and stood for a long time gazing off into the evening.... Somewhere out
there life was still happy.... There was no solitude.... Didn’t it seem
to call to him?
Per Hansa felt that now he needed to cry....
VI
A day came when Per Hansa flared up in a rage that frightened even
himself; he struck out blindly and smashed whatever happened to lie
within his reach. It was one of the Solum boys that brought it about.
One forenoon Henry came over and sat chatting for a long while, as if
he had nothing in particular on his mind; Per Hansa was glad of the
visit, and urged Henry to stay. When the lad finally rose to go he
asked if Per Hansa would be willing to keep their cow until the time of
the spring planting; he could have the calf she would drop in January,
so he would be nothing out; and there was plenty of hay left in their
barn, which could be hauled over ... Henry spoke slowly, without
looking up; he seemed almost ashamed to explain his errand.
Per Hansa’s eyes blinked fast.... This was indeed handsome of Henry;
imagine his thinking more of Beret and the children than of himself!
In fact, it was so generous, and handsomely done, that Per Hansa felt
quite overcome; his eyes blinked till they watered.... But he mustn’t
take an offer like this! True enough, Rosie was drying up and milk
wasn’t very plentiful in their house; but they had learned to get
along without it; they made plenty of soup, and that filled the same
need. No, it would never do to take the milk away from the Solum
boys.... “I don’t very well see how I can take your cow,” Per Hansa
answered.
Henry seemed perplexed, looked down at the floor, and apparently did
not know how to go on.
—Well, that wasn’t exactly the idea, he said.... He and his brother had
made a sleigh, and now they wanted to try it out. The cow couldn’t be
left alone after they were gone.
Per Hansa’s eyes fairly danced; he leaned across the table, speaking
fast and eagerly: The devil you say—going east to the Sioux River,
perhaps?... What?... He wished to the Lord he could go along with them!
Couldn’t they hold up for just a little while—until he got ready?... He
threw a swift glance at his wife.
—No, that wasn’t exactly the idea, either, Henry confessed, still more
embarrassed. Their parents were sitting alone, back there in Minnesota;
he and Sam had agreed that they had better go east and celebrate
Christmas with the old folks. They had been getting pretty lonesome
here, anyway; there seemed to be nothing to do in the dead of winter;
but they fully intended to come back in the spring, as soon as the
prairie was open.... Couldn’t he do them the favour of keeping the cow?
For an instant all the light seemed to die out of Per Hansa’s face:
then it suddenly flared up again in a flame of rage that positively
snapped and crackled.
“Take your damned old cow along with you, Henry! We want none of your
milk!” ... His lips trembled like those of one on the point of bursting
into tears.
—Well—said Henry, calmly—if that was the way Per Hansa felt about it,
he would have to ask some of the others; he certainly didn’t want to
force the cow on anyone! If they could find no other way out of it,
they would have to slaughter the beast; they couldn’t possibly take her
with them.... Without further words he left the house.
It was then that the storm broke loose in earnest.... The boys were
sitting at the table, each with a piece of charcoal, drawing
ponies and Indians on top; those of Store-Hans’s were waging war
against Ole’s; the boys were so taken up with their play that they
hardly noticed what was going on in the room. Beret sat by the stove,
mending a garment; the child had also been given needle and thread, and
was industriously sewing away at a piece of rag.... Per Hansa stood at
the window, glaring out.
All at once Beret remarked in her quiet manner, without looking up,
that it didn’t seem a bit strange to her that the Solum boys wanted to
leave the place. Why should they lie exiled out here in the wilderness?
It was as if something had suddenly stung Per Hansa; he wheeled quickly
and looked at his wife, his eyes hard and glazed.
“Hell!” he snapped ... “If they were _men_, instead of such god-damned
lousy _worms_, they would find something to do!” ... Quiet fell on the
room after this outburst; Per Hansa sank down heavily on the edge of
the bench.... All of a sudden he burst out again:
—Ha—do!... Two strong men! Here lay the finest sleighing that one could
wish for! If they had been grown-up men, and not a couple of babies,
they would now be hauling home logs for their new house!... If _he_
didn’t have to sit here like a sick woman, _he_ would have had enough
lumber on hand for the finest farmstead, long ago—perhaps would have
started to build by now! Did she actually believe there was nothing to
do around here?...
His words cut through the little room like the harsh grating of a file
on a saw blade.
Again there was silence. He got up savagely and stuck his pipe in his
mouth, but did not light it; he did not know what he was doing now....
It was Beret who broke the silence; although her question was uttered
very calmly, it seemed to cut deeper than his violent outburst:
—Well, why didn’t he go to work and do it, then?
Go to work?—he snarled.—Did _she_ need to ask why he wasn’t doing
anything? Was she in such a condition that he could ever leave the
house?...
—Oh, she was in the condition he had brought her to—no worse and no
better—she said. Now her words, too, vibrated with passion.—No, indeed,
he didn’t need to sit at home on her account! she added sharply.
Per Hansa drove his fist into the table with a terrible crash. The
boys jumped up in fright and shrank away—never had they seen their
father like this; he looked as if he would strike their mother the next
instant. Little And-Ongen threw the rag in her mother’s lap, put her
hand into her mouth, and screamed in terror.
“You talk like a fool!... That only shows how much sense you’ve got!”
He saw a cap over on a wall somewhere, seized it, found the door, and
was gone....
Per Hansa stayed outside nearly all of the day. Before evening had
come, however, he had made a pair of skis for each of the boys: they
were rather heavy and clumsy affairs, but would serve the purpose; the
boys stood looking at them wide-eyed and happy—but still they hardly
dared to come near their father.... When he finally entered the house
that evening the supper stood ready on the table.... Beret had gone to
bed.
As soon as he had eaten he told the boys that he would have to go on an
errand over to Hans Olsa’s; he wasn’t sure when he would be back; if he
stayed late, they must go to bed.... No, they couldn’t go with him!...
He gave a glance toward the bed as he went out....
When he reached Hans Olsa’s house he asked at once if he might speak
to Sörine alone; he seemed bashful and embarrassed—tried to assume
a bantering air, but didn’t quite succeed. When Sörine had stepped
outside with him he asked beseechingly if she would be kind enough to
go over and look after Beret—the sooner the better!
—Was there anything going on? Sörine asked.
—No, not exactly _that_—though it must be nearly time now. But
Sörine ought to remember that it was pretty lonesome for her, sitting
there alone, unable even to go outside the door. Day after day Beret
neither saw nor heard another person, outside of the family!
—Yes, certainly—she would be glad to run over!
—Could she go right away?
—Was there such an awful hurry?—Sörine still suspected Per Hansa’s
denial. If that was the case, he had better go and get Kjersti at once;
she didn’t care to tackle this job alone!
—No, no—it wasn’t that!
Sörine went in for a moment to put on her coat; soon she came out
again, ready to start. He went with her for some distance....
—Wasn’t he coming along?—she asked, stopping to look inquiringly at him.
—No, he guessed he wouldn’t; he needed to have a little talk with Hans
Olsa to-night. He only wanted to say this: that she who understood all
such things so capably, must look well to Beret now; she mustn’t come
away and leave her too soon!
Sörine’s kind, intelligent face looked straight into his.
“I can see that you’re worried about your wife to-night, Per Hansa....
That’s fine of you, I say!”
“God richly bless you for those words, Sörrina!”
Per Hansa suddenly felt like a new person; and yet he lacked the
courage to look up.
“But let me tell you one thing, Sörrina: I’m not half so worried about
my wife as I am about myself! To-day I nearly laid hands on her—that’s
how fine I am, and now you know it!... Hurry along!”
“You ought to have a whaling for that, Per Hansa!” she said with a
laugh, but immediately grew serious.... “Alas! life lays a hard hand on
all of us!... Well, now I’m off. You don’t need to hurry to-night—if we
need you, I’ll send Ola.”
Per Hansa stood there in the darkness of the winter night, looking
after the disappearing figure.... No, her equal was not to be
found! She could be both minister and father confessor, that woman!
VII
He had barely entered Hans Olsa’s house, found a seat, and lighted his
pipe, when another visitor arrived. Tönseten came in, apparently in a
bad humour; no, he didn’t want to sit down; he was going farther on in
a minute or two. Did they know that the Solum boys were about to leave?
“I guess we know as much as you do,” said Per Hansa, dryly.... “There’s
such a lot going on around here these days!”
“But this won’t do, folks, I tell you—it simply won’t do! As Kjersti
says, soon we’ll have nothing but the snow left!”
“And I hope that’ll go in time, too,” laughed Per Hansa.
“It probably will!” Tönseten snapped, irritably. “But what I don’t
understand is, why have you folks let things come to such a pass?”
“_We_...?” Per Hansa asked.
“Yes, _you_!... The two of you!”
“We can’t very well _tie up_ the boys, when they are bent on going,”
said Hans Olsa.
“I didn’t say we could!” ... Tönseten stood in front of him, waving his
arms excitedly. “But we can use common sense, can’t we?”
“Very well, Syvert, let’s hear your common sense,” spoke up Per Hansa.
“You talk like a fool, Per Hansa! Here you both sit around and twiddle
your thumbs, doing nothing; but you’ve got cubs, and will soon have
more! Why don’t you join forces and hire Henry Solum to teach school
for your brats this winter? There’s a good enough head on Henry’s
shoulders, let me tell you; he hasn’t had much schooling, to be sure;
but the boy was born and raised in this country, and can sling the
English like a native—that much _I_ know.... I haven’t any brats of my
own to send; but I’ll gladly chip in a few dollars when my wheat
is threshed next fall!” ... Tönseten seemed to have the details fully
laid out, as usual.
The other two listened in silence. The eyes of Per Hansa began to shoot
rapid, sparkling glances, which always betrayed the fact that he was
in good humour; but it was some time before he opened his mouth. Hans
Olsa sat pondering over the new idea that had just been proposed; it
was perfectly true that the children needed schooling; but how did this
bear on the case, when the Solum boys were ready and determined to go?
“I see you’re still hesitating!” Tönseten exclaimed, snappishly.
“Listen here, now: we’re all going straight over to the Solum boys and
talk them into it right away!”
“It strikes me this way,” said Hans Olsa, slowly. “If they have made up
their minds, it isn’t right for us to interfere.”
“Made up their minds!” snorted Tönseten, contemptuously. “What nonsense
you’re talking, Hans Olsa! How many times have you made up your mind,
I’d like to know, and then unmade it again?... I can assure you of one
thing, fellows: if we let Sam and Henry slip away from us now, it’s
certainly doubtful if we ever see them again—single and unhitched as
they are! That’s just Kjersti’s opinion, too. Then won’t we be left in
a fine mess, I ask you—for what chance would we stand of ever getting
such good neighbours again?”
“We might try it,” Hans Olsa conceded. “What do you think, Per Hansa?”
Per Hansa jumped up from his chair. “I’ll do whatever you say, friends.
We can get no worse than a refusal.” ... But then he remembered
something, and hesitated for a moment.... “I really oughtn’t to be
going over there; but—oh, well! who cares!” He grabbed up his cap
impulsively.... “I might as well give Henry a chance to tell me what he
thinks of me!... The sooner, the better!”
They held a lengthy conference with the Solum boys that night. Outside
of their hut the sleigh waited in readiness; inside the door the
chest stood packed; the boys were on the point of going to bed when
the three men entered, and were evidently annoyed to see them.... The
newcomers seemed unaccountably bashful.
Hans Olsa announced their errand.
At this Henry burst out laughing.... No, a school-teacher he could
never be, he said; he had other things to think of; back east in
Minnesota somewhere, a girl was straying about looking for him; if he
could only find her, he too would be needing a teacher by and by!...
Then Tönseten began to talk; there was a note in his voice that put all
joking aside, even though they had to laugh at him now and then:
“If you leave this place, you’ll have to take Kjersti and me along
with you, though I don’t know what we would do with ourselves back in
Minnesota! She and I crossed the Red Sea, as it were, when we left last
spring.... For her and me there is no road leading back!... What do you
think we’re going to do, I’d like to know, when you are gone? At Hans
Olsa’s they don’t play cards; and Per Hansa, poor devil—well, he has a
sick woman on his hands.... God alone knows how that business is going
to come off. That’s just what Kjersti says, too!”
Per Hansa had been silent ever since he came in; now he knocked the
ashes out of his pipe, rose from the chest, and turned to Henry:
“I’ll tell you exactly how we stand—and this is gospel truth. If you
and Sam leave us now, it’ll be so dull and dreary for the rest of us
that we might as well hang ourselves. You saw how I went to pieces
to-day? You came and made me the finest kind of an offer, and in return
I flew right in your face; you know blamed well, Henry, that such is
not my way.” ... Here he paused for a moment, and then went on: “What
sort of a school-teacher you’ll make I haven’t the faintest idea; I
only know this, that you and your brother are both fine fellows and
that none of us can afford to lose you.... Now, go ahead and do as your
heart bids!”
Per Hansa had spoken with forced calmness; the seriousness of the
situation bore in upon them all. Everyone in the room had the same
thought: this strong man was likely at any minute to burst into tears.
... A long silence fell. Tönseten blew his nose violently between his
fingers, after which he wiped them off on his trousers.
At last Henry spoke—his voice was husky and subdued: “It’s harder on
us than it is on you. We have only each other; but you have wives and
children to squabble with!”
“Children!” cried Tönseten, wiping his eyes.... “Good God! what are you
saying, Henry?” ...
“Well, all the same,” Henry continued, earnestly, “if you will
undertake to give us supper, one week with each of you, and have our
clothes mended, we’ll try to hang on a little while.... What do you
say, Sam?”
VIII
The days wore on ... sunny days ... bleak, gloomy days, with cold that
congealed all life.
There was one who heeded not the light of the day, whether it might be
grey or golden. Beret stared at the earthen floor of the hut and saw
only night round about her.
Yes ... she faced only darkness. She tried hard, but she could not let
in the sun.
Ever since she had come out here a grim conviction had been taking
stronger and stronger hold on her.
This was her retribution!
Now had fallen the punishment which the Lord God had meted out to her;
at last His visitation had found her out and she must drink the cup of
his wrath. Far away she had fled, from the rising of the sun to the
going down thereof ... so it had seemed to her ... but the arm of His
might had reached farther still. No, she could not escape—this was her
retribution!
The stillness out here had given her full opportunity for
reflection; all the fall she had done nothing but brood and
remember.... Alas! she had much to remember!
She had accepted the hand of Per Hansa because she must—although
no law had compelled her; she and he were the only people who had
willed it thus. She had been gotten with child by him out of wedlock;
nevertheless, no one had compelled her to marry him—neither father,
nor mother, nor anyone in authority. It had been wholly her own doing.
Her parents, in fact, had set themselves against the marriage with all
their might, even after the child, Ole, had come.
... It had mattered nothing at all what they had said, nor what anyone
else had said; for her there had been no other person in the world
but Per Hansa! Whenever she had been with him she had forgotten the
admonitions and prayers of her father and mother.... He had been life
itself to her; without him there had been nothing.... Therefore she had
given herself to him, although she had known it was a sin—had continued
to give herself freely, in a spirit of abandoned joy.
Now she found plenty of time to remember how her parents had begged
and threatened her to break with him; she recalled all that they had
said, turning it over in her mind and examining it minutely.... Per
Hansa was a shiftless fellow, they had told her; he drank; he fought;
he was wild and reckless; he got himself tangled up in all sorts of
brawls; no honourable woman could be happy with such a man. He probably
had affairs with other women, too, whenever he had a chance.... All
the other accusations she knew to be true; but not the last—no, not
the last! She alone among women held his heart. The certainty of this
fact had been the very sweetness of life to her.... What did she
care for the rest of it! All was as nothing compared with this great
certainty.... Ah, no—she knew it well enough: for him she was the only
princess!
But now she understood clearly all that her parents had done to end it
between them, and all the sacrifices they had been willing to make;
she had not realized it at the time.... Oh, those kind-hearted parents
on whom she had turned her back in order that she might cleave
to him: how they must have suffered! The life which she and he had
begotten in common guilt they had offered to take as their own, give
it their name and their inheritance, and bring it up as their very
child. They had freely offered to use their hard-earned savings to send
her away from the scene of her shame ... so precious had she been to
them! But she had only said no, and no, and no, to all their offers of
sacrifice and love!... Had there ever been a transgression so grievous
as hers!
... Yet how could she ever have broken with him? Where Per Hansa
was, there dwelt high summer and there it bloomed for her. How can
a human forsake his very life?... Whenever she heard of one of his
desperately reckless cruises through rough and stormy seas, on which
he had played with the lives of his comrades as well as his own, her
cheeks would glow and her heart would flame. This was the man her
heart had chosen—this was he, and he alone! a voice would sing within
her. Or when she sat among the heather on the mountain side in the
fair summer night, and he came to her and laid his head in her lap—the
tousled head that only she could lull to sleep—then she felt that now
she was crossing the very threshold of paradise!... Though she had had
a thousand lives, she would have thrown them all away for one such
moment—and would have been glad of the bargain!...
... Yes, she remembered all that had happened in those days; it was so
still out here ... so easy to remember!
No one had ever told her, but she knew full well who it was that had
persuaded Hans Olsa to leave the land and the ancient farm that had
been in his family for generations, and go to America. There had been
only one other person in the world whom Per Hansa loved, and that was
Hans Olsa. She had been jealous of Hans Olsa because of this; it had
seemed to her that he took something that rightfully belonged to her.
She had even felt the same way toward Sörine, who was kindness itself;
on this account she had not been able to hold her friendship as fully
as she needed to, either in Norway or here....
... But when Per Hansa had come home from Lofoten that spring and
announced in his reckless, masterful way, that he was off for America:
would Beret come now, or wait until later?... Well, there hadn’t been
a “no” in her mouth then! There she had sat, with three children in
a nice little home which, after the manner of simple folk, they had
managed to build.... But she had risen up, taken the children with her,
and left it all as if nothing mattered but him!
... How her mother had wept at that time!... How her father had grieved
when they had left! Time after time he had come begging to Per Hansa,
offering him all that he had—boat and fishing outfit, house and farm—if
only he would settle down in Norway and not take their daughter from
them forever.... But Per Hansa had laughed it all aside! There had
been a power in his unflinching determination which had sent hot waves
through her. She must have led a double life at that time; she had been
sad with her parents but had rejoiced with Per Hansa. He had raged like
a storm through those days, wild and reckless—and sometimes ruthless,
too.... No!—he had cried—they would just make that little trip across
the ocean! America—that’s the country where a poor devil can get ahead!
Besides, it was only a little way; if they didn’t like it, they could
drift back on the first fair western breeze!... So they had sold off
everything that they had won with so much toil, had left it all like a
pair of worn-out shoes—parents, home, fatherland, and people.... And
she had done it gladly, even rejoicingly!... Was there ever a sin like
hers?
IX
... Then she had arrived in America. The country did not at all come up
to her expectations; here, too, she saw enough of poverty and grinding
toil. What did it avail, that the rich soil lay in endless stretches?
More than ever did she realize that “man liveth not by bread alone!”
... Even the bread was none too plentiful at times....
Beyond a doubt, it was Destiny that had brought her thither....
Destiny, the inexorable law of life, which the Lord God from eternity
had laid down for every human being, according to the path He knew
would be taken.... Now punishment stood here awaiting her—the
punishment for having broken God’s commandment of filial obedience....
Throughout the fall she had been reckoning up her score, and it
came out exactly thus: Destiny had so arranged everything that the
punishment should strike her all the more inevitably. Destiny had cast
her into the arms of Per Hansa—and she did not regret it! Destiny
had held up America as an enticing will-o’-the-wisp—and they had
followed!...
But no sooner had they reached America than the west-fever had
smitten the old settlements like a plague. Such a thing had never
happened before in the history of mankind; people were intoxicated by
bewildering visions; they spoke dazedly, as though under the force
of a spell.... “Go west!... Go west, folks!... The farther west, the
better the land!” ... Men beheld in feverish dreams the endless plains,
teeming with fruitfulness, glowing, out there where day sank into
night—a Beulah Land of corn and wine!... She had never dreamed that the
good Lord would let such folly loose among men. Were it only the young
people who had been caught by the plague, she would not have wondered;
but the old had been taken even worse.... “Now we’re bound west!” said
the young.... “Wait a minute—we’re going along with you!” cried the
old, and followed after.... Human beings gathered together, in small
companies and large—took whatever was movable along, and left the old
homestead without as much as a sigh! Ever westward led the course, to
where the sun glowed in matchless glory as it sank at night; people
drifted about in a sort of delirium, like sea birds in mating time;
then they flew toward the sunset, in small flocks and large—always
toward Sunset Land.... Now she saw it clearly: here on the trackless
plains, the thousand-year-old hunger of the poor after human happiness
had been unloosed!
Into this feverish atmosphere they had come. Could Destiny have
spun his web more cunningly? She remembered well how the eyes of Per
Hansa had immediately begun to gleam and glow!... And the strange thing
about this spell had been that he had become so very kind under it. How
playfully affectionate he had grown toward her during the last winter
and spring! It had been even more deliciously sweet to give herself to
him then, than back in those days when she had first won him. Was it
not worth all the care and sorrow in the world to taste such bliss, she
had often asked herself—but had been unable to answer. But—then it had
happened: this spring she had been gotten with child again.... Let no
one tell her that this was not Destiny!
She had urged against this last journey; she had argued that they must
tarry where they were until she had borne the child. One year more or
less would make no difference, considering all the land there was in
the west.... Hans Olsa, however, had been ready to start; and so there
had been no use in trying to hold back Per Hansa. All her misgiving he
had turned to sport and laughter, or playful love; he had embraced her,
danced around with her, and become so roguish that she had been forced
to laugh with him.... “Come here, _Litagod_—now we’re gone!” ... She
well recalled how lovely this endearing term had sounded in her ears,
the first night he had used it....
But this was clear to her beyond a doubt: Per Hansa was without blame
in what had happened—all the blame was hers.... He had never been so
tender toward her as in the days since they had come out here; she
could not have thought it possible for one human being to have such
strong desire for another as he held.... Who could match him—who dared
follow where he led? She remembered all that he had wrought since they
had set out on their journey last spring, and felt that no one else
could do it after him. He was like the north wind that sweeps the cloud
banks from the heavens!... At these thoughts, something unspeakably
soft and loving came into Beret’s eyes.... No, not like the north wind:
like the gentle breeze of a summer’s night—that’s how he was!...
And this, too, was only retribution. She had bound herself inseparably
to this man; now she was but a hindrance to him, like chains around his
feet; him, whom she loved unto madness, she burdened and impeded ...
she was only in his way!
... But that he could not understand it—that he could not fathom the
source of her trouble; that seemed wholly incomprehensible to her.
Didn’t he realize that she could never be like him?... No one in all
the world was like him! How could she be?...
X
Beret struggled with many thoughts these days.
... Wasn’t it remarkable how ingeniously Destiny had arranged it all?
For ten long years he had cast her about like a chip on the current,
and then had finally washed her ashore here. _Here_, far off in the
great stillness, where there was nothing to hide behind—here the
punishment would fall!... Could a better place have been found in which
to lay her low?
... Life was drawing to a close. One fact stood before her constantly:
she would never rise again from the bed in which she was soon to lie
down.... This was the end.
... Often, now, she found herself thinking of the churchyard at
home.... It would have been so pleasant to lie down there.... The
churchyard was enclosed by a massive stone wall, broad and heavy; one
couldn’t imagine anything more reliable than that wall. She had sat on
it often in the years when she was still her father’s little girl....
In the midst of the churchyard lay the church, securely protecting
everything round about. No fear had ever dwelt in that place; she could
well remember how the boys used to jump over the graves; it had been
great fun, too—at times she had joined the game.... Within that wall
many of her dear ones slumbered: two brothers whom she had never seen,
and a little sister that she remembered quite clearly, though she
had died long, long ago; her grandparents, on both her father’s and her
mother’s side, also rested here, and one of her great-grandfathers. She
knew where all these graves lay. Her whole family, generation after
generation, rested there—many more than she had any knowledge of....
Around the churchyard stood a row of venerable trees, looking silently
down on the peace and the stillness within.... They gave such good
shelter, those old trees!
... She could not imagine where he would bury her out here.... _Now_,
in the dead of winter—the ground frozen hard!... How would he go
about it?... If he would only dig deep down ... the wolves gave such
unearthly howls at night! No matter what he thought of it, she would
have to speak to him about the grave.... Well, no need to mention it
just now.
One day when Beret had to go out she stayed longer than usual. Before
she finally came back to the house she went to the spot where the
woodpile had stood, visited the curious little fort which they had
built of chopped wood, and then entered the stable.... It worried her
to know where he would find material for a coffin. She had looked
everywhere outside, but had discovered only a few bits of plank and the
box in which he had mixed the lime.... Hadn’t she better remind him of
this at once? Then perhaps he could go to the Trönders, east on the
Sioux River, and get some lumber from them.... Never mind, she wouldn’t
do anything about it for a few days yet.
... If he could only spare her the big chest!... Beret fell to looking
at it, and grew easier in her mind.... That chest had belonged to her
great-grandfather, but it must have been in the family long before his
day; on it she could make out only the words “_Anno_ 16—” ... the rest
was completely worn away. Along the edges and running twice around the
middle were heavy iron bands.... Beret would go about looking at the
chest—would lift the lid and gaze down inside.... Plenty of room in
there, if they would only put something under her head and back!
She felt as if she could sleep safely in that bed. She would have to
talk to Sörine about all these matters.... One day Beret began to empty
the chest; she got Per Hansa to make a small cupboard out of the mortar
box, and put all the things in there; but she took great care not to do
this while he was around.
She realized now the great forethought he had shown last summer in
building the house and stable under one roof. They undoubtedly had the
warmest house in the neighbourhood; and then she enjoyed the company
of the animals as she lay awake at night; it felt so cosy and secure
to lie there and listen to them.... She could easily distinguish each
animal by its particular manner of breathing and lying down. The oxen
were always the last to finish munching; Rosie was the first to go
to sleep; Injun’s habits were entirely different from those of the
others; he moved softly, almost without noise, as if engaged in some
secret business. She never could hear him, except when the howl of a
wolf sounded near by; then he would snort and stamp his feet. It was
probably the wild blood in him that made him so different!... Beret had
learned to love the pony.
When she was not listening to the animals she had other things to
occupy her mind.... As a little girl, she had often been taken into
bed by her grandmother. This grandmother had been a kindly woman,
sunny and always happy, in spite of her great age; each night before
going to sleep she would repeat to herself pious little verses from
memory. Beret could not remember them all now; but she managed to patch
them together little by little, inserting new lines of her own, and
repeating them over and over to herself. This she would do for hours at
a time, occasionally sitting up in bed to say the verses aloud:
“Thy heavy wrath avert
From me, a wretched sinner;
Thy blissful mercy grant,
Father of love eternal!
“My sins are as many
As dust in the rays of the sun,
And as sands on the shore of the sea—
If by Thee requited,
I must sink benighted.
“Look with pity,
Tender Saviour,
At my wretched state!
Wounds of sin are burning;
May Thy hands, in love returning,
Heal my stinging stripes!
“Weighed by guilt I weary wander
In the desert here below;
When I measure
My transgressions,
Breaches of Thy holy law,
I must ponder
Oft, and wonder;
Canst Thou grace on me bestow?
“Gentle Saviour,
Cast my burden
Deep into the mercy-sea!
Blessed Jesus,
Mild Redeemer,
Thou Who gav’st Thy life for me!”
XI
The day before Christmas Eve snow fell. It fell all that night and
the following forenoon.... Still weather, and dry, powdery snow....
Murk without, and leaden dusk in the huts. People sat oppressed in the
sombre gloom.
... Things were in a bad way over at Per Hansa’s now; everyone knew it
and feared what might befall both Beret and him.... No one could help;
all that could be done was to bide the time; for soon a change must
come!
“Listen, folks,” said Tönseten, trying to comfort them as best he
could. “Beret can’t keep this up forever! I think you had better go
over to her again, Kjersti!”
Both neighbour women were now taking turns at staying with her, each
one a day at a time. They saw clearly that Per Hansa was more in need
of help than Beret; there was no helping her now, while something, at
least, could be done for him and the children. Christmas would soon be
here, too, and the house ought to be made comfortable and cosy!
They all felt very sorry for Per Hansa. He walked about like a ragged
stray dog; his eyes burned with a hunted look. Each day, the children
were sent over to Hans Olsa’s to stay for a while; if they remained
longer than they had been told, he made no protest; at last they formed
the habit of staying the whole day. He did not realize that it was bad
for Beret to be without them so much; he tried to keep the talk going
himself, but she had little to say; she answered in monosyllables and
had grown peculiarly quiet and distant. In the shadow of a faint smile
which she occasionally gave him there lay a melancholy deeper than the
dusk of the Arctic Sea on a rainy, grey fall evening.
About noon of Christmas Eve the air suddenly cleared. An invisible
fan was pushed in under the thick, heavy curtain that hung trembling
between earth and heaven—made a giant sweep, and revealed the open,
blue sky overhead. The sun shone down with powerful beams, and started
a slight trickling from the eaves. Toward evening, it built a golden
fairy castle for itself out yonder, just beyond Indian Hill.
The children were at Hans Olsa’s; And-Ongen wanted to stay outside and
watch the sunset. Sofie had told her that to-day was Christmas Eve,
and that on every Christmas Jesus came down from heaven. The child
asked many questions.... Would he come driving? Couldn’t they lend him
the pony?... Sofie hardly thought so—he probably would be driving an
angel-pony!
Store-Hans, who was listening to them, thought this very silly and
just like girls. He knew better!... Toward evening he suddenly wanted
to go home, and was almost beside himself when his godfather said that
he couldn’t: all the children were to stay with Sofie to-night.
They had to hold him back by force.... This was _Christmas Eve_.... He
understood very well that something was about to go wrong at home. Why
had his mother looked so wan and worn of late, and his father acted so
queer that one couldn’t talk to him?
That afternoon Beret was in childbed.... The grim struggle marked Per
Hansa for life; he had fought his way through many a hard fight, but
they had all been as nothing compared with this. He had ridden the
frail keel of a capsized boat on the Lofoten seas, had seen the huge,
combing waves snatch away his comrades one by one, and had rejoiced
in the thought that the end would soon come for him also; but things
of that sort had been mere child’s play.... _This_ was the uttermost
darkness. Here was neither beginning nor end—only an awful void in
which he groped alone....
Sörine and Kjersti had both arrived a long time since. When they had
come he had put on his coat and gone outside; but he hadn’t been able
to tear himself many steps away from the house.
Now it was evening; he had wandered into the stable to milk Rosie,
forgetting that she had gone dry long ago; he had tended to Injun and
the oxen, without knowing what he was about.... He listened to Beret
wailing in the other room, and his heart shrivelled; thus a weak human
being could not continue to suffer, and yet live.... And this was his
own Beret!
He stood in the door of the stable, completely undone. Just then
Kjersti ran out to find him; he must come in at once; Beret was asking
for him!... Kjersti was gone in a flash.... He entered the house, took
off his outdoor clothes, and washed his hands....
... Beret sat half dressed on the edge of the bed. He looked at her,
and thought that he had never seen such terror on any face.... God in
heaven—this was beyond human endurance!
She was fully rational, and asked the neighbour women to leave
the room for a moment, as she had something to say to her husband. She
spoke with great composure; they obeyed immediately. When the door
closed behind them Beret rose and came over to him, her face distorted.
She laid a hand on each of his shoulders, and looked deep into his
eyes, then clasped her hands behind his neck and pulled him violently
toward her. Putting his arms firmly around her, he lifted her up gently
and carried her to the bed; there he laid her down. He started to pull
the covers over her.... But she held on to him; his solicitous care she
heeded not at all.
When he had freed himself, she spoke brokenly, between gasps:
... “To-night I am leaving you.... Yes, I must leave you.... I know
this is the end! The Lord has found me out because of my sins.... It
is written, ‘To fall into the hands of the living God!’ ... Oh!—it is
terrible!... I can’t see how you will get along when you are left alone
... though I have only been a burden to you lately.... You had better
give And-Ongen to Kjersti ... she wants a child so badly—she is a kind
woman.... You must take the boys with you—and _go away from here_!...
How lonesome it will be for me ... to lie here all alone!”
Tears came to her eyes, but she did not weep; between moans she went on
strongly and collectedly:
“But promise me one thing: put me away in the big chest!... I have
emptied it and made it ready.... Promise to lay me away in the big
chest, Per Hansa!... And you must be sure to dig the grave deep!... You
haven’t heard how terribly the wolves howl at night!... Promise to take
plenty of time and dig deep down—do you hear!”
His wife’s request cut Per Hansa’s heart like sharp ice; he threw
himself on his knees beside the bed and wiped the cold perspiration
from her face with a shaking hand.
... “There now, blessed Beret-girl of mine!” ... His words sounded far
off—a note of frenzy in them.... “Can’t you understand that this
will soon be over?... To-morrow you’ll be as chipper as a lark again!”
Her terror tore her only the worse. Without heeding his words, she
spoke with great force out of the clearness of her vision:
“I shall die to-night.... Take the big chest!... At first I thought
of asking you not to go away when spring came ... and leave me here
alone.... But that would be a sin!... I tell you, you _must go_!...
Leave as soon as spring comes! Human beings cannot exist here!... They
grow into beasts....”
The throes were tearing her so violently now that she could say no
more. But when she saw him rise she made a great effort and sat up in
bed.
... “Oh!—don’t leave me!—don’t go away!... Can’t you see how sorely I
need you?... And now I shall die!... Love me—oh, do love me once more,
Per Hansa!” ... She leaned her body toward him.... “You must go back to
Norway.... Take the children with you ... let them grow up there. Ask
father and mother to forgive me!... Tell father that I am lying in the
big chest!... Can’t you stay with me to-night ... stay with me and love
me?... Oh!—_there they come for me_!”
Beret gave a long shriek that rent the night. Then she sobbed
violently, praying that they should not take her away from Per Hansa....
Per Hansa leaped to his feet, and found his voice.
“Satan—now you shall leave her alone!” he shouted, flinging the door
open and calling loudly to the women outside. Then he vanished into the
darkness.
No one thought of seeking rest that night. All the evening, lights
shone from the four huts; later they were extinguished in two of them;
but in the house of Hans Olsa four men sat on, grieving over the way
things were going at Per Hansa’s. When they could bear the suspense no
longer some one proposed going over to get news.
Tönseten offered to go first.... When he came back little sense could
be gathered from what he said. He had not been allowed inside;
the women were in a frenzy; the house was completely upset; Beret was
wailing so loud that it was dreadful to hear. And Per Hansa himself was
nowhere to be found.... “We must go and look for him, boys!... Haven’t
you got a Bible or something to read from, Hans Olsa? This is an awful
thing!”
... There they sat, each occupied with his own thoughts—but all their
thoughts were of the same trend. If Beret died to-night, it would go
hard with Per Hansa—indeed it would. In that case he probably wouldn’t
stay out here very long.... But if he went away, the rest of them might
as well pack up and go, too!
Sam ran over to inquire; then Henry; at last it was Hans Olsa’s turn.
He managed to get a couple of words with his wife, who said that Beret
would hardly stand it. No one had seen Per Hansa.
“Can you imagine where the man can be keeping himself?” asked Tönseten,
giving voice to the fear that oppressed them all.... “May the Lord
preserve his wits, even if He chooses to take his wife away!” ...
Per Hansa walked to and fro outside the hut all night long; when he
heard some one coming he would run away into the darkness. He could not
speak to a living soul to-night. As soon as the visitor had gone he
would approach the hut again, circle around it, stop, and listen. Tears
were streaming down his face, though he was not aware of it.... Every
shriek that pierced the walls of the hut drove him off as if a whip
had struck him; but as soon as it had died out, something would draw
him back again. At intervals he went to the door and held it ajar....
What did Per Hansa care for custom and decency, now that his Beret lay
struggling with death!... Each time Sörine came to the door; each time
she shook her head sadly, and told him there was no change yet; it was
doubtful if Beret would be able to pull through; no person could endure
this much longer; God have mercy on all of them!
That was all the comfort Sörine could give him.... Then he would rush
off into the darkness again, to continue his endless pacing; when
daylight came they found a hard path tramped into the snow around the
hut.
The night was well-nigh spent when the wails in there began to
weaken—then died out completely, and did not come again. Per Hansa
crept up to the door, laid his ear close to it, and listened.... So now
the end had come! His breath seemed to leave him in a great sob. The
whole prairie began to whirl around with him; he staggered forward a
few steps and threw himself face downward on the snow.
... But then suddenly things didn’t seem so bad to him ... really not
so bad.... He saw a rope ... a rope.... It was a good, strong rope
that would hold anything.... It hung just inside the barn door—and the
crossbeam ran just _there_!... No trick at all to find these things.
Per Hansa felt almost happy at the thought; that piece of rope was good
and strong—and the crossbeam ran just _there_!
... A door opened somewhere; a gleam of light flashed across the snow,
and vanished. Some one came out of the hut quietly—then stopped, as if
searching.
“Per Hansa!” a low voice called.... “Per Hansa, where are you?” ... He
rose and staggered toward Kjersti like a drunken man.
“You must come in at once!” she whispered, and hurried in before him.
The light was dim in there; nevertheless it blinded him so strongly
that he could not see a thing. He stood a moment leaning against the
door until his eyes had grown accustomed to it.... A snug, cosy warmth
enveloped him; it carried with it an odd, pleasant odour. The light,
the warmth, and the pleasant smell overcame him like sweet sleep that
holds a person who has been roused, but who does not care to awaken
just yet.
“How is it?” he heard a man’s voice ask. Then he came back to his
senses.... Was that he himself speaking?...
“You’ll have to ask Sörrina,” Kjersti answered.
Sörine was tending something on the bed; not until now did
he discover her—and wake up completely.... What was this?... the
expression on her face? Wasn’t it beaming with motherly goodness and
kindliness?
“Yes, here’s your little fellow! I have done all I know how. Come and
look at him.... It’s the greatest miracle I ever saw, Per Hansa, that
you didn’t lose your wife to-night, and the child too!... I pray the
Lord _I_ never have to suffer so!”
“Is there any hope?” was all Per Hansa could gasp—and then he clenched
his teeth.
“It looks so, now—but you had better christen him at once.... We had to
handle him roughly, let me tell you.”
“_Christen him_?” Per Hansa repeated, unable to comprehend the words.
“Why, yes, of course. I wouldn’t wait, if he were mine.”
Per Hansa heard no more—for now Beret turned her head and a wave of
such warm joy welled up in him that all the ice melted. He found
himself crying softly, sobbing like a child.... He approached the bed
on tiptoe, bent over it, and gazed down into the weary, pale face. It
lay there so white and still; her hair, braided in two thick plaits,
flowed over the pillow. All the dread, all the tormenting fear that had
so long disfigured her features, had vanished completely.... She turned
her head a little, barely opened her eyes, and said, wearily:
“Oh, leave me in peace, Per Hansa.... Now I was sleeping so well.”
... The eyelids immediately closed.
XII
Per Hansa stood for a long time looking at his wife, hardly daring
to believe what he saw. She slept peacefully; a small bundle lay
beside her, from which peeped out a tiny, red, wrinkled face.... As he
continued to gaze at her he sensed clearly that this moment was making
him a better man!
At last he gathered his wits sufficiently to turn to Sörine and
ask:
“Tell me, what sort of a fellow is this you have brought me—a boy or a
girl?”
“Heavens! Per Hansa, how silly you talk!” ... Kjersti and Sörine both
had to laugh as they looked at Per Hansa; such a foolish, simple
expression they had never seen on the face of a living man!... But
Sörine immediately grew serious once more, and said that this was no
time for joking; the way they had tugged and pulled at him during
the night, you couldn’t tell what might happen; Per Hansa must get
the child christened right away; if he put it off, she refused to be
responsible.
A puzzled expression came over the grinning face.
“You’d better do that christening yourself, Sörrina!”
—No!—she shook her head emphatically. That wasn’t a woman’s job—he must
understand!... “And you ought to have it done with proper decorum, and
thank the Lord for doing so well by you!”
Without another word Per Hansa found his cap and went to the door; but
there he paused a moment to say:
“I know only one person around here who is worthy to perform such
an act; since you are unwilling, I must go and get him.... In the
meanwhile, you make ready what we will need; the hymn book you’ll find
on the shelf over by the window.... I won’t be long!”
The kindly eyes of Sörine beamed with joy and pride; she knew very well
the one he intended to get; this was really handsome of Per Hansa!...
But then another thought crossed her mind; she followed him out, and
closed the door after her.
“Wait a minute,” she said. “I must tell you that your boy had the
helmet[13] on when he came!... I think you ought to find a very
beautiful name for him!”
[13] The English equivalent is, “to be born with the caul.”
Considerable superstition has always been attached to this phenomenon
and in Norway especially so; a person born with the helmet on had been
singled out by Destiny for something extraordinary.
“What are you saying, Sörrina!”
“Yes, sir—that he had!... And you know what that means!”
Per Hansa drew his sleeve across his face—then turned and walked away.
A moisture dimmed his eyes—he could not see....
Outside it was now broad daylight; the sun stood some distance up in
the sky, looking down on a desolate earth. It was going to be cold
to-day, Per Hansa noticed; clouds of frosty mist like huge writhing
serpents curled over the surface of the purplish-yellow plain. The
sunbeams plunging into them kindled a weird light. He tingled with the
cold; his eyelashes froze together so that he had to rub them with his
mittens to keep them free.
... How remarkable—the child had been born with the helmet on!... He
quickened his pace; in a moment he was running....
“Peace be upon this house, and a merry Christmas, folks!” he greeted
them as he entered Hans Olsa’s door.... The room was cold; the Solum
boys lay in one bed, fully dressed; both were so sound asleep that
they did not wake up at his coming. His own children and Sofie lay in
the other bed, Ole by himself down at the foot, the other three on the
pillow; Store-Hans held And-Ongen close, as if trying to protect her.
Hans Olsa and Tönseten had moved their chairs up to the stove, and sat
hunched over on either side; Tönseten was nodding, the other was wide
awake; both men jumped up when Per Hansa came in, and stood staring at
him.
Per Hansa had to laugh outright at them; they were looking at him as if
they had seen a ghost. But to the two men his laugh sounded pleasanter
than anything they had heard in many a year.
“How are things coming?” asked Tönseten, excitedly, working his
shoulders.
“Oh, it might have been worse!”
Hans Olsa grasped his hand: “Will she pull through?”
“It looks that way.”
Then Tönseten suddenly seemed to realize that it was cold in the
room; he began to walk around, beating goose with his arms.... “I’m
ready to bet both my horses that it’s a boy! I can see it in your
face!” he exclaimed, still beating.
“All signs point that way, Syvert! But he’s in pretty poor condition,
Sörrina tells me.... Now look here, Hans Olsa: it’s up to you to come
over and christen the boy for me!”
Hans Olsa looked terror-stricken at his neighbour.... “You must be
crazy, Per Hansa!”
“Nothing of the kind, Hans Olsa.... You just get yourself ready....
It’s all written down in the hymn book—what to say, and how to go about
it.”
“No, no—I couldn’t think of such a thing!” protested Hans Olsa, all of
a tremble with the feeling of awe that had suddenly taken possession of
him.... “A sinner like me!” ...
Then Per Hansa made a remark that Tönseten thought was extremely well
put:
“How you stand with the Lord I don’t know. But this I do know: that a
better man either on land or sea, He will have to look a long way to
find.... And it seems to me that He has got to take that, too, into His
reckoning!”
But Hans Olsa only stood there in terror.... “You’d better ask Syvert
to do it!”
Then Tönseten grew alarmed:
“Don’t stand there talking like a fool!... We all know that if one of
us two is to tackle this job, it must be you, Hans Olsa.... There is
nothing for you to do but go at once; this business won’t stand any
dilly-dallying, let me tell you!”
Hans Olsa gazed straight ahead; his helplessness grew so great that he
was funny to look at; but no one thought of laughing, just the same....
“If it only won’t be blasphemy!” ... He finally struggled into his big
coat and put on his mittens. Then he turned to Tönseten.... “The book
says: ‘In an extreme emergency a layman may perform this act’—isn’t
that so?”
“Yes, yes—just so!... Whatever else you’ll need, is written there
too!”
Through the frosty morning the two men walked silently across the
prairie, Per Hansa in the lead. When they had covered half the distance
he stopped short and said to his neighbour:
“If it had been a girl, you see, she should have been named Beret—I
decided that a long while ago.... But seeing that it’s a boy, we’ll
have to name him Per; you must say Peder, of course!... I’ve thought
a good deal about Joseph—he was a pretty fine lad, no doubt.... But
grandfather’s name was Per, and there wasn’t a braver, worthier man
on that part of the coast; so it’ll just have to be Per again this
time.... But say, now—” Per Hansa paused a moment, pondering; then he
looked up at his neighbour, and his eyes began to gleam.... “The boy
must have a second name—so you’d better christen him Peder Seier![14]
... The last is after your Sörrina.... She has done me a greater
service this night than I can ever repay! And now the boy is to be
named after her!”
[14] The name _Seier_, which means _Victorious_, was altogether unusual
to Norwegian ears. The English equivalent will be used from now on. As
this name plays such an important part in the psychology of Book II the
reader would do well to remember the Norwegian form.
Hans Olsa could think of nothing to say in answer to all this. They
walked on in silence....
When they came into the room, they stepped across the threshold
reverently. An air of Sabbath had descended on the room. The sun shone
brightly through the window, spreading a golden lustre over the white
walls; only along the north wall, where the bed stood, a half shadow
lingered.... The fire crackled in the stove; the coffeepot was boiling.
The table had been spread with a white cover; upon it lay the open hymn
book, with the page turned down. Beside the hymn book stood a bowl of
water; beside that lay a piece of white cloth.... Kjersti was tending
the stove, piling the wood in diligently.... Sörine sat in the corner,
crooning over a tiny bundle; out of the bundle at intervals came
faint, wheezy chirrups, like the sounds that rise from a nest of young
birds.
An irresistible force drew Per Hansa to the bed.... She lay sound
asleep.... Thank God, that awful look of dread had not come back! He
straightened himself up and glanced around the room; never before had
he seen anything that looked so beautiful....
Sörine got up, went to the table, and bared a little rosy human head.
“If you are going to be the minister here,” she said, turning to her
husband, who had remained standing motionless at the door, “then you
must hurry up and get ready.... First of all you must wash your hands.”
The next moment they had all gathered around the table.
“Here’s the book.... Just read it out as well as you can, and we’ll
do whatever the book says,” Sörine encouraged her husband. She seemed
to have taken charge of the ceremony, and spoke in low, reassuring
tones, as if she had done nothing else all her life but attend to such
duties; and it was her confidence that gave Hans Olsa the courage he
needed.... He went up to the table, took the book, and read the ritual
in a trembling voice, slowly, with many pauses. And so he christened
the child Peder Victorious, pronouncing the name clearly. Whereupon he
said the Lord’s Prayer so beautifully, that Kjersti exclaimed she had
never heard the like.
“There, now!” said Kjersti with great emphasis. “I don’t believe there
is a thing lacking to make this christening perfectly correct!... Now
the coffee is ready and we’re all going to have a cup.”
But Per Hansa was searching over in the corner; at last he produced a
bottle. First he treated Sörine; then Kjersti.... “If ever two people
have earned something good, you two are it!... Come on, now, have
another little drop!... And hurry up about it, please! Hans Olsa and I
feel pretty weak in the knees ourselves!”
... After a while both food and drink were served.... “It looks as
if we were going to have a _real_ Christmas, after all!” said Per Hansa
with a laugh, as they sat around the table enjoying their coffee.
END OF BOOK I
Book II
FOUNDING THE KINGDOM
I. On the Border of Utter Darkness
I
An endless plain. From Kansas—Illinois, it stretched, far into the
Canadian north, God alone knows how far; from the Mississippi River to
the western Rockies, miles without number.... Endless ... beginningless.
A grey waste ... an empty silence ... a boundless cold. Snow fell; snow
flew; a universe of nothing but dead whiteness. Blizzards from out of
the northwest raged, swooped down and stirred up a greyish-white fury,
impenetrable to human eyes. As soon as these monsters tired, storms
from the northeast were sure to come, bringing more snow.... “The Lord
have mercy! This is awful!” said the folk, for lack of anything else to
say.
Monsterlike the Plain lay there—sucked in her breath one week, and the
next week blew it out again. Man she scorned; his works she would not
brook.... She would know, when the time came, how to guard herself and
her own against him!
But there was something she did not know. Had it not been for the tiny
newcomer, who by mysterious paths had found his way into the settlement
on Christmas morning, the monster might have had her way; but the
newcomer made a breach in her plans—a vital breach!
Most marvellous it was, a sort of witchery. A thing so pitifully
small and birdlike.... There was no substance to him, really nothing.
Only a bit of tender flesh wrapped in pink silk.... But life dwelt in
every fibre of it. Yet hardly life—rather the promise of it. Only a
twitching and pulling; something that stretched itself out and curled
up again—so fine and delicate that one was afraid to touch it with
rude hands.
Beret lay in bed with the newcomer beside her.... She should have been
stiff and cold long ago; she should be lying in another place, a place
where those fellows who howled at night could find fresh joints to
lick and gnaw.... But here she was, still in bed. The button-sized,
red-tipped nose dug itself into her breast, pushed in to find a good
hold, and then lay still with satisfied little gruntings. The movement
hurt her, but it gladdened her heart, too; for all the world she would
not have had it otherwise. Life was returning; instead of that stiff,
cold horror, Beret’s body grew warmer and stronger with every day that
passed. And the grunts at her side became more and more insistent....
Ah, well, she would have to shift him over, then, so that there might
be peace for a moment!
... “Thank God, you have food enough for him!” said Per Hansa.... “I
never saw a youngster with such an appetite!” ...
When Beret had finally awakened on that Christmas day, she had acted
exactly like the old woman in the fairy tale. She lay still, peeping
out at her surroundings and asking herself. “Am I still here? Is this
me?” ... She could not believe it, and she would not believe it,
either.... Hadn’t she finished with this place some time ago?
But here she was, after all. Daylight shone broadly through the window
and lit up the room; wood crackled in the stove; the very walls Per
Hansa had whitewashed—so different they were from other walls—rose
before her. She saw spots that she recognized; she had had endless
trouble with the spots on these white walls, and the boys always so
careless.... Clothes hung beside the stove, and above it stretched
diapers on a line. The smell of wet clothes drying was familiar, but
she could not understand where the diapers had come from.... Neither
Per Hansa nor the children were in sight.... Where could they be? A
quick thought crossed her mind: surely Per Hansa would not have let
And-Ongen go out without bundling her up?... There was a woman
working about the stove, but Beret could not see her face. Perhaps it
was Kjersti. Wasn’t she wearing Kjersti’s plaid Sunday skirt?... No,
no, Beret could not understand it at all. Had Kjersti gone with her,
then, when she had departed—Kjersti, who was such a good woman?...
... Beret quickly grew tired from puzzling over this unsolvable riddle.
Through the haze of half-consciousness a word and a number caught her
eye ... “Anno 16—” ... He had not used the big chest for her, then! Ah
no! he probably had felt that he could not do without it. But it hurt
her deeply to know it; she had so much wanted to lie in the old chest
that she loved.
At last she sank into a doze, hovering gently on the borderline
between sleep and waking.... For an instant she dropped off into
unconsciousness; then she awoke with a start and felt that things were
growing clearer. Everything in the house seemed to be in order. But
she felt a vague, troubled curiosity to know where Per Hansa was, with
And-Ongen and the boys.... Probably they had all gone over to Hans
Olsa’s?... Slowly the fragments of thought were finding one another in
her mind, meeting and coming together, and taking on natural shape and
form. A sense of well-being swept over her, so strong and healthy that
it gradually calmed her senses and carried her off into a sound sleep.
She was awakened awhile later by dreaming that she had been borne
upward in the midst of something soft and warm ... in an infinitely
large room.... “This cannot go on any longer,” she thought. “If I rise
any farther I cannot possibly reach home by evening time. I must get
back immediately. Olamand’s pants are almost worn out at the knees; I
must mend them to-night or the boy will freeze to death.” ... Making a
sudden exertion, Beret was instantly wide awake....
And there stood And-Ongen leaning over the bed, stroking her mother’s
cheek with a cool hand and stretching up on tiptoe to get a better view
of the little wrinkled red face in Beret’s arms. Store-Hans was hanging
over the foot of the bed, looking at them, while his father was
coming in with an armful of wood.
“What have you done with Olamand?” she asked in a natural voice,
turning her head and looking about the room.
“He’s off with Henry and Sam, hunting wolf tracks,” Store-Hans hastened
to answer, happy because his mother was awake again.... “Won’t you let
us see Permand?”[15]
[15] _Per_, contracted from Peder;—_mand_, diminutive ending like the
German _kin_; hence, _Permand_ is equivalent to _Pederkin_. _Olamand_
is formed in the same manner.
“Please let us see Permand,” begged And-Ongen; she left off stroking
her mother’s face and beamed down at her.
As soon as Per Hansa had brushed the bark and splinters from his
clothes he came over to Beret, took her hand, and held it silently a
long time.... It was difficult for him to speak, but he managed to wish
her a happy Christmas and to thank her for her gift.... He would not
let her hand go, although her arm was growing tired.
No, he would not let it go.
... “Ah, Beret, Beret!... you know how to choose your time. Here
you are with a great big boy at the very peep of day on Christmas
morning!... Who ever heard of such a woman?” ... He spoke with a tense
quietness; his eyes were nothing but tiny slits in his face, from the
great strain he was under.... She knew that his heart was crying.
The knowledge brought tears to her own eyes. She lay on her back,
and the tears rolled down over both temples. But she did not notice
them. A sweet, heavenly peace like summer enveloped her.... Warmth and
stillness.... Sunlight.... An Arctic night.... Carol of birds.... A
great sea was throbbing and singing close at hand.... Ah, it was good,
after all, to be alive!...
Per Hansa suddenly found himself; his voice boomed out in strong tones:
“Away from the bed, there, you brats. Can’t you see how tired mother
is?”
Of that day Beret remembered little else except that she was weak
and tired, that a mildness like summer seemed to remain hovering about
her, that songs rose over a quiet sea, that a tender sun shone down,
that everything was as it should be, that all the world was good....
During the next few days she slept and slept, and never could sleep
enough. She slept so much that there was no time left for thinking.
Life in the bundle at her side grew stronger, demanded its dues, and
would not be denied.... It was such a joy to tend him.... Per Hansa was
always kind now; his eyes were mere short lines in his face as he went
about his work; the children were full of happiness; all the people
in the world were so kind to her that she could only lie there and be
ashamed of herself!...
II
Ah, that newcomer!... Had the Prairie been possessed of the commonest
hobgoblin sense, she would have guarded herself first of all against
him. But this wisdom she had not. Glorying in her great might,
depending on the witchcraft that had never failed her, she lay there
unconcerned. And powerful though she was, the newcomer minded her no
more than she did him. Weak and insignificant, he yet bore within him
the talisman to set her direst magic at naught. For he beguiled the
heavy-hearted folk into laughing, and what can avail against folk who
laugh—who dare to laugh in the face of a winter like this one?... That
winter it was _he_ who saved people from insanity and the grave.
Beret began to worry and fuss, thinking they ought to have all the
neighbours over on the thirteenth day after Christmas. Hadn’t the good
neighbours cared for them throughout the holidays, and long before
Christmas, too, as if they had been their own kin? But, weak as she
felt, she did not know how she could manage the preparations. She
mentioned this matter the first time she was up.
Per Hansa thought it a splendid idea.... Couldn’t he and the neighbour
women manage the work? He went over to talk to them about it. Kjersti
burst out laughing and offered to come for two weeks if they
wanted her. Sörine was delighted, too. Yes, indeed, they would come, if
Beret would only promise to sit still and let them do all the work.
“Oh, there was a way of insuring that,” said Per Hansa, with a roguish
laugh. He had held Beret on his lap before now, and he was man enough
to do it again.... “Be sure you come early, all of you!”
And so they came for dinner on the thirteenth day of Christmas, every
one, and gathered in Per Hansa’s cabin. Tönseten had brought one of
the bottles which Per Hansa had carried home for him a generation or
two ago.... The bottle appeared suddenly on the table, and none of the
others knew where it had come from. But they soon guessed the secret;
for Tönseten blinked secretively, hinting that his rheumatism was not
so bad this winter. Marvellous climate here in the West! Had they
noticed it? He felt so much better that perhaps _he_ would dare to take
a little drink, too.... Then there was food; there was coffee; there
were the pipes; and much friendly chatting went on in Per Hansa’s cabin
that day. Time flew; the folks sat on into the night. At dusk the men
went out to do the chores, each to his own place; they worked quickly
that night. About the huts lay a thick, woolly darkness, black and
heavy, with snow drifting softly out of the heart of it. In their hurry
to get back to Per Hansa’s, the men hardly noticed the weather.
All felt closely drawn together that night. Their chatting became
singularly intimate and hearty. When the men returned, there was
another bottle on the table, not more than half full. None of them had
brought it, and none could guess where it had come from.
“Isn’t it remarkable,” marvelled Tönseten, “that such things can spring
up out of the very ground? This is truly the Promised Land!... Ah, that
is Beret’s work, now.... I know the bottle!”
As they sat there chatting through the long evening, they talked of the
newcomer—and again of the newcomer—the first newcomer who had found
his way to the Spring Creek settlement. Everyone was aware of the many
extraordinary things connected with his arrival.... Cunningly he
had chosen his time—the high and holy Christmas morn!... Besides, he
had the caul on when he came.... And his father had ventured to give
him that bold second name ... _Victorious_—that was not at all a human
name!...
Tönseten thought that Per Hansa had been reckless and had gone too
far in giving the boy that second name. Per Hansa must remember that
he himself was only a human being.... Where had he been on Christmas
night, for instance. That was a thing Tönseten would like to know! He
wasn’t outside, and he wasn’t inside.... Tönseten had said a good many
things like this to Kjersti when he had first heard about the name.
But that was one time when Tönseten should have kept still!... Kjersti
had been very angry with him and let him know that it was both right
and proper for an unusual child to have an unusual name. So much
Tönseten could stand; but what came next was harder to swallow. Kjersti
had talked herself into a fit of crying—all about how lonely it was to
sit there month after month without ever having anything to give a name
to! He was wise enough about other people’s children, but she hadn’t
seen him do much toward getting one himself. What did he think he was
made for, anyway?... Well, perhaps not, Syvert had said; and he had
added, viciously: Did she suppose that _he_ could bear children?... Oh,
he could talk like a fool ... he could ... she had cried, stamping her
foot on the floor. He could do anything but what he ought to! He was
good for nothing in the world, the weak-kneed loafer!
But that episode was forgotten. Now they sat there rejoicing over the
newcomer. They all felt themselves to be shareholders in him, but they
couldn’t agree over the division.... The boy undoubtedly belonged to
Beret and Per Hansa—that was true enough and as it should be. But it
didn’t follow from this that they possessed the sole and only rights
in him. Had not Sörine and Kjersti stood by while the ship sank?
Now, hadn’t they? Hadn’t they been the sponsors? Did not godmothers
have a strong claim on their godchildren?... And hadn’t Hans
Olsa been called out into the cold, grey Christmas morning to take
upon himself the holy duties of priesthood? It was he, indeed, who
had poured the baptismal water and read the words that should sound
over every Christian mortal!... All this was beyond dispute, and no
one grumbled over Hans Olsa’s prior right to the child.... But, just
the same, protested Tönseten, it was hardly fair play, either to him
or to the Solum boys. Not one of them had had a moment’s peace on
Christmas night; they had just been kept wading back and forth in
the snow, for the sake of that confounded baby. For his own part, he
hadn’t tasted a mouthful of food all day, and hadn’t taken his trousers
off all night!... Tönseten refused to be set aside; in the midst of
the company, with all his friends around him, he was less afraid of
Kjersti. A sudden fancy struck him—he began teasing Sörine about the
name. It was in his honour, of course, that the boy had been given that
second name, and not in her honour at all! But Tönseten should have
been more careful in raising this issue. Sam immediately struck in,
insisting that Per Hansa must have taken the name from _him_—he had
_two_ names beginning with “S”!
... No, they could not agree over their claims. Nor did they fare any
better when it came to determining the newcomer’s destiny.
Henry, with an idea of eventually getting rid of his job, wanted the
boy to be a schoolmaster.... But no, the godmothers wouldn’t listen
to the proposal. Schoolmaster! As if that were good enough for such a
boy! Besides, they already had a schoolmaster. At this point Kjersti
lifted up her voice and announced that he should be a minister. Then
Sörine laughed and winked at her husband. Minister?... Oh, they already
had a minister, too—one of a sort; the boy had been baptized quite in
the proper Christian manner!... As far as she could see, the newcomer
would have to be a doctor. But this proposal started Per Hansa up with
a new objection. Hadn’t they doctors enough already, too?... There was
Kjersti, and there was Sörine, and here he sat _himself_. Why, they
had nothing but doctors!... Sam made them all laugh with his two
suggestions: either a hymn writer or a general.... It must have been
the latter alternative that gave Tönseten his big idea. He had been
sitting there craftily pondering how he might outdo the whole of them.
Now he arose, knocked the ashes from his pipe, cleared his throat
mightily, and said, as if the thing were foreordained and altogether
beyond dispute:
“The boy will, of course, be President! He is born in the
country—everything points in that direction.”
This ridiculous fancy threw them into gales of laughter. But Hans
Olsa did not join in the merriment; he remained grave and sat gazing
thoughtfully at the wall. Now he stretched, and said, as soon as he
could be heard:
“I think we’ll be more in need of a good governor out here, Syvert;
these prairies will be a state some day.”
And there the discussion ended. All felt that at last Hans Olsa had
proposed something that bore the stamp of good sense.
Neither Beret nor Per Hansa had taken part in this discussion. They
sat listening to it, full of secret elation.... Beret’s cheeks burned;
Per Hansa was on the point, once or twice, of putting in his oar, but
managed to stop himself in time.... This was the proper occasion for
him to hold his tongue.... What fun it was to hear them run on!...
III
No one knows what might have happened to them that winter if they had
not had their school to fall back on.... But there it was—a great
school, too, a refuge for them all.
At first it was held in the house of the Solum boys, and the plan
worked out very well. But then it occurred to Sörine that they ought to
find a more practical arrangement. Henry might just as well conduct his
school in her house; in which case both she and Hans Olsa could benefit
by the instruction. And Sam could come over, too. Both the Solum boys
were pleased with the new plan.
A little later, when Beret was quite well again, Per Hansa came
one day to inquire if it mightn’t be possible to move the school to
_his_ house every other week—for Beret’s sake. It would be interesting
for her to listen to the instruction; and, besides, both of them needed
to learn English. Why couldn’t Henry teach his school just as well over
there?... They all agreed that this was the thing to do.
But Tönseten, as usual, wasn’t quite satisfied with the arrangement; he
felt that they weren’t being entirely fair to him. So he proposed that
they should move the school to _his_ house every third week. There was
plenty of food for both Henry and Sam. True enough, he had no children;
but they should remember that he had fathered the school itself. Think
how lonely it was for him and Kjersti to be moping in the hut all by
themselves while the others every other week were enjoying company and
the glory of learning!... Why not be brotherly and share the best with
the worst?...
Again the new plan was agreed upon, and that became the final
arrangement for holding the school.
There was little to do, either outdoors or indoors, during these days.
Often the menfolk would sit in the school both morning and afternoon,
and the women made a practice of attending every afternoon. They came
with their handiwork, and the men with their pipes. At last the school
became indispensable to all of them. The men could not bear to lose a
minute of it; and as for the women, as soon as they had cleared away
the dinner things they would bundle old skirts over their heads and set
out in the snowstorm for the house where the school was being conducted.
Never, perhaps, was a school organized along stranger lines, or based
on looser pedagogical principles; but—ah, well! It was in reality a
flexible institution, with all sorts of functions. It served as primary
school and grammar school, as language school—in both Norwegian and
English—and religious school; in one sense it was a club; in another
it was a debating society, where everything between heaven and earth
became fit matter for argument; on other occasions it turned into a
singing school, a coffee party, or a social centre; and sometimes, in
serious moods, it took on the aspect of a devotional meeting,
a solemn confessional. In these ways the school bound subtly and
inseparably together the few souls who lived out there in the
wilderness.... It often happened that both recitation and instruction
were broken up for the children because the grown folk interrupted,
became absorbed in the discussion, and usurped the whole time.
In the beginning Henry was at his wits’ end to know how to fill in the
day. There were no books, and no school materials of any kind. In this
pass, he resorted to the means that lay nearest at hand—story-telling.
Hunting through his memory, he sought out all the tales that he had
heard or read; and these he related in either Norwegian or English,
making the children repeat them until they had been memorized. In this
way they learned both the story and the language—such as it was. Then
he proposed to set them the task of writing words and sentences. A fine
plan, if they only had something to write on and something to write
with.... Hans Olsa made a large wooden slate for his girl, and gave her
the last remaining stub of a carpenter’s pencil which he had brought
from Norway.... And now that Sofie had a slate, Per Hansa’s boys must
have something to write on, too. Their father took the two thickest
pieces of log that he had standing behind the stove, and whittled each
into an object intended to be a writing board; but Ole called his an ox
yoke, because it was so heavy to carry around. For pencils they used
nails and bits of charcoal.... But one day when Store-Hans went on an
errand to Kjersti’s house, she had a present for him—a great bunch of
folded paper bags and wrapping paper.... And in the chest she had found
a small piece of pencil that Syvert had hidden there.... She supposed
she would have no use for it herself, she said with a sigh, and she
knew of no one she would rather give it to than Store-Hans, for he was
a fine boy. She wept a little as she gave him these simple things.
Store-Hans was delighted with the gift, and on this account he was for
a while the aristocrat of the school.
Before the school became itinerant it had been discovered that
Sam could sing. The discovery had come about in the following manner:
One day Henry had completely exhausted his knowledge and ingenuity and
didn’t know what to do next; suddenly he turned to his brother, who sat
on the chest listening to the instruction, and ripped out:
“Let’s go east, man, and get out of here!... This is the devil’s own
foolishness!”
“Why don’t you try singing with them?” Sam answered, bouncing up from
the chest with the excitement of his idea.
“I’ll leave that job for you,” snapped Henry, snatching his cap and
running out of the room.
And there stood Sam, looking blankly at the children, whose eyes were
fixed on him with an equally blank stare. He couldn’t bear to be the
object of their ridicule; there was no one else in the room; no other
idea came to his rescue; and so he began to sing. He had a good voice,
and found himself falling naturally into the methods by which he had
been taught. It all came back to him, and because his singing was
really good, the scholars caught fire at it and the new idea worked
well.
Perhaps this incident saved the school at a critical time. But it did
vastly more. That winter they learned to sing many songs. The children
learned them, and the grown people learned them, too. There were hymns
and national anthems; there were folk songs and war songs; and there
were many, many love songs from their own Nordland, with not a few
Swedish love ballads as well.... By the time the school had become
itinerant, Sam had acquired two good assistants; for now it appeared
that both Sörine and Kjersti possessed in memory a goodly store of
ditties.... Everything of that nature was routed out from its hiding
place and put into active use.
Tönseten became at times a troublesome listener at these functions.
If, as he sat there following Henry’s instruction, he thought that
he detected heresy, or if he disliked the method of teaching, he
said so without mincing words. As to pedagogical methods, Tönseten
was very particular. In his opinion, Henry lacked the proper and
necessary cunning in formulating his questions; he put the matter
too simply. What was the use of asking questions that anybody could
understand?
Problems in arithmetic always had to be worked out mentally, on account
of the lack of writing materials. One day as they were doing sums,
Tönseten arose and informed them that now _he_ proposed to try their
skill for a minute or two!... “Just take a rest for a little while,
Henry!” he said. The whole neighbourhood was gathered that day in
Tönseten’s sod house.
He struck a dignified pose in front of the table.
“Listen carefully now, you numskulls; here is something to try your
heads on. Now then: five crows were sitting in a tree ... five, you
understand!... A man came by with a gun. He shot one of them. How many
were left in the tree?”
Tönseten gave them a severe look as he finished his question.
“Huh!” grunted Ole, who was the brightest student at sums, “you are
only fooling!”
“_That_ is no problem,” said Sofie. “There were four crows left, of
course.”
“Yes, if they were such dumb crows as you and Ola!... Now, Hans, how
many were left?”
“None,” answered Hans, thoughtfully.
“Right-o! There were none left.... But say, Hans, what do you think
became of the others?”
“Aw ...” drawled the boy in his deep voice, “I suppose they flew away.”
“Sure they did!... Why should they keep on sitting there?” ...
Tönseten was in a sparkling humour.
“Now we will just try another one. Listen hard now, Sofie; this one
is for you. The minister had three daughters, and the deacon also
had three; but when the deacon’s daughters were with the minister’s
daughters, there were no more than three. How can that be explained?”
The problem was simply senseless, laughed Sofie; when there were
six, there simply must be six, and no way out of it!...
“Don’t listen to him,” said Ole. “He’s only fooling!”
“Fooling!” thundered Tönseten. “It seems to me that you are doing the
fooling.... Well, Hansy, you will have to go at it again!”
None of the grown people had heard this riddle before. They laughed
heartily and thought it great fun. Kjersti’s knitting sank into her
lap.... No doubt about it, Syvert was clever at asking questions!
“Hans,” said Tönseten, sternly, “put your brains to work!”
“I—I suppose there was only one man with daughters?” submitted
Store-Hans, carefully.
“Did you ever see the like of the cleverness in that boy!... Yes; you
see, the fact of it was that the minister was a deacon in his own
church. Very likely there wasn’t anyone else who could serve as deacon!”
Tönseten gave Store-Hans a fatherly pat on the head.... “There’s much
good stuff inside that skull of yours. I think you’ll be a minister,
after all.”
And then Tönseten straightened up and turned to face Henry....
“_That’s_ the way to ask questions, Henry!” ... His face was red from
his efforts; he looked ridiculously fierce as he sat down.
IV
Drifting snow and cold ... a yellow sky ... grey weather ... blizzards
that lasted for days.... If it cleared off for an afternoon, the sun
dogs were on constant guard. Everyone knew what that meant!...
The winter’s supply of wood which the settlers had brought home was
disappearing very fast—it had vanished like snow in a warm spring thaw.
Now it was almost gone.
Hans Olsa had discovered a new kind of fuel that grew more and more
valuable to them as their wood supply ran low. One day as he was
clearing the manger of coarse hay which the cow refused to eat it
had struck him that this cast-off hay might possibly be put to
a practical use. Hans Olsa was a frugal man, who tried to utilize
everything that came to his hand. Why wouldn’t this hay make good
kindling.... In order to avoid littering up the floor of the house, he
twisted the hay into fagots before he carried it in. It made fairly
good fuel, burning fast, of course, but flaring up like birch bark
and giving off a fine heat.... At once he told his neighbours of the
discovery, and they began to burn their hay, too.... But it had to be
done sparingly; they mustn’t run the chance of a cattle famine, in case
the spring should turn out to be a long, hard one. Yet these coarse hay
fagots solved their fuel situation for a while.
Along in February, however, there was no way out of it—the fact
confronted them that the men would have to go east to the Sioux River
for a further supply of wood. The journey demanded great preparations
and left little time for going to school. But it was decided that in
spite of everything, Henry must keep on with his teaching. Since they
couldn’t leave the women alone under any circumstances, the school
served as a good excuse for keeping him at home. He would have to be
the guardian of the whole settlement while they were gone.
Both Tönseten and Hans Olsa thought it impossible for Per Hansa to make
such a journey with oxen at this time of the year; they advised him to
join forces with them. Then they could all work together, and divide
equally whatever they brought home. This sounded like good counsel,
and Per Hansa made no objection to it at the time. But for a day or
two he went about his work pondering deeply. Before Christmas he had
made a sleigh, such as it was. One night he asked the boys to help him
after school, and, taking the oxen out, he began to train them for
halter-driving. Heretofore he had used only the yoke, shouting “gee”
and “haw,” like everyone else in those days, who drove oxen.
He had bought his ox team in eastern Minnesota the previous winter,
from a Swede who was glad to get rid of them because he wanted to buy
horses instead. The Swede had bought the oxen from an Irishman in
southern Iowa, and no one knew how many other owners the team had had.
The Swede had called them “Tom” and “Buck,” but Per Hansa had disliked
the names. Bound on a great voyage of adventure as he was, his boats
had to be properly christened. So he had gone about thinking for a
while, and at length had named the oxen “Sören” and “Perkel.” To Sören
he had added the prefix “Old,” so that the full name of the animal was
Old Sören.[16] And sometimes, when he was in his very brightest mood,
he’d prefix the same adjective before the other name, too, because
that sounded more affectionate. This renaming was an easy process for
the oxen, perhaps because the new owner had a temperament so entirely
unfamiliar to the beasts; the hide on their loins showed with startling
clearness that petting had been an unknown factor in their earlier
history.
[16] Both names are colloquial expressions, peculiar to the dialect of
Nordland; they mean the same thing, _viz._, Old Nick.
The boys and the oxen had immediately become firm friends, Store-Hans
adopting one of them as his special charge, Ole the other. They
scratched the oxen’s heads, they rode them like horses, and soon the
animals would come trotting after whenever they caught sight of the
boys; and as they stood patiently with the children hanging around
their necks, giving them a good scratching, and saying “Old Sören”
to one and “Perkel” to the other, they must somehow have learned to
associate this treatment with their new names, and the words must have
sunk in. At any rate, the oxen always responded now when their names
were called.
When Per Hansa that cold winter day took them out of the stable to
teach them the new kind of driving, they were a pair of ragged and
ugly-looking beasts. They stood in the snow before the sleigh and
gazed dully over the white prairie, where the snow lay drifting. They
didn’t know what to make of their new harnesses. All went well for a
while, but presently they lurched right into a snowdrift, and stood
there motionless, sticking out their tongues and licking the snow....
This would never do!... Ole shot forward and began scratching
furiously; Store-Hans did the same on the other side; and when the oxen
had thought it over long enough, and the commands from Per Hansa had
taken on a brittle tone, they threw themselves forward into the harness
and yanked the sleigh out like a feather, regardless of how deeply it
had been lodged in the drift. They kept on training the oxen every day,
and got a good deal of fun out of it into the bargain.... At last it
had progressed so far that one evening, as they unhitched the team, Per
Hansa said to the boys:
“There, they are working out splendidly.... Now, if you two were worth
your salt, you would take this outfit and drive to the Pacific coast
for a load of fish for your mother and me!” The boys grinned and said
nothing.
But Per Hansa had determined to make the trip to the Sioux River with
the oxen. That evening he was very high-spirited and happy.... As they
were going to bed and Beret was sitting by the stove tending the baby
for the night, she said, “I suppose you must make this trip, then?”
“Well, yes, I should say I must, if you and the newcomer aren’t to
freeze stiff!” ...
Nothing more passed between them on the subject. Again Beret lay awake
far into the night, turning her thoughts over in her mind.
This thing was terrible!...
V
The men delayed their trip for several days, waiting for the right sort
of weather. The wind veered around uncertainly; the sleighing looked
treacherous; the cold was simply fearful—it bit into whatever it could
lay its hands on and would not let go.
At last came a morning which gave promise of a clear day. As the sun
rose higher and higher a soft breeze began to blow, like the first
breath of spring. It seemed to be the very weather they had been
waiting for.... The men gathered together in a little knot to talk it
over, wondering if it would be safe to chance it to-day.... Well,
yes, it looked all right now, speculated Tönseten, peering into the
sky and turning his quid in his cheek; but this sort of weather wasn’t
exactly dependable. Somehow, it didn’t seem natural for this time of
year.... “It has too sweet a face, I think!”
They had better make a start, counselled Hans Olsa. Already it was late
in February; the spring thaw would soon be setting in.
“Well,” said Per Hansa, “if we have any idea of bringing a few sticks
of wood home before the haying season begins, we’d better get a move
on.... All the same, I agree with you, Syvert.... It looks to me like a
weather-breeder. But we ought to be able to reach the Trönders’ before
anything happens.”
Then they began to get ready. There were numberless things to attend
to, so that it was past ten o’clock before they set out. They had not
burdened themselves with provisions, knowing that they would soon come
to hospitable folk; but to be on the safe side they all carried a small
supply of food in their pockets.
The four teams formed quite a caravan, each with its own sleigh,
trailing in single file across the white plain. Hans Olsa, who had the
fastest horses, drove in the van; then came Tönseten; then Sam; while
Per Hansa’s oxen, shambling along with him and his sleigh, drew up the
rear.
The whole settlement was out-of-doors to see the caravan set forth.
The children were dismissed from school for a little while; the grown
folks left their work.... Store-Hans clenched his fists in impotent
fury.... What foolishness.... What an idiotic arrangement! Here they
had to sit indoors, he and his brother, in such fine weather, chewing
over and over again the stories they knew by heart, while off went the
men, bound for all sorts of wonderful adventures!... Father would be
taking Old Maria along.... He might shoot a dozen wolves to-day!...
Perhaps there would be smooth ice on the river, and a hole in the ice,
and fish, and everything! And strangers to be met, and grown-up
talk going.... Oh, what nonsense, to have to stay here!... His brother
was in the same state of bitter revolt; that day the boys learned very
little in school.
Beret had laid the baby down and gone out with the others; but just
as the men were about to start she ran back into the house, her knees
trembling under her.... The window faced the east and they were going
eastward, but she could not bring herself to look out.... But what she
felt was not exactly fear—was not the same fear that had gripped her
the time before when he had left her alone.... This was a sense of
powerlessness....
The caravan crept away. Sleighs and animals grew smaller and smaller;
at last they were nothing but tiny black dots on the endless white
expanse of the plain....
All went well with Per Hansa and the oxen. Once the heavy animals had
started, they kept the track without any difficulty, and didn’t lag
very far behind, either. The snow was soft, and it soon proved heavy,
slow work to break the track. The three teams of horses had to take
turns at it. Though the weather still looked steady, the men pushed on
as fast as they could.
Some time after midday the breeze settled down into a mild south wind;
the snow was growing more and more soggy under the runners; the air
seemed as soft as a May day; in the whole arch of the sky not a cloud
nor the trace of a cloud could be seen; the sunshine almost blinded
them with its radiant brilliancy.
This lasted without change until after three o’clock.
So far everything had gone without a hitch and Per Hansa figured that
in two or three hours they would sight the hills over by the Sioux
River. But just then, chancing to glance back toward the western
horizon, he caught sight of a black, billowy outline above the prairie,
looming ominously against the sky.... Were his eyes deceiving him? He
rubbed them and looked again; rubbed them harder and gazed intently at
the sight.... Sure enough it was a veritable outline, the form of a
low-lying dark cloud.... His heart pounded against his breast; he
spoke quickly and roughly to the oxen....
The apparition was moving out there—came rushing forward and upward
with uncanny speed. The outline had now become a dark, opaque mass ...
it writhed and swelled with life ... it seemed to be belching up over
all the sky, like sooty smoke out of a furnace. Above his head the
heavens were still clear; but under the rim of the onrushing cloud a
bluish-black shadow had settled on the prairie.
The south wind suddenly died in fitful gasps, leaving a chill in the
air.... A weird silence had fallen.... The thing in the west was
possessed of baleful life. It shot outward and upward.... Sighs as if
out of a cold cavern ran before it.... In a twinkling, the day had been
swallowed in gloom....
Those in the lead had stopped at the first warning. Hans Olsa had
waited until Tönseten and Sam came up; when Per Hansa reached them, the
three sleighs were all huddled together.
“It’s going to strike us in a minute,” said Hans Olsa, soberly. He was
standing beside his sleigh, clearing the lashing-rope.
“Looks like it,” answered Per Hansa, dryly. “If we ever get out of
this—!” ... He jumped out and followed Hans Olsa’s lead, clearing his
own rope.
The Solum boy said nothing, but worked frantically to get his rope
untangled.
“This is what we must do,” said Hans Olsa: “We’ll pass a rope from
sleigh to sleigh, so that we won’t lose each other in the storm. Isn’t
that right, Per Hansa?”
“Yes, yes!” His sailor instincts were all alive. “It looks as if
the storm would travel the way we’re going. We’ll have to watch the
wind.... Whatever you do, keep a sharp lookout for the country we
know on this side of the river. If we should sail past the Trönders’,
there’ll be hell to pay.... Hurry up, now. Damn the luck, that we
haven’t got a compass!” The words tumbled out of Per Hansa’s mouth in a
raging flood.
Each man tied his lashing-rope to the sleigh, and gave the other
end to the next one behind. Per Hansa ran forward to the Solum boy:
“All ready, Sam? Are you sure your rope is fast? I don’t believe I’ll
be able to keep up with you.... But listen: don’t give a thought to
what lies _behind_ you! Do you hear? Hold on like hell to Syvert’s
rope! It’s a matter of life and death. Do you understand?... Now we
must get a move on!”
Both Per Hansa and Hans Olsa—old Lofot-men that they were—had seen
plenty of storms that made up fast; but nothing like this had ever
before come within the range of their experience. Like lightning a
giant troll had risen up in the west, ripped open his great sack of
woolly fleece, and emptied the whole contents of it above their heads.
A squall of snow so thick that they could not see an arm’s length ahead
of them, a sucking noise, a few angry blasts, howling in fury, then
dropping away to uncertain draughts of air that wandered idly here and
there, swirling the light snowfall around the sleighs. High overhead,
a sharp hissing sound mingled with growls like thunder—and then the
blizzard broke in all its terror....
VI
The storm howled and whined, driving the snow before it like giant
breakers. A grey-black spume enveloped them, a raging cloud....
Instinctively, Per Hansa found himself peering through the murk,
knitting his brows and squinting up his right eye—an old habit of his,
born of the many times he had looked to see if the mast would hold!
A violent jerk came on his rope, so strong that he almost plunged
forward. To save himself from being dragged off his sleigh he was
forced to let go his hold.... “There goes Sam!” he muttered, grinding
his teeth together.
The boat that he steered was behaving very badly; it wouldn’t answer
the helm; it didn’t ride the swell like a seaworthy craft; it had no
speed or power to lift itself over the rough waves. The oxen
shambled and floundered along, veering before the wind; with every
clumsy step they went more slowly; at last, with a great heave, they
stood stock-still. Drawing their heads as far as they could into their
short necks, they twitched their bodies a little, hunched their backs,
and lowered their heavy rumps into the snow, to meet the force of the
gale....
There they stood!
“God Almighty!” ... muttered Per Hansa into the storm. Quick as
lightning the thought flashed through his mind: Run your knife into one
of them, rip off his hide, wrap yourself in it, and let yourself snow
under—it’s your only salvation!
No, no, Per Hansa couldn’t do that. Old Sören and Perkel had brought
him and his family all the way across the plains; they had broken every
inch of his fields; if he were ever to have a lordly estate, it would
come about through the labor of these beasts.... And Old Sören had such
kind eyes, and Perkel always came so quickly when they called him.
Per Hansa threw himself out of the sleigh and fumbled his way along
the traces till he came to the oxen; he caught hold of their necks and
began rubbing their foreheads. While he rubbed, he talked into their
ears:
“Now, Old Sören ... now, damn you, Perkel. By God, you’ll have to be
good boys!” ...
With rough caresses he swept the snow off their backs, scratched their
rumps a moment, then crept back into the sleigh. Summoning all his
force, he shouted in a mighty voice, “Get along now, you devils!” The
whip lashed and cracked—the first time since he had bought them that
he had ever struck them in real earnest.... The oxen gave a tremendous
plunge ... another ... and off they careered into the heart of the
storm. Per Hansa felt as if he were sliding down one huge wave after
another; the boat was scudding now with terrific speed!... Still on
they went, tossing and plunging, down and down!...
“Will we ever climb the next wave?” thought Per Hansa.
... Why, what in Heaven’s name was this? Something had happened
very suddenly. He thought that he heard a loud crash, as if two logs
had smashed violently together; through the murk he glimpsed a black
object flying across the bows and disappearing astern.... Wasn’t that
another? And another?... Why!... He must be passing the other teams!
“Whoa! Whoa, there!” he bellowed down the wind. “Stop!... t-r-r-r-o!”
... He was so angry that he nearly broke the lines.... “Who ever saw
such devils! Stop! Whoa!” ...
But the oxen paid not the slightest attention to him. The spirit of the
storm had possessed them; they tore along like mad things; whenever
they struck a snowdrift, they plunged through it so furiously that the
snow thrown up by their feet and the sleigh was thicker than that which
fell from above. Per Hansa could do nothing but cling desperately to
the sleigh.... This mad race through the inferno of the storm lasted a
long time; how long he did not know, but it seemed to him as if it had
gone on forever....
But finally the oxen slackened their speed; the wild gallop sank
to a trot; the trot fell to a tired jog ... and then they stopped
altogether. He could distinctly hear their exhausted puffing through
the roar of the storm.
Per Hansa scrambled down from the sleigh again and managed to open one
of the hay sacks. He tore out a handful of hay, plowed his way forward,
and began to rub down the oxen with the dry wisp.... The storm was now
so terrific that it was impossible to turn one’s face against it. The
stinging snow drove like icy needles and broke the skin. He rubbed and
rubbed, first Old Sören, then Perkel; and when his strength was gone
and he could rub no longer, he struggled back to fetch the hay sack,
held it under their noses, and let them eat.... He stood there holding
it so long that he grew stiff with the cold and with the piercing
snow that stuck in his clothes like nails.... “Hurry now, hurry now,
troll-boys! God be praised, you can still wag your jaws!” he spoke in
their ears.
At last he got back to the sleigh, loosened the blanket, and
wrapped it close around him. He emptied the hay sack and bundled it
over his head.... Then he shouted a few vigorous words of encouragement
to the oxen: now they must get along—now, by God, they must show what
stuff they were made of!...
But the beasts had a different notion, an idea all their own: instead
of rushing off as before, they began to saunter slowly with the wind,
moving forward at exactly the same speed as when they were drawing the
plow on a hot summer day. Per Hansa tried every means he could think of
to start them up; he fumed and swore; he coaxed them and used all kinds
of pet names; he grabbed the whip and lashed them mercilessly, but
everything had the same effect, or no effect at all. The oxen sauntered
along, dragging him and his sleigh as unconcernedly through the storm
as if they were on their way down to the creek to drink.
It had now grown pitch dark; the night pressed close about him. Snow
was not falling as thickly as in the afternoon, but the cold had become
intense ... it cut into his back like a heavy, dull knife; the wind had
risen into a solid blast, so that he had hard work to keep his seat in
the sleigh.... He sat there, huddled and freezing, and stared out into
the blackness. So, this was his last journey!...
The thought only made him impatient.... God Almighty might have waited
awhile longer, until they had seen how their luck would go out here
and what sort of a boy Permand would turn out to be.... It was a queer
thing that He should want to be so cruel to Beret—a sick woman left
alone in this terrible place, so far out in the wilderness—and without
the oxen, too!... A strange fate, this, I’ll be damned if it isn’t!
thought Per Hansa.
... By and by he began to feel that he was really freezing. He tied
the lines about his thighs and took to beating his arms. It helped
his hands, but his back only grew colder; the wind cut through and
through....
... It seemed to him that by this time he must have gone by the
Trönders’—a long way by. The oxen wouldn’t stop until they had
reached the Atlantic Ocean!... He was so cold now that his teeth
chattered all the time and couldn’t stop.
... Then, after a while, the cold seemed to be letting up; the terrible
sucking emptiness inside him had gone away; he felt tired and drowsy
... a good feeling....
He pulled himself furiously together and deliberately chewed his tongue
to keep awake. He knew too well what this drowsy feeling meant!...
... It must not happen—it _should_ not happen! To think of Beret alone
there with four youngsters!... Making a desperate effort, he flung
himself out of the sleigh and staggered along beside the oxen, the
lines wound securely around his arm.
... Struggling through the storm, he felt more and more disgusted with
God Almighty. To take him away from Beret now would be a wicked thing,
whichever way you looked at it.... What could He expect to accomplish
by such a wrong?... There wasn’t a better, truer soul alive than
Beret.... Was this the way God cared for His own?
“Beret, Beret,” he kept sobbing to himself. “I’m going ...”
The storm raged around him; the cold bit deeper and stronger. He
staggered on in the midst of a vast darkness, beset by furious
monsters, fighting a battle that seemed to be without respite and
without end.... On and on he stumbled, on and on....
Strangely enough, he didn’t seem tired at all—the fight didn’t
exhaust him.... What sort of a place would he get to if he kept on
travelling like this a week or two?... A name occurred to him as if
it had risen out of the storm—he seemed to see it shining before
his eyes: _Rocky Mountains_ ... The Rocky Mountains? What a strange
fancy!... Floundering through the snowdrifts, this name seemed to be
broken in pieces as it ran through his mind: Rocky-ocky Moun-tains!...
Rocky-ocky, rocky-ocky ... Moun-tains, moun-tains!... Then he fell
down; pulling himself wearily out of the snowdrift, another thought
crossed his mind.... It was all a mistake—the Rocky Mountains
didn’t lie in this direction.... God! was he going stark mad?... He
probably wouldn’t be able to last much longer.... How sweet it would
be—what a blessed, infinite relief—to sit down here in this snowdrift
and rest a little while! Only a moment ... it wouldn’t take long ...
sleep would so soon overcome him.
Suddenly he was aroused by a new thought, that shook him wide awake
and stirred his numbed senses: _Sam_! What had happened to Sam? They
couldn’t leave him in the lurch.... Sam was a promising boy. He’d
probably make a splendid citizen some day, with his fine voice and all
his other good qualities.... God above, was he, Per Hansa, going to be
blamed for this, too, that Sam would lose his life to-night?... If he
had kept his mouth shut that evening and let them go on their way, both
Sam and Henry might now have been safe and sound in eastern Minnesota
with their own folks!... But perhaps those who had horses would be able
to pull through, since the storm wasn’t growing any worse. If only they
didn’t desert the boy!
Per Hansa was stumbling and falling a good deal now; each time he fell
it was harder to get up. The lines were jammed tightly around his arm;
the oxen plowed onward without a pause; he had to get up or be dragged
through the snow. Neither could he loosen the lines, for his mittens
were frozen stiff.... Rocky-ocky Moun-tains, Rocky-ocky Moun-tains!...
Directly behind those mountains lay the Pacific Ocean.... They had no
winter on that coast ... no winter, and they fished both halibut and
salmon! God! no winter!... If he could only gain his way across ...
across the ... Rocky-ocky Moun-tains!...
... The devil take it!... but this was all wrong!
Steadily onward the oxen plowed, dragging Per Hansa by the arm. Stumble
and fall as he would, he had to get up again and struggle along....
... What had happened now? The oxen had stopped—were standing still.
Per Hansa wasn’t being dragged forward any longer.
His first impulse was to sink down where he stood, to snatch a
moment’s peace, to give up to the weariness that was overmastering him.
But deep down within him a voice commanded him to keep on standing....
He followed the lines, fumbled his way forward to Perkel, flung his arm
across the animal’s back, and leaned against his thigh....
What nonsense was this?... Day breaking again?... Between the heads of
the two oxen a yellow eye seemed to be gleaming through the curtain of
the driving snow ... a great yellow eye....
“It must be my death signal!” thought Per Hansa. “Then I’m already
across the boundary line!” ...
Suddenly Old Sören gave a long-drawn bellow. The sound had scarcely
died away when Perkel lifted his voice as if to second his comrade’s
motion. He put such a powerful effort into that bellow that his muscles
strained and his whole body contracted. The noise shook Per Hansa out
of his grim revery. He felt his way along Perkel’s back until he had
readied the animal’s head ... it was rammed full-tilt against a log
wall!...
Here was the corner ... the corner of a house....
Per Hansa trembled so violently that he could hardly keep his feet. He
saw now that the eye shining through the drifting snow was in reality
the light from a small window in this log wall.... Good Heavens! Had
he plowed and plunged clear through to Fillmore County?... He found
his way around the house corner, came to a door, flung it open without
ceremony, and stumbled in.
VII
Per Hansa saw nothing as he stumbled into the cabin. The heat of
the room seemed to flow over him in a great wave, deadening all his
senses. The light blinded him; he could not open his eyes beyond a
narrow slit; his face was crusted with snow and ice; his eyelashes were
frozen together.... But he was conscious, with a deep sense of joy and
relief, that this was a safe place and that there were folk around
him again—Norwegian folk, his own people... When he had first felt
the build of the cornice, out there in the snowstorm, he had sensed
instinctively that here lived Norwegians.... Out of the jaws of death
he had walked in a single step into warmth and life and safety.... But
it was easier to warm his body than to thaw out his soul. The reaction
was too swift and too tremendous; he felt himself growing faint and
dizzy and was barely able to stand.
“Give me something to sit down on, good folk,” he heard a faint voice
saying far away. For a moment, he thought that his senses were going
to leave him.... He must hurry and say what he had to say!... “You’ll
find ... two oxen ... two good oxen outside.... Get them under cover at
once!... I’m all right—but the oxen—!”
Some one shoved forward a chair. He felt vaguely that it must be meant
for him, took hold of the back, and let himself sink down.... His
frozen clothes crackled like sheets of ice, shedding a little flurry of
snow.
... “There, I’m tracking up your floor!... but look after the oxen—the
oxen——”
A hubbub of confused, excited voices rose around him. He felt that
there must be a crowd of people in the room, but their faces were all a
blank to him. A thick haze seemed to surround them, swimming before his
eyes.
Then a person got up right by his side—a palpable figure confronted
him. Per Hansa gave a start—the voice sounded strangely familiar.
“For the Lord’s sake! Is this you, Per Hansa?” it said. All at once Per
Hansa burst into a laugh.
“Where the devil did you drop from, Syvert?... Is Sam with you?”
“Can’t you see the boy?... He’s sitting in the chair right in front of
you.... Thank God, Per Hansa, you’re still alive!”
No wonder that they had failed to recognize him, no wonder that he
couldn’t see, or that his voice sounded weak and strange, for his
whole face was covered with a mask of hard-caked snow which had
not melted yet in the heat of the room. It was firmly fastened to his
eyebrows and beard; it joined his cap to his coat collar and hung down
behind over his back in a white sheet. If ever there was a snow king in
human form, it was Per Hansa that night as he sat thawing out in Simon
Baarstad’s cabin.
Little by little his five senses came back to him; and sure enough,
there they all were, his good neighbours. He knew the room well, too,
and the folk who owned it.... He could see Sam plainly enough now—Sam,
who could sing so well, sitting close to the stove, beside a fair young
girl.... He couldn’t make out whether he was closer to the girl or to
the stove. Per Hansa smiled to himself.... Ah, Sam, Sam!... No doubt
about your being a good man some day!...
He listened in deep contentment while Hans Olsa related how they had
driven like demons, to save their lives. They had had no idea where
they were going nor what lay ahead of them; but at the last moment,
when they had almost given up hope, they had gotten their bearings of
the country on this side of the river and had arrived at this very
spot. That had been two hours ago; it was now past nine o’clock....
Per Hansa heard them as if in a dream. The terrible trip didn’t concern
him any longer. It was all over now.... Something else that was going
on in the room interested him a great deal more: beside the stove stood
Gurina Baarstad, handling a stewpan. She had filled it over half full
of milk; when the milk began to simmer she added a goodly portion of
strong, home-brewed beer.
“My dear, blessed Gurina, don’t be stingy, now!” Per Hansa teased her.
The hot mixture was strong, brown, and frothy. They gave him a large
bowlful; he drank and drank....
“God, if a fellow had thirteen barrels of this stuff of yours,
Gurina!... You don’t happen to have another little drop in the pan?”
... She gave him a second bowlful, which he emptied as greedily as the
first.... All at once, something occurred to him. He turned to ask a
question.
... Had any of them seen him drive past them in the storm?
Drive past them!... “You’re talking wild, Per Hansa,” said Tönseten,
with an anxious look. Per Hansa was off his base to-night!
—Certainly not—nothing wild about that! They had better take a look at
Sam’s sleigh to-morrow, if they didn’t believe him. He had almost run
Sam down as he shot by!... “Say, didn’t you see me, Sam?”
Well, Sam remembered that he did see something go by—something black,
that flew past like a wraith of the storm. It had been just after
the squall broke. He had felt a terrific jolt go over the sleigh and
thought he had struck a stone.... “Was that you, Per Hansa?”
“Ha-ha! You’re damned right! That was my flying oxen passing your
good-for-nothing old plugs.”
—But where, in Heaven’s name, had he been in the meanwhile?—asked
everyone at once.
—Yes, they had better wonder about that!... Per Hansa was gay once
more; he tipped up the bowl rakishly and tried to squeeze another drop
out of it.
“If you want to know, I took a little run up to Flandreau to see if
I couldn’t find a good-looking bride for Henry. I thought that was
the least I could do for him, poor fellow His brother can handle such
matters for himself, it seems.... Tell me, Sam, are you still as _cold_
as all that?”
Sam blushed crimson and hitched his chair away from the girl.
Later a large bowl of porridge was set out on the table for Per Hansa,
a mug of hot milk beside it. He ate and ate; it seemed as if he never
could get enough.... Afterward there was much cozy talk, everyone in
the house joining in; they discussed all that had happened so far, and
all that was going to happen.... Oh, this country had a great future!
People who were willing to work could win almost anything out of it! No
doubt about that at all!
At last it came time for them to retire. The members of the family
lay down in their beds; the strangers slept on the floor, which had
been piled deep with hay and covered with many thicknesses of clothes;
all four men lay there side by side, and three of them soon slept the
quiet sleep of the righteous....
But Per Hansa could not sleep; his mind was numb with weariness, yet he
could not sleep. Every nerve of his body was twitching; little spasms
passed over him, like ripples on the surface of a smooth, glassy sea.
It was very hot in the cabin; the blanket grew so heavy that he had to
throw it off. Something remained still frozen, deep down in the centre
of his being.
A certain picture stood stubbornly before his mind: a sod house beset
by the western storm, a hut with the wind howling around the corners;
he could even hear the peculiar note that the wind always made as it
sucked around one of these corners. The hut lay far, far out in the
heart of the darkness. A woman was moving about there whose sad face
was still full of beauty; she carried a child in her arms. Per Hansa’s
weary, wide-open eyes could see exactly how she held the child.... It
lay wrapped in a blanket—a red blanket with black borders.... He turned
over heavily many times, trying to blot out the vision; but the woman
continued to pace up and down. He felt that he must speak to her, let
her know that all was well—tell her to go to bed now, so that a fellow
might have a little peace....
... “God Almighty!” sighed Per Hansa. “How Beret must be worrying about
me to-night!... She ought not to be so foolish. I’ve told her many
times that there are no finer people in the world than these Trönders.”
... But his body kept on jerking; his mind would not let the picture
go.... It must be cold in her hut to-night.... If the boys had only
managed to bring enough wood into the house before the storm broke!...
Surely they must have some heat, or she would not be walking the floor;
it would be terrible for her in the cold.... He threshed and turned,
but the picture followed him....
VIII
Along the Sioux River, both above and below Simon Baarstad’s place,
there was already a considerable settlement, made up almost entirely
of Trönders. For those days it was a well-organized community. Some of
the folk who lived there thought of themselves as old settlers already;
the first had come in ’66. Most of them had a good start now, were
living in fair-sized frame houses, possessed a good deal of land under
cultivation, and were making a comfortable living.
And what adventures they were able to relate about the first few years!
How they had had to cross the region that is now the southern part of
South Dakota and go still farther westward into Nebraska, to have their
wheat ground at the mill; how the Indians had come by in large bands,
both winter and summer; and all about many other remarkable things....
_Now_ there weren’t any hardships or difficulties to be met with, said
the Trönders; now there were people everywhere, the country was fairly
settled, and town after town had sprung up out of the prairie.
Per Hansa liked to listen to these stories. There was about them a
certain flavor of genuineness and reliability, as of human experience,
and at the same time something that stirred his heart and made his
cheeks burn.... Surely the things that a Trönder could do were not
impossible for a Helgelænding! In olden times it had never been so, and
it would not prove to be so to-day, either.... “Just wait awhile!” ...
The next day was clear and still, but bitterly cold. Per Hansa, who on
his first trip the previous summer had bought an acre of woodland from
Baarstad on time payment, remained on his own lot, felling trees and
loading his sleigh; the others went around to different places, buying
what wood they could find.... The four men stayed in the settlement two
whole days, and did not leave for home until the morning of the third
day. By hurrying, they might have set out a day earlier, but to hurry
seemed almost impossible.
No, it was hard for them to hurry. In many months they had seen
few strange faces; this visit was too much fun to cut short. And the
Trönders, who were a hospitable folk and had a long story to tell,
would not hear of their leaving sooner.... The four were easily
tempted. These were festal days; the strain of life had relaxed for a
moment; and there were a thousand things to consult the Trönders about.
Before they left they had ordered all the wheat and oats they would
need for the spring seeding. Tönseten had even bought half a sack of
barley, a fact which he carefully concealed from his comrades.... It
would be soon enough to tell them when the time came, he thought. The
Trönders knew how to make good beer from barley, and he had received
careful instruction from Tommaas.... Just wait till fall came around!
Per Hansa, when he had finished making up his load of wood, wanted
to try his luck on the river. He coaxed Baarstad until the latter
consented to go with him. The two men went at it with a will, chopping
their way through the thick ice, while the sweat rolled from their
foreheads.
And then Trönder and Helgelænding fished together through the same
hole, in the greatest comradeship and with the keenest enjoyment.[17]
... At night there was fresh fish on the table, and the two old
fishermen sat eating and rejoicing while they told tales of both East
and West Lofoten and forgot everything around them as they went back
into the past. Per Hansa thought that Baarstad was the finest fellow he
had met for many a long day, and Baarstad felt the same way about Per
Hansa. For the twentieth time now he had asked him not to wait too long
before he visited them again.
[17] During the winter seasons at Lofoten, the two clans, the Trönders
and the Helgelændings, had from time immemorial fought many a bitter
fight.
As they sat there chatting, a boy came in to speak with the girl of the
family. He seemed to be in hot haste, that boy—almost as if it were a
matter of life and death.
—What was going on? asked Baarstad.
—Oh, Tommaas had company at his house, and they were going to have
a little fun to-night. The girl bustled about, got herself ready, and
went away with him.
Then it occurred to Baarstad that they might as well go, too. He told
his wife to hurry up and get ready.... “We’ll show these Helgelændings
how Trönders can dance!”
Awhile later the three arrived at the Tommaas house. As they opened
the door, sounds of a scraping fiddle, mingled with the loud tramping
of feet, poured out into the frosty night. The house was packed full
of people, both young and old.... A small lamp with a homemade shade,
sitting on a log well up on the wall, tried to keep an eye on all the
couples below; but the task was too heavy for such a weak glim. It had
to be content with blinking down on the nearest pair.... The three
newcomers found themselves quickly shoved into a corner, out of the
wake of the dancers.
Per Hansa grew restless as he watched, though his restlessness was
far different from that which had kept him awake the other night....
Remarkable how that fiddle sang! He had to admit that the man who
played knew his business, even if he was a Trönder!...
“Well, I’ll be——!” The exclamation had jumped out of Per Hansa before
he could stop it. Here came the Solum boy, swinging past him with the
Baarstad girl!... “Oh yes, he’ll be a man, that Sam, if he keeps this
up!” ... Another couple came rocking past—he ought to know that fellow,
if he would only stop whirling around. By God! it was Tönseten, tossing
along with an apple-round Trönder woman!...
“Careful now, Syvert, old man! There are rocks and breakers ahead of
you! What do you think Kjersti would——”
“Shut your mouth, Per Hansa! What are you standing there moping about?”
Tönseten’s face was fiery red; the dance whirled him away before he had
time to say anything more.
Per Hansa began to breathe hard and fast; his eyes snapped with
excitement, narrowing to little slits. Right in the midst of a flock of
dancers a big head bobbed up and down, up and down, above all the
others, like a buoy on a high sea.... Then Per Hansa completely forgot
himself. “By all the frolicking seraphims, there’s Hans Olsa dancing
the schottische!” ... Waves of spasmodic twitching passed over him, in
time to the jigging tune; his eyes blinked rapidly.... He looked around
for the Baarstads, saw them close at hand, and grasped Gurina’s arm.
“Come, show me how the Trönders dance that tune!”
Forgotten was everything else now. With his arm around Gurina, he
manœuvred toward the centre of the floor until he had reached his
neighbour’s side.... “Get out of the way, Hans Olsa! I want plenty of
room to swing in!” ...
At exactly eleven o’clock the party was over; Tommaas himself commanded
them to stop.... No one knew how it came about, but, strangely enough,
it was Sam who brought the Baarstad girl home....
The next morning, long before daylight, the four men had left the
settlement and were on their way back to Spring Creek.
IX
Sunday afternoon ... a dim, lurid day ... a pale sun flickering through
the drifting snow ... an everlasting wind ... the whole prairie a
foaming, storm-beaten sea.... Nothing else, to the very ends of the
world.... The sun dogs were still on guard, one ahead of the sun, the
other following....
The whole settlement was gathered in Tönseten’s hut that afternoon;
a gloomy restlessness had taken hold of them, so that they could not
stay at home. Per Hansa had bundled the newcomer up and taken him over;
that completed the roll call.... Kjersti was serving potato coffee,
with potato cakes; but for the coffee to-day she had fresh cow’s milk,
which made it not so bad, and her store of loaf sugar wasn’t entirely
gone.... Inside the hut the lurid daylight cast a pale, sickly gleam.
From out the stove, with its crackling fire, bright streamers of warmer
light played about the room.
A heavy mood lay on the folk—too heavy for potato coffee to
dispel.... It was such a terrible, hopeless day out-of-doors ... and
all the days were alike....
Under the strain of this winter the courage of the men was slowly
ebbing away.... As they sat cooped up in Tönseten’s house, they were
discussing the question of how this place would look in two years, or
maybe in four years—or even after six years had passed. See how many
had come last year—this roomful, where the year before there wasn’t a
living soul! Wouldn’t it be reasonable to expect that an equal number
of new settlers would turn up another year? They began to figure it
out on this basis: next year _so_ many, in four years _such_ a number;
until at last the country would be filled up and the folk would
stretch, neighbour to neighbour, clear out to the Rocky Mountains! They
foresaw the whole process and calculated correctly—but no one in that
company believed in the calculation! They heard themselves speak, and
listened to one another, but all realized that there was no fire in
their words....
“I don’t believe Per Hansa is ready himself to swallow that story,”
thought Hans Olsa, but he raised no objection.... “God save them from
making mistakes in their figuring!” ran through Kjersti’s mind, as she
listened in awe to Per Hansa and Syvert rolling up the total; but she
was careful to throw no cold water on the dream.
... On a day like this it was impossible to believe in such fine
fancies; they all felt it, deep down in their hearts.
But here came Tönseten with a question that made them forget everything
else for a while. The conversation had died of its own inertia; no
one could find a thought that seemed worth expressing. Then Tönseten
straightened up where he sat on the chest, demanding to know what names
Hans Olsa and Per Hansa intended to adopt when they took out the title
deeds to their land.
“Names?”
“Yes, names!... That point would have to be settled clearly
beforehand,” Tönseten explained. “When the deeds were taken out,
their names would then be written into the law of the land, and
thereafter would be as unchangeable as the Constitution itself!”
... But they all had been baptized! How about Tönseten himself? asked
Per Hansa, irritably. He couldn’t understand why the name Peder Hansen
would not be good enough even for the United States Constitution....
This snobbish fastidiousness of Syvert’s didn’t fit the case.
Tönseten bridled at once and said that sarcasm was uncalled for. He was
only, in the capacity of an old American citizen, giving good advice on
matters which he understood perfectly.... “That’s all!” ... And when
Tönseten threw the phrase, “That’s all!” into his conversation, they
knew that he was offended.... Besides, he went on stiffly, it seemed
as if anyone ought to be able to understand this much: Hans Olsen and
Peder Hansen—why, either a Greek or a Hebrew might bear those names! It
would never occur to anyone who heard them that they were carried by
Norwegian people![18] ...
[18] The practice of changing surnames has gone on extensively with
the Norwegian-American. Among the common folk in Norway it is quite
customary even yet for the son to take his surname from his father’s
first name; the son of Hans must be Hansen or Hanson. Likewise the
girl; if she is the daughter of Hans, her surname becomes _Hansdatter_
(Hans’ daughter), which she retains even after marriage. When the
Norwegians became independent landowners in America their slumbering
sense of the historical fitness of things awoke, and so many of them
adopted the name of the place they had come from in the old country.
Hence the many American names now ending in —dahl, —fjeld, —gaard,
—stad, etc. As the Swedes, and the Danes, too, had so many Hansens and
Olsens and Johnsons, the change was really a very practical one.
Hans Olsa laughed good-naturedly, and said with quiet humour: “Then
perhaps I had better call myself Olav Trygvason.... Wasn’t there some
one of that name?”
This made everyone laugh: Hans Olsa’s shaft had suddenly torn a rift in
their mood of depression.
“Well, well,” chuckled Per Hansa, “if you want to be Olav Trygvason,
I’ll be Peter Tordenskjold! But then we’ll have to rechristen Syvert,
too ... St. Olaf or Tore Hund.[19] How would that do, Hans
Olsa?... If that wouldn’t proclaim to both Jew and Gentile that we are
good Norwegians, then I’m certainly up a stump!” ...
[19] Olav Trygvason, King of Norway (995–1000); St. Olaf, Norway’s
martyr king (1016–1030); Peter Tordenskjold, the great naval hero
(1690–1720); Tore Hund, St. Olaf’s slayer. These names are household
words with every emigrant Norwegian.
They were all laughing so hard now that Tönseten had to join them in
spite of himself.... Then Kjersti and Sörine took up the question; the
Solum boys chimed in and expressed their opinions; while the children
were busy discussing it among themselves. But Beret sat quietly rocking
the baby on her lap, and said nothing.
An earnest liveliness crept into the conversation. Opinions flew thick
and fast. At last Sörine spoke up resolutely, as if she had made up her
mind, saying that if she had her choice she would rather be called Mrs.
Vaag, from their place name in Norway, than Mrs. Olsen.
This sounded so sensible and practical that all the others had to try
the idea at once, with their own place names.
“But, look here, Sörrina,” objected Per Hansa, “that wouldn’t do for my
wife! Your notion would make her Mrs. Skarvholmen[20]—and that nobody
shall call her! I warn you!”
[20] _Skarv_ in this compound means cormorant—a rather nasty-looking
sea bird; the word is often used in an adjectival sense about a
deadbeat or person of low moral qualities. _Holmen_ means the holm.
Hence _Skarvholmen_—the holm of the cormorant.
“No, that certainly wouldn’t do for a Christian woman!” cried Kjersti
with a hearty laugh.
“No, I suppose not,” admitted Sörine, unwilling to give up. “But how
about Mrs. Holm? That seems to me both pretty and practical.... I say,
Beret, shall we all turn Baptists for a while?” ... Sörine was laughing
in her jolly way, immensely taken up with the idea.
Beret sat rocking the child. She had listened absently all the while,
humming a quiet melody to herself. When Sörine addressed her directly
she stopped singing and answered that it made little difference to her,
if—she choked, and went on—if it was right for a person to take a
name other than the one given in baptism.... But it made no difference
to her.
Sörine grew serious over this point.
“I agree with you, Beret.... But here in this country we can’t bear our
fathers’ names, anyway. It wouldn’t do for me to sign my name as Sörine
Sakkarias’-Daughter!”
“No,” cried Tönseten, excitedly, “not if you want to be Hans Olsa’s
wife!” ... Remarkable what a bright head sat on Sörrina’s shoulders!
This matter of names brought on a long discussion. Hans Olsa, like the
others, decided that his wife had made a practical suggestion; Per
Hansa found little to say, but his face had a look of quiet elation....
He must speak to Beret about this, alone and right away!... He sat
there trying the name over in his mind, first on her, then on himself,
finally on each of the children. As he ran them over, the radiant light
in his face grew stronger.... Mrs. Holm, that sounded well; Peder Holm,
that had a fine ring!... Ole Haldor Holm!... Hans Kristian Holm!...
Peder Holm—no, Peder _Victorious_ Holm!... _Peder Victorious Holm_!...
He rolled the name on his tongue, biting it off in three distinct
parts, as if to enjoy the sound; then he got up suddenly, grasped the
waistband of his trousers, and gave them a hitch.
... “Sörrina has got it right—that name is both pretty and practical.
What do you say, boys—shall we adopt the plan?”
Per Hansa was plainly in a towering humour now; the note of it rang
in his voice. There was no opposing him.... After that day, each of
the two families in question had a pair of surnames. Among themselves
they always used the old names, but among strangers they were Vaag and
Holm—though Hans Olsa invariably wrote it with a “W” instead of a “V.”
* * * * *
That night Beret sat quietly by herself. The chores were long since
done and they had eaten their supper. The children were in bed. They
had been very noisy to-night, in their excitement over the new
name that Sörine had invented for them. But now they were all asleep.
Per Hansa was getting ready to go to bed; he moved about abstractedly
and took a long time over everything he did. He, too, was full of
excitement, thinking about the name....
Peder Victorious Holm—the words sang through his mind; he seemed to
expand as he heard them. The song carried him forward into the great,
imaginative future where he loved to dwell.... “Beret, please come
to bed!” he begged, in a low, kindly voice. He caressed his wife
affectionately, then went to the bed and lay down.
She returned the caress half-heartedly, as if reserving the better part
of it. “Oh yes, I’ll come pretty soon,” she said, and remained sitting
where she was.
She sat there a long time, holding the child in her lap and rocking
it gently. Now and then she would open the stove door and stick in a
piece of wood. Each time she left the door open a crack, so that she
could stare in at the fire. Why did she have to go to bed? The night
was long enough, anyway.... Well, now they had discarded the names
of their fathers, soon they would be discarding other sacred things.
The awful spirit that ruled the plains demanded all!... She had said
nothing to-day. Why should she interfere, to spoil their pleasure?...
Everything that she said, everything that she did, seemed to be
wrong.... But, oh, it was a wicked thing that they were doing now! Not
that it was any worse than giving the child that terrible second name
to start with; for that had been almost sacrilege!... But perhaps she
was mistaken, after all. Perhaps it hadn’t been wrong. Perhaps she was
going crazy. The old fear had come back to her to-day—that was why she
had kept still.... Ah, well, God Almighty had spared her again; He must
have some reason for it.... Now she could repent of her sins before He
took her ... He had been merciful enough to give her time for that....
But sitting here in this mood, she found it impossible to repent. She
was only afraid—afraid ... a timid child in a dark room.
The fire had burned out, but she hadn’t noticed it until a draught
of frosty air began to circulate through the room. All at once she
shivered.... The memory of that stormy night some time ago came back
to her vividly. The children had been over at Sörine’s; they had not
come home and she had been unable to go and fetch them. All that night
she had walked the floor—walked and walked, until she could walk no
longer.... And the following two nights had been no better.... Again
she was overwhelmed by the terror that had visited her at that time....
She got up hastily and ran to the bed....
But there was no sleep waiting for her....
No, Beret could not sleep. She lay tense and quiet, thinking of people
she had read about, who had been driven out into the desert that they
might better please God. After a while she wept silently. If He would
only remove the terror that hung like a dark cloud over all this land,
she would try faithfully to serve Him even here. But under the shadow
of that terror she could not live much longer....
X
The days were growing longer with every one that passed, March came,
and the winter seemed to be letting up a little. Per Hansa worked with
a desperate energy. If the day was too short for what he was doing,
he simply added a part of the night to it. And in the month of March
he achieved something that is still told about in the legends of that
settlement.
Every time he had visited the Trönders at Sioux River, he had heard
fascinating tales about the Indians at Flandreau, where they had a
large colony. Their whole winter occupation was trapping, from fall
frost to spring thaw, and when spring came they would have large stocks
of furs, especially muskrat, though they also trapped mink, fox, and an
occasional wolf. They sold the skins wherever they could find a market,
and took whatever they could get; but their best prices were no more
than a fourth of what the same skins would bring in eastern Minnesota.
The price of a muskrat skin was ten cents in this district—never
more than ten cents; while in Austin, Minnesota, it would sell for
as high as fifty cents.... A few people along the river had taken to
buying furs from the Indians, and shipping them into Minnesota.
All these facts Per Hansa had heard more than once, and he brooded
over them a good deal. Throughout the winter they had been constantly
on his mind, but he had said nothing about it to anyone. Now March had
come, there must be a great supply of furs stored up at Flandreau, and
prices would be running high in Minnesota.... The railroad ran east
from Worthington.... Every day he went about thinking of it; at night
he slept with the idea; and all the while he grew more silent and
irritable.
There were many things to consider—it wasn’t an easy matter!... The
plan that was slowly forming in his mind was to go alone and trade with
the Indians, making what profit he could. God knows, he needed it!...
And what was to hinder? Flandreau lay only forty miles away; from
there to Worthington was perhaps another ninety miles; and there at
Worthington stood the train, waiting for him!... The days were growing
longer; there was nothing to do at home for a while; and the weather
wouldn’t be too bad for a journey.... Here were the furs; in Minnesota
lay the profits. Any courageous devil could pull it off.... Peder
Victorious—the name sang in his ears. Peder _Victorious_!
... But he had only five dollars in his pocket!... By taking Hans
Olsa into the project there would be plenty of capital; that fellow
wasn’t down to hardpan yet.... Still, he couldn’t be certain that Hans
Olsa would look with favour on such a wild-goose chase. On the other
hand, how could he take Hans Olsa and leave out Tönseten?... It would
be a mean trick to shove him out in the cold.... And if the three
of them were to join forces, one of the Solum boys would have to be
in it, too—Henry, most likely, for he was much more mature than his
brother.... But that would close the school.... And if everyone went,
there would be a terrific protest; the women were all more or less
timid and naturally didn’t want to be left alone....
No, he couldn’t seem to hit on the right solution.... But it was a
thundering pity for that money to lie right at his door—and he in need
of another quarter-section of land, with numberless things besides!...
The first week of March went by.
One morning Per Hansa got up a little earlier than usual and looked out
at the weather.... Turning to Beret, he said that this couldn’t go on
any longer, and stood waiting for her to ask what it was that couldn’t
go on any longer.... But as she made no reply, he had to take up his
own story. Seeding time would soon be here—and he hadn’t a penny in the
world.... They needed many other things, a great many, both food and
clothes.... It was time for him to think of some way of earning a few
extra dollars.... He couldn’t see any other way out of it.
As Beret listened, her heart tightened with apprehension; but still she
made no answer.
Then he told her about the Indian colony at Flandreau and how a fellow
could easily earn a few dollars there.... In the springtime those
Indians did a rousing business, so the Trönders had said!... Didn’t
she think it would be a good plan for him to go up to Flandreau and
look around?... It wasn’t far away.... While he was asking these
questions he did not look at her. Still receiving no answer, he went
on hurriedly: Didn’t she suppose she could manage with just the boys
at home for a little while? The days were getting fairly long now and
things were looking better all around.... His voice trailed off into
silence.
Beret stared vacantly out of the window. She thought: It was true that
they needed much; they needed everything that people ought to have.
Most of all they needed clothes for him and the boys. She had nothing
more left to patch with....
... “I suppose we’ll have to try to keep alive as long as we can....”
That made him very happy.... Wisely said! He thought so, too. And now,
never fear, they were going to find a solution!...
She caught the note of suppressed excitement in his voice.... No
wonder he was eager to get away! If he would only think of the fact
that others felt the same desire!
... “When are you going?”
... “Well now, Beret, I hadn’t made up my mind. But if you think it’s
all right, I’d better set out to-day! I’m going to take the pony that
the Indian gave me. The weather looks steady enough.... You’ll have to
take good care of that newcomer of ours!” ...
This last remark might better have been left unsaid, thought Beret
bitterly; but still she made no answer.
Half an hour later Per Hansa took his departure.
Late at night he reached Flandreau, found his way into a hut, and so
saved his life for that night.... As soon as he had fed the pony the
next morning he took it along with him and poked around the village
to interview the Indians. He searched every face; but the one he was
looking for and hoping to find was not among them. The savages watched
him curiously, returning his stares. They recognized the pony, and
seemed to know who Per Hansa was, too. He noticed this quickly and felt
relieved. “This scheme is going to work out all right,” he thought....
Then he followed the plan that he had formed long ago when he had first
begun to think about it. Trusting wholly to his instincts, he selected
out of the crowd the face that he liked best, beckoned the Indian
forward, and uttered the one word, “Fur.” As he did this, he gazed
inquiringly into the man’s face, but kindly, too, as if to inspire
confidence in him.
The Indian understood at once. Of course he had plenty of furs! He
took Per Hansa into his wigwam and showed him several bundles of fine
muskrat skins....
Per Hansa laughed at his success. With the stick he carried in his hand
he wrote the figures “10” in the snow, and after them the word “cents.”
Then he drew an object which was meant to be a man with a bundle on
his back. He pointed first to the drawing, then to the figures, and at
last made a vigorous gesture toward the Indian; this amused him very
much, and he couldn’t help smiling as he went through the motions.
But all the honesty of his heart managed to come out in that smile,
and the Indian saw it.... A long period of bargaining followed, with
many gestures, and much drawing and writing to be done in the snow.
The upshot of it was that he bought as many furs as he judged he would
be able to carry away. He arranged them in four bundles and hung them
pack-fashion over the pony’s back.... Per Hansa was still laughing when
he left Flandreau.
♦ “vigourous” replaced with “vigorous”
“Well now, forward, in God’s name!” he said to himself, steering his
course toward the southeast, in the general direction of a hut where
lived a couple of Hallings who used cows for breaking prairie.
He was gone for a whole week on this expedition. When at last he
reached home he refused to tell how far he had travelled into
Minnesota, or what experiences he had met with on the way. He was worn
out and disturbed; such tales had better be left untold where folks
were so easily frightened.... But he had brought home many of the
things they needed—and even so, there were forty dollars left in his
pocket! These he gayly counted out on the table for Beret, thinking to
amuse her.
He remained at home two days. On the third day he left again....
“Understand, Beret, I’ve got to go and pay the Indian for his furs!...
Now, don’t expect me until you see me heave in sight!”
All together, Per Hansa made three such journeys; the last two took
him only six days each; if there hadn’t been other pressing things to
attend to, he probably would have made a fourth journey. When it was
all over he was able to lay one hundred and forty dollars on the table
for Beret; besides this, he had brought things for the house on each
trip—things that he knew she went about wishing for.
He had returned from the last journey with two frozen toes. These were
giving him a good deal of trouble when he and the other men were forced
to make the trip to the Trönders’ for the seed.... It was necessary to
get it home while the sleighing lasted; he was not even properly rested
when they had to set off.
On that trip he went in company with Hans Olsa. He had a feeling
that since they were going so far anyway, he ought to accomplish
something besides their immediate errand. Casting his eyes around at
Sioux River, he bought a one-year-old heifer from Gurina Baarstad....
The heifer was spotted red and white, and was therefore given the name
of “Spotty” as soon as he reached home with her.
In all this going and coming Beret had said very little, either when he
set out or when he returned. He couldn’t help feeling the strangeness
of it; she had recovered from her illness long ago, and seemed quite
well, as far as he could understand.... She might at least have told
him that now he was getting on like a man!... She would have acted
differently if she had known, for instance, how he had ridden one time
until he had nearly fallen from his horse with fatigue! And once or
twice he had escaped death by a pretty narrow squeak—he had thought
that his time had come. But then—better not tell her such things!... If
she would only say something brave and tender to him!... “Ah, well, she
would probably be in better spirits when spring and fine weather set
in!” ...
II The Power of Evil in High Places
I
Per Hansa and the boys sat around the table, sifting the seed; the
wheat lay spread in small heaps on the white cloth. This was important
work and must be done with the greatest care; every little weed seed
and other foreign substance had to be gleaned out. The seed must be
_clean_, so the Trönders had cautioned Per Hansa; and now he was
attending to it soberly, with infinite pains. If he found a shrunken or
damaged kernel, he straightway threw it out—thank you, not that! The
best only for new soil!... Full kernels will make the bin bulge.... “Be
careful, boys! Be careful, there! Don’t shirk your job!”
It was wonderful to be sitting here playing with these plump, precious
kernels; never before had Per Hansa been so absorbed in a task of this
kind, yet it made him thoughtful, too.... Here, then, was the start!
These few sacks of grain would not only supply him and his family with
all the wheat flour they needed for a whole year, but would raise many
bright dollars as well, a great store of riches.... And more than
that, seed for the next year, seed again for the year after, and thus
down through all the years to come.... And always greater and greater
abundance of food for the poor, the world over.... Here he sat playing
with the good fairies that had the power to create a new life over this
Endless Wilderness, and transform it into a habitable land for human
beings. Wasn’t it wonderful?
He began to think of the possibility of selling seed next year. No
doubt there would be many new settlers by then, who would stand in need
of such things. If he could only afford it, he would store the whole
crop—seed wheat brought high prices.... Well, he would see; a good
many things might happen as time went on!...
And here he held in his hand the very promise of all these wonders
which were destined to take place! He recalled how the fairy tale
started: “Once upon a time....” Not much of a beginning, yet the most
startling events would unfold as the story went on—strange, incredible
things.... Yes, he would have to take every precaution with the seed.
His face grew sober at the thought; he spoke in a low tone to the
boys, repeating the admonition for the hundredth time: “Boys, look
out, now! Didn’t I just tell you to be careful!” ... His wonder grew
as he gazed at the kernels; there they lay, so inanimate, yet so plump
and heavy, glowing with smouldering flame. It was as if each kernel
had light within it—life now asleep. He thrust his hand into the sack
and took out a handful of grain; it weighed like lead. As his grasp
tightened, the kernels seemed to soften under the warmth of his hand;
they squirmed and twisted, slipping against one another; they seemed
to be charged with a delicate life that was seeking release. But when
he opened his hand and stirred a finger among the grain, the kernels
lay there as lifelessly as before—inert, yellowish pale, yet burning
faintly with inner, golden light.... Reverently he lifted handful after
handful from the table, and emptied it into the sack.
As the mild spring weather set in, a feverish restlessness seized him;
the work on the seed was done and he could not stay indoors.... The
chickens were laying finely now; he was finding as many as five eggs a
day. They’d better begin setting the hens pretty soon; when fall came,
they would have at least fifty fowl on the place!... Next minute he was
over on the prairie, talking to and caressing the oxen, and feeling of
their necks where the yoke would lie.... Now if the ground would only
dry up! Per Hansa looked at it the first thing in the morning, and
felt of it every night before he went to bed. To-day it had made fine
progress. Good God—if the sun would only shine as warm to-morrow....
He dashed off to the neighbours, to see how the ground was coming on
there. No, it was wetter than at his place, where the land lay
higher.... I’ll bet my land is going to be the first to dry up! he told
himself.
Beret hadn’t seen him in such good spirits since last spring. He walked
so lightly; everything that had life he touched with a gentle hand,
but talk to it he must; his voice sounded low, yet it thrilled with a
vibrant energy; his eyes were drawn so narrow that they could hardly be
seen. She felt a force that made her tremble, emanating from him; she
tried to keep out of his way as much as she could.
And now the sun bore down on the prairie the whole livelong day. Bright
and quivering in the forenoon, he swam through endless seas of blue;
across the hazy afternoon he beamed caressingly; toward evening he
opened wide his countenance; then the flood of light grew refulgent,
only to die in splendour against a mysterious night which also had life.
As the fine weather continued, Per Hansa became more restless, but
it only seemed to fill him with greater joy. Suddenly he would be up
by the field. Wasn’t it dry enough yet?... He ought to have had the
seeding all done by now; it was high time to begin breaking new ground.
On the 14th of April, the _Sommermaalsdag_ of his old fatherland, Per
Hansa began seeding the wheat. Three times that forenoon he had been
out to test the ground; the last time he made his great decision: _Now
we will start_!
No sooner had he finished the noon meal than he rushed out, grabbed the
seed bag that he had made for this occasion, and carried two sacks of
seed up to that portion of the field where the ground was driest. He
had paced off the whole field into one-acre lots, and marked each plot.
One and one-half bushels of seed to the acre was the regular measure;
but Simon Baarstad had told him that on really first-class breaking,
provided the soil was unusually excellent, one and one-quarter bushels
might do; and Per Hansa had decided to try the latter amount.
He filled the seed bag, hung it over his shoulder, and was ready.
His whole body shook. He paused for an instant and glanced about the
settlement.... Yes, sir, he was the first, the very first one!
There was Hans Olsa hauling manure to his garden patch.... That’s smart
of you, Hans Olsa!... Down to the southward he caught sight of Tönseten
pottering around his yard.... So much for you!... Then he turned to
look in a northerly direction.... By God, if the Solum boys hadn’t
already started breaking!... Muttering, “Well, well, well,” he strode
over to the edge of the field and stuck his hand into the bag.
But just at that moment both boys appeared on the dead run; they had
discovered what their father was up to, and wanted to watch the show.
“Go home!” shouted Per Hansa. “Go home! Do you hear me?”
“Why can’t we stand here and watch?” the boys remonstrated, their faces
gloomy with disappointment.
“Go home this instant!... I don’t want you tramping around here,
carrying off this precious seed on your shoes!” ... He suddenly
realized that it was very wrong of him to be so harsh with the boys in
an hour like this. When he spoke again, his voice had grown kinder:
“Sowing wheat is such a particular job—each kernel has to lie exactly
the way it falls. Be good now, boys, and go straight home—and the first
to wake up to-morrow morning shall start the dragging! I’ll see to it
that one of you covers as much ground as the other—but the first to
wake shall start!” ... With this promise the boys had to be content;
they went off homeward in a rebellious mood.
Again Per Hansa thrust his hand into the bag and his fingers closed
on the grain. He felt profoundly that the greatest moment of his life
had come. Now he was about to sow wheat on his own ground! His hand
tightened in the bag; he was on the point of lifting it out, when
something queer happened—the kernels were running out between his
fingers! He gave another grab, closing his hand still tighter; again
the yellow kernels slipped through his fingers like squirming eels.
Then Per Hansa threw back his head and laughed. These fellows aren’t
very anxious to go into the ground after riches for me!... He ran his
hand around in the bag, stroking the grain caressingly, taking
great handfuls and giving them a gentle squeeze.
... And now the wheat rained down in yellow semicircles from Per
Hansa’s hand; as the seed fell, the warm rays of the sun struck
full across it, and seemed to wrap it in golden light.... Per Hansa
restrained himself, working slowly and carefully—the seeding must be
even and not too thick. But almost at once he grew very heated; his
body was dripping with sweat. He couldn’t explain this for a while; it
wasn’t hard work at all. Oh, well, he thought at last—that’s always the
way when you tackle a job you don’t understand!
Late in the afternoon Tönseten came running up the hill, so hard that
his heels seemed to be flying over his head.
“What in hell are you starting here. Per Hansa?” he demanded,
breathlessly.
“Can’t you see?” laughed Per Hansa; but he hardly dared to look at his
neighbour, for fear he would lose his marks.
Tönseten stared at him in amazement. “You’re plumb crazy, man, and I
don’t mind telling you so!... The ground isn’t half dry enough yet for
that—the soil is too cold! Why, damn it all, there’s a foot of frost
in the ground!... Much good it will do you to throw away all that
seed!” ... Into this last, Tönseten threw all the scorn of the man who
really knows; in fact, he felt too seriously disturbed to utter another
syllable; so, having done his duty and delivered his ominous message,
he turned on his heel and stalked majestically away.
As long as the daylight lasted, Per Hansa kept on seeding.... After
supper he sat at the table without moving; he didn’t want to get up;
a pleasant feeling of languorous exhaustion had settled on him, the
reaction from his excitement. And-Ongen crawled up into his lap and
begged for a story, but got no response; the boys came storming in,
demanding that he call them both at the same time to-morrow morning....
No, he said in a dreamy, abstracted voice, that wouldn’t do; there
wasn’t any hurry; better let the sun have time to warm up the ground a
bit before they covered the grain. But the bargain still held; the one
who turned out first, yoked the oxen and hitched them to the drag,
he was to start the dragging! “And now,” he added, rising from the
table, “I’ll tell you this, boys—if we are any good at all, we’ll have
the whole field seeded and dragged by the time the porridge is on the
table to-morrow night!”
The next day Per Hansa worked like one possessed. Now that he had at
last caught the trick with the seeding, he made fine progress. When
evening fell that day he had finished his task, while the boys had
done almost as well, with only the oats left to drag.... Per Hansa
walked home that night in great satisfaction. Now he had turned a fine
trick—he was through seeding and dragging before his neighbours had
even thought of beginning the regular spring work!...
II
When Per Hansa left the house next morning to finish the dragging, the
air was raw and heavy; a penetrating wind blew over the prairie, as if
searching for signs of life to wither and blight; not a trace remained
of the mildness and pleasantness of the previous days.
Before he had finished covering the oats, the rain began to fall;
along with the rain came huge flakes of snow, floating silently down
and turning to slush as they struck the ground. After a while the rain
ceased, but the snow only came faster; the flakes were firmer now, and
fell in a businesslike manner. Before long a veritable blizzard was
raging over the whole prairie—there had hardly been anything worse that
winter.
Throughout that day and the following night the storm continued with
unabated fury. Early on the next morning the weather cleared; but now
the cold was so intense that it nipped the skin as soon as one stuck
one’s head out-of-doors. Spring seemed a thousand miles off.
That night Per Hansa did not sleep a wink. How could he sleep, with
this tragedy going on? He was nothing but an old sailor; he didn’t know
the least thing about farming. God Almighty! hadn’t he good reason to
lie awake?... Here he had gone to work and wasted all his precious
seed—had simply thrown it away, because he was foolish and hasty!
And there wasn’t even a chance to extricate himself from the mess he
had made! Out in the field, under the snow, lay all that priceless
wheat, smothered to death and frozen as hard as flint.... He could
stand the loss of the oats, perhaps—but, God! the _wheat_! Twenty-five
bushels he had sacrificed, all the work gone to no purpose, and no
possible way of getting a fresh supply of seed.... As he opened the
door that morning, saw two feet of snow covering the ground, and felt
the bitter cold stinging his face, he had an irresistible impulse to
fling himself down in the snowdrift and cry like a baby!...
He turned around, came into the hut again, and lay down on the bed....
No, he didn’t want any breakfast! He shouted out the words. All the
forenoon he lay silent and motionless. When noon came and he refused
to eat any dinner, Beret went to the bed and asked him what was the
matter. Did he feel sick? But he only turned his face to the wall,
muttering hoarsely that those who felt like eating had better do so.
Leave him alone; he’d be all right again—some time.... Beret began to
feel concerned about him; after a while she brought him a bowl of soup,
but he only sat up in bed and commenced to find fault with her like an
unreasonable child.... For God’s sake, couldn’t she leave him alone? He
had told her he didn’t want anything to eat, and wasn’t that enough?...
Well, then ... Oh, hell!...
In the afternoon the sun shone strong and brilliant, but the cold was
too intense for it to make any impression on the snow.... Per Hansa
was still lying in bed; the bright sunshine outside, reflecting on the
white walls of the room, seemed to sear his eyeballs; he felt that the
only thing that would give him relief would be to get up, strike out
wildly, and curse everything around him—for he was fighting an unseen
enemy.... He had come to his great decision; he had done the seeding;
he had felt clearly that it was the most momentous day of his life; but
no sooner had the last kernel fallen to the ground than the very powers
of heaven had stepped down to defeat him!... Powers of heaven...?
A certain image came before his eyes, and would not go away. One
Sunday not very long ago, Store-Hans had sat by the table reading to
his mother; Per Hansa remembered it vividly, because the words had
sounded so awful to him. At last he had gotten up to look over the
boy’s shoulder; Store-Hans was reading in a loud voice, throwing great
emphasis into the words:
_“And the Lord said unto Satan, whence comest thou? Then Satan answered
the Lord, and said, From going to and fro in the earth, and from
walking up and down in it....”_
The words would not go away. Per Hansa fell to repeating them.... And
that night as he lay wide awake, tossing restlessly on the bed, he
thought that he saw a beam just inside the door of the stable ... and
there was a rope.... Well, if _that fellow_ was after him, he might as
well give up!... Sweat broke out on his body ... the beam and the rope
beckoned him ... they seemed to call to him!...
The snow went faster than anyone would have believed; it began to
settle on the day after the weather had cleared, grew soft toward
evening, and the next day’s sun took all of it away. It seemed to leave
very little water; within a short while the ground was drier than
before.... And now came days when the warm, bright sunshine filled
everything between heaven and earth. As the sun sank, he left part of
his heat behind him; the nights grew soft and balmy, and stirred with
mysterious life.... At length evenings so sweet and beautiful began to
visit the prairie, that, as the saying is, dead men might willingly
step out of their graves and walk about. But all this could not alter
the fact that Per Hansa’s precious seed grain lay over there in the
field, ruined by frost and snow—those marvellous, pregnant kernels, so
delicate and sensitive.... Damn the luck!...
One day as Per Hansa was pottering about out-of-doors, hardly knowing
which way to turn, he caught sight of Tönseten, who had commenced his
seeding. Like a condemned man about to be executed Per Hansa walked
over.... Tönseten is an aboriginal American, he thought, bitterly. I
might as well let him polish off the damned fool of a newcomer!
But to-day Tönseten was too busy even to talk. Per Hansa didn’t
feel inclined to open up the subject of his own troubles; he began on a
different tack, to head the other off:
“I must say you certainly sow it even!”
Tönseten spat a prodigious distance.... “You think so?” ... But he
didn’t stop for a moment; his arms continued to cut wide semicircles
in the air; golden grain flew out of his hand and rained down to the
ground through the warm sunlight, there to begin the mystic dream of
life.
This is beautiful! thought Per Hansa.... I couldn’t sow it as even as
that.
“I was a fool for not waiting to get you to do the seeding for me,” he
observed.
Tönseten spat another great mouthful before he answered:
“Well, some people are bound to cut off their nose to spite their
face.... But then—this is a free country, you know!” ... He walked on
with measured steps, his arm sweeping in long, graceful curves; the
kernels flew far and wide, catching the sunlight a moment as they fell.
Per Hansa turned abruptly, and began to walk toward home. When Tönseten
noticed this, he stopped his work and called out:
“Did you want anything, Per Hansa?”
“Hell—no!”
“All right. To-day, you see, I’m a busy man!”
Per Hansa started to answer, choked, and continued to walk away. His
head was in a whirl as he went on toward his own field, which seemed to
be making faces at him as he drew nearer; it was indeed a forbidding
countenance that he saw there, lifeless and black and bare. Reaching
the field, he fell on his knees, dug into the soil, and picked up the
first kernel he came across; he laid it in the palm of his left hand
and turned it over and over with the forefinger of his right; the seed
was black with clammy dirt, which clung tightly to it. Slowly and
carefully he picked off the particles of soil—and there it lay, a pale
little thing, greyish-white and dirty, the golden sheen through which
he had read the fairy tale, entirely gone, the magic departed, the seed
cold and dead.
Per Hansa dropped it without a word, and dug in the ground until
he had found another kernel. The one he now picked up had the same
lifeless color, but it was swollen and seemed about to burst open....
“This is the frost!”—he mumbled, hoarsely.—“It’s all begun to rot!”
... He rose to his feet and stood there as if chained to the spot, the
very personification of gloom, gazing out over the face of his dead
dream.... _“Then Satan answered the Lord, and said, From going to and
fro in the earth, and from walking up and down in it.”_ ... There can’t
be much doubt that he’s found this place, all right—the devil salt and
pickle his guts!...
III
Over on the piece of field which Per Hansa had broken, during the last
few days the boys were now busy at work with the dragging. He had set
them to the task early that morning, but had not yet made up his mind
what to put into the field. Now he walked over to them.
One of the boys was driving; the other sat on the harrow, making
grooves with his heels in the loose dirt; on each round of the field
they exchanged places. They had quarrelled considerably over who could
drive the straightest; now they were trying to decide this momentous
question by judging the straightness of the grooves made on each round.
The boys stopped as they saw their father approaching. “Isn’t this
piece four acres?” Ole demanded, boisterously. “It should be,” their
father answered in a tired voice.
“All right,” beamed Ole. “If we plant potatoes in the whole piece and
get a hundred and fifty bushels to the acre, we’ll have six hundred
bushels in all!”
“Then we’ll sell ’em!” Store-Hans broke in, his eye snapping.
“Shut up, you! This is my idea!” Ole turned again to his father and
kept on with his arithmetic: “We can’t get less than thirty cents a
bushel, can we? I’ll be able to help you haul them to town. And that’ll
be exactly _one hundred and eighty dollars_. Gee! What a lot!” The boy
looked proudly at his father, and added with a grown-up air, “We
ought to get the potatoes planted at once—that’s my opinion!”
But then Store-Hans had a great inspiration, and flashed out:
“When we get as much money as that, just for potatoes, we’ll buy a
shotgun. Hurrah!”
“Stop your nonsense and get to work!” said Per Hansa, harshly. “You
need a pair of pants to cover your bottom, more than you do a gun....
Move on, now, I tell you!”
On the way home that morning, Per Hansa realized one thing more clearly
than ever before—unless he could find something to occupy his body and
mind, and find it right away, he would go all to pieces one of these
fine days.... Well, why not do as Ole suggested? Here was this piece of
new field, and it had to be put to some use.... If _that fellow_ was
loose around these parts, Per Hansa might as well give him a run for
his money!...
The minute Per Hansa reached home he opened the root cellar and began
carrying out potatoes. He took out all that he judged they could
possibly spare and began to cut them up into small pieces; he was
determined to have enough seed to cover the whole field.... Oh yes, no
doubt this was insanely foolish, too, but, damn it all, he might as
well come to ruination at once and be done with it!...
The planting kept the three of them busy for the rest of that week.
When Sunday morning came, Per Hansa rose at the usual time, ate his
breakfast in silence, and then went back to bed. And-Ongen crawled into
bed with him and stirred up a terrible commotion; he must wake now and
tell her a story. Getting no answer, she pulled his hair and pinched
his cheek and tugged at his nose. The carrying-on of the child made a
pleasant diversion for him in his dark mood. Beret sat by the table,
reading the Bible. To his great relief, she said little these days....
As he lay there brooding he was turning over and over in his mind a new
idea—mightn’t he make another trip to the Sioux River? Perhaps he could
yet scare up a couple of sacks of wheat there. The seeding would be far
behind-hand, that’s true; but barring any more bad luck, he would
at least be able to harvest enough seed grain for another year.... But
it was so late now—too late, really, to think of such a thing. Perhaps
he had better go to Sioux Falls or Worthington and try to get work for
the summer. Beret and the boys could easily get along without him....
No, he couldn’t quite make up his mind as to what would be best.... All
the while And-Ongen was pommelling him because he wouldn’t tell her a
story.
Suddenly a violent stamping of feet sounded outside; some one came
running up, with another close at his heels.
Ole jerked the door open, took one leap, and landed in the middle of
the floor. The boy was wild-eyed with excitement.
“Per Hansa!” he cried, calling his father by name. “The wheat is up!”
Then he took another leap and stood leaning over the bed. “The wheat is
up, I say!... Can’t you hear me?” ...
But now Store-Hans came storming in, all out of breath: “Father Per
Hansa—the wheat is _so high_!”
“You shut up!” raged his brother. “I came first!”
“I guess I can tell it, too!” Store-Hans paid no further attention to
his brother; he was standing now by the bed, measuring on his finger.
“The wheat is so high, the oats about up to _here_!... Don’t you
suppose we can buy a shotgun?”
Per Hansa said never a word; he got up, trembling in every limb, and
put the child aside. In a moment he had left the house and rushed up to
the field. There he stood spellbound, gazing at the sight spread before
him. His whole body shook; tears came to his eyes, so that he found
it difficult to see clearly. And well he might be surprised. Over the
whole field tiny green shoots were quivering in the warm sunshine.
Store-Hans was standing now by his father’s side; he looked at him in
consternation.
“Are you sick, father?”
No answer.
“Why, you’re crying!”
“You’re ... so—foolish, Store-Hans!” Per Hansa was blowing his
nose violently.... _“So terribly foolish!”_ he added, softly, and
straightened himself up with a new energy.
Store-Hans now began to feel reassured about his father. The boy turned
to the field and spoke in a voice thrilled with delight:
“Isn’t it dandy?”
The silence continued for a while longer. But at last his father
cleared his throat. “Come here, Store-Hans!” Per Hansa placed his hand
on the boy’s shoulder. “What are you going to be when you grow up?”
“When I grow up?” repeated the boy, wonderingly. “Well, a general ...
one like Grant.”
Per Hansa looked at him, a strange chuckling sound issuing from his
throat:
“What about being a _minister_?... We need a minister more.”
“Oh, well,” said Store-Hans, indifferently. “I suppose I can be that,
too.... Don’t you think we can get a shotgun pretty soon?”
Per Hansa was a different man when he walked home; the spring had come
back to his step. Entering the house, he sat down by his wife, who was
still reading the Bible, and said, abruptly:
“You’d better read us a chapter!” Then he cleared his throat and looked
around the room. “No more nonsense, boys! Come here and sit down
quietly while mother reads to us.”
IV
That summer many happenings took place in the settlement by Spring
Creek. For those who had been here from the beginning, associations
were slowly growing up outside of the day’s work. At the very last of
May the Irish arrived, with many new land-seekers in their company;
they all settled west by the sloughs, so as to have access to water
for the cattle. The first part of June the Vossings and Sognings put
into port; they, too, brought many new homesteaders with them.
The latter folk all settled east of the creek, spreading eastward
and southward, to bring them nearer to town. Here the soil was first
class, too; and Tönseten assured them that water was no problem, if
they would dig deep enough.... Water! Why, good Lord! wasn’t the whole
earth surrounded by water?... Talk sense, folks, and get your houses
built!... Soon one new sod house after another began to stick its head
above the waving grass of the prairie.
Among the Sognings was a tall, heavily built man, with a light
complexion and rather good looking, but loud spoken and given to
bragging. All his words and actions had an irritating arrogance; he was
always right; at times he got on everyone’s nerves, because he talked
so much and with such cocksureness. Luck had been with him, it seemed;
he had received a considerable inheritance from the old country; while
living in Minnesota he had cleared much land, which he had been able
to dispose of at a fine price; rumour had it that he was worth at
least three thousand dollars in cash, besides other property; and this
report he did not deny. The man had a large family; his name was Torkel
Tallaksen.
Not long after the arrival of this man, Store-Hans had a fight with
one of the Tallaksen boys. It came about in this way: the boys chanced
to meet down by the creek one day, as they were both out chasing the
cattle, Store-Hans riding his pony, the other boy a common old work
horse.
“Where did you swipe that pony?” the stranger shouted, challengingly.
“I didn’t swipe it!”
“Where did you get it, then?”
“Oh, I just got it.”
“Can’t you tell?”
“Come here, if you want to know.”
The two boys dismounted, looked each other over, then sat down and
fell to talking. Store-Hans was eager to inform this tenderfoot of
the mighty things they had done out here; he related how the pony had
come to be his, giving the story a picturesque turn whenever he saw
the chance. He and his father, he told the stranger, had rescued
an Indian chief—well, it was the highest chief over all the Indians
out West. This chief was dying; he was _almost_ dead when they found
him.... What was the matter? Well, there had been a terrible battle;
the Indian had been desperately wounded—shot and left for dead.... But
he and his father had cured him, and they had received this pony as a
reward.
The other boy listened scornfully to the story, said “humph—humph” a
good many times, and finally declared the whole thing to be a lie;
people out here were such awful liars, so his father had told him!...
Store-Hans could hardly stand this accusation, for hadn’t he himself
helped in restoring the Indian to life? So without further ado he
pitched into the other boy and the fight was on. It proved a tough
battle; clothes were torn and both combatants sneezed gore. The bloody
noses didn’t matter much, for they could be washed; but it would be
more serious to have to explain the tattered shirts. The boys fought it
out, however; finally the newcomer had to admit that truth is truth and
take back all he had said. This mollified Store-Hans; he let the other
boy try the pony, and they became friends. But the same evening he had
to tell the incident to his father; after the nose had been washed and
properly cooled, it had taken on alarming proportions, which called for
an explanation; this Per Hansa got as he sat on the woodpile, smoking
his evening pipe, with Store-Hans standing near by.
All the new settlers that spring, with the exception of Torkel
Tallaksen, built sod houses; but he had vaster plans in mind. He set
up a tent, hitched his four horses to the breaking plow, worked like
a beaver, and soon had broken a big field, considering the fact that
he had just arrived. He had brought seed enough with him to plant the
whole area. Rumours began to spread in the settlement about his plans;
when he was done seeding he proposed to go to Worthington after lumber;
both his living house and barn were to be built this summer.... Per
Hansa listened to these rumours and cocked his head on one side, but
made no comment.
One day just as they were sitting down to the noon meal at Per
Hansa’s, Torkel Tallaksen swaggered in and asked in a loud voice if he
could hire Per Hansa and the oxen to go to Worthington with him for
building materials? All the other neighbours were going, too.... “You
folks have been here so long now, and have got such a good start that
you can afford to lend a hand to a poor devil who is just starting
in! I need all the critters that can crawl, with me. I’ll pay you in
either work or cash—but I prefer cash, for then it’s over with!... No,
thank you, I’m not going to sit down; I just stepped in on my way to
your neighbours’.... Fine fields you’ve got on this side of the creek.
You ought to get a fairly decent harvest, considering.... How big is
that field of yours, anyway?... Good Lord! Not more than that in a
whole year?... Well, I’ll give you a tip—oxen aren’t any good; they’re
too slow for the way things go nowadays.... Fine-looking house you’ve
got, inside, but sod houses aren’t much better than dugouts—in some
ways, really not so good.... For my part, I am through with such poor
makeshifts.... Well, can I count on you, then?” ... Tallaksen referred
to this trip as airily as if he were asking for a match.
“Are you going to build?” Per Hansa asked, quietly.
“You bet I am. Isn’t that what I’ve been telling you? If I’m to stay
here, I intend to live like a human being!” ... And now he began
outlining his building plans and explaining them at length.... “Oh yes,
there’s a lot to do before I get everything ready; but I intend to hire
plenty of help and get it done in a jiffy. See? I’ve come out here to
_break prairie_, I want you to know.... If crops turn out decently
this year, I’ll snap up one more quarter by fall, or perhaps two.
Really”—here the man grew confidential—“I don’t see any nameable reason
why a smart man couldn’t farm a whole section of land like this—or even
more. Why, you’ve only got to put the plow into the level prairie!...
But first of all, I want to build a decent house; the painting I’ll let
go until fall.” ... His voice flowed on in such a steady stream that no
one else could get in a word edgewise.
“You’re going to _paint_?” Per Hansa asked, and got up from the
table abruptly. He was breathing fast.
“Paint? Why, certainly! It would never do to let a house stand
unpainted in this climate. It wouldn’t look well, either.”
A look of innocent curiosity rested on Beret’s face as she listened to
the great plans being unfolded before her. She seemed lost in thought,
and asked in a quiet tone if it were really true that he intended
to build a home like that—now, at once, this summer? It would be a
fine thing, she added—and there was a note of wistful gladness in her
voice—to see a real house once more. It would make the desert look
brighter....
At that Torkel Tallaksen had to laugh outright; he had never seen such
a houseful of moles! Here he had been explaining till he was hoarse,
but apparently they hadn’t understood one word of it! What was the use
of wasting more breath on them?... He turned to go.
“Well,” he said to Per Hansa in an important voice, “can I count on you
for the trip?”
Per Hansa paused over his answer. They were all looking at him
inquiringly when he spoke:
“It seems to me,” he began, quietly, “that you are starting from the
wrong end.” Again he paused, for he found it hard to choose his words.
“If you would take the money that you intend to spend in building and
put it into cattle and horses and machinery, and hire help enough to
run them, then the devil himself couldn’t keep up with you. In a few
years you’d be the king of all of us—though God knows we’d much rather
have another. But this I tell you, now”—prophetic power rang in Per
Hansa’s voice—“if you start from the other end and do as you’ve been
proposing, then you and I will fight—yes, you and I!—for both the
scepter and the crown ... though all I’ve got now, God knows, is a pair
of pants and a yoke of oxen!” ...
Torkel Tallaksen laughed overbearingly. “One doesn’t need to live in
a gopher hole, in order to get ahead!... Here, too, will have to come
decency and civilized living.”
The words stung Per Hansa like a whip lash; in his effort to
control himself he felt in his pocket for a match, found one, and
hurled it to the floor.... “We’ll get our decency and civilized living
all right—even if you should go back where you came from!... And now
let me tell you one thing more—it’s better to begin in a gopher hole
than to end in one.” ...
Before Torkel Tallaksen was able to collect himself for a reply, Beret
said, slowly, as if thinking aloud, but in a manner that compelled
attention:
“Your wife certainly will have many reasons to be glad. Walls that will
shut out all the unspeakable things out here ... floors that can be
washed on the Sabbath eve.... I know too well that human beings should
not live like beasts! After they have turned into beasts, houses don’t
matter.” ...
Torkel Tallaksen looked at the woman as if he had discovered her for
the first time.... Uh-huh, he nodded; here’s the common sense of this
outfit!... “Right you are, and no doubt about it! I wouldn’t live like
this for all the prairie land in the whole of Dakota Territory.... But
now things are going to be different, if I have anything to say about
it. We’re going to build houses that can stand up and be seen; people
won’t need to wonder whether this is a settlement or a gopher camp!”
Suddenly a fresh idea seemed to strike him: “Perhaps you’d like to help
my wife weave a few carpets? She’s all the time talking about carpets,
and I suppose she must have ’em.... They save the floors, too.”
“I would be glad to try,” said Beret, humbly. “One ought to help
another get what she cannot have for herself.... I think it would be
interesting work.”
As he listened to his wife, Per Hansa was fumbling in his pocket for
another match; at last he brought it out, struck it on the table, and
held it until it burned down to the end. The room was swimming before
his eyes; words floated across his vision—words that he longed to use;
he reached out for them, but they melted into the air; what Beret had
said had driven them away.... Per Hansa sat down heavily on the chest,
his face pale and drawn.
“All right—that’s settled, then!” said Torkel Tallaksen. Then he
turned to Per Hansa: “We start the day after to-morrow. I’m counting on
you, remember—you and the oxen.... You’ll be needing some one to haul
for you pretty soon, when you once get on your feet.”
Silence fell on the room. The man stood there, waiting for an answer.
“You’d better count over again!” Per Hansa growled. Without another
word he sprang up from the chest and left the house. In a gruff voice
he called to the oxen. That day he kept on breaking as long as he could
see. When he unhitched at last he walked in slowly from the field,
stooping over in thought; he could hardly bring himself to going home.
What business had he there—what earthly business?... The sod house and
all it contained lay in a great darkness, yet he was drawn toward it
irresistibly....
... Perhaps it was true? What she had said might be more than half
right—everything here was a failure, and he himself was no good....
A thought cut him to the very quick: “That’s the reward you get for
fighting and striving—she says you are no good!” ... To think that she
hadn’t felt ashamed, that she had been willing to lay bare her troubles
to that infernal blabberer and braggart!... Had she lost all sense of
propriety?... “Oh, hell! Get up, there!” he ripped out to the oxen.
But as it transpired, Torkel Tallaksen’s great plans ran up against a
snag. Tönseten didn’t care to go along unless Per Hansa went, for he
was fully occupied with his own affairs. And the Solum boys were not
overly enthusiastic; they were busy breaking prairie when Tallaksen
came, and answered him that they would see how the others felt about
it, and let him know. It finally developed that Torkel Tallaksen
could engage only two men and two teams, which weren’t enough to haul
home all the materials for a whole farmstead. And so, in the face of
the inevitable, Torkel Tallaksen had to give up building for that
summer.... Thus it happened that before the fall set in, another sod
hut stuck its head above the waving grass of the prairie.
V
That summer many land seekers passed through the settlement on their
way west. The arrival of a caravan was always an event of the greatest
importance. How exciting they were, those little ships of the Great
Plain! The prairie schooners, rigged with canvas tops which gleamed
whitely in the shimmering light, first became visible as tiny specks
against the eastern sky; one might almost imagine them to be sea gulls
perched far, far away on an endless green meadow; but as one continued
to watch, the white dots grew; they came drifting across the prairie
like the day; after long waiting, they gradually floated out of the
haze, distinct and clear; then, as they drew near, they proved to be
veritable wagons, with horses hitched ahead, with folk and all their
possessions inside, and a whole herd of cattle following behind.
The caravan would crawl slowly into the settlement and come to anchor
in front of one of the sod houses; the moment it halted, people would
swarm down and stretch themselves and begin to look after the teams;
cattle would bellow; sheep would bleat as they ran about. Many queer
races and costumes were to be seen in these caravans, and a babble of
strange tongues shattered the air. Nut-brown youngsters, dressed only
in a shirt and a pair of pants, would fly around between the huts,
looking for other youngsters; an infant, its mother crooning softly to
it, would sit securely perched in the fold of her arm; white-haired old
men and women, who should have been living quietly at home, preparing
for a different journey, were also to be seen in the group, running
about like youngsters; the daily jogging from sky line to sky line had
brightened their eyes and quickened their tongues. All were busy; each
had a thousand questions to ask; every last one of them was in high
spirits, though they knew no other home than the wagon and the blue
skies above.... The Lord only could tell whence all these people had
come and whither they were going!...
The caravan usually intended to stop only long enough for the women
folk to boil coffee and get a fresh supply of water; but the
starting was always delayed, for the men had so many questions to ask.
Once in a while during these halts a fiddler would bring out his fiddle
and play a tune or two, and then there would be dancing. Such instances
were rare, but good cheer and excitement invariably accompanied these
visits.
—Why not settle right here? The Spring Creek folk would ask the
west-movers.... There’s plenty of good land left—nothing better to be
found between here and the Pacific Ocean!
—No, not yet. They weren’t quite ready to settle; these parts looked
fairly crowded.... The farther west, the better.... They guessed they
would have to go on a way, though this really looked pretty good!...
And so the caravans would roll onward into the green stillness of the
west. How strange—they vanished faster than they had appeared! The
white sails grew smaller and smaller in the glow of the afternoon,
until they had dwindled to nothing; the eye might seek them out
there in the waning day, and search till it grew blurred, but all in
vain—they were gone, and had left no trace!...
* * * * *
Foggy weather had now been hanging over the prairie for three whole
days; a warm mist of rain mizzled continuously out of the low sky.
Toward evening of the third day, the fog lifted and clear sky again
appeared; the setting sun burst through the cloud banks rolling up
above the western horizon, and transformed them into marvellous fairy
castles.... While this was going on, over to the northeast of the
Solum boys’ place a lonely wagon had crept into sight; it had almost
reached the creek before anyone had noticed it, for the Solum boys were
visiting among the Sognings, where there were many young people. But as
Beret sat out in the yard, milking, the wagon crossed her view. When
she brought in the milk, she remarked in her quiet manner that they
were going to have company, at which tidings the rest of the family had
to run out and see who might be coming at this time of day.
There was only one wagon, with two cows following behind; on the left
side walked a brown-whiskered, stooping man—he was doing the
driving; close behind him came a half-grown boy, dragging his feet
heavily. The wagon at last crawled up the hill and came to a stop in
Per Hansa’s yard, where the whole family stood waiting.
“I don’t suppose there are any Norwegians in this settlement. No, that
would be too much to expect,” said the man in a husky, worn-out voice.
“If you’re looking for Norwegians, you have found the right place, all
right! We sift the people as they pass through here—keep our own, and
let the others go!” ... Per Hansa wanted to run on, for he felt in high
spirits; but he checked himself, observing that the man looked as if he
stood on the very brink of the grave.
—Was there any chance of putting up here for the night?
“Certainly! certainly!” cried Per Hansa, briskly, “provided they were
willing to take things as they were.”
The man didn’t answer, but walked instead to the wagon and spoke to
some one inside:
“Kari, now you must brace up and come down. Here we have found
Norwegians at last!” As if fearing a contradiction, he added: “Ya, they
are real Norwegians. I’ve talked with them.”
On top of his words there came out of the wagon, first a puny boy with
a hungry face, somewhat smaller than the other boy; then a girl of
about the same size, but looking much older. She helped to get down
another boy, about six years old, who evidently had been sleeping and
looked cross and tired. That seemed to be all.
The man stepped closer to the wagon. “Aren’t you coming, Kari?”
A groan sounded within the canvas. The girl grabbed hold of her
father’s arm. “You must untie the rope! Can’t you remember _anything_?”
she whispered, angrily.
“Ya, that’s right! Wait a minute till I come and help you.”
An irresistible curiosity took hold of Per Hansa; in two jumps he stood
on the tongue of the wagon. The sight that met his eyes sent chills
running down his spine. Inside sat a woman on a pile of clothes,
with her back against a large immigrant chest; around her wrists and
leading to the handles of the chest a strong rope was tied; her face
was drawn and unnatural. Per Hansa trembled so violently that he had
to catch hold of the wagon box, but inwardly he was swearing a steady
stream. To him it looked as if the woman was crucified.
... “For God’s sake, man!” ...
The stranger paid no attention; he was pottering about and pleading:
“Come down now, Kari.... Ya, all right, I’ll help you! Everything’s
going to be all right—I know it will!... Can you manage to get up?” He
had untied the rope, and the woman had risen to her knees.
“O God!” she sighed, putting her hands to her head.
“Please come. That’s right; I’ll help you!” pleaded the man, as if he
were trying to persuade a child.
She came down unsteadily. “Is this the place, Jakob?” she asked in
a bewildered way. But now Beret ran up and put her arm around her;
the women looked into each other’s eyes and instantly a bond of
understanding had been established. “You come with me!” urged Beret....
“O God! This isn’t the place, either!” wailed the woman; but she
followed Beret submissively into the house.
“Well, well!” sighed the man as he began to unhitch the horses. “Life
isn’t easy—no, it certainly isn’t.” ...
Per Hansa watched him anxiously, hardly knowing what to do. Both the
boys kept close to him. Then an idea flashed through his mind: “You
boys run over to Hans Olsa’s and tell him not to go to bed until
I come.... No, I don’t want him here. And you two stay over there
to-night. Now run along!”
Turning to the man, he asked, “Aren’t there any more in your party?”
“No, not now. We were five, you see, to begin with—five in all—but the
others had to go on.... Haven’t they been by here yet? Well, they must
be somewhere over to the westward.... No, life isn’t easy.” ... The man
wandered on in his monotonous, blurred tone; he sounded all the
time as if he were half sobbing.
“Where do you come from?” Per Hansa demanded, gruffly.
The man didn’t give a direct answer, but continued to ramble on in the
same mournful way, stretching his story out interminably.... They had
been wandering over the prairie for nearly six weeks.... Ya, it was a
hard life. When they had started from Houston County, Minnesota, there
had been five wagons in all. Strange that the others hadn’t turned up
here. Where could they be? It seemed to him as if he had travelled far
enough to reach the ends of the earth!... Good God, what a nightmare
life was! If he had only—only known...!
“Did the others go away and _leave you_?” Per Hansa hadn’t intended to
ask that question, but it had slipped out before he realized what he
was saying. He wondered if there could be anything seriously wrong....
“They couldn’t possibly wait for us—couldn’t have been expected to.
Everything went wrong, you see, and I didn’t know when I would be able
to start again.... Turn the horses loose, John,” he said to the boy.
“Take the pail and see if you can squeeze some milk out of the cows.
Poor beasts, they don’t give much now!” Then he turned to Per Hansa
again: “I don’t know what would have become of us if we hadn’t reached
this place to-night! We’d have been in a bad hole, that I assure you!
Women folk can’t bear up....” The man stopped and blew his nose.
Per Hansa dreaded what might be coming next. “You must have got off
your course, since you are coming down from the north?”
The man shook his head helplessly. “To tell the truth, I don’t know
where we’ve been these last few days. We couldn’t see the sun.”
“Haven’t you got a compass?”
“Compass? No! I tried to steer with a rope, but the one I had wasn’t
long enough.”
“Like hell you did!” exclaimed Per Hansa, excitedly, full of a
sudden new interest.
“Ya, I tried that rope idea—hitched it to the back of the wagon, and
let it drag in the wet grass. But it didn’t work—I couldn’t steer
straight with it. The rope was so short, and kept kinking around so
much, that it didn’t leave any wake.”
“Uh-huh!” nodded Per Hansa wisely. “You must be a seafaring man, to
have tried that trick!”
“No, I’m no sailor. But fisher-folk out here have told me that it’s
possible to steer by a rope.... I had to try _something_.”
“Where did you cross the Sioux?”
“How do I know where I crossed it? We came to a river a long way to
the east of here—that must have been the Sioux. We hunted and hunted
before we could find a place shallow enough to cross.... God! this has
certainly been a wandering in the desert for me!... But if Kari only
gets better, I won’t complain—though I never dreamed that life could be
so hard.” ...
“Is she—is she _sick_, that woman of yours?”
The man did not answer this question immediately; he wiped his face
with the sleeve of his shirt. When he spoke again, his voice had grown
even more blurred and indistinct: “Physically she seems to be as well
as ever—as far as I can see. She certainly hasn’t overworked since
we’ve been travelling. I hope there’s nothing wrong with her.... But
certain things are hard to bear—I suppose it’s worse for the mother,
too—though the Lord knows it hasn’t been easy for me, either!... You
see, we had to leave our youngest boy out there on the prairie....”
“_Leave_ him?” ... These were the only two words that came to Per
Hansa’s mind.
“Ya, there he lies, our little boy!... I never saw a more promising
man—you know what I mean—when he grew up.... But now—oh, well....”
Per Hansa felt faint in the pit of his stomach; his throat grew dry;
his voice became as husky as that of the other; he came close up to
him. “Tell me—how did this happen?”
The man shook his head again, in a sort of dumb despair. Then
he cleared his throat and continued with great effort: “I can’t tell
how it happened! Fate just willed it so. Such things are not to be
explained.... The boy had been ailing for some time—we knew that, but
didn’t pay much attention. We had other things to think of.... Then
he began to fail fast. We were only one day’s journey this side of
Jackson; so we went back. That was the time when the others left us.
I don’t blame them much—it was uncertain when we could go on.... The
doctor we found wasn’t a capable man—I realize it now. He spoke only
English and couldn’t understand what I was saying. He had no idea what
was wrong with the boy—I could see that plainly enough.... Ya, well—so
we started again.... It isn’t any use to fight against Fate; that’s
an old saying, and a true one, too, I guess.... Before long we saw
that the boy wasn’t going to recover. So we hurried on, day and night,
trying to catch our neighbours.... Well, that’s about all of it. One
night he was gone—just as if you had blown out a candle. Ya, let me
see—that was five nights ago.”
“Have you got him there in the wagon?” demanded Per Hansa, grabbing the
man by the arm.
“No, no,” he muttered, huskily. “We buried him out there by a big
stone—no coffin or anything. But Kari took the best skirt she had and
wrapped it all around him—we had to do _something_, you know.... But,”
he continued, suddenly straightening up, “Paul cannot lie there! As
soon as I find my neighbours, I’ll go and get him. Otherwise Kari....”
The man paused between the sobs that threatened to choke him. “I have
had to tie her up the last few days. She insisted on getting out and
going back to Paul. I don’t think she has had a wink of sleep for over
a week.... It’s just as I was saying—some people can’t stand things.”
...
Per Hansa leaned heavily against the wagon. “Has she gone crazy?” he
asked, hoarsely.
“She isn’t much worse than the rest of us. I don’t believe ...
Kari is really a well-balanced woman ... but you can imagine how it
feels, to leave a child _that_ way....”
The boy, John, had finished milking. He had put the pail down and was
standing a little way off, listening to his father’s story; suddenly he
threw himself on the ground, sobbing as if in convulsions.
“John! John!” admonished the father. “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself—a
grown-up man like you! Take the milk and carry it into the house!”
“That’s right!” echoed Per Hansa, pulling himself together. “We’d
better all go in. There’s shelter here, and plenty to eat.”
Beret was bustling around the room when they entered; she had put the
woman to bed, and now was tending her. “Where are the boys?” she asked.
Per Hansa told her that he had sent them to Hans Olsa’s for the night.
“That was hardly necessary; we could have made room here somehow.”
Beret’s voice carried a note of keen reproach.
The man had paused at the door; now he came over to the bed, took the
limp hand, and muttered: “Poor soul!... Why, I believe she’s asleep
already!”
Beret came up and pushed him gently aside. “Be careful. Don’t wake her.
She needs the rest.”
“Ya, I don’t doubt it—not I! She hasn’t slept for a week, you see—the
poor soul!” With a loud sniff, he turned and left the room.
When supper time came the woman seemed to be engulfed in a stupefying
sleep. Beret did not join the others at the supper table, but busied
herself, instead, by trying to make the woman more comfortable; she
loosened her clothes, took off her shoes, and washed her face in warm
water; during all this the stranger never stirred. That done, Beret
began to fix up sleeping quarters for the strangers, in the barn. She
carried in fresh hay and brought out all the bedding she had; she
herself would take care of the woman, in case she awoke and needed
attention. Beret did little talking, but she went about these
arrangements with a firmness and confidence that surprised her husband.
Per Hansa came in from the barn, after helping the strangers settle
themselves for the night. Beret was sitting on the edge of the bed,
dressing the baby for the night; she had put And-Ongen to bed beside
the distracted woman.
“Did she tell you much?” he asked in a low voice.
Beret glanced toward the other bed before she answered:
“Only that she had had to leave one of her children on the way. She
wasn’t able to talk connectedly.”
“It’s a terrible thing!” he said, looking away from his wife. “I think
I’ll go over to Hans Olsa’s for a minute. I want to talk this matter
over with him.”
“Talk it over with him?” she repeated, coldly. “I don’t suppose Hans
Olsa knows everything!”
“No, of course not. But these people have got to be helped, and we
can’t do it all alone.” He hesitated for a minute, as if waiting for
her consent. “Well, I won’t be gone long,” he said as he went out of
the door.
When he returned, an hour later, she was still sitting on the edge
of the bed, with the baby asleep on her lap. They sat in silence for
a long while; at last he began to undress. She waited until he was
in bed, then turned the lamp low and lay down herself, but without
undressing.... The lamp shed only a faint light. It was so quiet in the
room that one could hear the breathing of all the others. Beret lay
there listening; though the room was still, it seemed alive to her with
strange movements; she forced herself to open her eyes and look around.
Noticing that Per Hansa wasn’t asleep, either, she asked:
“Did you look after the boys?”
“Nothing the matter with them! They were fast asleep in Sofie’s bed.”
“You told them everything, at Hans Olsa’s?”
“Of course!”
“What did they think of it?”
Per Hansa raised himself on his elbows and glanced at the broken
creature lying in the bed back of theirs. The woman, apparently,
had not stirred a muscle. “It’s a bad business,” he said. “We must try
to get together a coffin and find the boy. We can’t let him lie out
there—that way.” ... As Beret made no answer, he briefly narrated the
story that the man had told him. “The fellow is a good-for-nothing,
stupid fool, I’m sure of that,” concluded Per Hansa.
She listened to him in silence. For some time she brooded over her
thoughts; then in a bitter tone she suddenly burst out: “Now you
can see that this kind of a life is impossible! It’s beyond human
endurance.”
He had not the power to read her thoughts; he did not want to know
them; to-night every nerve in his body was taut with apprehension and
dismay. But he tried to say, reassuringly. “Hans Olsa and I will both
go with the man, as soon as the day breaks. If we only had something
to make the coffin of! The few pieces of board that I’ve got here will
hardly be enough.... Now let’s go to sleep. Be sure and call me if you
need anything!”
He turned over resolutely, as if determined to sleep; but she noticed
that he was a long time doing it.... I wonder what’s going through
his mind? she thought. She was glad to have him awake, just the same;
to-night there were strange things abroad in the room....
VI
The instant the woman had climbed down from the wagon and looked
into Beret’s face a curtain seemed to be drawn over all the terrible
experiences of the last few weeks. She entered a cozy room where things
were as they should be; she felt the warm presence of folk who had
dwelt here a long time. She took in the whole room at a glance—table
and benches and stools; a fire was burning in a real stove; a kettle
was boiling; wet clothes were hanging on a line by the stove, giving
out a pleasant, familiar odor; and there actually stood two beds, made
up with clean bedding! The sense of home, of people who lived in an
orderly fashion, swept over her like a warm bath. A kind hand led her
to one of the beds, and there she sank down. She mumbled a few
words, but soon gave it up; everything about her seemed so wonderfully
pleasant; she must keep quiet, so as not to disturb the dream. The hand
that helped her had such a sympathetic touch; it took a rag, dipped it
in lukewarm water, and wiped her face; then it loosened her clothes and
even took off her shoes. But best of all, she could stretch her back
again!
... Strange that she couldn’t remember what had been going on! Had she
told the woman all that she ought to know? About the makeshift coffin,
and the big stone beside which they would find him? And that she would
have to take a blanket with her, for the nights were chilly and Paul
had very little on—only a shirt that was worn and thin?... No, she
couldn’t remember anything except that she had been able to lie down
and stretch her back; the warmth of the room, and the knowledge that
friendly people were near her, had overcome all her senses with a sweet
languor. Her body lay as if fast asleep; but away back in the inner
depths of her consciousness a wee eye peeped out, half open, and saw
things....
She remained in the same position until three o’clock in the morning.
But then the wee bit of an eye opened wider and her senses slowly began
to revive; she realized that she was lying in a strange room, where
a lamp burned with a dim light. Suddenly she remembered that she had
arrived here last night—but Paul was not with her.... Too bad I am so
forgetful! she thought. I must hurry now before Jakob sees me, because
there’s no way of stopping him—he always wants to go on!... She was
fully awake now; she sat up and buttoned her clothes, then slipped
quietly out of bed.
For a moment she stood perfectly still, listening; she could hear the
breathing of many people; bending suddenly over the bed, she snatched
up And-Ongen. She held the child tenderly in her arms and put her
cheek against the warm face.... We must be careful now! she thought.
With quiet movements she wrapped her skirt about the sleeping child;
glancing around the room to see if all was well, she glided out
like a shadow; she did not dare to close the door behind her, lest it
should make a noise.... “Here is our wagon!” she murmured. “I mustn’t
let Jakob see me now; he doesn’t understand; he only wants to get on!”
... Clutching the child to her breast, she started on the run, taking a
direction away from the house.
Beret was awakened by a voice calling to her from a great distance; it
called loudly several times. What a shame they can’t let me alone in
peace, to get a little rest! she thought, drowsily. I was up so late
last night and I need the sleep badly!... But the voice kept calling so
persistently that after a while she sat up in bed, her mind coming back
to reality; she remembered that strangers had arrived last night, that
another besides herself was in deep distress. Well, she had done her
best to take care of her.... She turned her head to see how the other
woman was resting.
... “Heaven have mercy!” ...
* * * * *
Beret leaped frantically out of bed; in a second she had reached the
side of the other bed, but no one was there. She did not notice that
And-Ongen was gone, too. A cold draught rushing through the room told
her that the door stood open; she hurried over to it. She seemed to
recall dimly that some one had recently gone out. Hadn’t she heard it
in her sleep? Beret went through the door and stood in front of the
house, but did not dare to make an outcry; she listened intently, then
called in a low voice; getting no answer, she ran around the house,
peering hither and thither, but the grey morning light disclosed
nothing.
Running back into the house, she called her husband distractedly.
“She’s gone! Get up! You must hurry!”
In an instant Per Hansa was up and had tumbled into his clothes. “Run
over to Hans Olsa’s and tell him to come at once! Be as quick as you
can! In the meanwhile I’ll search down by the creek.”
When they came out, the first light of day was creeping up the eastern
sky; a slight fog floated along the creek; the morning air was crisp
and cool. Per Hansa leaped up into the seat of the wagon and
scanned the prairie in every direction.... What was _that_, over there?
Wasn’t it a human being standing on the top of the hill? Could she have
taken that direction?... He jumped down from the wagon, and rushed
around to the other side of the house, called to Beret, and pointed up
the hill. Instantly they both started out on the run.
The woman did not seem in the least surprised at their coming. When Per
Hansa had almost reached her, he stopped stone dead. What, in God’s
name, was she carrying in her arms? His face blanched with terror.
“Come here!” he shouted. In a moment he had the child in his own arms.
And-Ongen was almost awake now and had begun to whimper; things were
going on around her that she could not understand; she felt cold, and
father had such a queer look on his face. Sleepily she cuddled up in
the fold of his left arm, her cheek against his heart, though a hard
hand which seemed to be pounding against a wall was trying to wake her
up again; she would just let it go on pounding all it pleased. She
had to sleep some more!... But now mother was here. Hurriedly she was
transferred into her mother’s arms and squeezed almost to a pancake.
She had to gasp for breath; nevertheless she snuggled into her arms
as closely as she could, for she felt, oh, so sleepy!... But no peace
here, either! Here, too, a hand pounded against a wall. Were they
tearing down the house? And-Ongen was certainly at a loss to understand
all this racket in the middle of the night.... But let ’em pound!
As Beret walked homeward, carrying the child, it seemed more precious
to her than the very first time when she had held it in her arms; and
she experienced a wonderful blessing. Upon this night the Lord had been
with them: His mighty arm had shielded them from a fearful calamity.
The other woman was still obsessed by her own troubles; she kept on
hunting up there on the hill.... Wouldn’t these people help her to
find Paul? She had to find him at once—He would be cold with so little
on.... Now they had taken that blessed child away from her; but she
didn’t wonder—that man had a bad face. She felt afraid of him....
But no time to think of such things now; Jakob would soon be coming?
She began muttering to herself: “Oh, why can’t I find the stone? What
has become of it? Wasn’t it somewhere here?” ...
Per Hansa went up and spoke to her, his voice sounding hoarse and
unnatural. “Come with me, now! To-day Hans Olsa and I are going to
find your boy.” Taking her gently by the arm, he led her back to the
house.... It’s very kind of him, to help find Paul, she thought, and
followed willingly.
At breakfast she sat very quiet; she ate when they bade her, but never
spoke. While they were making the coffin she sat looking on, wondering
why they didn’t hurry faster with the work. Couldn’t they understand
that Paul was cold? A little later a handsome woman entered the house—a
woman with such a kind face, who lined the coffin inside with a white
cloth.... Now, that is fine of her; that’s just what a woman with such
a kind face would do!... She would have liked to talk to that woman;
she had something very important to confide to her; but perhaps she had
better not delay her in her work—the coffin had to be lined!...
As soon as the coffin was ready, Per Hansa and Hans Olsa, along with
the stranger and his wife, left the settlement to hunt for the body of
the dead boy. They took quite a stock of provisions with them. On this
search they were gone four days; they criss-crossed the prairie for a
long way to the east, and searched high and low; but when they returned
the coffin was still empty.
VII
After the return from the search the strangers stayed one more day with
them. The morning they were to leave it looked dark and threatening,
and Per Hansa wouldn’t hear of their setting out; but along toward noon
the sky cleared and the weather appeared more settled. The man, very
anxious to be on his way, had everything loaded into the wagon,
and as soon as the noon meal was over they were ready to go.
But before the man got on his way Per Hansa asked him where he intended
to settle.
—Well, he wasn’t positive as to the exact place. It was over somewhere
toward the James River—his neighbours had told him that.
—Did he know where the James River was? Per Hansa inquired further.
—Certainly he did! How could he ask such a foolish question. The river
lay off there; all he needed to do was to steer straight west. After
finding the river, of course he’d have to ask. But that part of it
would be quite easy....
Per Hansa shuddered, and asked no more questions.
The woman had been quite calm since their return. She kept away from
the others, muttering to herself and pottering over insignificant
things, much like a child at play; but she was docile and inoffensive,
and did what anyone told her. A short while before noon that day she
took a notion that she must change her clothes; she got up from what
she was doing, washed, and went to the wagon. When she came back she
had dressed herself in her best; in a way she looked all right, but
made a bizarre appearance because she had put so much on.... The man
seemed fairly cheerful as they started; he talked a good deal, heaping
many blessings upon Per Hansa.... If he could only find his neighbours,
and Kari could only forget, things would be all right in a little
while. Ya, it was a hard life, but——Well, God’s blessings on Per Hansa,
and many thanks! And now he must be off!... His voice was just as husky
and blurred as when he came.
The wagon started creaking; the man, short and stooping, led the way;
the family piled into the wagon; the two cows jogged behind.... They
laid their course due west.... Banks of heavy cloud were rolled up on
the western horizon—huge, fantastic forms that seemed to await them in
Heaven’s derision—though they might have been only the last stragglers
of the spell of bad weather just past.
After they had gone, Beret could find no peace in the house; her
hand trembled; she felt faint and dizzy; every now and then she had to
go out and look at the disappearing wagon; and when the hill finally
shut off the view she took the youngest two children and went up there
to watch. In a way she felt glad that these people were gone; at the
same time she reproached herself for not having urged them to stay
longer. Sitting now on the hilltop, a strong presentiment came over
her that they should not have started to-day.... “That’s the way I’ve
become,” she thought sadly. “Here are folk in the deepest distress,
and I am only glad to send them off into direr calamities! What will
they do to-night if a storm comes upon them? He is all broken up—he
couldn’t have been much of a man at any time. And the poor wife insane
from grief! Perhaps she will disappear forever this very night.... What
misery, what an unspeakable tragedy, life is for some!” ...
Slowly, very slowly, the forlorn caravan crept off into the great,
mysterious silence always hovering above the plain. To Beret, as she
watched, it seemed as if the prairie were swallowing up the people, the
wagon, the cows and all. At last the little caravan was merged in the
very infinite itself; Beret thought she could see the wagon yet, but
was not certain; it might be only a dead tuft of grass far away which
the wind stirred....
She took the children and went home, walking with slow, dragging steps;
she wanted to cry, and felt the need of it, but no tears came....
Per Hansa and the boys were breaking prairie; to judge from the
language they used in talking to the oxen, they must be hard at it.
Her loneliness was so great that she felt a physical need of bringing
happiness to some living thing; as soon as she got home she took her
little remaining store of rice and cooked porridge for supper; the boys
were very fond of that dish.
Toward evening the air grew heavy and sultry; the cloud banks, still
rolling up in the western sky, had taken on a most threatening aspect;
it looked as if a thunderstorm might be coming on.
After supper Per Hansa was due to meet at Hans Olsa’s with the
other neighbours, to lay plans for the trip to town which had to be
made before harvesting set in. The boys asked leave to go, too—it was
so much fun to be with the men.
When she had washed the supper dishes Beret went outdoors and sat down
on the woodpile. A nameless apprehension tugged at her heart and would
not leave her in peace; taking the two children as before, she again
ascended the hill. The spell of the afternoon’s sadness was still upon
her; her constant self-reproach since then had only deepened it....
Those poor folk were straying somewhere out there, under the towering
clouds. Poor souls! The Lord pity the mother who had left a part
of herself back east on the prairie! How could the good God permit
creatures made in His image to fall into such tribulations? To people
this desert would be as impossible as to empty the sea. For how could
folk establish homes in an endless wilderness? Was it not the Evil
One that had struck them with blindness?... Take her own case, for
example: here she sat, thousands of miles from home and kindred, lost
in a limitless void.... Out yonder drifted these folk, like chips on
a current.... Must man perish because of his own foolishness. Where,
then, was the guiding hand?... Beret was gazing at the western sky
as the twilight fast gathered around her; her eyes were riveted on a
certain cloud that had taken on the shape of a face, awful of mien and
giantlike in proportions; the face seemed to swell out of the prairie
and filled half the heavens.
She gazed a long time; now she could see the monster clearer. The
face was unmistakable! There were the outlines of the nose and mouth.
The eyes—deep, dark caves in the cloud—were closed. The mouth, if
it were to open, would be a yawning abyss. The chin rested on the
prairie.... Black and lean the whole face, but of such gigantic,
menacing proportions! Wasn’t there something like a leer upon it?...
And the terrible creature was spreading everywhere; she trembled
so desperately that she had to take hold of the grass.
It was a strange emotion that Beret was harbouring at this moment; in
reality she felt a certain morbid satisfaction—very much like a child
that has been arguing with its parents, has turned out to be right,
and, just as the tears are coming, cries, “Now, there, you see!” ...
Here was the simple solution to the whole riddle. She had known in her
heart all the time that people were never led into such deep affliction
unless an evil power had been turned loose among them. And hadn’t
she clearly felt that there were unspeakable things out yonder—that
the great stillness was nothing but life asleep?... She sat still as
death, feeling the supernatural emanations all around her. The face
came closer in the dusk—didn’t she feel its cold breath upon her? When
that mouth opened and began to suck, terrible things would happen!...
Without daring to look again, she snatched up the children and ran
blindly home.
After a while the others returned, the boys storming boisterously into
the house, the father close behind; he was evidently chasing them; by
the tone of his voice, she knew he was in high spirits.
“Why, Beret,” he cried gayly, as soon as he got inside, “what have you
been doing to the windows—covering them up?” He was looking at her
with narrow, sparkling eyes. “Beret, Beret, you’re a dear girl!” he
whispered. Then he came over and fondled her—he wanted to help undress
her and put her to bed....
“No, no—not _that_!” she cried, vehemently, an intense anger surging
up within her. Had he no sense whatever of decency and propriety, no
feeling of shame and sin?... That’s only one more proof, she thought,
that the devil has us in his clutches!
After that time, Beret was conscious of the face whenever she was
awake, but particularly along toward evening, as the twilight came
on; then it drew closer to her and seemed alive. Even during the day
she would often be aware of its presence; high noon might stand over
the prairie, with the sun shedding a flood of light that fairly
blinded the sight, but through and behind the light she would see
it—huge and horrible it was, the eyes always closed, with only those
empty, cavernlike sockets beneath the brows.
As she went about doing her work, now, she would frequently be seized
by a faintness so great that she had to sit down.... How was this going
to end? she asked herself. Yes, how would it end?... Vague premonitions
hovered about her like shadows. Many times she was on the point of
asking her husband if he saw what she did, towering above the prairie
out west; but always she seemed to be tongue-tied.... Well, why mention
it? Couldn’t he and the others see it perfectly well for themselves?
How could they help it?... She noticed that a silence would often fall
upon them when they were out-of-doors, especially in the evening.
Certainly they saw it!... Every evening, now, whether Per Hansa was
away or at home, she hung something over the windows—it helped shut out
the fear....
At first her husband made all sorts of fun of this practice of hers; he
teased her about it, as if it were a good joke, and continued to force
his caresses on her, his voice low and vibrant with pent-up emotion.
But as time went on he ceased laughing; the fear that possessed her had
begun to affect him, too....
VIII
The month of July wore on. The small patches of fields in the Spring
Creek settlement were slowly ripening and made a brave showing. Never
had one seen finer fields! The grain had started to head out long
ago; the kernels were already formed, tiny bodies wrapped in the most
delicate green silk. With every day that passed the wheat filled out
more and more; the heads grew heavy and full of milk; as soon as the
breeze died down in the afternoon, they would tilt toward the setting
sun and slowly drop off to sleep, only to dream of the marvellous life
that was now stirring within them.
These days, Per Hansa was behaving like a good boat it a heavy
sea—as long as the keel pointed the right way, he would go on. He
watched his wife covering the windows at night, and felt both sad and
angry; but when he saw how everything was growing on the farm—meadows
and fields, cattle and youngsters—then he was filled with an exultant
joy that made him momentarily forget his wife’s condition. He had a
larger field than any of his neighbours, and there wasn’t a doubt that
his grain was the finest—theirs was just ordinary dumb grain, while
his seemed alive!... He tried to reason himself out of his serious
misgivings over Beret. True enough, she didn’t act as a normal person
should; yet it was nothing that wouldn’t naturally right itself with
time. Perhaps he would go to work and build her a house this fall.
By thunder, he’d have to see about that! The castle would have to be
tackled sooner or later.... The lumberman at Worthington was a fine
fellow, and Per Hansa wouldn’t be ashamed to ask him for credit. Huh!
What could the man expect to do with his lumber but sell it?... Next
spring he would make a big haul in his fur trade with the Indians; he’d
buy every damned scalp they had in the place. And when his castle was
ready it would be stranger than the devil if such a sensible girl as
Beret didn’t perk up and throw off her gruesome fancies!
Everything he had planted that spring was blooming like a garden. Why,
he could just _hear_ the potatoes grow! Already, as early as this, they
were having new potatoes every day, while in his neighbours’ patches
the plants were just beginning to blossom. The oats, too, were standing
high; but the wheat—best of all was the _wheat_! The neighbours, and
all the east-siders—so the folk who had settled east of the creek had
come to be called—and even the Irish from over to the westward, would
come to look at his wheat field and say that the sight did them good.
He couldn’t understand what the Irish were saying, of course, but their
joy at the sight of the wheat was written all over their faces....
Damned fine people, these Irish. Too bad he couldn’t talk with them.
But he felt like showing his appreciation of their visits in some
tangible way, so he would go over to the potato patch, dig into a row,
and give them enough for a meal.... Good God! a man as well off as he
was must lend a hand to a pack of starving devils!...
By this time Tönseten had lost the last vestige of ill-feeling toward
Per Hansa for doing his own seeding; he was even willing to praise the
other for having had sense enough to get the seed into the ground good
and _early_. Now they would be able to cut and harvest the wheat here
before the other fields had ripened.... “I tell you what, Per Hansa,
that’s the most sensible thing you ever did in your life—and I ought to
know what I’m talking about!” ... Tönseten’s round, fat body bristled
with importance, for, of course, it would fall to him to do the reaping
for these greenhorns. The Solum boys would have to teach them how
to bind. Damn it, he couldn’t be expected to do everything!... Yes,
Syvert Tönseten was a very busy man these days. There was the reaper to
overhaul, and the harnesses to be mended; he had to keep a sharp eye on
the grain, too, lest they let it stand too long. Such heavy wheat would
shell easily! So he waddled back and forth between the houses of his
three neighbours, invariably finding some important matter to discuss
wherever he went.
Per Hansa was not running true to form these days; he who was always
so easily excited and never had patience to wait when something had
to be done, seemed in no hurry to start his harvesting. Every evening
he would make a trip up to the field, to see how the wheat was coming
on, and with each trip his mind was more at ease. “Come up with me
and see how fine the wheat stands!” he would coax Beret. And Beret
would usually go; she would agree absentmindedly that the grain looked
fine—of course it did; but then she would always remember some task she
had left undone at home and would have to hurry back before dark; she
seldom seemed to have time to wait for him.
... “No, no, there’s no hurry yet with the wheat!” Per Hansa thought.
When Tönseten insisted that it was time to start cutting he would
argue with him: “No, Syvert brother, we’ll leave the wheat awhile
yet—give her a spell longer to think it over. You’ll be able to do the
reaping easily enough before the others need you. Don’t we all know
that your equal in running the reaper isn’t to be found in the whole of
Dakota Territory?”
Tönseten would give an embarrassed cough: “You mean perhaps in
Minnesota?”
“Certainly! Wasn’t that what I said?” Whereupon both would laugh like a
couple of happy boys.
But one forenoon Tönseten came over in great excitement, declaring
flatly that now they would have to start cutting here—and no use
talking! He had just come from Hans Olsa’s, where he’d been looking at
the field; and there, too, the grain was ripening fast. This job had to
be gotten out of the way right now, or where the devil would they be?
“Oh, what’s your hurry, Syvert? Don’t let’s get excited; we’ll just
give her one more night for extra measure!” argued Per Hansa.
Then Tönseten grew goggle-eyed, waving his arms as he talked. “You’re a
stubborn, ignorant fool, Per Hansa—I don’t mind telling you so! No, I’m
damned if I do! Here we have eighty acres of grain, and I alone must do
all the cutting! In all probability I’ll have to help the east-siders,
too; they don’t seem to have any more brains than they need—some of ’em
don’t, at least!”
“Take it easy, take it easy, Syvert! Don’t you see how nicely the wheat
is filling out—just like a young girl budding into womanhood?”
At that Tönseten got mad in earnest. “You make me tired, man! You don’t
know as much as the nose on your face—no, you don’t! What the devil
would happen to us if all our grain came in at the same time? Just what
would we _do_, I’d like to know? We couldn’t save it.... Now I’ve made
up my mind: there’s to be no more damned shilly-shallying. We start
this afternoon, and that’s the end of it!”
“As you say, Captain!” answered Per Hansa, meekly, his eyes twinkling.
“All right, then. I’ll tell Hans Olsa. You run over and tell the
Solum boys.”
Per Hansa chuckled aloud. “Are you going to call in all of Dakota
Territory to help harvest this little patch of mine?”
“Stop your joking, Per Hansa! You don’t know an earthly thing about
harvesting in America—no, you don’t! You and Hans Olsa couldn’t any
more take care of the binding, when I once get going, than you could
fly! You don’t even know what needs to be done; you’ve never seen a
job of binding in your life!... Now do as I tell you and get the Solum
boys!” ... Tönseten spoke as if the welfare of the whole country were
resting on his shoulders. His neighbour only laughed still harder and
did as he was bid.
The moment the noon meal was over, the whole of the little settlement
assembled at Per Hansa’s wheat field, men, women, and children; Beret
had brought And-Ongen with her, and even carried the baby in her arms.
Tönseten’s shouts and numberless commands put everyone but himself
in a festive mood; he felt it to be a solemn occasion, and highly
disapproved of the way they took it; but the others only laughed and
joked as gayly as if they were in a bridal procession on the way to
church, some bright Sunday morning. Some one would think of a funny
remark, which straightway would cause some one else to make a still
funnier sally; though most of it was aimed at Tönseten, his wife
laughed until the tears came. But Tönseten held himself superior to
their silly talk; he had matters of weight and purpose on his mind.
Fools will snicker and blat! he observed to himself, working steadily
on; that’s the only way one can keep ’em going. He was on his back
under the machine, sweating streams, hammering away with a heavy monkey
wrench, tightening one bur here and another there; now here was a place
that needed oiling.... “What the devil became of the oil can? Can’t you
do anything but stand there and grin? Come here and help me!”
But at last he got things so far along that he could hitch the
horses to the reaper; taking the lines, he mounted to the throne.
... “Now, the Lord help us!” he muttered to himself. He wanted to give
more orders, but couldn’t get a chance; the mosquitoes were bad and
the horses rather uneasy, and new things kept happening all the time.
With a great flourish he manœuvred the reaper over to the edge of
the field, shouted loudly to the horses—and the first harvest in the
settlement by Spring Creek had begun.
The machine roared fearfully as it got its belly full of the heavy
grain, but kept calling for more; the horses stepped off at a lively
pace and gave it what it called for. Tönseten was now intent on cutting
out the first swathe; it had to be straight, and yet it couldn’t leave
anything along the edge; he was too much taken up with this momentous
task even to see the others. But when he had finished the fourth round
of the field he felt that he was master of the situation. Stopping
the machine, he called in English to Henry Solum—how was he getting
along? Could he pound any sense into those idiots? Well, Kjersti had
been a smart binder in her day. Why didn’t he get her to help him with
the instruction?... And then, turning majestically in his seat, he
addressed Per Hansa:
“If this wheat doesn’t run forty bushels to the acre, I’ll eat my own
shirt! By God, I will!... Well, anyway, thirty-five....”
“You go on with the cutting, brother!” chuckled Per Hansa. “Here’s a
whole army waiting for something to do!... Go on, I say. We’ll measure
it up later.”
All were working; all were having a good time. For the greenhorns the
binding proved to be more like work than art; they soon caught on to
the trick; there were so many of them at it that the binding this
afternoon went like a jolly game. When Beret finally put the baby down
on the grass and began tying up bundles of wheat Kjersti felt that
she had to come over and speak to her. There wasn’t any need of that,
she said; the men could easily handle what had to be done. Heavens
and earth—five grown men and two boys in a field no bigger than
this! Beret and Sörine had better go home and get a lunch ready,
Kjersti advised further; the menfolk were never happier than when they
had coffee brought to them in the field. She knew them!... After a
while the two women followed her advice and went home to make their
preparations.
Per Hansa was in a rare mood that afternoon. Now he was binding his own
wheat, his hands oily with the sap of the new-cut stems; a fine oil
it was, too—he rubbed his hands together and felt a sensuous pleasure
welling up within him. His body seemed to grow a little with every
bundle he tied; he walked as if on springs; a strength the like of
which he had never felt before ran through his muscles. How good it was
to be alive! He had made a daring throw, and luck had smiled on him!...
He tied the ripe, heavy bundles, gave them a twist, and there stood the
shock! As he looked at them he laughed to himself joyously, stopping
a second as he finished each one to draw his hands over his face....
He must handle these bundles with care—the heavy kernels might shell
out.... How absurdly light-hearted and gay he felt to-day!...
The men continued working until the dew became so heavy on the wheat
that the reaping machine refused to go; it was long after sundown
before they quit. Tönseten felt stiff and tired, but he wasn’t
announcing the fact from the house-tops. In Per Hansa’s hut stood
a table heaped with many good things, though the porridge bowls
predominated. Both Kjersti and Sörine had been home to do their own
chores for the night, and had returned to help Beret with the supper.
The men were already seated at the table; but they waited for Per
Hansa, who had his head in the big chest and was hunting for something
or other. “Hold on a minute, boys, before you say grace,” came from the
cavernous depths of the chest. “Haven’t you manners enough to wait for
the head of the family?” ... When he finally emerged and came up to the
table, he shook a bottle behind Tönseten’s ear, asking, gayly, “Did you
ever hear a sweeter sound, Syvert? Can’t you just hear her _wink_ at
you, my boy?” ... There was enough in the bottle for one round,
and then a little drop to swallow on, before the meal started.
Tönseten cleared his throat after the drink; he was anxious to make a
little speech:
“What do you plan on doing in the future, Per Hansa, if you’re going to
get rich on the very first crop?... I never in my life saw such wheat!
Why, the kernels are like potatoes!”
“How about yourself, then?” inquired Per Hansa in great good humour. “I
like to help worthy people who are in trouble; in case you and Kjersti
should run short of stockings to keep your money in, you might come to
me!”
As the meal went on, the spirits of the men sitting about the table
rose higher and higher, and each vied with the other in good cheer.
“Rich?” exclaimed Tönseten. “We’ll all get rich; no doubt about it!...
It’s going to be hardest on Sam, poor fellow. He’ll have to spend it
all in getting married to that fine Trönder girl who’s waiting for him
over east by the Sioux River! Hard luck, I say!”
“Yes, sir!” drawled Sam, blushing furiously. “But if I were you,
Kjersti, I wouldn’t let Syvert go to the wedding—no, I wouldn’t at all!”
“Why?” laughed Kjersti, innocently.
“Well, you see, he gets sort of strung-up when he’s turned loose among
the Trönder women—not that I mean anything, you know....”
“Sam, you’re a fool!” remarked Tönseten, angrily, laying down his spoon
and leaving the table.
IX
By noon the next day they had finished the wheat field. To-day Tönseten
was of a different mind—there really was no great hurry; the weather
kept cool, and the grain didn’t look any riper to-day than yesterday,
either at his own place or at Hans Olsa’s; if this spell of cool
weather should last, the wheat would profit by yet another week; but
then they might prepare to harvest a crop unique in the history of
wheat growing.
Tönseten felt highly well pleased with himself and the rest of the
world; he had now proved his prowess before his neighbours; the field
was almost finished here, and it wouldn’t do any harm to rest and visit
awhile.... “Don’t fret, boys, I won’t need to hurry at all! Those four
acres of oats will only be play for the afternoon!”
And Per Hansa felt very much the same way. He and the other men were
sitting in the shade on the north side of the house, with their backs
up against the wall, enjoying the cool breeze that had sprung up from
the west.... What was the use of hurrying?... Per Hansa had told the
Solum boys that he wouldn’t need them that afternoon, as he and Hans
Olsa could easily bind the oats; but it was so pleasant to rest here
and spin yarns that the boys didn’t feel like stirring until the others
went to the field.
As they got up at last and returned to their work, the northwest breeze
struck them full in the face with its cool, fresh fragrance; Tönseten
sniffed it approvingly, declaring that if this weather kept on, he and
Hans Olsa would be sure to steal a march on Per Hansa in the end; never
had the Lord sent finer weather for wheat to ripen in! He chuckled and
talked away, his rotund body bobbing up and down with an irresistible
merriment.... “Well, boys, in my opinion the Land of Canaan didn’t
have much on this country—no, I’m damned if it had! Do you suppose the
children of Israel ever smelt a westerly breeze like this? Why, folks,
it’s blowing honey!” ... His festive mood was still possessing him as
he began to hitch up the horses; in the midst of it he had to turn
around and ask them shyly, “Now, wasn’t it remarkable that I should
discover just _this_ place for you?”
Hans Olsa burst into a laugh. “Yes, it surely was wonderful, Syvert!”
But Tönseten felt that this praise wasn’t enough—he wanted to carry the
joke a little farther. Turning to his other neighbour, he asked with
the same roguish air, “What did you say, Per Hansa?”
Per Hansa remained strangely silent; he was standing a little distance
away, shading his eyes with his right hand and looking into the west;
an intent, troubled expression had come over his face.
... “What in the devil?...” he muttered to himself. Off in the western
sky he had caught sight of something he couldn’t understand—something
that sent a nameless chill through his blood.... Could that be a storm
coming on?
He hurried over to the wheat shock where Hans Olsa was sitting, pointed
westward, and asked in a low voice, “Tell me, can you see anything over
there?”
Hans Olsa was on his feet in an instant.... “Well, look at that!... It
must be going to storm!”
Tönseten had finished hitching the horses to the reaper, and had just
mounted the seat when he saw Per Hansa run over, pointing to the west.
Now both his neighbours were shouting at him:
“What’s that, Syvert?”
Tönseten turned in his seat, to face a sight such as he had never
seen or heard before. From out of the west layers of clouds came
rolling—thin layers that rose and sank on the breeze; they had none of
the look or manner of ordinary clouds; they came in waves, like the
surges of the sea, and cast a glittering sheen before them as they
came; they seemed to be made of some solid murky substance that threw
out small sparks along its face.
The three men stood spellbound, watching the oncoming terror; their
voices died in their throats; their minds were blank. The horses
snorted as they, too, caught sight of it, and became very restless.
The ominous waves of cloud seemed to advance with terrific speed,
breaking now and then like a huge surf, and with the deep, dull roaring
sound as of a heavy undertow rolling into caverns in a mountain
side.... But they were neither breakers nor foam, these waves.... It
seemed more as if the unseen hand of a giant were shaking an immense
tablecloth of iridescent colours!...
“For God’s sake, what——!” ... Tönseten didn’t finish; unconsciously
he had been hauling so hard on the lines that the horses began
backing the machine.
Just then Ole and Store-Hans came running wildly up, shouting
breathlessly, “A snowstorm is coming!... _See_!”
... The next moment the first wave of the weird cloud engulfed them,
spewing over them its hideous, unearthly contents. The horses became
uncontrollable. “Come here and give me some help!” cried Tönseten
through the eerie hail, but the others, standing like statues, heard
nothing and paid no heed; the impact of the solid surge had forced them
to turn their backs to the wind. Tönseten could not hold the horses;
they bolted across the field, cutting a wide semicircle through the
oats; not until he had the stern of his craft well into the wind could
he stop them long enough to scramble down and unhitch them from the
reaper.
At that moment two women came running up—Kjersti first, with her
skirt thrown over her head, Sörine a little way behind, beating the
air with frantic motions. The Solum boys, too, had now joined the
terror-stricken little crowd. Down by the creek the grazing cows
had hoisted their tails straight in the air and run for the nearest
shelter; and no sooner had the horses been turned loose, than they
followed suit; man and beast alike were overcome by a nameless fear.
And now from out the sky gushed down with cruel force a living,
pulsating stream, striking the backs of the helpless folk like pebbles
thrown by an unseen hand; but that which fell out of the heavens was
not pebbles, nor raindrops, nor hail, for then it would have lain
inanimate where it fell; this substance had no sooner fallen than it
popped up again, crackling, and snapping—rose up and disappeared in
the twinkling of an eye; it flared and flittered around them like
light gone mad; it chirped and buzzed through the air; it snapped and
hopped along the ground; the whole place was a weltering turmoil of
raging little demons; if one looked for a moment into the wind, one
saw nothing but glittering, lightninglike flashes—flashes that came
and went, in the heart of a cloud made up of innumerable dark-brown
clicking bodies! All the while the roaring sound continued.
“Father!” shrieked Store-Hans through the storm. “They’re little
birds—they have regular wings! Look here!” ... The boy had caught one
in his hand; spreading the wings and holding it out by their tips,
he showed it to his father. The body of the unearthly creature had a
dark-brown colour; it was about an inch in length, or perhaps a trifle
longer; it was plump around the middle and tapered at both ends; on
either side of its head sparkled a tiny black eye that seemed to look
out with a supernatural intelligence; underneath it were long, slender
legs with rusty bands around them; the wings were transparent and of a
pale, light colour.
“For God’s sake, child, throw it away!” moaned Kjersti.
The boy dropped it in fright. No sooner had he let it go than there
sounded a snap, a twinkling flash was seen, and the creature had merged
itself with the countless legions of flickering devils which now filled
all space. They whizzed by in the air; they literally covered the
ground; they lit on the heads of grain, on the stubble, on everything
in sight—popping and glittering, millions on millions of them.... The
people watched it, stricken with fear and awe. Here was _Another One_
speaking!...
Kjersti was crying bitterly; Sörine’s kind face was deathly pale as
she glanced at the men, trying to bolster up her courage; but the big
frame of her husband was bent in fright and dismay. He spoke slowly and
solemnly: “This must be one of the plagues mentioned in the Bible!”
“Yes! and the devil take it!” muttered Per Hansa, darkly.... “But it
can’t last forever.”
To Tönseten the words of Per Hansa, in an hour like this, sounded like
the sheerest blasphemy; they would surely call down upon them a still
darker wrath! He turned to reprove his neighbour: “Now the Lord is
taking back what he has given,” he said, impressively. “I might have
guessed that I would never be permitted to harvest such wheat. That was
asking too much!”
“Stop your silly gabble!” snarled Per Hansa. “Do you really suppose
_He_ needs to take the bread out of your mouth?”
There was a certain consolation in Per Hansa’s outburst of angry
rationalism; Kjersti ceased weeping, though it was her own husband that
had been put to shame. “I believe Per Hansa is right,” she said, the
sobs still choking her. “The Lord can’t have any use for our wheat. He
doesn’t need bread, anyway. He certainly wouldn’t take it from us in
this way!”
But her open unbelief only confirmed her husband in his position;
clearing his throat, he began to take Kjersti to task: “Don’t you
remember your catechism, and your Bible history. Isn’t it plainly
stated that this is one of the seven plagues that fell upon Egypt? Look
out for your tongue, woman, lest He send us the other six, too!...
It states as plain as day that it was because the people _hardened
themselves_!” ...
Tönseten would probably have gone on indefinitely expounding the
Scriptures to his wife if Henry Solum hadn’t interrupted just then
with a practical idea. Turning to his brother, he said, “Go fetch
the horses, so we can finish this field; by to-morrow there won’t be
anything left!”
Per Hansa looked at Henry and nodded approvingly; the simple
practicability of the suggestion had touched the chord of action again;
he jumped to his feet and walked across to the field, where the work
of devastation was already in full progress. As he saw the fine, ripe
grain being ruthlessly destroyed before his eyes, he felt but one
impulse—to stop the inroads of these demons in any possible way. He
began to jump up and down and wave his hat, stamping and yelling like
one possessed. But the hosts of horrid creatures frolicking about him
never so much as noticed his presence; the brown bodies whizzed by on
every hand, alighting wherever they pleased, chirping wherever they
went; as many as half a dozen of them would perch on a single head of
grain, while the stem would be covered with them all the way to the
ground; even his own body seemed to be a desirable halting place; they
lit on his arms, his back, his neck—they even dared to light on his
bared head and on the very hat he waved.
His utter impotence in the face of this tragedy threw him into an
uncontrollable fury; he lost all restraint over himself. “You, Ola!” he
shouted, hoarsely. “Run home after Old Maria, and bring the caps!”
The boy was soon back with the old musket. His father, hardly able
to wait, ran to meet him and snatched the weapon out of his hands.
Hurriedly putting on a cap, he settled himself in a firm foothold—for
he still had sense enough to remember how hard the rifle kicked when it
had been lying loaded a long time.
As Hans Olsa caught wind of what he intended to do he tried to stop it.
“Don’t do that, Per Hansa! If the Lord has sent this affliction on us,
then....”
Per Hansa glowered at him with a look of angry determination; then,
facing squarely the hurricane of flying bodies, he fired straight
into the thickest of the welter!... The awful detonation of the old,
rusty muzzle-loader had a singular effect; at first, as the shattering
sound died away, nothing appeared to have happened—the glittering
demons flickered by as unconcernedly as before; but presently a new
movement seemed to originate within the body of the main cloud; it
began to heave and roll with a lifting motion; in a few minutes the
cloud had left the ground and was sailing over their heads, with only
an intermittent hail of bodies pelting down on them out of its lower
fringe; the roaring becoming more muffled.
“Do you suppose you’ve actually driven them off?” cried Henry,
breathlessly, marvelling as he watched.
“Yes, from _here_!” said Hans Olsa in the same solemn tone, as he
pointed down the hill. “But see our fields ...!”
Per Hansa was still in the grip of the strange spell that had taken
possession of him; he apparently did not hear what the others were
saying; without looking again he hurried off to help Sam with the
horses. “Let’s get the reaper started!” he cried. “No sense in sitting
here like a row of dummies!”
His example roused them once more, and without further words they
followed his lead; just before sundown that night they finished
the oat field at Per Hansa’s. All the while fresh clouds of marauders
were passing over. As soon as he could get away each man hurried to his
own place; they were all terribly anxious to see how much damage had
been done at home.... Couldn’t they start cutting to-morrow, even if
the grain wasn’t quite ripe? they thought as they hurried on. Wouldn’t
it be possible to save _something_ out of the wreck? What in God’s name
could they do if the whole crop were destroyed?... Anxiety tugged at
their heartstrings. Yes, what could they do?...
Ole and Store-Hans went home with Hans Olsa to bring back word as
to whether it would be possible to start harvesting his field in
the morning. Per Hansa walked home alone; the spell had lifted now,
and the reaction had left him in a troubled, irresolute frame of
mind. The things that had happened that afternoon seemed harsh and
inexplicable.... To be sure, _he_ had saved his whole crop—but how and
why? He had saved it—partly because of his own foolish, headstrong
acts, and partly because his land chanced to lie so much higher than
that of his neighbours, that it had been the first to dry out in the
spring.... Well, great luck for him! But at this moment gladness and
happiness were the last things that he could feel.... There were
his neighbours—poor devils! Hadn’t they worked just as faithfully,
hadn’t they struggled just as hard—and with a great deal more common
sense than he had shown? Why should they have to suffer this terrible
calamity while he went scot-free?... And there was something else that
worried him desperately. Throughout the afternoon, while he had been
working, vague misgivings of how it was going at home had visited
him, an uneasy sense of oppression and impending disaster; he had
found himself constantly watching his own house, and had every moment
expected to see Beret come around the corner. But not a soul had he
caught sight of in all this time, moving about down there, though the
hard labour and the fiends of the air had left him scant chance to
think about it till now.
As he approached the house his misgivings grew more pronounced,
till suddenly they leaped into an overmastering fear which he
tried to assuage by telling himself that she had kept indoors because
she had not dared to leave the children, and that in doing so she had
acted wisely.... The house lay in deep twilight as he drew near; there
was no sign of life to be seen or heard, except the malign beings that
still snapped and flared through the air; the sod hut, surrounded as it
was by flowing shapes, looked like a quay thrust out into a turbulent
current; in the deepening twilight, the pale, shimmering sails of
the flying creatures had taken on a still more unearthly sheen; they
came, flickered by, and were gone in an instant, only to give place to
myriads more.
... Can she have gone over to one of the neighbours’? he wondered as he
came up to the door. No, she hasn’t—the door can’t be closed from the
outside.... Per Hansa gasped for breath as he knocked on the door of
his own house.... He rapped harder ... called, with his voice tearing
from his throat:
“Open the door, Beret!”
He found himself listening intently, his ears strained to catch the
least sound; at length he thought he heard a movement inside, and a
great wave of relief swept over him.
... “Thank God!” ... He waited for the door to be opened—but nothing
happened; nothing more could be heard.... What can she be doing? Didn’t
she hear me? What in Heaven’s name has she put in front of the door?...
Per Hansa had begun to shove against the panel.
“Open the door, I tell you!... Beret—where are you?” ...
Once more he listened; once more he caught a faint sound; but the blood
pounding in his ears deafened him now. Pulling himself together, he
shoved against the door with all his strength—shoved until red streaks
were flashing before his eyes. The door began to give—the opening
widened; at last he had pushed it wide enough to slip through.
... “_Beret_!” ... The anguish of his cry cut through the air....
“Beret!” ...
Now he stood in the middle of the room. It was absolutely dark
before his eyes; he looked wildly around, but could see nothing.
... “Beret, where are you?” ...
No answer came—there was no one to be seen. But wasn’t that a sound?
“Beret!” he called again, sharply. He heard it now distinctly. Was
it coming from one of the beds, or over there by the door?... It was
a faint, whimpering sound. He rushed to the beds and threw off the
bedclothes—no one in this one, no one in that one—it must be over by
the door!... He staggered back—the big chest was standing in front of
the door. Who could have dragged it there?... Per Hansa flung the cover
open with frantic haste. The sight that met his eyes made his blood run
cold. Down in the depths of the great chest lay Beret, huddled up and
holding the baby in her arms; And-Ongen was crouching at her feet—the
whimpering sound had come from her.
It seemed for a moment as if he would go mad; the room swam and receded
in dizzy circles.... But things had to be done. First he lifted
And-Ongen out and carried her to the bed—then the baby. At last he took
Beret up in his arms, slammed down the lid of the chest, and set her on
it.
... “Beret, Beret!” ... he kept whispering.
All his strength seemed to leave him as he looked into her tear-swollen
face; yet it wasn’t her tears that drained his heart dry—the face was
that of a stranger, behind which her own face seemed to be hidden.
He gazed at her helplessly, imploringly; she returned the gaze in a
fixed stare, and whispered hoarsely:
“Hasn’t the devil got you yet? He has been all around here to-day....
Put the chest back in front of the door right away! He doesn’t dare to
take the chest, you see.... We must hide in it—all of us!”
“Oh, Beret!” begged Per Hansa, his very soul in the cry. Speechless and
all undone, he sank down before her, threw his arms around her waist,
and buried his head in her lap—as if he were a child needing comfort.
The action touched her; she began to pat his head, running her fingers
through his hair and stroking his cheek.... “That’s right!” she
crooned.... “Weep now, weep much and long because of your sin!... So I
have done every night—not that it helps much.... Out here nobody pays
attention to our tears ... it’s too open and wild ... but it does no
harm to try.”
“Oh, Beret, my own girl!”
“Yes, yes, I know,” she said, as if to hush him. She grew more loving,
caressed him tenderly, bent over to lift him up to her.... “Don’t be
afraid, dear boy of mine!... For ... well ... it’s always worst just
before it’s over!”
Per Hansa gazed deep into her eyes; a sound of agony came from his
throat; he sank down suddenly in a heap and knew nothing more....
Outside, the fiendish shapes flickered and danced in the dying glow of
the day. The breeze had died down; the air seemed unaccountably lighter.
... That night the Great Prairie stretched herself voluptuously;
giantlike and full of cunning, she laughed softly into the reddish
moon. “Now we will see what human might may avail against us!... Now
we’ll see!” ...
X
And now had begun a seemingly endless struggle between man’s fortitude
in adversity, on the one hand, and the powers of evil in high places,
on the other. There were signs of the scourge in the summer of ’73,
but not before the following year did it assume the proportions of a
plague; after that it raged with unabated fury throughout the years
’74, ’75, ’76, ’77, and part of ’78; then it disappeared as suddenly
and mysteriously as it had come. The devastation it wrought was
terrible; it made beggars of some, and drove others insane; still
others it sent wandering back to the forest lands, though they found
conditions little better there, either.... But the greater number
simply hung on where they were. They stayed because poverty, that most
supreme of masters, had deprived them of the liberty to rise up and
go away. And where would they have gone? In the name of Heaven,
whither would they have fled?
In the course of time it came about that fresh inroads of settlers,
just as poverty-stricken as they were, arrived to help them suffer
privation and to wait for better times.... Beautiful out here on the
wide prairie—yes, beautiful indeed!... The finest soil you ever dreamed
of—a veritable Land of Canaan!... One caravan after another came
creaking along, a single wagon dropping out to settle here, another
to settle there; for it really looked wonderful, this vast expanse of
level, smiling plain—the new Promised Land into which the Lord was
leading His poor people from all the corners of the earth!...
But the plague of locusts proved as certain as the seasons. All that
grew above the ground, with the exception of the wild grass, it would
pounce upon and destroy; the grass it left untouched because it had
grown here ere time was and _without the aid of man’s hand_....
Who would dare affirm that this plague was not of supernatural origin?
During the spring season, and throughout the early part of the summer,
the air would be as pure and clear as if it had been filtered, wrapping
and caressing the body like the finest silk; the sky would be as blue
as if it had been scoured and newly painted; everything planted in the
ground by man would grow as if by magic, filling out with an amazing
fruitfulness, as the long warm days passed in endless array, until it
bent under its own burden. And then, just as the process of ripening
had begun, or perhaps a little before, the plague would descend upon
them, suddenly, mysteriously, disastrously! On a certain bright, sunny
day, when the breeze sighed its loveliest out of the northwest, strange
clouds would appear in the western sky; swiftly they would advance,
floating lazily through the clear air, a sight beautiful to behold. But
these clouds would be made up of innumerable dark-brown bodies with
slender legs, sailing on transparent wings; in an instant the air would
be filled with nameless, unclean creatures—legions on legions of them,
hosts without number! Now pity the fields that the hand of man had
planted with so much care! And the ruthless marauders invariably came
out of the clear northwest where the afternoon glow was brightest, most
marvellous; more than often toward evening, when the day was sinking to
rest and all earth seemed at peace, they would come. To these wandering
Norsemen, the old adage that all evil dwells below and springs from the
north, was proving true again.[21]
[21] An old superstition that goes back to Norse mythology: the Kingdom
of Darkness and Evil was located in the far north; the way to Hell led
downward and in a northerly direction. In the practice of sorcery and
witchcraft, whenever water was to be used it must always be taken from
streams flowing from south to north, for such water had supernatural
power.
During the summer of their first visitation, the demons left behind
them evil enough to pollute a whole continent. In the plowed fields
they laid tiny, frail eggs, having the appearance of fine dry sawdust;
although they seemed so delicate, these eggs would lie there unharmed
during the wet fall season, and all through the winter, embedded in
ice and covered by many feet of snow, thawing and freezing by turns
in the early spring; but when the hot sun of summer had warmed them
for a while they would suddenly burst open, letting loose a host of
voracious, crawling devils. This phenomenon called to mind another
saying: No evil is quite so bad as that which man himself fosters.
It seemed to be true enough in this case; for these little wriggling
demons were not only revoltingly nasty to look at, but they also caused
an even greater devastation than those which came flying on the wings
of the western breeze.
Not that these others ceased coming now, because man had raised a
crop of his own—God, no! It would happen for days at a time, during
the height of the pest season, that one could not see clear sky.
But not always did the scourge choose to descend; often the locust
clouds would come drifting across the sun, very much like streamers of
snow, floating lazily by for days on end; then, all of a sudden, as
if overcome by their own neglect, they would swoop down, dashing and
spreading out like an angry flood, slicing and shearing, cutting
with greedy teeth, laying waste every foot of the field they lighted
in. At last, perhaps by the time the next afternoon’s breeze had risen,
they would apparently take the notion that this wasn’t a fit place to
stay in; in a moment they would fly up and be gone in a great cloud,
off on the search for new conquests.
Impossible to outguess them! No creatures ever acted so whimsically or
showed such a lack of rational, orderly method. One field they might
entirely lay waste, while they ate only a few rods into the next; a
third, lying close beside the others, they might not choose to touch at
all. In one field they would cut the stalks, leaving the ground strewn
with a green carpet of heads; in the next they might content themselves
with shearing the beard—then the grain looked like shorn sheep with the
ears gone. Nor were they at all fastidious: potatoes and vegetables of
all kinds, barley and oats, wheat and rye—it made no difference; or a
swarm of insects might light on a wagon box, and when it lifted again
the box would have been scarred by countless sharp teeth; at one place
a fork with a handle of hickory might be standing in the ground, and
after a few swarms had passed the surface of the handle would be rasped
and chewed, a mass of loose slivers; somewhere else a garment might
be laid out on the ground to dry—a swarm would light on it, and in a
moment only shreds would be left; if the annihilating devils were in
the proper mood, they would take anything and leave nothing.
The folk looked on helplessly, in grim despair and awe-stricken wonder;
the more timid ones among them were oppressed by a growing fear, while
the godless swore so that the air smelled of brimstone; the pious would
assemble in homes and churches, entreating the Lord to deliver them
from famine and pestilence; but the brave did not lose heart, and kept
on busily inventing all sorts of devices with which to drive the demons
away. Many odd expedients were tried in different places; simple-minded
people would take a washtub and a rolling pin, and beat until they were
tired, but never a ripple did such a din cause in the current’s
steady flow.
And all the while the folk tried to comfort one another.... It will be
better by-and-by, you know!... This plague must leave _some time_—it
can’t go on forever!... The Sognings were a people of even temperament,
not easily flustered; they bore the affliction with remarkable calmness
and fortitude. Of course this thing would have to stop! They had faith
to believe it—how could it well be otherwise?... And their cousins, the
Vossings, would always agree with them. Yes, indeed! Why, such things
always seem hardest to bear at the first—don’t we know _that_?...
Some one would think of a hallowed consolation with which to comfort
the others. Wasn’t it pretty bad in Egypt?—But what did the Book say?
Didn’t the plague vanish there? Why, it had lasted practically no time
at all!... I’ll bet my last dollar, some one else would venture, that
next year everything will be all right!... And when it turned out to
be just as bad the following year, the same person would be even more
confident. Now, see—we’ve had this thing with us two years already—this
is the end! Who ever heard of a plague lasting forever? Don’t you
remember the Black Death? That finished up in half a year, didn’t it,
and was never heard of again?... And even when the third summer came,
and there was no let-up in the awful visitation, some bright head would
remember the indisputable fact that _all good things are three_. So
there!—Now let’s thank the Lord that we’re through with it at last!
Just wait awhile—the soil out here is first class; if we hang on, we’re
sure to make a clean sweep!... On the fourth summer the plague raged
worse than ever before; but now it had begun to lose its power over the
people—they feared it no longer. We’re getting used to it, they would
say with a bitter laugh. It takes neither man nor beast—let’s thank God
for _that_, anyway!...
III. The Glory of the Lord
I
A day in June, of quivering, vital sunlight.... The irregular shadows
of fleecy clouds drifting across an endless plain.... Sun and
irregular, fleecy clouds—nothing but these all day....
Over the prairie, making toward the settlement by Spring Creek, rattled
an old, dilapidated cart, antique of build, in a state so wretched that
it seemed ready to fall apart at the next tussock it might encounter.
The nag in front was in perfect keeping with the vehicle: long-shanked
and rawboned, and so lean and lanky that one could have counted every
rib. Originally its colour might have been a light grey, but now it was
no longer definable: dirty grey, rusty, yellowish-brown—it might have
been any one of these, or just as accurately something else. Only a
few miserable hanks were left of what probably had once been a flowing
mane. Above the shoulders rose a big hump; when the animal stretched
out its neck, one was reminded of a dromedary. Undoubtedly it had once
been an authentic horse, but that must have been a long time ago.
The man in the seat was of even more uncertain age than either horse
or vehicle. He might be forty-five, or he might just as likely be
sixty-five. But for his beard and stoutness, one would be inclined
to guess the former figure, for the expression of his face was still
youthful, the eyes bright and sparkling with something boyish in
their gleam. But the beard clearly suggested a more advanced age; it
stretched from ear to ear, forming a thick fringe around the chin; it
was perhaps an inch long, heavy and stiff, originally blond in color,
but now streaked with grey. The clothes, too, testified to the
man’s advanced age; especially the coat, which seemed to be neither
coat nor jacket, but something out of the ordinary—a garment of thin
black cloth, loosely fitting, too long to be called a jacket, yet not
long enough for a topcoat.
The horse trudged slowly on, the cart jolting and rumbling behind; the
man on the seat allowed him to dawdle as much as he pleased, and hummed
tunes to himself to pass the time. After a long while the sod huts by
Spring Creek began almost imperceptibly to lift their heads out of the
ground; and not a bit too soon, for evening was fast coming on.
A couple of frame houses, one large and square, the other smaller
and with a high gable, had long been visible. They seemed strangely
conspicuous in the bare, level landscape; one could not help wondering
if they really belonged here in the wilderness. The man on the cart,
however, apparently paid no heed to them; as the sod huts came more and
more within the range of his vision, his humming gradually grew fainter
and more intermittent.
“Hm ... hm.... Well, here they are. Move along now. King!” came
coaxingly from out of the fringe of beard. “We must try to scratch
gravel, you see, and get there before the folks go to bed. Go ’long, I
tell you, go ’long!”
The sun had already set when the horse came to a standstill in front of
one of the huts; the traveller did not get down.
“Anybody at home here?” he shouted in a strong voice.
Sounds of sudden movement were heard within. A stout toil-worn,
red-faced man came hastily out, an equally stout but rounder woman
rolled after him, both with their mouths full of food; the red-faced
man was wiping his beard; both he and his wife were staring at the
stranger.
“I asked if there were people here,” repeated the man, unconsciously
falling into the idiom of his native tongue and using a phrase that
carried a special meaning. Behind the fringe of his whiskers beamed a
broad smile.
“Oh, the devil! Are you Norwegian, then?” shouted the red-faced
man, jovially.
“So, so! Do you call on _that fellow_ around here?”
The man on the ground immediately grew serious; he and his wife were
staring at the stranger.
“Have you any more food than you need for supper, and a place to put up
a tired horse that’s been on his feet all day?”
Without waiting for an answer, the speaker threw down the lines,
stepped out of the cart, stretched himself, and sighed with relief.
“My, my! How stiff one gets from all this shaking!... What’s your name,
my good man?”
“My name is Syvert Tönseten. What kind of a fellow may you be?”
Tönseten came close up and looked inquiringly at the stranger, who had
now turned to the woman:
“Have you got any food in the house, mother?” And ignoring the man, the
traveller took from his cart a large, old, and well-worn satchel, which
he deposited on the ground.
“Why, yes ... of course ... if you will take what we have!” said
Kjersti, slowly. There she paused; moving behind her husband, she took
her hand from under her apron and gave a pull at his jacket; she had
now looked the stranger over and didn’t feel altogether relieved....
Tönseten was too preoccupied with himself to notice her. “I am asking
you,” he said with pompous dignity, “what kind of a fellow you are and
what you are after. Are you looking for land?”
The stranger put his hands against his sides, looked straight at them,
and said, impressively:
“I am a minister. As for you, my good man, you ought not to stand there
swearing into the face of strangers!... Now let me ask you again: May I
stop here to-night?”
“Good heavens!” exclaimed Tönseten, letting his breath go as if some
one had hit him in the stomach.
“Oh, my! Oh, my!” wailed Kjersti, awe-stricken, yet overwhelmed with
joy. “Is the man crazy? Can he really be a minister?... Of course
he must stop here, if he can only eat the stuff we have!”
“Don’t worry about that, mother.” He turned to her husband. “And now
you and I will attend to the horse.”
Tönseten’s knees were weak from penitent zeal; he trembled with
eagerness to help; he wanted to talk, but his voice failed and the
words would not come. But the horse was wonderfully well cared for;
he even went back a second time, after they were through, to spread
another layer of straw for bedding. While they worked the minister had
many questions to ask; they took their own time about coming in.
At last Tönseten ushered the minister into the hut, placed a chair
at the farthest end of the table, and bade him be seated. The table
now was laid with a white tablecloth, on which had been placed a
superabundance of food for only one person; there were _römmekolle_
and _flatbröd_, fresh milk and boiled eggs; there were coffee and
cakes; but even so, Kjersti thought it too little to offer such
a distinguished visitor; now she was busy frying a couple of egg
pancakes. Thank goodness, there was plenty of what she had! She had
hurriedly tidied up the room; it looked cozy and comfortable inside the
hut, and the minister could not refrain from expressing his admiration.
Finally he sat up to the table and began to eat, praising everything
that he tasted and helping himself bountifully, like a healthy person
whose hunger has been sharpened by a long fast.
Tönseten remained standing in the middle of the floor, talking with
the minister; his manner was humble almost to the point of unction,
his voice had taken on a tone of great solemnity. Kjersti hung in
the background by the stove, where the room lay in shadow, listening
closely to the conversation; she was more concerned about what her
husband said than to follow the minister’s discourse—Syvert was so
easily excited, poor fellow, and had so little experience in talking
to people of quality! She watched the minister as he helped himself
liberally to the food, and felt the blessing of it descend upon
her. How kind of him to say the nice things he did about the food she
had prepared!... And he chatted with them so pleasantly and naturally!
No traces of sermonizing in his talk! Why, he and Syvert were just
discussing ordinary everyday things—about conditions as they were
around there, about crops and prospects, about the best way to run a
farm.... Now and then Tönseten would turn their conversation toward the
future; he was more interested in visualizing how things were going to
turn out than in making a bare statement of how they actually were;
_that_ was something he could enlarge upon to the minister. And the
minister seemed to have much good advice; thus they ought to do with
that, he said, and so with this, but differently with the other....
At length he inquired about the religious life of the people in this
locality. Tönseten cleared his throat at the question, which he had
been expecting, and answered emphatically that that was a subject on
which he wasn’t very well posted; you couldn’t expect a common farmer
to know much about such matters. And then he began hurriedly to ask the
pastor which way he had come, and whether he had seen many settlers
in the parts through which he had travelled. This, in turn, gave him
an opportunity to tell how the country looked hereabouts when he had
first arrived six years ago; he waxed so eloquent on this point that it
seemed difficult for him to stop.... Kjersti realized that he was now
on extremely dangerous ground!——
At last the minister had finished his meal.
“Now then, my good man, be silent, and we will thank the Lord for this
day.”
“Yes, yes—of course!” ... Tönseten blew his nose vigorously; but not
knowing what to do with himself next, he stuck his thumbs inside his
trousers-band, and stood where he was in the middle of the floor,
utterly unnerved.
Kjersti sank down on the wood-box, and wiped her eyes with her
apron.... She wanted to tell her husband to sit down, but simply
couldn’t screw up her courage to do it.
Placing his folded hands on the table, the minister began in a
quiet way, as if addressing some one they could not see who stood very
near; he seemed to be well acquainted with this unseen being, for he
spoke in a low voice and very intimately, as to a dear friend who,
unexpectedly, had done him a good turn. He thanked Him for the day
that now was past, nevermore to return, entreating Him to cast into
the ocean of grace all sins committed on this day; he prayed long and
earnestly for the people out here, for the house in which he sat, and
especially for the man standing there who was so prone to swear; in one
way or another He must come to him and remind him constantly of what
His holy law provided with respect to this grievous sin. But He must
not be too severe with these poor people, for they had wandered far
from home and some had gone astray, and long had they dwelt out here in
the Great Wilderness, without a shepherd and without care. Truly, life
had not been easy for them!... After saying amen, he remained silent
for some time, with hands still folded; from the candle on the table a
pale glow was thrown over his face, touching the fringe of his beard
with pure silver.... Peace had fallen on the room.
Then the minister arose.
“Praise be to God, and thanks to you, good people, for this sumptuous
feast!”
Tönseten again blew his nose violently; then, overcome with confusion,
he wheeled about and walked out of the hut.
Kjersti sat on the wood-box, weeping with mingled emotions. The
minister came over and took her by the hand. “A fine meal you prepared
for me, mother, and here are my heartfelt thanks!”
“Oh, well—that’s nothing!” ... She shook her head speechlessly, but
could not let go his hand.
In a moment Tönseten returned.... This would never do, he wanted to
explain. He wasn’t such a bad case as the minister seemed to think. He
ought to hear some of the others when they let themselves go!... But as
soon as he stood in the presence of the pastor, confusion overcame him
again; he merely stuttered and stammered, and found nothing to say.
The minister now opened his satchel; first of all he took out a large,
fat pouch, and then an ancient pipe, which he carefully cleaned and
promptly filled. “A little incense, I think, will now be blessedly
enjoyable.... No, just remain seated, mother.”
II
The sleeping quarters assigned to the minister were the spare sod
house, a structure which was now to be found on every farm. Clothes
were hung in it, and food was stored there, as well as tools and farm
implements; it might even contain a blacksmith’s shop and a carpenter’s
bench, if the size of the room was sufficient; but nearly always there
was a bed, made and ready for use.
But the minister seemed more anxious to visit with them than to go to
bed; he smoked pipe after pipe, striking it against his toe to knock
out the ashes, each time filling and lighting it anew. He asked them
all about their life, and the struggle they had had since they came to
this place. This was rich for Tönseten; he never tired of telling....
Finally the minister knocked out the ashes of his pipe for the last
time, got up, and laid it carefully aside.
“Well, now the day is done, and a fine, blessed day it has been; the
night is approaching, so let us enjoy sweet repose.... Where do you
intend to put me up for the night, mother?”
Both Kjersti and Tönseten felt that they must accompany him to the
other hut. There stood the bed, with a small table at its side, covered
with a rose-coloured cloth; the room was small and crowded, but seemed
cozy and cheerful withal.
“Oh, here it will be sweet to stretch one’s weary limbs!” exclaimed the
minister, joyfully.
“What a wonderful man he is!” thought Kjersti. She began to make many
excuses because they had nothing better to offer.
With a mixture of jest and earnestness the minister rebuked her
for such talk; soon they were all three laughing together, and it was
so pleasant that the hosts could hardly tear themselves away.
Tönseten had aged considerably in the last two years; one who had known
him before that time would scarcely recognize him now. He had struggled
with a bad cough for two consecutive springs; this spring it had been
so violent at times that he feared the end had come; but Kjersti had
finally managed to boil and dose it out of him. It had left its mark,
however; he became easily tired now, and needed a lot of sleep in order
to keep going.
But to-night he didn’t get much sleep; and what little there was
brought no rest. Serious things to think about had suddenly come
forward.... Oh, my God!...
He would have liked to stay with the minister for a private and
confidential talk; but he knew that Kjersti would never go away and
leave them alone. While she was clearing the table, after they had
gone back to their own house, he slipped out and walked over to the
other hut; but when he got there he realized that it was too late; he
couldn’t talk to the minister to-night—it would never do to disturb him
now.
At last they went to bed together, Tönseten and his wife. Kjersti
lost consciousness almost at once; but Syvert lay awake a long while,
pondering over how he might be able to gain the ear of the minister....
“To-morrow morning,” he thought, “before the minister shows up, I’ll
take some wash water over to him. I’ll sit down in the doorway while
he washes, where I can see if anyone is coming; then, maybe, I’ll get
a chance to talk with him.... I’ll tell him everything. There’s going
to be the devil to pay! Useless to try any tricks here—I can’t get
out of it. His eyes are too keen—they see right through you!... But
suppose Kjersti comes along while we are talking? Well, there you are!
He would be likely to refer to it again when we go over to the house,
and that would give the whole thing away; he’s a terror when he begins
asking questions! No, this thing has always been my own worry, and
it shall continue to be.... O Lord! I dread it like hell! If he
could make such a fuss over that little innocent word I dropped, just
speaking _naturally_, what will he say about _this_?” ... Cold sweat
was standing on Tönseten’s forehead.... “No, it will probably be better
to wait till he leaves; then I can go along with him a little way—get
out of range of those eyes of hers.”
This decision brought him something like peace, but no sleep; for now
he had to consider how to present the case in the best light possible.
No sooner had he begun to think that over than the whole wretched
business stood clearly before his eyes; there he lay, wide awake,
staring at his great sin....
Tönseten was indeed in a terrible plight; none but himself knew how
utterly heinous and desperate it was. Until last spring he hadn’t
known it, either; but at that time, when he was lying prostrate and
the cough was threatening to make an end of him, he had come to a
full realization of the enormity of his deed; since then it had hung
over him like a dark shadow, growing deeper and deeper the longer he
turned it in his mind.... Just imagine a perfectly innocent man getting
himself into such a fix! But had anyone, innocent or guilty, ever
committed a sin like the one that lay at his door?
This minister seemed to have a lot of sense, though; perhaps he might
understand that it wasn’t altogether Syvert’s fault, in a manner of
speaking.... They had come to him, you see—he couldn’t get out of it.
He had been legally elected, too; and one of the specified duties of
his office was to do just _this thing_. Surely those who had laid down
the law and forced ignorant people to perform such acts ought to be
made to bear part of the blame!... Of course, he might have objected.
Oh yes, that was just it—he might have refused. That was probably just
what the minister would say; he felt it in his bones. Great God, what
a mess!... The picture of it passed before his mind in rank and file,
clearly and distinctly; he could both see and hear the actors of that
hateful drama; and so he lived it over once more to the last
detail, muttering to himself, and turning alternately hot and cold.
It would be just four years the coming fall since this transgression
had taken place.... It had even happened on a Sunday afternoon....
Well, perhaps that wasn’t so bad. The whole crowd had come walking up
toward the hut; nearly all the east-siders were in the procession, with
Johannes Mörstad and his girl, Josie, in the center.... Halvor Hegg had
explained their errand—Halvor, he was a pretty decent fellow. Tönseten
couldn’t remember the exact words now, but their import was something
like this: “You are a justice of the peace, Syvert Tönseten, and that
is a very important office.” He remembered one thing distinctly, that
Halvor had emphasized the word _important_. “Now, Johannes and Josie,
they want to get married and live together, because Johannes, he needs
help the way he is hustling; and there isn’t anyone else but you to
perform the ceremony. According to law and justice, you’ll have to do
it, too, as near as you can in the Christian manner; you realize that
yourself.” That was the trend of Halvor’s remarks.... Tönseten groaned
aloud, for he well remembered how frightened he had been when he had
finally waked up to the grim fact that Halvor meant what he said.
Since last spring, when he had lain there fighting with death, he had
scarcely thought of anything else....
And that Sunday afternoon he had married the couple!
If he could only be sure, even, that he had done it properly according
to law! But he had been unable to find the papers and instructions
furnished him for such an occasion; not that they would have helped
him much, for they were all in English.... The neighbours had elected
him justice of the peace when they organized the town; the regulations
called for such an official, and they had poked a lot of fun at him
about his important office. At that time he hadn’t dreamed that it
would ever call for legal or technical action, least of all for
anything like _that_.... How could he, an ignorant layman, have dared
to go to work deliberately and do such a sacrilegious thing! Tönseten
spat on the floor and rolled over in bed; he was absolutely
convinced that the heaviest sin one could commit was that of meddling
in sacred matters.
... He _had_ excused himself—he _had_ tried to get out of it! He had
insisted that he didn’t know how—the neighbours could testify to
that!...
The worst of it was that the young people had made merry with him about
it, both then and afterward; they had hurrahed for the “parson” as well
as for the bridal couple, and had applauded the whole ceremony as if it
were a joke.... And Johannes and Josie had moved at once into a house
of their own and had lived together as man and wife ever since.... What
infamy! The minister would simply have to do something about it!... Oh
yes, he recalled the whole damnable business....
Why, hadn’t the two principals themselves, Johannes and Josie, stood
before him without a sign of seriousness in their attitude; hadn’t they
even laughed right into his face?... And he couldn’t be certain that
he, too, hadn’t smiled, although he had tried hard to keep his face
straight.... Then he had taken her hand and placed it in Johannes’s....
No, now let’s see, it must have been the other way around; it had
been Josie, however, who had taken the notion that he wasn’t doing it
right, and had insisted on changing the hands—the others had laughed
and shouted fit to kill.... With that settled, in a deep silence he had
pronounced these words: “Now, Johannes, you take this woman standing by
your side—yes, I say, take her now, and use her decently and honorably,
as is befitting good Norwegian folk!” After that he had uttered the
word “amen” in a loud voice—for the life of him he couldn’t think of
anything else to say. And Josie had looked up brightly into his face,
her eyes snapping with mischief—she was such a pretty girl and had
laughed so happily.... Since then these two had lived together as man
and wife—in infamy! But after all, no serious calamity had befallen
them, save that the children had come so terribly close together; at
any rate, they were all pretty and well shaped!... Huf! Huf!...
Tönseten turned over for the twentieth time. Oh, well, he would
confess to the minister in the morning, let the chastising be ever so
severe. He must be absolved of this sin! If that cough should return
next winter, there was no telling what might happen!...
Since children baptized at home could be rebaptized by a minister, as
if the religious ceremony had only been postponed, there was no logical
reason why a matter like this couldn’t be mended!
At breakfast next morning the minister kept asking a host of questions;
he inquired at length about everything that his brief survey had shown
him: Who lived in this hut and who lived in that? Who had built the big
houses? How had those men happened to prosper ahead of the others?
Tönseten sat at the opposite end of the table, where he was served
separately. This morning he didn’t seem to have any appetite—he
couldn’t relish his food.... It was astonishing how many things the
minister found to ask questions about.... Throughout the breakfast
Tönseten sat in the grip of a silent fear, afraid of what might come
next; as soon as the meal was safely over, he found a pretext for
leaving the room.
A few moments later the minister came out into the yard, with his
satchel in his hand, and glanced around at the neighbourhood where he
had arrived. In his wake came Kjersti, bashfully tripping out of the
house; Tönseten walked restlessly about the yard, handling one thing
after another, but did not approach the minister; then the latter
called out to him:
... Who lived directly west of them?
... Why, that was Hans Olsa—that is to say, Hans Vaag.
... And to the north?
... That was Per Holm—or rather Per Hansa, as he was called.
The minister scrutinized closely that part of the settlement visible
from where they stood; then he went on with his inquiries about the
people.
... Where was the largest house?
... Did he mean the biggest room? Well, that was at Per Holm’s; he
had gone ahead and built on a big scale the very spring he came out;
people had thought him crazy for putting up such a sod house, but it
had turned out that he wasn’t so crazy, after all.... Torkel Tallaksen
was now building a grand house of lumber, that would surely be a
mansion when it was finished; but it wasn’t done yet....
“Well, now, let’s get to work,” said the minister, resolutely. “First
of all, my good man, I must get you to help me. Will you hurry around
to all your neighbours and tell them that to-day, at two o’clock,
I shall conduct divine services at the house of this man Per Holm.
Everyone must be present—tell them that they have to come! And you,
mother”—he turned to address Kjersti—“I think it would be a kindness of
you if you were to go over and help Mrs. Holm get the house ready for
the service; it need not be anything extraordinary, but the place in
which the Lord’s blessings are dealt out ought at least to be clean and
tidy!”
They gazed at the minister in alarm, but for a while said nothing.
“Well—poor Beret!” sighed Kjersti, compassionately.
“Beret?... So that is her name? What is the matter with the woman? Are
they so very poor?”
Suddenly Tönseten forgot his reserve and spoke up emphatically: “I’ll
tell you about it. This Per Hansa—that is to say, Per Holm—he has got
rich out here; he has done better than anyone else, though he came here
without a cent to his name. And why shouldn’t he have done well? He
has plenty of help in his own family, so he never needs to hire; and
besides that, good luck has followed him right along. The first year
we settled, for instance, the grasshoppers came and made a clean sweep
of the rest of us; but Per Hansa saved his whole crop! The same year
he made a big haul with his potatoes ... why, he must have sold for a
thousand that year, and nobody knows how much he has made these years
on the fur trade that he’s carried on with the Indians.... He is now
settled on three quarters of land!”
“Well, well! that’s fine! But what ails his wife?”
Now it was Kjersti’s turn; she shook her head sadly as she related
all the distressing circumstances. Now and then Tönseten, fearing that
she hadn’t made things clear enough, would put in a word. The minister
prompted them with questions. After a while he had learned the whole
sad story about Beret Holm.... His face clouded as he listened; it
was as if the sun had suddenly darkened over a beautiful landscape,
until it became drab and desolate to look upon. For a long time he
stood there absorbed in thought, the two gazing at him apprehensively;
they dared not speak to him in this mood. At last he said, quietly, “I
think we had better arrange it this way, mother: I will go over there
first, and you follow about noontime. As for you, my friend,” turning
to Tönseten, “try to do your errand well! Remember that they must bring
all the children requiring baptism. Don’t forget that! And tell them to
be sure and bring their hymn books, too.”
The minister was now making his preparations to go to Per Hansa’s; as
the distance was so short, he had decided to leave his horse.
Tönseten fussed about uneasily, delaying his errand; he assured the
minister that he needn’t worry—he would get the message around to
everybody in good season—it would only take a minute or two!... His red
beard caught the sunlight every time he moved his head, which now kept
bobbing around in a ridiculous way.
At last the minister took his departure and Tönseten was on hand to go
along with him.
“Let me carry that satchel for you.... I’ll begin here on the north
side and work east—that’s the shortest way.”
They walked on side by side, the minister deeply absorbed in thought;
after a while Tönseten fell a little way behind.
“I want to talk to you about something,” he tried to say casually. His
voice was so faint and low that the other could hardly catch it.
The minister stopped short and looked at him. Tönseten glanced this way
and that; his eyes fell to the ground and he made nervous dashes
here and there, as if seeking escape....
“Well?” ...
Too late now!... Tönseten took a deep breath, summoned all his courage,
glanced once at the minister—then turned his head away....
“I just wanted to ask you if ... well ... if it’s possible to marry a
couple who are already married? Because in that case, I’d ask them to
come, too.”
“You mean, they are divorced?”
“No, indeed, not divorced! Heavens! I should say not! But maybe it
wasn’t done just right, you see, when the ceremony was performed....”
“I am afraid I do not understand you.”
Tönseten spat out a huge mouthful of tobacco juice, and looked up into
the sky.
“You see, it happened here,” he confessed in a desperate voice, “that
we had to organize the township; so we had to have officials, you see.
Well, they went ahead and elected me justice of the peace.... How could
I help it, I’d like to know?... And then, you see, there wasn’t a
minister to be found in all Dakota Territory—there simply wasn’t one in
sight!” Tönseten waved his hand with a wild gesture, still looking off
into the sky.
The minister’s face expanded into a broad smile.
“And so you had to serve as minister?”
“You’ve hit it—that’s _exactly_ what happened!... You see, this fellow,
Johannes Mörstad, and his wife, they couldn’t wait any longer—they
should have been married long before, for that matter. And so they
pounced upon me!... I refused point blank, of course ... I have
witnesses to _that_. But then, you see, I really was justice of the
peace; and at last I had to give in.... That’s the worst sin of all!”
... Tönseten could only whisper now.
“And so you married them?” said the minister, slowly.
“Well, yes—I pitched in and did the best I could.... But now you’ve got
to fix it up properly!” begged Tönseten.
The minister’s smile suddenly became a loud chuckle; Tönseten
listened incredulously; that chuckle descended on the anxious old
fellow like a warm shower; it gave him courage to glance again at
his companion. So great was his thankfulness that the feeling surged
through him: for that man he could gladly die!
He spat and sputtered, blowing his nose in stentorian tones; but he
could not take his eyes off the other man’s face.
“Was it long ago?”
“It will be four years this coming fall.... It was the third Sunday
after Trinity, to be exact. I put a mark in my hymn book.”
“You did what the law prescribed?”
“Of course I did!... Well, that is to say ... I’m only an ignorant
man....”
“Are there any children?”
“Children! Don’t talk about it! There are three of them already, with
a fourth well on the way. As far as that part of it is concerned,”
Tönseten observed in all seriousness, “everything seems to have been
done properly enough! But ... well, you’ll just have to do it over
again!”
“No,” said the minister, still smiling, “that is your job, and I’ll
have nothing to do with it. But tell them to bring the children with
them.... And now see that you get started!”
“But wasn’t it a sacrilegious thing to do?”
“Yes, under normal conditions—undoubtedly. But at the time, as you say,
conditions were far from normal out here, and you had been duly elected
to perform certain official duties.... The Children of Israel wandered
about in the desert; at first they used the barren desert for their
house of worship, then came the tabernacle, finally the temple. And so
with our people in this country. Such marrying practices as some people
have here are sacrilegious and must be discontinued ... you’re right in
that.”
“Do you think the Lord will ever forgive me?”
“That I truly believe He will! This probably is not the worst sin you
have committed!” ...
Tönseten’s joy and relief were almost suffocating; he wiped his
eyes as he gazed at the minister.... What a marvellously sensible
man!...
“I’ll hurry right off and tell them!... But, please, I beg of you,
don’t mention this at home. You see—well, Kjersti is not very strong.”
...
And now Tönseten was speeding along in great excitement from farm to
farm, announcing to all the people that a pastor had come to them at
last and that they must gather to hear him, he was such a wonderfully
able man. And the farther and faster he went, the easier became the
road and the more wonderful did the minister grow in his mind, a
fact which he emphasized at every place he came to and enlarged upon
whenever he could stop long enough to draw breath. And he forgot
neither the children nor the hymn books; he even found other items
to bring to their attention.... All the while he was thinking: Just
imagine, even _he_ could splice a couple together so that it was all
right with the Lord! Well, well, that certainly was a most remarkable
thing!...
III
The minister stood in the corner next to the window, arrayed in full
canonicals. The gown was threadbare and badly wrinkled, as a result
of its many journeys inside the old valise; the ruff might have been
whiter, perhaps; but such trifles were not noticed now, for here stood
a real Norwegian minister in ruff and robe!... It was undoubtedly true,
what Tönseten had said about him—he was an altogether remarkable man.
The vestments which he wore seemed only to emphasize the strength of
his features, whose youthful vigour, in spite of the grey-streaked
beard, appeared at this solemn moment to have taken on a new glow of
life.
The table, spread with a white cloth, had been placed so close to the
window that the minister barely had space to stand behind it; on the
table stood two homemade candles, one at either end; the candlesticks,
too, were homemade, cut from two four-inch pieces of sapling, with the
bark left on and painted white; at a little distance they looked like
curious works of art. The candles were not yet lighted; a bible
and a hymn book lay between them.
The time for the meeting had come. The people filed slowly in and took
their places, settling down wherever space was available; on the beds
sat women crowded close together, strung along the edge like beads;
these were mostly the mothers, and behind them sat and lay the children
all over the beds; on the big chest eight in all had taken their seats,
running from big to little; the chest had been pulled out from the
wall, so that people could sit on all four sides; the six rough benches
which Per Hansa and Hans Olsa had hastily nailed together were now
filled to capacity, mostly by women, young children, and older people
who were not able to stay on their feet so long.
The beds stood in one corner of the room, the stove in another; in
the third were the minister and the table; in the fourth, and on
every available part of the floor, people were packed like sardines.
As many as the room would actually hold had crowded in, eager to see
the minister. But not all who had come could gain an entrance; quite
a crowd had to remain outdoors: some stood along the walls; others
had settled down on the grass. From those outside the house came the
subdued sound of talk and laughter.
The women had dressed up in their best for the occasion, and most
of the men, as well; but here and there one saw a man who had come
straight from his work in the fields, his face covered with sweat and
grime....
In the dense cluster of people by the door some one cleared his throat
loudly; another was heard to mutter that it was a good thing they
didn’t have to be particular about the floor! This latter remark caused
a slight disturbance in the group; a voice laughed outright, and a
couple of men tried to push the people ahead of them forward a little,
so that they could clear a space to spit in.... The minister glanced up
sharply, searching the crowd for the one who had spoken; the youthful
look on his face changed to sternness as he rapped on the table:
“Let us have silence, good people! We will begin at once.” He
raised his voice: “Those who are outside must keep perfectly quiet!”
And now a deep silence descended on the closely packed room; through
this silence the sound of quiet breathing rose and fell, gently yet
perceptibly, like the rise and fall of a heavy ocean swell.
The pastor read the opening prayer. Then he announced the hymn which
they were to sing, and himself led the singing; a few joined in at
first, one voice after another straggling along, like waves on a calm
sea; but before the first stanza was ended every voice had picked up
the tune and the room was vibrating to a surge of mighty song. After
the hymn the minister chanted, conducting the full service just as if
it had been in a real church.... How wonderful it seemed!... Before
long the men had to slip their coats off, it had grown so warm in the
room.
The minister preached on the coming of the Israelites into the Land
of Canaan. He began by reminding his hearers of the dangers which
the Children of Israel had been obliged to pass through, and of the
struggles and tribulations which they had been forced to endure. He set
forth what had been promised them if they would remain faithful to the
heritage of their fathers and obedient to the law which the Lord had
given them as their guide.
Then, in powerful strokes, he sketched the history of Israel. First of
all, how had the ten tribes fared? They had been taken as prisoners to
a strange country; they had remained there and had forsaken their gods;
and then they had disappeared, leaving no trace, like the morning dew
on the face of the Great Prairie. Where were the ten tribes now? Not a
word nor a sign remained of them—not even a chance name, here or there,
to indicate where they must have been! Was it not significant that a
whole people could disappear so completely?... How different the story
of the two-tribe peoples! They, too, had been put in chains and treated
as slaves; but they had been held in bonds of loyalty to their race and
to Him who had nurtured them; and they had endured and prospered. And
so, at last, they had come back to rebuild the ruined walls of
Zion—and from their loins had sprung the Saviour of mankind!
Then the minister shifted the scene, applying the parable to those
who stood before him; they, too, had wandered in search of a Land of
Canaan; from the ancient home of their race they had fared forth, far
away over the ocean into a foreign country; here they had settled
now, here they proposed to strike root again; and here their seed
would multiply from generation to generation, ages without end. True
enough, they had no hostile nations to fight against—and for that they
should thank the Lord! Yet there were other battles, for the powers of
darkness never rested; here were the long journeys to town, with their
strong temptations; here was the force of heathendom, which constantly
threatened them; and here, in all probability, would soon come wealth!
Here was the endless prairie, so rich in its blessings of fertility,
but also full of a great loneliness—a form of freedom which curiously
affected the minds of strangers, especially those to whom the Lord had
given a sad heart. Even the bravest would find it hard to face and
conquer the strangeness of it all, the hopeless chill, the overwhelming
might of this great solitude.
The minister was now spinning out his thoughts and holding them forth
in the light for the people to see; he grew in greatness and power
before their watching eyes, as he showed them their own feelings during
the lonely hours. But when he even came to the grasshoppers at last,
then Tönseten could no longer restrain himself; he had to make manifest
his approval in some way or other. With a firm hand he pushed against
the back of the person in front of him, gaining the room to spit which
he greatly needed; then he looked around at the others triumphantly, as
if to say: “Well, didn’t I tell you—isn’t he a wonderful minister?” ...
But there was no time to waste on such thoughts now!
For now the minister was busy with their future.... Did they fully
understand what the Lord had given them here—and were they sufficiently
grateful to Him for it?... The minister towered high and mighty
before them.... In what manner had they thought to make use
of the unbounded liberty which the Lord in His mercy had granted
them? Here they were about to build a new kingdom—themselves to lay
the foundations, themselves to raise the whole structure from the
ground up. Had they begun to realize the greatness of that glorious
responsibility which He had placed on their shoulders, and did they
have sense enough in their heads to thank Him for it on bended knee?...
He had spread before them here an opportunity the equal of which was
unknown in human history; and here it would be tested out whether
they could measure up to it—whether they were sprung from good stock
or not—whether they were the children of free men or slaves.... Were
they not glad of the chance?... Oh, they ought to sing like the birds
of the plain in the morning sunrise—and then thank God, thank Him in
all humility! In truth, they had not come here out of captivity and
bondage—that, too, they should bear in mind in giving thanks. But they
had found here the fairest promise that the Lord God had ever given to
any people....
The words came with thrilling meaning; they took on a richer glow, a
brighter texture, as the minister fired to his subject.... There was
one point, he cried, where they and the ancient Children of Israel
paralleled each other in a striking manner. For the kingdom which they
were founding here would be a work of praise, a blessing to coming
generations, only in so far as they remained steadfast to the truths
implanted in them as children by their fathers. There was no other
foundation to build upon; indeed, what other refuge did men have?...
And now he stood here in their presence on this great day, a frail
messenger of the Lord, to bring them this solemn question: Would they
do as the ten lost tribes of Israel did, and disappear out of the
world, or would they do as the two tribes had done, and never perish
among men?...
The minister’s voice had sunk low, but his words bore in upon them
with irresistible power; his eyes glowed with a secret light; his
cheeks burned with the flush of his inspiration; all his boyish
youthfulness had gone, and in its place was speaking the authority of
ripe, mature experience.
The people sat and stood about while he was preaching, hanging on
every word he said. Only a few were competent to climb the ladder
of reasoning that he had raised for them. The others realized that
he was preaching well, and let it go at that; it gave them a simple
satisfaction just to listen; they rejoiced in their hearts that such
a man had come here to-day; they felt that he wished them well. And
it was so fine and jolly, too, this gathering together; now there
would be some excitement in the settlement.... One was thinking about
the congregation that they would have to organize; another about the
location of the new church; still another about the cemetery, as
to where it would probably be located; and to everyone the thought
came that men would be needed to manage these activities; well, they
would show him that they could govern themselves, that they were a
well-conducted people!... One woman had it in mind that they would of
course start a ladies’ aid, now that they had a minister; and that
would be great fun, with meetings and cakes and coffee and sewing and
all the rest; she proposed to begin some embroidering at once! But
those who had not yet been confirmed dreaded the ordeal a little,
though at the same time they were glad; at any rate, there would be a
change in the daily monotony, and they would of course have some fine
new clothes for the confirmation!... Tönseten had fallen into deep
and serious thought concerning a matter of great importance—of very
great importance. He was wondering how he could manage to help the
minister out in the most valuable way.... Now, when the congregation
was organized, they would as a matter of course have to elect a
_klokker_![22] Well, if he had been able to splice a couple so that the
knot held even before the Lord, he certainly ought to be able to
serve as _klokker_.... He would have to see about it later on....
[22] A church official having partly the duty of cantor and partly of
sexton. During the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries a _candidatus
theologiæ_ when deemed too great a blockhead to receive ordination to
the holy ministry, was often appointed _klokker_.
In the farthest corner by the stove sat a pale, delicate-featured
woman, almost hidden by those in front of her. As soon as the minister
began to talk she bent her head forward and a little to one side, until
she had found an opening through which she could get a glimpse of his
face. She listened intently to the sermon—at first with a wondering,
happy look, which slowly grew skeptical and sad; all the while her eyes
did not release their hold on the speaker. As the sermon progressed,
the expression on her face became covert and cunning; her lips moved
as if she were making objections, but no sound came.... “That! No,
that shall not happen—it shall not happen!” was what the face seemed
to say.... “He is playing us false ... this man ... he will lead us to
something that is not good.” ...
By her side sat a man with a handsome, fair-skinned little boy in his
lap; the boy had sparkling blue eyes, which flitted about from face
to face, looking at everyone, laughing mischievously when the look
was caught and returned.... Now and then the man laid his hand on the
woman’s shoulder, as if to reassure her; then she smiled strangely; she
had no time to look at him, but the smile seemed to say: “Don’t worry,
he shall not deceive me.... I understand it all.... He is sly, though,
isn’t he?” ...
When the hymn following the sermon had been sung, the minister said to
them:
“Now, it is my advice that those who have been sitting all this time,
and have the strength to stand, change places with those who have been
standing; in this way we may help to bear one another’s burdens. Let
the change be made with order and decency.... We shall now perform the
holy act of baptism. I should appreciate it if all you grown people
would remain, and thus call to mind your own sacred covenant with the
Lord.... First let all unbaptized children come forward; and afterward
those who have been christened at home.”
At this a considerable disturbance arose in the crowd; some people
got up and pushed their way out of the door, talking in low tones as
they squeezed through the throng; at the same time several who had
remained outside during the sermon pushed their way in; hitherto they
had heard only the voice, but now they wanted to get a glimpse of the
man....
Sörine came in with a basin of water which she placed on the table, and
laid a clean towel beside it.
Those who were to hold the children now took them in their arms and
came forward; the sponsors stood up and looked around; there was scant
room to move in the stifling crush, and several people had to go out at
this moment; but little by little the disorder subsided, so that the
ceremony could begin.
Most of the grown people knew the baptismal hymn by heart, and although
the air was heavy and close in the crowded hut, the singing rose with
great fervour. There were fourteen children who had not been baptized,
one of them only three weeks old—a tiny being whose arrival had been
looked for in the fond hope that it might turn out to be a baby girl,
as indeed it had, and who now lay sweetly sleeping in its mother’s arms.
The first child to be baptized was four years old—a big, fat,
dark-haired, hungry lump of a boy, who talked out loud and wanted to
get down and run over to his mother. He didn’t seem to appreciate in
the least what was about to be done for him, and aroused a good deal of
merriment among the onlookers. However, the ceremony soon went on with
all proper calm and decorum.... Josie, the one for whom Tönseten had
performed the marriage rite, came last of all; she had three children,
and had striven hard to get them ready for this service; she carried
the youngest in her own arms. Tönseten regarded her and her offspring
with a certain fatherly pride, and folded his hands devoutly as she
came forward.
Then came three children who had been privately baptized by laymen.
Sörine advanced first, holding up for his second christening the child
at whose birth she had been present and for whom she had once
before stood sponsor; the boy awakened in the arms of his godmother,
turning two bright blue eyes toward the minister; he laughed aloud and
asked Sörine who that man was with the whiskers and the long black
skirt? Sörine tried by petting him to hush him up.... “He doesn’t have
any pants!” said the boy, still laughing and putting his arms around
her neck; those who stood near enough to overhear were doubled up with
mirth.
But as the pastor asked the child’s name and she gave it, and he
repeated it clearly and distinctly, so as to be heard throughout
the room—“Peder Victorious, dost thou renounce—” ... something
extraordinary happened. From out that pale face over in the corner
came a sound of anguish. Beret rose up and pushed her way violently
through the crowd, which moved aside in sudden alarm to let her pass,
then closed immediately in behind her; Per Hansa tried to follow, but
found it hard to make a passage through the throng, which now was
crowding forward in order to get a better view; and all at once her
voice, shrill and vibrant, pierced the room: “This evil deed shall
not be done!” ... She was already halfway there. Some blocked her
passage; others tried to silence her.... “Oh, let me go!” she cried.
“This sin shall not happen! How can a man be _victorious_ out here,
where the evil one gets us all!... Are you all stark mad?” Her cries
were shrill and piercing; they rose with a wild tremor of anguish,
striking terror into the hearts of the men who stood about, not knowing
what to do; the women hid their faces and did not dare to look; some
of the weaker-nerved began to weep hysterically; on one of the beds a
little girl had thrown herself face downward, crying and screaming; two
half-grown boys, overcome by the horror of it, silently pressed their
cheeks against the sod wall; the doorway was now crowded with curious
faces, one tier above another. All wanted to see what was going on.
The minister paused in the service.
“Take your wife outside, Peder Holm! The air in here is close and bad
for a sick person. I will talk to her afterward.... And the rest of
you—please keep quiet!”
It took some time to calm the morbid excitement. Per Hansa had
finally reached Beret; he lifted her in his arms, but the people
crowded around so densely that it was difficult to get through, and
all the while Beret was striking out wildly, pulling and pushing in a
frantic effort to escape. She foamed at the mouth.... “This is the work
of the devil!” she muttered through clenched teeth.... “Now he will
surely take my little boy!... God save us—we perish!”
The meeting lasted inordinately long. When the pastor was finally
through he announced divine services again two weeks from the following
Sunday; at that time he would return to them and conduct Communion.
“There must be many of you who need to unburden your hearts before your
God and Father in Heaven!” he went on impressively. “We shall begin
the service here in this room, promptly at eleven o’clock.” Hesitating
for a moment, he looked around at the people and a tired smile crossed
his face; in a lower voice he continued: “It would not be amiss, I
think, if you men were to dress up a little; to the Lord it makes no
difference, but it would seem more like the Lord’s day for you, and you
would be edified thereby.”
IV
After the service the people remained standing around in groups out in
the yard, talking about the minister and the sermon, and discussing in
low tones the sad thing that had happened that day. The latter event
claimed most of their attention. Everyone felt great sympathy for this
family on whom adversity had laid such a heavy hand; some thought it
was very wrong for Per Hansa to keep a person like Beret at home; a
tragedy might happen at any time—and then it would be too late; various
incidents of this kind were recalled; some remembered also that Per
Hansa himself was a hard-hearted sinner who needed serious admonition;
but they were all sorry for him, just the same.
None of the people of the house were to be seen. The crowd outside
stood looking around, as if waiting for something to happen; no one
wanted to leave until he knew....
A few women were still inside the house; they had planned to stay and
help put things in order. Among them was Sörine, still carrying the
child in her arms. The women were plainly anxious and disturbed; they
talked in subdued voices, and couldn’t seem to take hold of the work
with any heart.
The minister had seated himself at the table, folded his hands, and
laid his head upon them; thus he sat for a long while in silence; then,
as if noticing the people in the room for the first time, he got up and
walked over to the group of women.
“I would suggest,” he said, gently, “that you all go home. Only let
some one of you who is well acquainted here remain to help; if more
are needed, we will send for you.... Let me have that fine little boy
awhile,” he said to Sörine.... “Of course, I think it would be better
if you all came often to see her, but never more than one at a time.
And never ask her how she is feeling; just take it for granted that
everything is as it should be. To me, things do not look entirely
hopeless here; I believe it will all come right in the end. Yes, I
truly believe it.” ... He took the boy on his knee, and began to play
with him.
“God grant that it might happen as he says!” sighed Kjersti.
The minister heard her.
“In His name, nothing is impossible!... Now I should leave at once, if
I were you. Let the one who is best acquainted here, stay behind.”
Then the minister took the boy in his arms and went out into the yard;
he approached each group standing there, talked to them quietly,
and advised them to go home and keep to themselves as much as they
could.... “For the word of God,” he said, “is like seed put into the
ground; it must be undisturbed, if it is to germinate and bear fruit;
but if it is too deeply covered, it will fail.” ...
“We were just talking about organizing a congregation, you see.”
The speaker looked in astonishment at the minister. Could it be wrong
to discuss that idea?
“The time for that will come later on, without a doubt.” ... The
minister raised his voice.... “Now I will ask each one of you kindly to
go to his own home, remain quiet the rest of the day, and think about
what you have heard.”
“Well, yes—that’s probably all right, of course ... but anyhow....”
The minister turned away and went to another group; the man had to
quit talking and make the best of it. But he thought to himself: this
must be a funny sort of minister who hasn’t time to discuss such an
important matter as organizing a congregation!
Group after group broke up and melted away; people moved slowly
homeward, and soon there was no one left in the yard; the day had
closed and night was fast coming on.
The minister remained outside for some time, walking about the yard,
still clad in his canonical robe; the boy toddled along beside him,
hanging on to the black gown as if it were a great joke, and thoroughly
enjoying himself with this queer man.
At length the minister bent his steps toward the new sod stable, from
which seemed to come the sound of voices and the whimpering cry of a
child; he took up the boy in his arms, went over to the door, pushed it
open, and stepped inside. The room had no windows; it was so dark in
there that as he peered about, coming straight from the twilight, he
could not make out the objects clearly. He was at once aware, however,
of the presence of people; he walked farther in, looking around for
what he knew was there.
They were sitting on a bundle of hay—Per Hansa and Beret, she with her
face pressed close against his, he with one arm about her neck and the
other about her waist; And-Ongen clung to her father’s shoulder, her
arms clasped tightly around his neck.
“The sweet peace of God be upon you!” said the pastor, gently, as soon
as he had discovered them. “The people have all gone. And now, Mother
Holm, I should like very much to have you cook us a good cup of
coffee, if there is any in your house; I want to take supper with you.”
The sound of his voice startled Beret. She sat up, brushed her hair
back, and looked around with a puzzled expression. She felt abashed,
just like a modest person with too few clothes on who unexpectedly
finds himself in the presence of others.
“Oh, is this where we are?” she muttered, bending over and covering her
eyes.
“I want something to eat!” cried the boy, tearing himself from the
minister as soon as he heard his mother’s voice.
She seized the child frantically and hugged him close to her; pushing
her face down in the hollow of his neck, she drank and drank....
“No, no, Beret—don’t be so violent!” begged her husband. “Please be
careful!”
Then she threw back her head, the pale face flushed and distorted. “Am
I not to love my own child!”
The minister came up to her and laid his hand on her head.
“That’s quite right, Mother Holm! Love him all you can; but do not
forget to thank Him who has given you this precious gift. There is the
promise of a splendid man in that fine boy; you will surely have much
joy in him!”
Beret ceased caressing the boy and sat bent over him, listening to the
words of the minister. Then she rose hurriedly and smoothed down her
dress; again the minister got the impression that in some curious way
she felt ashamed. Without saying a word, she took a child by either
hand and walked out of the stable.
Per Hansa remained sitting on the pile of hay, resting his head on one
hand; his hair and beard were unkempt, and quite grizzled now; his
face was deeply furrowed, as if by the marks of a ruthless hand; his
whole figure seemed fearfully ravaged and broken, like a forest maple
shattered by a storm.
The minister sat down beside him; he began to confess Per Hansa with
all the gentleness of a sympathetic and understanding pastor.
“Now tell me everything. Two can carry what one alone cannot lift.
Tell me everything from the beginning.”
Without changing his position, Per Hansa looked down at the hay,
sighed, and began to talk in broken accents: “I don’t understand it
myself, you see.... I only know that damnation has come down upon
us.... It can’t continue much longer—I’ll probably have to _send her
away_.” Again he sighed, and then became silent.
It seemed to the minister as if the sum total of human tragedy sat
talking to him.... A chill had entered the dimly lighted room.
“Perhaps you are right ... otherwise, the cross might become too heavy
for you to bear!”
A long pause fell.
“But she is not entirely deranged, is she?”
“Partly or entirely—what difference does it make? If the fiddle is
cracked, it’s cracked....”
“Maybe so ... yes, yes....”
Still looking down at the hay, Per Hansa continued:
“I don’t know that I am guilty of any other wrong toward her than that
our oldest boy came before we were married; but in that matter we were
equally to blame.... And then I brought her out here. I suppose that
there is where the real trouble lies.... I don’t believe she grieves
much about that other affair.... No, it’s this business out here—and
for the life of me I can’t see any sin in it.”
“I think I understand,” said the minister, gently.
“But is a man to refuse to go where his whole future calls, only
because his wife doesn’t like it?” ... The question sprang out of Per
Hansa’s soul, as if he were for the first time opening the door to many
years of pent-up suffering. He turned his strong, resolute face toward
the minister, begging for an answer.
“Indeed he may, my good man,” said the minister, earnestly. “But it
would be better if they were both agreed upon it.”
“Agreed, yes—easy enough to say!... When the only disagreement, for
instance, was that she advised waiting another year!... And it
isn’t so much what she has said since we came out here.... Now. I
wish you would tell me—” Per Hansa spoke softly, almost diffidently.
“Suppose a husband and wife cannot agree—what, then, is he to do?”
The minister felt through the question the aching need of the man for
relief and comfort.
“_Therefore shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall be
joined unto his wife, and they two shall be one flesh_,” he quoted.
“There you have the Lord’s decree. But if the law applies to man, it
must apply to woman as well. Between you two there has, as I understand
it, been no real disagreement?”
Per Hansa shook his head; the words came with great difficulty:
“I sometimes wonder if there ever were two people who cared quite
as much for each other as we do.... But that hasn’t made things any
easier; you can’t lift the ocean, whether it rages in a storm or
lies quiet in a flat calm.... And now, please tell me, you who are a
minister and understand the Scriptures, _What is the man to do_?” Per
Hansa grasped the minister by the arm, clutching hard in his terrible
agitation.
“He shall humble himself before the Lord his God, and shall take up his
cross to bear it with patience!” said the minister, impressively.
“Ha-ha!” Per Hansa suddenly burst out in a bitter laugh. “That’s too
scanty a fare for me to live on. You’d better put that kind of talk
aside.... I ask as an ignorant man, and I must have an answer that I
can understand: Did I do right or did I do wrong when I brought her
out here? And what should I have done instead, when I saw nothing else
ahead of me in the world?”
“That time you undoubtedly did right, my good man, if what you have
told me is true; a man must go whither his heart and mind lead him,
unless the Lord comes and says no.... You did right that time; but
since then you have let yourself sink into the mire of a great sin, as
I am told. And now you grumble—like those Israelites of yore—because
the Lord is leading you on paths that you do not wish to follow....
You are not willing to bear your cross with humility!”
“No, I am not; and let me tell you something more.” Per Hansa’s voice
hardened. “We find other things to do out here than to carry crosses!”
Then he fell silent. The minister tried to find words with which to
reprove him; but in a moment Per Hansa began again—and now it was he
who rebuked the minister: “My experience has been that it is mighty
easy for one to talk about things he has not tried!... I have sweat
blood over this thing—and now I’m no longer equal to it.... Have you
ever thought what it means for a man to be in constant fear that the
mother may do away with her own children—and that, besides, it may be
his fault that she has fallen into that state of mind?”
When the minister finally answered, he had become all gentleness again.
“No, thanks and praise to God, such affliction He has spared me!” He
put one arm over Per Hansa’s shoulder. “Tell me how all this came
about.”
Per Hansa sat for a while without answering; he seemed like a man
trying to climb a steep hill, whose strength has given out; all at once
he got up and went over to the door, standing there and looking out a
long time into the darkness of the night. The minister followed him....
“There isn’t much to say about such things,” Per Hansa began. “She
has never felt at home here in America.... There are some people, I
know now, who never should emigrate, because, you see, they can’t take
pleasure in that which is to come—they simply can’t see it!... And yet,
she has never reproached me. And in spite of everything, we got along
fairly well up to the time when our last child was born.... Yes, the
one you baptized to-day.... Then she took a notion that she was going
to die—but I didn’t understand it at the time.... She has never had the
habit of fault-finding.... She struggled hard when the child was born,
and we all thought she wouldn’t survive—or him, either. That’s why we
had to baptize him at once. In my heedless joy, after the worst was
over and things had turned out all right, I went and gave him that
second name.... And then everything seemed to go to pieces!”
“That name ...?”
“Yes, the second name. It was very wrong of me, I know. I see that now.”
“What are you saying, man? Such a beautiful name!”
Per Hansa looked at him.... “Do you really mean it?”
“Of course I mean it! It is the handsomest name I can ever remember
giving to any child. _Peder Victorious_—why, it sings like a beautiful
melody!”
“Please tell me—is it really a human name? And wasn’t it a sacrilege
on my part?” asked Per Hansa, incredulously, hardly daring yet to
acknowledge his joy.
“My dear man, have you worried about that, too?”
“Have I?... Don’t mention it!... You mean that the name is all right?”
“Yes, indeed,” said the minister without hesitation. “There is nothing
unusual about it, except that you have happened to find a more
beautiful form than I have yet heard; the name itself is common in all
languages.”
Per Hansa gazed at the minister, bringing his face close up in order
to see him better in the growing dusk of the evening. Slowly his
eyes began to light with a new courage; he took a deep breath, and
straightened his body up for the first time in many a long day.
“I must ask you again, for I am an ignorant man: Is this really
true?... And won’t you please tell her the same thing, too—as soon as
you can?”
“I certainly will.... So she does not like the name?”
“No; that’s the trouble.... She believes it is an idea that the
devil himself has given me in order to get us more completely in his
power—but this we didn’t realize before her mind began to cloud. Now
she can’t bear to hear the name; that’s why the attack came on her this
afternoon, when you fastened it on the boy for good.... I was afraid,
too, that something like that might happen.”
“Well, well! Is this possible? How long has she had these attacks?”
“It began with the grasshoppers.... However, she’s always had the
heavy heart to fight against.... And then, those fears of hers—just
utter fancies! Can you understand how a person gets possessed by fear,
right on the level, solid ground?”
“You say it began with the grasshoppers?”
“Well, sir, I came home from work one evening to find a crazy woman!...
She thought it was the devil himself who had cast the plague upon
us—and maybe she wasn’t far wrong in that, either!... Pretty soon she
began to see visions of her mother, who had been dead for some time
then, though we hadn’t got the news....”
“What’s that you are saying?”
“Yes, sir, she saw her mother; and, will you believe it, she knew that
her mother was dead half a year before the letter came!... Oh, you
can’t imagine how bad it was!” The terrors that he had lived through
seemed fairly to choke him as he remembered the awful scenes.
“She could not have actually seen a dead person! She must have been
seriously deranged.”
“Yes—may God help us!—she both saw her and talked with her!... One
night I lay asleep, the first summer after the grasshoppers had come. I
had saved my whole crop and got it in. Suddenly I was awakened by some
one talking aloud in the room. And there she was, pacing back and forth
in the middle of the floor and talking to her mother, exactly as though
she were sitting by her side.... I know that she saw her, I tell you;
and the child—she was carrying the child in her arms!” ... Per Hansa’s
breath failed him for a moment.... “‘It’s no use, mother,’ she said.
‘The boy can’t come to you with a name that Satan has tricked Per into
giving him!’ Those were the very words she used. I got up, lighted a
candle, and as I watched her pacing there, with the little fellow in
her arms, then, at last, I saw how it was with her ... I saw it then.
Until that time I had refused to believe it.... Pastor,” whispered Per
Hansa, “do you know what it means to feel the skin creep up your back?”
...
“Did she try to harm the child?”
“Not then.” He shook his head. “I can’t say whether she had such
thoughts or not; but she took the notion that her mother wanted the
child with her.... The rest came later.” Per Hansa pulled himself
together with a strong effort.... “It will be two years this summer;
it happened toward evening, one day when the grasshoppers came in such
numbers that it was hard to see the sky. If Sörrina, our neighbour
woman, hadn’t been making us a visit, it’s hard telling ... but there
she sat, holding the child.”
“The Lord show mercy unto you!”
“Well may you say it!... That afternoon, when the grasshoppers began
to beat like hail against the walls, she remembered that some of the
little fellow’s clothes were lying outside to dry. She ran out to get
them, but when she picked them up there was nothing left but a few
tatters of cloth.... Then the spell came over her in an instant, you
understand. She ran into the house like a mad woman, wailing: ‘Now
the devil has come for your clothes.... He’d better have you, too....
Until he gets you we will have no peace!’ ... Then she grabbed for
the child!” Per Hansa groaned aloud.... “But what might have been in
her mind I cannot say. I forgot to tell you,” he went on, controlling
himself once more, “that the very night before, her mother was in the
room with her; Beret talked with her just as plainly as I now stand
here talking to you. She had got up and dressed herself, and was
telling her mother all about everything, the way women do ... and,
would you believe it, she wanted to cook coffee for her!... ‘We aren’t
so poor as all that!’ she told her mother.”
“And how was it afterward?” the minister asked, deeply moved.
“Well, you see,” said Per Hansa, wiping his eyes, “I had to do
something about it. So I persuaded her to let Sörrina take the child
during the summer.”
“You got her to agree to that?”
“Yes, after a while; at first she wouldn’t hear of it, but finally
she gave in. And now I don’t know whether I did right or wrong;
I believe it hurt her terribly to have the little fellow gone. I saw
how she wandered about the room, as if longing to care and do for
him, but he was not there.... And one night after the plague came—I
couldn’t lie awake every night, you know—she got up quietly and stole
over to the house where he was.... She wanted to get the child. Whether
she intended to do him harm or not, none of us can be sure. She told
Sörrina and Hans Olsa that visitors had come from afar, asking to see
the boy, and so she must have him; there wasn’t any way out of it. Yes,
that’s what she said!”
“The Lord has certainly laid a heavy cross upon you! But remember,
He will remove it in His own good time!... Now, tell me, how is she
between these attacks?”
“Well, you see, she may be all right for months; one who had never
known her well would hardly suspect that anything was wrong with her
during this time; she does her work like all the rest of us. In the
dead of winter, of course, when the blizzards are raging and we don’t
see any other folks for weeks at a time, she has days when she seems to
go all to pieces; but I hardly reckon that as the disease—that sort of
thing happens to a good many of us, let me tell you!”
“What do you intend to do about it this summer?”
“This summer?” ... Per Hansa’s face was drawn with fear as he turned
to the minister.... “If Satan lets his hosts loose upon us again this
summer, then I don’t know what will happen!”
The minister patted him on the shoulder:
“Take no thought for the morrow! The plague cannot last forever. And
remember that the Lord is always near. As the number of thy days, so
shall thy strength be. And now take this advice from me: From now
on keep close to her; be toward her as you were during those happy
days when you first got her; let your affection warm her into the
understanding that it is good to be human; and lighten her burdens in
every way.... Above everything, do not take her child away from her
again. You will simply have to be as watchful as you can.... And now I
will perhaps stay here to-night; arrange it so that I can be alone
with her awhile to-morrow.” ...
The minister gazed before him in deep thought, his heart wrung with
pity and compassion. “Perhaps the Lord will allow me to reach her
mind with a clarifying idea. His word is living life and can move
mountains.... When I return you must take her to Communion.”
His hand was patting the shoulder on which it rested. Per Hansa wept,
his sobs coming in short gasps that shook his frame; he experienced a
blessing descending upon him, and his burden grew lighter. There was
much more he wanted to say, but just now he could not speak....
A long pause followed; then the minister spoke again: “Let us not stand
here longer in fear and darkness, talking about sad things; our bodies
need nourishment.”
They walked across the yard in the quiet prairie evening, Per Hansa so
happy that he could gladly have offered the minister his whole crop as
it stood in all its beauty ... and he had a hundred acres seeded in,
counting it near and far.
Just as they reached the door of the hut somebody rounded the corner on
the run and called in a quick, scared voice, “_Father_!”
Both men jumped, so suddenly had the figure come out of the darkness.
“Is that you, Ola? What are you up to, anyway?”
“Father, come here!” The boy grasped Per Hansa by the arm and tried to
pull him along. “Hans is sitting up on the Indian mound, crying and
taking on! I can’t get him to come home!”
“Is he sick?”
“No!”
“What’s the matter with him, then?” The father shook the boy.
“He is afraid of mother ... you must come right away!”
The boy sped away into the darkness.
Per Hansa gave the minister a look which seemed to say: “Now you see
how things are here!” ... And all the radiance that for a moment had
lighted up his soul was suddenly gone out. He asked the minister
to enter.... “Tell them that I and the boys will be right along.” ...
Then he too disappeared.
The minister stood there for a while in deep uncertainty; at last he
turned toward the door, made the sign of the cross in front of it, said
a prayer, then opened it and went in.
* * * * *
... But across the fields ran Ole, and the father went after him.
“Where is he?”
“Over there!”
“You run home. I guess I can find him. Is it over there by the grave?”
“Yes ... here ...”
Ole vanished on the other side of the mound.
“Store-Hans, where are you keeping yourself?”
A smothered cry came through the darkness.
Per Hansa followed the sound and almost stumbled over a writhing form
which lay on the ground; he bent over and lifted it up in his arms.
“Hansy-boy, what’s the matter?”
The father sat down with the limp, slender body of the boy in his arms,
rocking and lulling it.
“Is ... is ... mother queer again?”
“No, indeed! Mother is all right, and now supper is ready.”
“Did ... did she ... kill Permand?”
Per Hansa took a firmer hold of the boy, got up, and started to run.
“Did she do it?”
The father spoke harshly:
“I don’t want to hear any more of such wicked talk! Mother is all right
... all of us are ... and now she has supper ready, and everything.” He
stopped and set the boy down. “Now wipe your face—we can’t come into
the house this way.” ... The father began to dry the boy’s tear-stained
face. “You must wash yourself as soon as you get in the house,” he
said, gently, taking the boy by the hand.
V
Nothing out of the ordinary happened that evening. When the minister
came into the hut he greeted them in an even voice, “God’s peace upon
this house!” Then he took off his vestments, folded them up and put
them in his valise, looked around for a chair, and sat down. And now
that he had removed his official garb he looked like a different man;
the special odour of sanctity that had rested on him seemed to have
departed; he sat there quietly, having little to say, looking like a
man who has just passed through a great hardship and is very tired....
The table was set for supper; upon it had been placed one candle, and
another stood on a little shelf by the stove. Sörine was still in the
house, bustling about and helping with the meal; And-Ongen sat on one
of the beds, playing with her baby brother, who had been washed and
dressed for the night and was now ready to be put to sleep. Sörine kept
talking and laughing with the children as she worked, and an air of
cheerfulness had come over the room.
Beret stood by the stove, bent over, washing some pots and pans; she
glanced once over her shoulder at the minister as he sat down; but very
soon she had to look again. And then she did something that she often
wondered at afterward: she wiped her hands, took a clean bowl from the
cupboard, filled it with fresh milk, and offered it to him, saying:
“Have some milk, please, to stay your hunger while you wait.”
The minister took the bowl without looking at her; he emptied it at one
draught, put it down, and thanked her in a few brief words.
Almost immediately Beret grew bashful and uneasy over what she had
done; in her nervousness she picked up a shirt that she was making for
one of the boys, sat down by the candlelight near the stove, and began
to sew as hard as she could; but she kept her face turned away from the
minister.
Per Hansa and the boys came in; Sörine announced that supper was ready;
the four men sat down and began the meal. The minister looked at the
younger boy; his face was swollen, his eyes were red with weeping;
a heavy veil seemed to hide his handsome features. At the sight of the
boy the minister felt more like crying than eating; a sudden revulsion
overcame him. Laying down his knife and fork, he asked for another bowl
of milk, which he emptied slowly, and then waited for the others to get
through. When he thought they had finished, he folded his hands on the
table and began to pray to the unseen one whose presence was always
near.
So quickly did he begin, that at first Per Hansa didn’t realize what
was going on and was on the point of asking the minister what he said.
The same thing happened to the others: Ole had just discovered that he
wasn’t quite satisfied, and was reaching for another piece of bread;
Sörine was about to offer them all more coffee. But Beret sat bowed
over her sewing, trying to catch every word; she took a few stitches,
and then the work dropped to her lap; something compelled her to turn
and look at him. The light of the candle cast a reddish gleam over his
face; his beard seemed more silvery than ever; the countenance was that
of a good child who is tired and wants to be put to bed.... His voice
was gentle and low.... He is really a fine man, thought Beret, and kept
on listening....
During the summer there are at times dark days on the prairie; the
rain is cold, the fog dreary and dank, sticking to one’s clothes like
wool. But it may happen that toward evening, just as the day is nearly
done, a curtain is suddenly drawn aside; in the western sky appears
a window—not built by the hand of man—all luminous with splendour;
out of it shines a radiance clearer and more glorious than anything
the eye has ever beheld; all around the window night and darkness
hang suspended like draperies—they too radiating a glory not of this
world.... Thus was the splendour which now pervaded Per Hansa’s sod
house. All had folded their hands without knowing it. Over on the bed
the play continued; happy laughter arose, though it did not seem to
disturb the prayer. But after a while that also quieted down.... Then
Permand heard the voice of the one he had been playing with earlier in
the evening; it tempted him so hard that he could not resist; clad
in his little nightdress, he crawled out of the bed, toddled across the
earthen floor to the minister, put both hands on the knees that rose
before him, and looked up merrily into the man’s face. All who saw it
felt shocked at the impropriety; they wanted to stop the child, but
only feared a greater impropriety in anything they might do. Per Hansa
was on the point of speaking sharply, but his voice failed; Sörine
thought of snatching the child away, but only remained motionless and
aghast, ... “I suppose I shall have to do it myself,” thought Beret—yet
she, too, could not get up from her chair.... The child had entered a
glory where no one dared to follow.... Without interrupting his flow
of words, the minister lifted the boy onto his knees, folded the baby
hands within his own, and went on with the prayer.... “Oh, this is
too bad!” cried Beret to herself, struggling to rise. “The child’s
nightshirt is dirty—he mustn’t sit there!” But still she could not get
up from her chair: the one with whom the minister was talking stood too
near.... The words flowed on without a pause, softly and sweetly, like
the warm rain of a summer evening. It was as if the minister had much
to confide to that other one; the other one seemed to be objecting, as
if He hesitated to do what was asked; then the minister prayed more
fervently; not that he raised his voice—the words came with the same
gentleness—but he threw his whole soul into them, as if he refused on
any account to give in.
At last he came to the little boy who sat there on his lap—the child he
had christened that day. And it seemed almost uncanny to listen to what
he said; one could hardly make out whether he was talking to the unseen
being or to the boy himself; at times it sounded as if they might be
one and the same.... He laid his hand tenderly on the child’s head;
his eyes seemed closed, but the words had caught a new inspiration; to
those who listened, it seemed a wonderful thing....
“Set him aside, O God,” the pastor prayed, “as Thou didst formerly with
Thy chosen ones in times of yore!... Set him aside, and consecrate
him as a true Nazarene!... Let him indeed fulfil the promise of his
splendid name and become a true _victor_ here, both over himself and
for the salvation of his people.... And now may Thy blessed peace rest
on this house, for ever and ever ... Amen!”
He sat with closed eyes for some time, his hand still resting on the
boy’s head; the others were very still. Beret trembled throughout her
body; a choking feeling came over her, and at last she had to cough.
She glanced down in confusion at her sewing.
“I haven’t done this right!” she thought, distractedly, trying to calm
herself. She looked at the sewing again, got up to fetch the shears,
and ripped out what she had been doing.
Then the minister began to play with the boy, in a natural, happy way;
and in a little while they both seemed to be having great fun. But he
didn’t have anything to say to the others; and they, in turn, couldn’t
find anything to say to him.
But the next morning, as they sat at the breakfast table, the minister
was both merry and talkative, and helped himself so liberally to the
food that it was a pleasure just to see him do it. He asked many
questions regarding the life and conditions in that vicinity, and
showed himself so well informed about farming that Per Hansa asked,
without thinking, whether he had ever been a farmer.... Then he
suddenly remembered what the minister had told him to do the evening
before; he got up hastily, called to the boys, and they left the house
together.
The moment they were gone Beret grew very uneasy; she found her sewing
again, and sat down with it in a furtive, embarrassed way. The minister
could see nothing unusual about her, except that her face was so
singularly childlike; this impression came mostly from the way she used
her eyes; it was hard to find them, because she kept looking down in
extreme bashfulness and timidity; nor could he seem to easily draw her
into conversation.
He came over and stood beside her chair.
“Well, now, Mrs. Holm, I have a request to make of you. Two weeks
from next Sunday I shall return; and then I plan to conduct Communion
services here in your house.”
Beret was so astonished to hear these words, that she forgot herself
for a moment and looked straight at him.
“Here in our sod house?”
“Yes, right here in your house, where you live every day.... Don’t you
think it would be a blessing for you to come to the Lord with your sins
and taste the sweetness of His mercy?” he said in a quiet voice.
“Here ...?” she asked, greatly agitated. “Oh no—that would never do—oh
no!... It’s too filthy and dirty here.... There’s too much ... it’s
_unclean_!” ... She stopped abruptly, blushed scarlet, and looked down
into her lap again.
“No doubt there is much sin here,” resumed the minister. “That I am
sure of. But the Lord will sanctify the house for us.... And now I want
you to plan how nicely we can arrange it for His blessed purposes. Let
us consider the matter before I leave.” He looked around the room.
“The table had better be taken out—that will give us more room. That
big chest we can perhaps use as the altar—that is, if your husband
could fix up something for railing. We could probably find some fitting
material to cover both that and the chest; perhaps you had better talk
to the neighbour women about it.” ... The minister talked on as if
everything were decided, with only the responsibility for its execution
left in her hands.
She gave him a quick look; her cheeks were flushed.
“That is my father’s chest ... it is a nice chest, too.”
The voice had grown querulous again and bore the same childlike
expression; the minister made no reply. He took her hand, thanked her
briefly for her hospitality, and hurried out of the room. When he got
outside his forehead was damp with perspiration. He saw Per Hansa
coming in his direction, but turned away to avoid him....
When Beret sat down awhile later to dress the little boy she felt that
she could sing aloud to-day—felt that she had to sing, that she could
not help it. Both words and melody seemed to rise in her throat; it was
the baptismal hymn that they had used the previous day, and she
sang all the verses.... While she sang she handled the boy so gently
... as if she were almost afraid to touch him....
VI
There was much stir and activity all through that summer and fall of
’77; many schooners sailed across the wide prairie, and with them came
always excitement. The greater number of them, however, went drifting
past, pushing still farther westward into the sun glimmer; but there
were others that anchored in the settlement and tied up for good. Many
were there already, and sod houses grew up like ant hills.... Prospects
seemed favourable here, they said, especially if one would take the
time to look around. The soil was probably just as good here as farther
west.... Well, why not try it here?...
The Sognings in particular were clever at hanging on to prospective
settlers: “No use talking, you couldn’t find better land than this, if
you searched clear to the Pacific coast! As far as _land_ is concerned,
you might just as well settle here.... And this is an old settlement
now, the community well organized, with schools and everything.... You
can easily get help for both plowing and building.” ... The Sognings
were practical folk, and good talkers, besides; and so they had
elected a committee to advise all land seekers that passed through the
settlement; this committee had informed itself—at least, it talked that
way—about every quarter section that was not yet taken.
The grasshopper plague had raged frightfully that season, but they
would probably soon be rid of it—and, thank God, it took neither man
nor beast! This year, too, the hay was spared, and some of their crops
had been saved from year to year; several of the farmers even had a
little ready money left, after buying the absolutely necessary articles
of food and clothing. The herds of live stock were growing constantly,
and now the flocks of poultry, larger and larger each season,
helped to pay for many of the things that one had to buy.
One fine day a strange monster came writhing westward over the prairie,
from Worthington to Luverne; it was the greatest and the most memorable
event that had yet happened in these parts. The monster crawled along
with a terrible speed; but when it came near, it did not crawl at all;
it rushed forward in tortuous windings, with an awful roar, while
black, curling smoke streaked out behind it in the air. People felt
that day a joy that almost frightened them; for it seemed now that all
their troubles were over, that there could be no more hardships to
contend with—at least, that was what the Sognings solemnly affirmed....
For now that the railway had come as far as this, it wouldn’t take long
before they would see it winding its way into Sioux Falls. Indeed, if
this wasn’t a place fit to live in now, where would one find it?—that
the Sognings would like to know.... Good neighbours, schools, the
finest kind of land, a railroad and everything—what more could anyone
wish?...
That summer a number of houses went up to the westward of Spring Creek.
Before the minister had come the first time, Hans Olsa had already
hauled the materials for both dwelling and barn; now he was building.
After the first year he had gone into stock raising; he had the largest
herd in the settlement, and was doing very well—for those days.... And
Tönseten, after receiving absolution for his great sin, had become all
aglow with high ambitions; his prospects were bright of being elected
_klokker_—perhaps deacon, too; life for him was positively glorious,
just one grand song. All day his head was full of the idea that he,
too, ought to build himself a respectable house. But the plan never
seemed to materialize; he still lived in the old sod house. At last
Kjersti would lose her temper whenever the project was mentioned. The
hut was good enough, she said; besides, they had no one to build for!
This latter fact, however, she didn’t refer to oftener than seemed
absolutely necessary; it only made her husband sulky, and then he would
call her names, like “whimpering Jane” or “weeping willow.” ... He
probably wasn’t to blame, poor fellow, after all....
In the fall Henry Solum built an immense barn; he saw that Hans Olsa
had done well by raising cattle, and intended to follow his example;
the dwelling house could wait until he got some one to take care of
it—and that might be next summer, if everything went as it should....
East of the creek, too, framed houses were rising above the sod huts.
The Irish, west by the sloughs, were a little slower about building;
there things made scant progress until the following year. The pest
had raged worse in that locality than anywhere else, because the land
lay lower. And the Irish acted with native caution. They have a wise
proverb which says that a good barn may perhaps pay for a decent house,
but no one has ever heard of a fine dwelling that paid for a decent
barn.... These words of wisdom they believed—and put them into practice.
The new houses seemed so out of place, standing up on the open, bare
prairie. Did they really belong there? They looked so defiant!... And
that was exactly what the savage storm thought when he came along,
winter or summer, found these unheard-of objects in his way, puffed
and wheezed, took firm hold, and roared in anger. Well, perhaps he did
more than that; it happened now and then that a house would be toppled
over, or shattered and torn to pieces; but no matter how hard the storm
raged and fumed and growled and took on about it, most of the houses
remained standing, and their numbers steadily increased as the years
went by. And the groves of trees which the settlers had striven so hard
to plant and rear—they stretched and spread, they grew in height and
breadth and richness every summer. As they grew they hid the houses,
except where the driveway was to come in, when plans and visions
became reality. There were settlers, even, who wooded themselves in so
completely—perhaps to keep out all evil—that their houses could not be
seen at all until one came inside the grove....
VII
The weather was beautiful on the Sunday of the Communion service; the
pest had already begun, but only that form of it which bred in the soil
there at home; nothing had come yet out of the sky. To-day a light
breeze was blowing from the southwest; there was just heat enough to
be comfortable; the air swept one’s face like a soft, silken veil. The
young people felt like taking off their clothes; the sun quivered down
through a greenish-blue haze far off in the deep sky; and over on the
prairie the first meadow lark had sung that morning. Both the lark and
the robin had found their way out there the second summer after the
settlers came.
Several folks had arrived ahead of the appointed time, and were
standing in little groups around Per Hansa’s house; most of them had
walked over, but those who lived farther away had come jolting along
in a lumber wagon, the load and the jolting apparently increasing
together. The people were all laughing and talking together, full of
life and fun; from their actions no one would have gathered that they
were on their way to church.
Old Aslak Tjöme, who lived just northwest of Sam Solum, brought his
wife in a wheelbarrow. She had fractured her hip on the ice that spring
and was still unable to walk.... “God only knows when she’s going to
get well again!” said Aslak. “It’s too bad, because even when she is
well I have no more help than I need.” ... And Aslak was bringing his
wife to church for this reason: he had a notion—just a notion—that
if the minister would lay his hands on her she might gain faster....
Anyhow, there was no harm in trying.... Aslak, with his wife in the
wheelbarrow, made a funny sight; he had rigged up a high back-rest
for her and had fixed a seat in the barrow, covered with a sheepskin
rug; on this she sat like a queen on her throne. On either side of the
wheelbarrow he had fastened short poles, connecting them with a rope.
The woman clung to the rope with one hand; in the other she held a hymn
book wrapped in a white handkerchief.
Folks passing them stopped and laughed, and offered to push awhile. “Oh
no, thank you!” said Aslak, merrily. “Now I can manage her alone; but
it hasn’t always been thus—no, indeed!” Then he laughed again as he
pushed on, and looked lovingly at her. She nodded and smiled, laughing
back at him.... “You take my place and let me push awhile!” ... That
gave them a good laugh together.
The minister had reached the settlement the evening before and had
stayed overnight at Per Hansa’s. That morning they had been up early,
had hurried through the breakfast, and immediately after had started to
put the house in order for the service. It had been thoroughly cleaned
and tidied up before he came. All kinds of wild flowers that were to be
found on the prairie had been gathered and hung in bouquets of various
sizes under the ceiling, or put into glasses and bowls that stood
around in every conceivable place. There was something strange and
haphazard about it, as if it had been done by children in play.... As
the minister looked around, a chill hand seemed to clutch his heart....
The table had been carried outside and the big chest placed diagonally
in one corner, just as he had directed on his first visit. Per Hansa
had constructed a long, low bench, made up of several small benches;
this ran along in front of the chest and was covered with two rugs
that Sörine had brought over; the chest itself was draped with a white
cloth. The minister took the paten and the chalice and placed them on
the improvised altar; he also asked for the two candlesticks he had
noticed the other time, and when they had been brought and fitted with
candles, he set them on either end of the chest. Over the cold stove
they spread another rug; yesterday the boys had stripped off a whole
tubful of willow leaves; these were now brought in and scattered around
on the floor.
The result was satisfactory. The minister looked around; he had
scarcely spoken since he came.... “Now I am going over to the other hut
to dress for the service; I shall be there until it is time to begin,
and would rather not be disturbed.” ... He glanced at the wife, then at
the husband, and said as he went out, “God grant to both of you a
blessed Communion!”
Entering the other hut, where he had slept the previous night, the
minister slowly began to put on his canonicals. His lips moved in
prayer; his brow was wet with perspiration. When he had dressed he sat
down on the edge of the bed and leaned his head on one hand. As he sat
there, his bowed figure seemed strangely powerless and insignificant;
the strength that he had so fervently prayed for at this hour, he had
not received. When he finally took the books from the valise his hand
trembled. His face looked pale and tired; now he felt the need of a
strong faith—and when he sought it he sought in vain!...
... _In him_ the faith was lacking; of that he was painfully aware.
With a supreme effort he got up from the bed and went out into the yard.
When he reached the other house it was packed full of people; the
elders had found places in the front of the room; there also sat Aslak
Tjöme with his wife, the invalid woman comfortably propped up at his
side; Per Hansa and his wife sat on the very first bench, right in
front of the improvised altar. The minister scanned the crowd, paused
for a moment, then came forward and spoke calmly to Per Hansa: “Now,
when the service begins, you two will please come forward first. As
soon as you have received Communion, you had better go outside, for it
will be hot and stuffy in here.” Then he went from person to person,
writing down the names of the communicants; at once a deep silence fell
on the room.
As the text for the Communion sermon the minister had chosen _The Glory
of the Lord_; rather, he had not chosen it—it had suggested itself
powerfully to him on the day he had gone away after talking with Beret.
He had at once recognized the fitness of the theme. And now, to-day,
it had returned to him with overwhelming force; here sat people who,
perhaps for many years, had had no chance, no single opportunity, to
confess their sins before the Lord and receive His blessed remission.
Among them was one soul, sore perplexed, that he must try to
reach.... He had seen clearly on his last visit—at least, he thought
he had seen—that what the woman needed above everything else was the
gladness of salvation, the abiding joy that issues out of the faith
and the firm conviction that life is good because the Lord Himself
has ordained it all.... Until he faced her he had felt so happy over
the theme.... Ah, well, perhaps the Lord would vouchsafe unto him the
necessary strength ... yes, if he only could find the faith within his
own soul!...
He asked the assembly to keep quiet and remain seated during the
Communion service, and began the service at once.
But as he started to preach the words he wanted would not come; in
those that came there seemed to be no power; to-day something had
happened to him which he could not control. He heard himself speak,
and it seemed like the voice of another. He could not fathom it; here
he stood before a remarkable congregation, under the most inspiring
circumstances; he had been given a text more wonderful than any servant
of the Lord could rightly hope to find; in all ways he was better
prepared to conduct Communion services to-day than he had ever been
before.... And yet he could not preach ... the words would not come!...
They were failing him utterly now. Here he was preaching about the
Glory of the Lord—and stuttering like a child!... “I must go a little
slower and try to collect my thoughts; that may help me; perhaps it
will bring the words I need.... It makes no difference if I don’t speak
so loud; the people can hear me well enough, if I can only express
myself simply and clearly!” ... He struggled to find the right words,
the aptest illustrations; his face grew flushed with the unusual
exertion; great beads of sweat stood out on it and began to roll
down.... But all to no purpose....
... “If I am not careful,” he thought, “I will break down completely;
I’m not saying a thing that is worth while!” ... And he spoke even
more slowly, making long pauses between his sentences, so that it
sounded like a sort of conversation—a one-sided argument against a
silent adversary.... The man who had looked forward with such fervour
to preaching this sermon on _The Glory of the Lord_ was making a
sorry mess of it as he rambled on in disconnected phrases.
But he must keep going; he had asked the people to remain seated, and
they were expecting a long discourse; to disappoint them would be a
scandal.
... “The Glory of the Lord—what is it? One might suppose it to be too
wonderful for us to talk about.... Nothing to that remark!” he thought,
as soon as he had said it.... “Nothing but empty words about holy
things!” ...
He began to enumerate all the examples from the Scriptures that he had
been striving for two weeks to cull and arrange; everything calculated
to show the real wonders of the Glory of the Lord:
... “Did not Adam and Eve behold the Glory of the Lord as they walked
in innocence in Paradise? The Lord spake to them in the paths of the
Garden; that was in the morning of time, when the world was still
young and everything in it was pure and beautiful.... And Enoch who
was translated that he should not see death.... Abraham and Sarah, as
they saw the promise made to them fulfilled before their eyes in such a
wonderful fashion.... Jacob, who fought with the Lord and wrestled with
Him as man to man—what was he allowed to see?... And that man of God,
up on Mount Sinai, as he stood face to face with the Lord of Hosts....
and Jonah, and all the rest?” ... The speaker toiled through the entire
Old Testament and pushed his way into the New.... “What was it that the
little band of disciples experienced when they sat at table with Him
and He Himself brake the bread for them and handed them the cup?”
The minister paused, wiping the perspiration from his face. Every
time he drew one of these word pictures for them, the idea came to
him more and more forcibly: “These people, sitting here in front of
me, are Sognings and Vossings; the man of the house and his wife are
fisher-folk from Nordland.... How can they understand the things that
happened to an alien people, living ages ago, in a distant land? The
Israelites were an Oriental race; they didn’t know anything about
Dakota Territory, either; they had no experience of the hardships out
here!” ... He could have wept aloud in his sore distress; here he
stood, an old and tried servant of God—and now he had preached himself
through the whole Bible without finding the Glory of the Lord!...
... “This will never, never do!” he thought, and continued doggedly to
speak in slow accents, like one who goes about looking for something
while he talks aloud to himself. His eyes roamed helplessly over
the rows of faces; they fixed on a fly buzzing around the room, and
followed it while he talked. A little way off sat a young woman with
three small children; she was a fine, bright-looking woman, tanned and
burned by the sun; that must be the girl that Tönseten had married, he
thought. The oldest child leaned up against her, the second lay with
his head on her thigh; he seemed to be sleeping, for the minister saw
only the curly head. She had the youngest child in her lap. He had been
restless for a long time, and the mother had unbuttoned her clothes
to nurse him. The fly buzzed and buzzed, made a turn in the air, and
settled on the nose of the nursing child; the mother raised her hand
and swept it away, and as she did so she drew the hand caressingly over
the face of the child.
The minister kept on looking at the group.... He had talked himself
into complete bankruptcy respecting all things great and beautiful,
without finding a message that seemed to apply here. Now, taking a
sudden shift, he began to address the little group directly before him;
not that he actually pointed to the sunburnt, healthy woman who sat
there watching the fly, too busy to listen to him; but he commenced to
speak of the love of mother and child. And all at once he did something
that he had never done before in a Communion sermon—he told a story; it
was a sentimental story, too—and he had always despised sentimentality
in preaching:
Once upon a time, he said, a Norwegian immigrant woman landed in New
York City; her name was Kari—she was widowed and had nine children....
New York is a terribly large city. Imagine the difficulties a
poor immigrant woman meets with there—one who can neither speak nor
understand the language! And this woman hadn’t a single friend in all
America. When she landed, and saw the great throngs of people, and
looked at the whirlpool of traffic, she got terribly frightened, poor
soul! She had been told that in this foreign metropolis almost anything
might happen to a mother coming alone with nine children; and so she
had prepared herself in her own way. Around her waist was wound a long
rope; this she now unrolled, tying all nine children to it in single
file, but keeping the end still securely fastened around her waist.
In this fashion Kari plodded through the streets of the great city, a
laughingstock to all passers-by. But just the same, she reached her
destination at last, with all her nine children safe and sound!...
Wasn’t that rope a fine illustration of a mother’s love?
It occurred to the minister that he had come down to very commonplace
things—yet he spoke straight out, from the fulness of his heart....
The people were listening intently; the woman with three little
children stopped chasing the fly; he longed to tell her to go on with
her duties and not mind him.... But all at once she seemed to become
his own mother, as plainly as if he had seen her in the flesh; and he
remembered how she had struggled and suffered as a pioneer woman, first
in Illinois, afterward in Minnesota. He was profoundly moved as he
caught this reflection of her destiny; his words came faster, pouring
forth without a trace of effort.... “But when such love exists between
a poor pioneer woman and her plain, ordinary children, what must it not
be when it rises to Divinity—the love of Him Who is the source of love
itself—of Him Who cares for all life, yea, even for the worm crawling
in the dust? The love of mother and child can be only an infinitesimal
part of that other love; yet, small and imperfect as it is, it still
carries a breath of the Divine omnipotence.... If you, pioneer mothers,
have not seen the Glory of the Lord, then no preacher of the Gospel
will ever be able to show it to you!... And now come forward to the
altar of God and taste that He is good.... Come, with all your
sins and all your sorrows.... Bring Him your trials and your grief!
Love itself, eternal and boundless, is present here. He is ready and
willing to lighten your burdens, just as a mother cares for her nursing
child.... Come and receive freely of the abundance of grace. Come and
_behold the Glory of the Lord_!” ...
The minister ended his sermon, looked at his watch, and his brows knit
in a puzzled frown. How had this happened? According to the watch, he
had been speaking for an hour and fifteen minutes. Could it be possible?
The people came forward, knelt down before Per Hansa’s big chest, and
received an assurance so gracious and benign that they could hardly
credit its reality.... Many eyes filled with tears during that hour....
The absolution took a long time. The minister looked again at his
watch; he still couldn’t understand where the time had gone. In his
heart he blamed himself bitterly; not only had he spoiled the Communion
sermon, but he had also made it so long that no time was left for the
regular sermon of the day!
And so he omitted the sermon altogether, brought the Communion service
to a close, and ended with a fervent admonition to the communicants
to go directly home and remain quiet for the rest of the day.... They
mustn’t stop anywhere to gossip and talk!... He would return at the end
of four weeks, at which time he intended to take up the question of
organizing a congregation.
He refused to stop for dinner; having hastily drunk a bowl of milk, he
got into his cart at once and drove off.... The cart shook and rattled;
the old nag ambled along; the minister sat immersed in a deep gloom....
“Never before,” he thought, “have I failed so miserably in any service!”
VIII
It rained both Monday and Tuesday, but not so hard that Hans Olsa had
to stop building. With two carpenters to help him, he made such good
progress that the day was gone even before it had begun—or so it
seemed to him. Which was hardly to be wondered at, because from morning
till night could be heard rumbling out of the caverns of his bulky
chest a continuous monotone that was seriously meant to be a song; as
steady and deliberate as everything he did—as he himself was, for that
matter—the vocal performance droned and rumbled on and never came to an
end; and so each day proved too short, both for himself and his song.
Yes, now Hans Olsa was building himself a real house, and he sang
all day at his work. And why shouldn’t he sing? This was going to
be a beautiful house, larger—very much larger, in fact—than he had
originally planned; it was to have a roomy kitchen, both a dining room
and a parlor, with three bedrooms upstairs and two downstairs.
Concerning the matter of bedrooms on the ground floor, there had been a
long-drawn argument between him and Sörine; not a serious disagreement,
exactly, but—well, they had talked about it a great deal! Hans Olsa
was never in the habit of saying unkind things to his wife; and Sörine
always smiled, even when she was provoked; so a real quarrel between
the two was hard to raise. But in this instance she held tenaciously to
her idea that there must be a bedroom downstairs, no matter how many
others he might build elsewhere; and that plan called for an addition
to the house, which seemed a needless extravagance. And it was so
unlike her—she was never known to be extravagant! So he had tried to
reason the idea out of her head; but he finally had had to give it up
as a bad job. And since there was no way out of building an addition,
while he was about it, he thought, he might as well extend it clear
across the house. Thus it had come about that there were to be two
extra bedrooms downstairs.... Very unwise, a needless expense, and
so utterly unlike her; but there stood the framework, all complete.
Nothing to do about it now.
That Sörine was a real gift from on high no one knew better than Hans
Olsa himself; and now, this particular summer, there was nothing that
he would not gladly have done for her. Ever since last spring, when
she had confided to him that she was with child, he had been in
a state of blissful anticipation—this time he felt sure that it would
be a boy. Hence the new house—hence the song. As soon as she had told
him the great news he had come to the decision that _that_ event should
never take place in the old sod house; and if it meant such a lot to
her to get that room downstairs, she certainly should have it, no
matter how unreasonable it might be.
Hans Olsa was fully aware, these days, how everything was arranging
itself for his benefit, and he walked about in a state of blissful
contentment and thankfulness; his herd had steadily increased from year
to year; every season he got more and more land under cultivation;
there must be an end to the plague some time, so all wise men said;
here, where there was not a human being to be seen the year they came,
large settlements were now springing up; the soil was good, the rain
and the sunshine were plentiful. And now he was building a mansion for
him who was coming.... How marvellous it all was!... Hans Olsa was both
a sensible and a serious-minded man; but he would gladly have built two
more rooms if she had asked for them, just to show his gratitude....
He had been present at the service last Sunday, had taken part in the
Communion; and the longer the service had lasted the stronger and
deeper had grown his felicity. He was only a common, uneducated man,
and probably lacked a proper conception of the wonders the minister
preached about; yet this he knew for certain, that nothing so glorious
as that Communion service in Per Hansa’s sod house had he ever before
experienced, and the happiness of that hour was still glowing with
steady warmth in Hans Olsa’s heart.... As Per Hansa and Beret had knelt
before the chest, he had looked at them, thinking of many things.
Beret’s sad condition could easily be seen in her face. Ah no, when
reason once leaves a person, it seldom returns!... And Per Hansa
himself had become an old man long before his time: his hair and beard
were grey; his face was thin and worn; not till then had Hans Olsa
fully realized the terrible struggle his lifelong friend was going
through. He had gazed at the kneeling couple until his large, heavy
features drooped with sympathy. Could he at that moment have shared
his own happiness with his friend, he would have handed it over to him
without a question.
Coming home from the service that day, he had wandered about the place,
pondering over an idea which he wasn’t ready to mention to his wife
until he had given it more thought. But on Monday night he broached the
subject to Sörine: Shouldn’t they offer to take Per Hansa’s youngest
child?... Did she suppose that would be too much for her?... You see,
he wasn’t any too sure about it, himself.... And now he told her all
his thoughts of the previous Sunday.... What did she say—should they
offer to take the child?...
Sörine laughed and asked him teasingly if he didn’t think he’d soon
have enough with his own? The next instant, however, she too became
serious; and now she confided in him that for a long time she had been
thinking about this very same thing, herself. But she hadn’t mentioned
it to Per Hansa because he knew that she was only too willing; had he
wanted to bring it about, he would only have had to ask her....
They couldn’t be sure of that, her husband objected; Per Hansa knew
that she was soon going to have one of her own, and he was not the kind
of a man to impose on others.... He doubted very much, as a matter of
fact, if Per Hansa fully realized the seriousness of Beret’s condition.
Should the plague return this summer and that awful spell come over her
again, there was no telling what might happen.... “Isn’t it really up
to us, who can see the true state of affairs?”
Sörine gave an unexpected answer to this question: “I believe that
Beret is jealous of me because I’m so fond of her little boy.... I
think I’ve noticed it.”
Hans Olsa pondered this information awhile.... Perhaps his wife was
right; and there were other difficulties, too.... Suppose they did
take the boy. Could they be certain that he would thrive better
here? And if he didn’t, where would be the gain?... And would it be
fair to the parents even to suggest such a thing?... At any rate, if
things came to such a pass that Per Hansa had to send Beret away—which
wasn’t at all improbable—then some one would have to take the child
permanently.... And just now, wouldn’t it be too great a burden for
Sörine?... No, Hans Olsa couldn’t quite see his way clear....
Sörine only laughed at him.... Certainly she would undertake to be a
mother to that blessed dear little boy—it would be only one more—that
is, if it ever seemed necessary. But she doubted very much if Per Hansa
would consent to the plan; he thought more of that boy than of any of
the other children, unless she was much mistaken.... They discussed the
matter at great length that evening.
IX
Wednesday afternoon of the same week a faint mist floated before the
sun. A light, warm rain fell at intervals from drifting shreds of
clouds. Between showers the sun peeped through the clouds to see what
was going on down on the prairie; and he set the rainbow here and there
as a sign that he was well pleased. There was a big blue heaven behind
it all, the air very still ... beautiful weather.
Beret sat in the old sod barn which Per Hansa long since had made over
into a workshop and storehouse, sewing a shirt for little Permand.
The door was open and she sat where she could look out. She had sent
And-Ongen to the field with some water for the boys, who were hoeing
the potatoes. Per Hansa was repairing the roof of the new barn. It had
been leaking there since the frost went out of the ground last spring,
because the willow poles used for supports had not been heavy enough.
She could not see him from where she sat, but she could hear him
working.
“Yes,” she sighed, looking up from her sewing, “he can manage his work
all right. I only wish I could do mine as well.” ... Her face carried
the same childlike expression that the minister had noticed, her
eyes had the same dreamy, far-away stare; they seemed to be seeing
something she did not want to behold, looking for something that would
never happen; hence the strange sadness that always shone through them.
She felt perfectly happy, however, but felt so tired and drowsy; it had
been this way every day now since that remarkable man had placed his
hand on her and in his prophetic voice had assured her that from this
time forth she was released from the bonds of Satan.... That any man
could have such power!... Yet she knew positively now that he hadn’t
been deceiving her, because burden after burden had been lifted from
her soul—she felt so light that she could almost float in the air....
But after a while this drowsiness had come on. She could not imagine
what ailed her; she slept well at night, and yet was so sleepy during
the day that it was a constant struggle to keep awake; to-day she had
lain down right after eating and had fallen asleep immediately.
... A blessed man he was, indeed.... And the way he had got them to
sing! She had to smile as she remembered it.... Just imagine! he had
made them sing exactly the same hymns here in this sod house as the
people sang in the churches in Norway—yet no harm had befallen the
house on that account.... Melodies were yet hanging throughout the
room; yesterday while at work she had heard them everywhere. She had
even caught one up and followed it—had sung until Per Hansa came
rushing in, to ask her what was the matter; he had looked at her so
queerly.... He ought not to get frightened just because she sang!
As she recalled the incident now, snatches of the song came back to
her again, and she began humming.... No, no—this would never do! She
might scare some one again—people seemed so easily frightened here....
This had turned out to be a rather hard piece of sewing, but the child
was going to look fine in his new shirt.... Would she be able to hear
him in the other hut when he woke up?... Well, he had a pretty good
voice!...
... Surely, now, mother will stop asking for him when she hears he
is going to be a minister!... The smile on her childlike face broadened
and lighted up.... A minister in the family—I, the mother of a servant
of God—why, that is exactly as it is in the Bible!... Her hands
trembled as stitch followed stitch. But thoughts were crowding rapidly
on her now; she laid down her sewing.
... When mother comes—and she can be expected at any time now—I shall
tell her all that has happened here lately. And then I shall say:
“You would never have become the grandmother of a minister if I had
remained in Norway. Such miracles do not happen there.” ... But very
likely she’ll not believe what I tell her.... Beret’s expression became
thoughtful and troubled; she rested her hands idly in her lap.... Then
I must tell her that now we have a church, right here in our house.
At that she’ll only laugh and shake her head, and she’ll probably
say: “Now, Beret, you don’t know what you are talking about!” That’s
just what she’ll say.... But I will have to answer: “Now, mother, I
certainly do. Listen to me: We have a real church. There is an altar
with candles on it, and the altar is father’s _big chest_!” ... That
will astonish her still more.... “Beret, my child,” she’ll say, “you
are too foolish—you must guard your speech. One doesn’t say everything
that comes into one’s head, you know!” ... But then I’ll show her how
Syvert and Kjersti, Hans Olsa and Sörine and all the rest, knelt down
before the chest and there partook of the Glory of the Lord. I shall
describe it all.... She knows Hans Olsa and Sörine—she will believe
them.... I must show her just where the chest stood.... Let me see if I
can remember the exact words he used:—“the gracious forgiveness of all
thy sins.” ... Yes, he said _all_ ... _all_ ... I am sure of that ... I
remember it distinctly....
For some time Beret sat deeply absorbed in her thoughts, her sewing
in her lap, her hands resting on it without motion.... Mother will
sit by the stove, just as she always has done when she has been here.
“Well,” she’ll ask, “are you sure now, Beret, that he is going to be
a minister? Don’t draw hasty conclusions—you’ve always been so
impulsive!” That’s exactly what she’ll say.... Then I must answer:
“Yes, mother, you needn’t doubt it any longer; for I myself sat here
and heard how this wonderful man argued about it with the Lord—and how
he got his way, too. And both Per Hansa and Sörine heard it also. You
can ask them if you don’t believe me.” ... Then mother will look at me
in her kind way, for a long, long time. At last she’ll say: “Well, if
God can use him, it certainly isn’t proper for me to want him; though
I would like to have some one of yours with me. But now you must take
good care of him, my child!” ... “Yes, mother, how can I help it? How
can I ever forget that he is to go out into the world to give of the
Glory of the Lord to the children of men?” ... Then mother will get up
to go.... I must say to her: “Don’t forget to greet father! You might
just as well tell him all this, about his big chest.” ...
Beret’s face had gradually grown very serious. But the sound of heavy
steps in the yard brought her out of her reveries. Some one stopped
at the barn, and then went in; in a moment she heard the voice of Per
Hansa.... What can they want of him now?... Hm, hm—it’s Per Hansa
this, and Per Hansa that! First one comes and takes him away, and then
another; they never leave him a minute in peace! Can’t they understand
that I need him at home?... And he is so easily talked around—he can’t
say no to anyone.... I suppose it’s some more hauling—and then he’ll be
gone for a long time....
She picked up her work again, but the sewing failed to claim her
attention.... It took a long while over that errand. Who could it be?
Putting the work away, Beret stepped quickly out of the door,
stealthily crossed the yard to the side of the new barn, and pressed
herself close to the wall.... Oh, this was Hans Olsa! It was all right,
then—he certainly didn’t need any more hauling.
She was straightening up to return, when something arrested her—kind
words spoken slowly in a deep voice..... Hush! hush! They ought
not to talk that way about her when she was listening!
... “Should Beret get another spell, you know what might happen—a
calamity none of us could get over. We’ve all seen enough of such
things.... Now, we will take the boy and care for him as though he were
our own flesh and blood.... Sörrina and I have talked it over.”
Beret’s childlike features suddenly took on a peculiarly covert
expression.... Ah-ha! So that’s his errand?... Hush! Hush! There is
Per Hansa speaking!... His voice sounds so queer—can he have been
frightened again?...
... “That’s more than good of you and Sörrina—I realize it all; but
matters will have to take their own course.... She is the mother, and
I can see how she clings to him.... This spring I worried a lot about
what I ought to do when summer came; but now I’ve decided that she
shall keep the child with her. If she doesn’t get well by having him
at home, it certainly won’t make things any easier for her to have him
away—that I know.... She risked her life for him once, and she shall
not be bereft of the happiness of having him with her now, no matter
what happens.... There’s a Destiny that rules us all—it’s bound to
overtake us, whether we are here or there.”
... “Now I’m afraid you are taking too great a responsibility upon
yourself,” said the other voice, slowly. “Remember what might have
happened last summer when she had the spell.”
A short silence fell in the barn. Beret’s features grew tense. Bending
over with a quick, fierce movement, she snatched up a piece of stake
and grasped it tightly.
... “No,” came Per Hansa’s voice in meditative tones, “that’s just
what none of us can say for certain. She might have escaped the attack
altogether if the child had been at home.... I remember how pitiably
she seemed to miss him. I’m not at all sure that isn’t what brought on
the spell. Perhaps that burden, added to everything else, became too
much for her.... And even if the spell had come on with him here
at home, she might not have harmed him—I doubt it very much....”
As Beret drank in these words the tenseness all left her; the weapon
she had seized dropped from her hand; her body straightened up; she
looked about in wide-eyed wonder.... Were those church bells she
heard?... But the voices were beginning again on the other side of the
wall.... Hush! Hush!
... “Do you really think so?” asked Hans Olsa, seriously.
... “Well, I tell you, Hans Olsa, there’s hardly an angle to this
affair that I have not considered. I’m thinking of nothing else,
when I’m asleep as well as when I’m awake. And this I do know,” he
added with great certainty, “that a kinder person than Beret the Lord
never made; there’s nothing but kindness in her.... I’ve come to the
conclusion that even in her beclouded moments she has meant no harm to
the child—no matter how things may have looked to us.... When all is
said and done, it’s my own fault from beginning to end.”
“O God! How beautiful these bells ring!” thought Beret.
... “Because,” Per Hansa went on, sadly, “I should not have coaxed
and persuaded her to come with me out here.... Perhaps it was her
misfortune that we two ever met.... You remember how it was in
Nordland: We had boats that we sailed to Lofoten in, big crafts that
could stand all kinds of rough weather, if properly handled; and then
there were the small boats that we used for the home fishing; the last
were just as fine and just as good for their own purposes as the other
kind for theirs, but you couldn’t exchange them; you couldn’t sail to
Lofoten with the small boats, nor fish at home in the larger ones....
For you and me, life out here is nothing; but there may be others so
constructed that they don’t fit into this life at all; and yet they
are finer and better souls than either one of us.... There are so many
things we don’t comprehend.”
... “I certainly ought to know Beret,” remarked the other voice,
thoughtfully. “We were playmates, she and I.” ...
... “I doubt that very much,” interrupted Per Hansa, “though you
are an observing man. I have lived with her all these years, yet I must
confess that I don’t know her.... She is a better soul than any I’ve
ever met. It’s only lately that I have begun to realize all she has
suffered since we came out here. The minister was probably right; no
one can ever fathom the depths of a mother’s heart.... The urge within
me drove me on and on, and never would I stop; for I reasoned like
this, that where I found happiness others must find it as well.... But
you see how things have turned out!... The finest castle on earth I was
going to build her—and here we’re still living in a mole’s hole—all my
dreams have been crushed in misery.... But this I’ve decided, that she
shall keep the baby—though I thank you for the offer.” ... The sadness
in Per Hansa’s voice had grown deeper and more profound than the grey
autumn evening that falls on the bleak prairie.
... “You mustn’t feel hurt about the offer,” put in the slow voice of
Hans Olsa. “We only thought it might do a little good.”
Beret listened no more; she walked away like one in a dream of
happiness; she did not know where she was going nor what she did.
In the southern sky floated transparent little clouds; rainbow
ribbons hung down from them. She saw the rainbow’s glow; her face was
transfigured; she walked on in ecstasy.... “Are there signs for us in
the sky?... That is the Glory of the Lord now ... _See_!... The whole
heavens are full of it!... There ... and there again ... everywhere!”
She reached the other house, came to the door, and would have gone by,
but in the house a child was crying loudly. Beret stopped short and
passed her hand across her face, as if trying to wake herself from a
dream that possessed her; then she went quickly into the house. Over
on the bed sat Permand, crying as though his heart would break. Beret
hurried to the bed, threw herself down on it, took the boy in her arms,
and hugged him close; she felt as if she had got back a child that had
been irretrievably lost; she wept as she fondled him, while wave
upon wave of gratitude welled up within her.
The boy was so astonished at his mother’s strange behaviour that he
stopped crying immediately and lay quiet; then he wriggled out of her
arms and threw himself on the pillow, one of his forefingers in his
mouth, the other pointing out into the air, as children often will do
when they don’t know whether to laugh or cry. There was something so
irresistibly comical about him as he lay there pointing at nothing,
that a sudden surge of playfulness swept over her and she threw herself
down beside him on the pillow. Then he gave her his very biggest smile,
letting the finger that had been hovering in the air fall on her face.
At that they both burst out laughing—she so boisterously that he
withdrew the finger and gave her a frown. She stopped laughing at once,
petting and fondling him until she had won him completely.
X
As Beret lay there playing with the child she was suddenly overcome
with drowsiness; it seemed to her that she simply could not resist
snatching a little sleep—it would feel so delicious. In a moment she
had dozed off and was carried away into an infinite, glittering blue
space with rainbows hung all around it. The air felt soft and warm
about her. A voice, loud and clear, yet very beautiful, was speaking
through the sky.... She could not have slept long, for when she awoke
there sat the boy close by her side, poking a wet finger into her
eyelid. She hastily raised up on one elbow and rubbed her eyes, unable
to bring herself fully awake.... “My, how I must have slept!” she
thought.... She gazed wide-eyed at the child beside her, and rubbed
her eyes again, but could not seem to be able to connect things in her
mind.... “Why, what am I thinking about?” she said, half amused. “This
is my own little Permand!”
She sat up on the edge of the bed, lifted the boy tenderly, and put him
down in her lap. To her own surprise, she was trembling in every limb;
she felt a sudden overwhelming bashfulness, like a lover who for
the first time comes close to his beloved.
“I want something to eat now!” murmured the boy in a voice that was
full of well-being.
—Of course, this little fellow needs food! she thought.
The boy wriggled out of her arms and slid down to the floor.... She
could hardly take her eyes away from him; she began to feel almost
frightened because of all the vigorous life in that sound little body.
She hastily left the bed and started to find something for the child to
eat. It was in her mind to get some milk from a shelf in the corner;
but instead of going there she remained standing in the middle of the
floor, looking about the room, her eyes still large with wonder....
Everything looked so strange in here to-day! What could have happened.
It seemed to her that she hadn’t been here for a long time.... The
child was growing impatient; he took hold of her skirt, shook it, and
wanted her to hurry.... It confused her dreadfully to stand here like
a stranger in her own house!... Well, anyway, there was the bowl of
milk she had been looking for.... Where was the spoon, now, that she
always used for skimming?... And used she not to have a special cup for
the child?... And the bread—he had to have a slice of bread with his
milk!... Where was the bread always kept in this house?...
Beret went searching about in her own home like a housewife who had
been away on a long visit and returns a partial stranger. But the
feeling of home-coming filled her with such joy, that she could only
laugh at her bewilderment.... She found one thing here, another there;
at last the boy had eaten his fill and was satisfied.
All at once another thought struck her; she glanced around with puzzled
anxiety.... Where were the rest of the family to-day?... Surely Per
Hansa was somewhere around. Hadn’t she just been talking to him?... And
where could the children be keeping themselves?... It exasperated her,
yet she couldn’t help laughing; here they had all been with her only a
moment ago, and now she couldn’t recall the least little thing!
Was she walking in her sleep, in broad daylight.... Thinking vaguely
that she must try to get things cleared up, she went out of the door
and looked around.
The mildness of the afternoon greeted her like a friend. She breathed
in the pure air deeply, straightening her body, throwing back her
arms.... What fine weather, these days!... The trees around the yard
caught her eye; again she had the feeling of having just returned from
a long journey. The idea! Look how big that grove is getting to be!...
Over on the prairie, some distance away, rose a half-finished house.
Well, that’s Hans Olsa’s. It will be fine for Sörrina to move into that
new house! No matter how good care you take of a sod house, it’s never
very satisfactory—dust and dirt keep falling from the ceiling all the
time, especially when it gets old.... But who was that tall, stooping
man coming out of the barn? Now he had greeted her quietly in a deep
voice and walked on.... Beret began to be worried. Wasn’t that Hans
Olsa? Didn’t she know her own neighbour?... Hearing some one still in
the barn, she hurried across the yard and peered in.
“Are you in there?” she called.
A stocky, broad-shouldered man appeared in the barn door; his face was
deeply furrowed; his hair and beard, heavily sprinkled with grey, were
now full of dust and straw. As she looked at him she felt strangely
uneasy and disturbed; but she couldn’t help giving him a bright smile:
“What in the world has happened to you, Per Hansa?”
He stood staring fixedly at her, unable to stir a muscle. No power on
earth could have taken his eyes away from her face at that moment;
he caught hold of the jamb of the door to steady himself.... God in
heaven!—what had happened....
Beret saw his great agitation. Now her disturbance increased—her
concern over him grew genuine. “Are you sick, Per Hansa?” she asked
in tones of deepest sympathy, coming closer to him. “You mustn’t keep
on with this work when you aren’t feeling well; there can’t be such a
hurry about it, you know.”
Per Hansa cleared his throat to speak, but no words came ... he
could only look at her.
She noticed his pale, haggard face, and her anxiety grew insistent.
“You’ve got to quit right now!... I’ll run in and boil some milk for
you!” ... She hurried off to the house, too full of her new-found
solicitude to wait for an answer.
In the open door Per Hansa stood gazing at her as she went; he longed
to follow her, to touch her, to talk to her, but he dared not do it....
There was a spade standing beside the door; he picked it up and set it
down inside....
“No, it better not stand in here.” He picked it up again and put it
back.... His eyes rested on a hammer lying on the floor—the one he
had been using a moment ago. “I must remember to put that hammer away
before it gets tramped into the ground.” ... Next moment he forgot all
about it.... He was shaking violently from head to foot; he had to lean
up against the wall.... “God be merciful! I haven’t seen her like this
for many years!” ... Then he sighed wearily.... “But I don’t suppose it
means anything.”
Beret came into the house, moving with purpose and confidence now, and
hurried to light the fire. The boy was still sitting at the table;
no sooner did he see her than he wanted more to eat. But she had no
time to bother with him; she put a pan on the stove and filled it with
milk.... “Poor fellow, he must have caught a cold, in all this rainy
weather,” she thought. “And summer colds are hard to get rid of, unless
they’re taken in time. I’d better mix some pepper with the milk....
If I could only persuade him to lie down so that I’d have a chance to
cover him up and get him good and warm, I’d soon have him all right
again.... Colds don’t usually last very long with him.”
As she was tidying up the bed she chanced to get a glimpse of herself
in the mirror that hung on the wall behind it; she had to take a second
look.... “Good gracious! What a sight I am to-day! No wonder he looked
worried—he who always wants me so nice!” ... While she was waiting
for the milk to simmer, she washed her face and combed her hair;
that done, she opened the big chest, found her best Sunday garments,
and hurriedly put them on.... Now then, she wasn’t quite so much of a
scarecrow....
The milk boiled; she lifted it off the stove, went to the door, and
called Per Hansa.... As a timid child enters a stranger’s house and
does not dare to put aside his cap, so now Per Hansa stepped across
his own threshold. Permand was still sitting by the table; his father
caught sight of him there, and walking over to him, picked the boy
up and sat down in his stead; then he put him on his lap and gently
stroked his hair.... His voice was gone—it would not come.... All the
while he was casting furtive glances at his wife; big beads of sweat
stood on his forehead.
She brought him a cup of the steaming milk. “I put pepper in it; now
you must get it down while it’s still hot.... Then you shall go right
to bed and get good and warm!”
Without protest he did as she bade him, sipping cup after cup of the
strong hot mixture; he couldn’t keep his eyes off her face.... But
still he found no words to say to her; whenever he tried to speak his
throat closed....
While he was drinking she came and sat down by his side, telling him
innocently how topsy-turvy things had seemed to her to-day. Why, she
had just lain down for a moment with the child, and when she woke up it
had seemed as though she had been gone for years and a day! She laughed
merrily as she told him about it.
Per Hansa listened in silence, looked at her, and drank of the hot
mixture until the tears rolled down his cheeks.... She chatted on
unconsciously, her voice low but full and very sweet; as he gazed
at her, he saw in her face only intelligent concern—only loving
solicitude—exactly like the dear Beret-girl that he used to know!...
When he found it impossible to swallow another drop of the hot
pepper-and-milk, she insisted that he lie down at once; if he would
only take a good sweat, this cold would soon pass off. Per Hansa obeyed
like a docile child, while she herself came and tucked the quilt
around him.... “Now try to drop off to sleep.... Don’t worry—you’ll
soon be all right.”
He turned his face to the wall, crying silently; he had clasped his
hands together with a grip of iron, but soon he had to break the grip,
to wipe the tears away....
He lay thus until the paroxysm had passed and he felt that he could
master himself. Then he flung the covers aside, sat up suddenly on
the edge of the bed, and looked intently at Beret, long and slow....
He began to believe ... and as he looked, he felt his old self
returning....
“Are you getting up already?” she asked, greatly surprised. “I really
think you ought to stay in bed the rest of the day.”
“Oh, well ...!” He laughed boisterously, rose to his feet, and
stretched himself. “I guess I’d better hurry up and get that rickety
roof fixed.... We must begin building here as soon as Hans Olsa can
find time to help with the hauling!... By God, we’re not going to live
like moles all our days!... That drink of yours was pretty good. Have
you got a drop left?” He came forward and began pacing up and down
the room.... “_God_!” ... But then he checked himself in time, caught
Permand in his arms, and flung him up to the ceiling again and again,
until the boy shrieked with delight.
“My, my, how funny we all are to-day!” smiled Beret as she stood there
with the bowl in her hands, waiting for them to come to their senses.
IV. The Great Plain Drinks the Blood of
Christian Men and Is Satisfied
I
Many and incredible are the tales the grandfathers tell from those
days when the wilderness was yet untamed, and when they, unwittingly,
founded the Kingdom. There was the Red Son of the Great Prairie, who
hated the Palefaces with a hot hatred; stealthily he swooped down upon
them, tore up and laid waste the little settlements. Great was the
terror he spread; bloody the saga concerning him.
But more to be dreaded than this tribulation was the strange spell of
sadness which the unbroken solitude cast upon the minds of some. Many
took their own lives; asylum after asylum was filled with disordered
beings who had once been human. It is hard for the eye to wander from
sky line to sky line, year in and year out, without finding a resting
place!...
Then, too, there were the years of pestilence—toil and travail, famine
and disease. God knows how human beings could endure it all. And many
did not—they lay down and died. “There is nothing to do about that,”
said they who survived. “We are all destined to die—that’s certain.
Some must go now; others will have to go later. It’s all the same, is
it not?” The poor could find much wherewith to console themselves. And
whisky was cheap in those days, and easy to get....
And on the hot summer days terrible storms might come. In the twinkling
of an eye they would smash to splinters the habitations which man had
built for himself, so that they resembled nothing so much as a few
stray hairs on a worn-out pelt. Man have power? Breathe it not,
for that is to tempt the Almighty!...
Some feared most the prairie fire. Terrible, too, it was, before people
had learned how to guard against it.
Others remembered best the trips to town. They were the jolliest days,
said some; no, they were the worst of all, said the others. It may be
that both were right.... The oxen moved slowly—whether the distance was
thirty miles or ninety made little difference. In the sod house back
there, somewhere along the horizon, life got on your nerves at times.
There sat a wife with a flock of starving children; she had grown very
pale of late, and the mouths of the children were always open—always
crying for food.... But in the town it was cheerful and pleasant. There
one could get a drink; there one could talk with people who spoke
with enthusiasm and certainty about the future. This was the land of
promise, they said. Sometimes one met these people in the saloons; and
then it was more fascinating to listen to them than to any talk about
the millennium. Their words lay like embers in the mind during the
whole of the interminable, jolting journey homeward, and made it less
long.... It helps so much to have something pleasant to think about,
say the Old.
And it was as if nothing affected people in those days. They threw
themselves blindly into the Impossible, and accomplished the
Unbelievable. If anyone succumbed in the struggle—and that happened
often—another would come and take his place. Youth was in the race; the
unknown, the untried, the unheard-of, was in the air; people caught it,
were intoxicated by it, threw themselves away, and laughed at the cost.
Of course it was possible—everything was possible out here. There was
no such thing as the Impossible any more. The human race has not known
such faith and such self-confidence since history began.... And so had
been the Spirit since the day the first settlers landed on the eastern
shores; it would rise and fall at intervals, would swell and surge on
again with every new wave of settlers that rolled westward into the
unbroken solitude.
II
They say it rained forty days and forty nights once in the old days,
and that was terrible; but during the winter of 1880–81 it snowed twice
forty days; that was more terrible.... Day and night the snow fell.
From the 15th of October, when it began, until after the middle of
April, it seldom ceased. From the four corners of the earth it flew;
but of all the winds that brought it, the south wind was the worst; for
that whisked and matted the flakes into huge grey discs, which fell to
the ground in clinging, woolly folds.... And all winter the sun stayed
in his house; he crept out only now and then to pack down the snow;
that was to make room for more.... Morning after morning folk would
wake up in the dead, heavy cold, and would lie in bed listening to the
_ooo-h-ooo-h-ooo-h-ing_ of the wind about the corners of the house.
But what was this low, muffled roar in the chimney? One would leap out
of bed, dress himself hurriedly in his heaviest garments, and start to
go out—only to find that some one was holding the door. It wouldn’t
budge an inch. An immovable monster lay close outside. Against this
monster one pushed and pushed, until one could scoop a little of the
snow through the crack into the room; finally one was able to force an
opening large enough for a man to work himself out and flounder up to
the air. Once outside, he found himself standing in an immense flour
bin, out of which whirled the whiteness, a solid cloud. Then he had to
dig his way down to the house again. And tunnels had to be burrowed
from house to barn, and from neighbour to neighbour, wherever the
distances were not too long and where there were children who liked to
play at such things.
In the late spring, when all this snow had to thaw, the floods would
come, covering all the land. Once again it would be just as it had been
in the days of Noah; on the roofs of houses, on the gables of barns, in
wagon boxes, even, people would go sailing away. Many would perish—for
there was no Ark in those days!...
The suffering was great that winter. Famine came; supplies of
all kinds gave out; for no one had thought, when the first snowfall
began, that winter had come. Who had ever heard of its setting in in
the middle of the autumn?... And for a while not much snow did come;
the fall was light in November, though the days were grey and chill;
in December there was more; January began to pile and drift it up; and
in February the very demon himself arrived. Some had to leave their
potatoes in the ground; others could not thresh the grain; fuel, if
not provided beforehand, was scarcely to be had at all; and it was
impossible for anyone to get through to town to fetch what might be
needed.
In the houses round about folks were grinding away at their own wheat;
for little by little the flour had given out, and then they had to
resort to the coffee mill. Everyone came to it—rich and poor alike.
Those who had no mill of their own were forced to borrow; in some
neighbourhoods there were as many as four families using one mill.
That winter Torkel Tallaksen had two newcomer boys working for their
board; he also kept a hired girl; in addition to these he had a big
family of his own, so that his supply of flour was soon exhausted. Now,
he owned one mill, but he wasn’t satisfied with that, so he went and
borrowed four more; one might as well grind enough to last for a time
while one was at it, he maintained. And so they ground away at his
house for two days; but at the end of that time they were all so tired
of it that they refused to grind any more.
When the mills had to be returned one of the little Tallaksen boys
put on his skis and started off for Tönseten’s with the one they had
borrowed there. The slight thaw of the day before and the frost of the
previous night had left a hard crust on the snow; in some places this
would bear him up, but more often it was so thin that he broke through.
Down by the creek the snowdrifts lay like mountains. Here the boy let
himself go, gathered more speed than he had expected to, and went head
over heels into a huge snowdrift. His skis flew one way, the mill
another. When he tried to recover the mill he broke through the drift,
and then both he and the mill were buried in snow. He dug himself
out, began to hunt wildly for the mill, broke through again, floundered
around, and at last managed to lose the mill completely. After hunting
until he was tired, he had to give it up; there was nothing to do but
to go to Tönseten and tell him what had happened.
“You haven’t lost the mill?” gasped Tönseten, seriously alarmed.
“No,” said the boy, laughing. He knew exactly where it was, but he just
couldn’t find it.
“And you laugh at that, you young idiot!” Tönseten was so angry that he
boxed the boy’s ears; then he pulled on his coat and rushed off to ask
his neighbours to help him hunt for the lost treasure. It was on this
occasion that he coined a saying that later became a by-word in the
settlement—“Never mind your lives, boys, if you can only find the mill!”
But the greatest hardship of all for the settlers was the scarcity of
fuel—no wood, no coal. In every home people sat twisting fagots of hay
with which to feed the fire.
Whole herds of cattle were smothered in the snow. They disappeared
during the great early storm in October, and were never seen again;
when the snow was gone in the spring, they would reappear low on some
hillside. After lying there for six months, they would be a horrible
sight.
And the same thing happened to people: some disappeared like the
cattle; others fell ill with the cough; people died needlessly, for
want of a doctor’s care; they did not even have the old household
remedies—nothing of any kind. And when some one died, he was laid out
in what the family could spare, and put away in a snowbank—until some
later day.... There would be many burials in the settlement next spring.
III
The third quarter-section which Hans Olsa owned lay near the creek,
north of Solums’. This he had fenced in and was using as a pasture
for a large herd. During the summer he did not need to look after the
cattle at all, except to give them salt; the grass was plentiful
up north and they could drink at the creek. The preceding year the herd
had pastured there until late in the fall. This year he had hauled over
all the straw he could spare, and had bought more where he could find
it. Then he had built a shed of poles and banked it in with the straw,
with the intention of wintering the cattle on that quarter. He had
finished the shed before winter set in; and now that he had managed to
keep the cattle there until February, he felt fairly safe; surely the
winter would be over pretty soon.... But the winter had only begun!
The 7th of February dawned bleak and cold. Large, tousled snowflakes
came flying out of the west, filling the whole sky with a grey, woolly
blanket. As the wind stiffened steadily throughout the morning, the
flakes grew smaller and finer; but for all that, they fell in a thicker
cloud. By noon, heaven and earth were a swirl of drifting snow. The
west wind cut in more and more savagely; it waxed to a fury at times,
driving the snowflakes before it with such violence that they were
pinned to the walls.... As the afternoon wore on, the weather became so
bad that Hans Olsa thought it best to go over north and look after the
cattle. Had he not been so familiar with the lay of the land, or had
he not known how to take his bearings by the direction of the wind, he
would never have been able to find the place.
Things were in pretty bad shape there. Most of the straw had been
blown away from the west side of the shed. The cattle had left the
open inclosure, and had sought what shelter they could find to leeward
of the straw stacks on the north side. At a glance he saw that unless
he could repair the shed at once and get the animals under some sort
of protection, he would find himself a considerably poorer man on the
morrow. So he set to work as hard as he could to carry straw and fill
it in between the poles, in order to shut out the wind; that done, he
spread more straw all over the floor.
It was dark by the time he had got the shed into fit condition to drive
the cattle in again. In the meanwhile they had been standing behind
the stacks. But now his trouble began in earnest; the moment he drove
the beasts far enough away from their shelter to feel the full
force of the wind, they wheeled sharply, put their noses close to the
ground, and headed back for the stacks. This would never do! He waited
awhile until they were quiet again, and then he led them over one by
one, taking the biggest first; the smaller animals he literally picked
up and carried in. These had burrowed themselves so far into the stack
that it was difficult even to get them out. With the snow beating on
him, and the wind constantly taking his breath away, he found this a
tough job; but he kept on at it without pause, though the sweat was
pouring from him in streams.
The evening was gone when he had finished. Round about him lay the
night, full of a whirling menace thicker, more desperate, than he had
ever seen before—a surge which the wind drove before it in roaring
breakers; in the eddies around the corners it was impossible to keep
one’s eyes open.... Hans Olsa stood at the door of the shed, his
work done, looking out at the storm; he was so weary that every limb
trembled. At last he started out mechanically, walked a few steps,
but had to stop to catch his breath. Then he began to realize that in
this darkness, with such a blizzard raging, he would never be able to
steer a straight course home. He felt his way back to the shed, went in
again, and remained standing in the door.... His mind was too exhausted
to think clearly; something kept telling him that he had done well to
save the cattle. If they had been left outside, there wouldn’t have
been many of them alive when the storm was over. If they only had a
little more straw under them, they would really be quite comfortable
now.
After he had been standing there a short while a succession of slight
shivers began to run through his body. He wasn’t exactly cold—it was
only that his muscles wouldn’t keep quiet. Now they tautened and
cramped convulsively; now they arched and slacked up like released
steel springs.... “If I lie down close to the animals, I’ll easily be
able to keep warm,” he thought. “Day will soon come, and then I can
go home to Sörrina and the children. I suppose she’ll have sense
enough to go to bed and not sit up to wait for me all night.”
He felt his way over to where the herd had snuggled together, and
lay down with his back close up against a large bull. He recognized
the animal by a broken horn which his hand happened to fall on. His
underclothes were so wet that they stuck to his body; but the warmth of
the bull soon penetrated to him, and then he felt better. He lay there
thinking how fine it was that he had saved the herd. About hurrying
home he needn’t worry, for all was well there....
He did not intend to go to sleep—wasn’t aware that he was dropping
off, either. He merely felt a heavy drowsiness stealing over him, and
surrendered himself to it for a moment. It seemed so restful after
that strenuous labor. Behind him rose the sound of quiet, regular
breathing—_up ... down; up ... down_—like a light undertow on a
summer’s day. If only he could have such pleasant warmth in front of
him, too! Involuntarily he stretched out his arms, caught hold of the
first creature he came to, and raised himself up sufficiently to drag
it close to him. Fearing that he might have hurt the poor thing, he
began to pet it and talk to it.... Really, now, he was as comfortable
as a man could expect to be on such a night—anywhere but at home. Hans
Olsa settled back and curled himself up snugly between the animals.
The gusts of wind shook and tore at the frail shelter. The storm raged
terribly; all evil powers were loose that night. The worst of it was
that it had turned so bitterly cold. Through every crack in the shed
the snow came whirling; it settled everywhere, piling itself up in
little mounds, which the wind alternately levelled and raised again, as
it sucked and swirled through the place.... Hans Olsa began to twitch
violently; he thought that he felt some one pricking his arms and legs.
Next instant he _knew_ there must be somebody there—somebody who was
using both hands on him; one hand was working upward from the legs; the
other from the elbow toward the shoulder. When these two hands met, he
jumped—a shock seemed to go over him.... With great difficulty
he heaved himself up and stood on his knees; the heavy mantle of snow
slipped off him, shedding an icy shower which struck him full in the
face.... Now, what was this—had he lost his feet?... And where were his
hands?... With infinite pains he raised himself and stood unsteadily
on his legs. Then he tried to go to the door, to look at the weather;
but in a moment he was down again; at the first step he had stumbled
against a living mound under the snow, which reared up wildly and then
was gone in the impenetrable darkness. With each movement now, a blast
of wind and snow struck his face. This happened many times.
He could not understand it—what had happened to him? He knew that he
wasn’t drunk, but his legs would not carry him. And one of his arms
was gone.... Well, here was the wall. He leaned against it, and stood
there, panting.... What! Was his hand frozen?... He pulled the mitten
off his good hand, took hold of the fingers of the other and bent
them—yet he could not feel them move. He saw them bend, too—but he
could not feel them.... This would have to be attended to at once! He
let himself sink down, and began to rub the hand with snow—he breathed
on it hard, and rubbed. Now he began to feel himself frozen through
and through; his teeth were chattering; his whole body was shaking
violently; well, there was no time to waste in idle thinking....
Even now he was trying to make the best of it. “As soon as this hand
is all right, I’ll have to get my feet thawed out. If I don’t get that
done, I’ll be a cripple for life.” ... In his usual level-headed way,
he tried to pull his boots off, but couldn’t accomplish it. Then he
took out his pocket knife, and ripped them both open—first one, then
the other, and placed them methodically against the wall. The socks
came off easily enough; these he stuck in the bosom of his shirt.
He got up and started to run in his bare feet, holding to the wall;
he stumbled a good deal, but kept on with his shambling run. After a
spell of this, he sat down and chafed his feet. He rubbed a long while,
got up again and ran—ran as hard as he could, and then sat down
again to rub anew. His mind was calm, but it worked very slowly—his
thoughts seemed to be far away; he saw them in bright letters against
the darkness: “I had better be careful—I’ve often seen people rub the
skin from a frozen limb.... If I only had some cold water, this would
be easy.” ... He pulled his socks on again, and found his boots. In one
corner of the shed, he remembered, stood two crotches, which he had
bound together with steel wire. He felt his way there, unfastened the
wire, and wound it around his bootlegs.
Then he began to stamp up and down along the wall . . . to beat his
arms ... to run. The pricking seemed to be going away, he thought ...
everything seemed better . . . yet he wasn’t certain of anything at
all. His thoughts were working somewhere outside himself; they stood
and stared at him through the whirling drift.... “It is certain,” said
something away there in the dark, “that if you stay here to-night,
you’re done for.... If the wind continues steady, you ought to be able
to find Henry’s fence—you know where that takes off in the direction
of Per Hansa’s—you follow it from there on, and then you come to your
own—that runs right to the cattle barn at home. You might as well
freeze to death out there, as here.” ... “Well, well,” he assented, as
if tired of arguing. “That may be right—it may be.” ... Pulling himself
together, he went out of the shed and started off before the wind....
IV
That night Hans Olsa received his death blow. He stumbled into his own
house in the small hours of the morning; he was then so exhausted that
he could not get his clothes off unaided.... Sörine had been up all
night, well-nigh crazed with fear; twice she had started to go to Per
Hansa’s for help, but the storm had driven her back each time; then
she had lighted a candle and placed it in the window, in hopes of its
doing some good. She had fed the fire with desperate resolution, trying
to face the fact that now the worst had happened and there was
nothing to do about it, for Fate is inexorable.
As soon as she had got him into the house she began tending him with
frantic haste. She made him drink several bowls of hot milk with black
pepper in it; then she put him to bed, warmed the clothes and tucked
them around him. But he lay there shivering, in spite of all she did,
so that the whole bed shook. Later in the day he began to cough—a dry,
rasping cough, it was, that seemed to grate on something hard as iron
down in the bottom of his chest. During the night that followed he
was delirious; he wanted to get up all the time and go north to look
after the cattle. Sörine had all she could do to quiet him and keep him
in bed. When the cough came from deep down in his lungs it seemed to
scrape off flecks of rust that stuck in his throat and threatened to
choke him.
Day came at last, after a long, dismal night; and then he seemed
better. Between the coughing spells he talked calmly to his wife,
telling her what she and Sofie had to do about the chores. He felt
condemned that they should be left to do all the outside work alone. As
soon as they had gone out, he tried to get out of bed and put on his
clothes; but the chills grew so violent that he could not stand on his
feet. He fell back on the bed....
For two full days the blizzard raged. During the forenoon of the third
day the snow ceased falling and the storm abated; but the air was still
grey and bitterly cold. As soon as Hans Olsa saw that the storm was
really letting up, he told Sofie to put on her skis and go over to get
Per Hansa. “This will never do,” he said to his wife. “For three days
and nights you haven’t been out of your clothes. I may be a long time
in getting over the cough.” ... He wanted to say more, but the words
were lost in a paroxysm of coughing.
Per Hansa and the oldest two boys were making hay twists out in the
barn when Sofie brought the first news that her father had been out in
the storm the other night and was now very sick. Per Hansa immediately
dropped his work and went back with her. Sörine looked worn out and
very much worried. She turned her head aside when she spoke to
him, saying that things didn’t look very well. Then she went to the
stove, put her apron up to her eyes, and murmured again—things didn’t
look very well! But Per Hansa’s coming cheered her up a little and even
seemed to take away some of her anxiety. In a moment her old buoyancy
had come back; she dried her eyes and asked him to follow her into the
bedroom.
In a hut on the border of the Irish settlement lived an old woman who
was so queer at times that she was called “Crazy Bridget.” In fact,
she had brought this name with her to the settlement; Tönseten long
ago had picked it up from her countrymen, and had translated it into
Norwegian—he made it _Kræsi-Brita_. All the Norwegians called her that
now. This Bridget had come west with her son, had taken the quarter
of land next to his, and had herself put up the hut in which she now
lived. Very little was known about her except that she was extremely
religious, and that as a rule she spoke a language which none of the
Norwegians had ever heard before, and which, apparently, few of her own
people understood. She seldom visited the other settlers of her own
accord; but many—especially those of her own race—came often to her
for help in time of sickness. She had a great store of old-fashioned
remedies, both for humans and for beasts, and she gave of them freely,
without pay. Most of the Norwegians had consulted her at one time or
another, in spite of the fact that they went on saying she was only a
fraud. And though they said it, they all had to admit, when it came
down to known cases, that she had a remarkable way with sick folks.
When Per Hansa saw how seriously ill his neighbour was he went out into
the kitchen and said to Sörine that some one must go and fetch Bridget.
They ought not to scorn her powers at a time like this—she might be
able to help; at least, they must try every chance that offered.
Suiting the action to the word, he went for her himself. A little
later the old woman came trudging over on snowshoes, carrying an
odd-looking bag on her back. She warmed herself at the fire, went into
the bedroom, and looked at the suffering man. Then she asked for a
kettle and opened her bag; first she took out four large onions; these
she cut into tiny bits and dumped into the kettle; then she opened
a bottle of vile-smelling stuff and poured some of its contents on
the onions; at last she set the kettle over the fire and let it boil
awhile. From this mixture she made thick poultices, which she put on
Hans Olsa’s back and chest; but before she put them on she took out
of her pocket a small rusty crucifix, mumbled some words over it, and
stuck it into the poultice which was to lie on his chest. As she fixed
these applications she made the sign of the cross over his chest and
back. All the while she was muttering strange words, in a language they
did not understand—whether a prayer or something worse they could not
say. These poultices were to be kept on for twelve hours, she explained
in broken English, and hot cloths must be put over them to keep them
warm. When the twelve hours were gone they must make a fresh poultice.
She instructed Sörine how to make it—with onions, a cup of linseed oil,
one cup of fresh milk, and some flour. They must take good care of
the crucifix, she said; she would hold them responsible for it. After
giving some more good advice, she wished them God’s blessing, put her
bag on her back, fastened her snowshoes, and trudged away.
Both Sörine and Hans Olsa had faith in the woman and were glad that she
had come.... One must try such remedies as one had....
Per Hansa was very busy that forenoon; there was much to do at his
own place, and more at his neighbour’s. He had hurried home from Hans
Olsa’s after going for Bridget; had called the two boys, and taken them
with him at once to look after the cattle up north. Before he left he
told Beret briefly how things were at their neighbour’s, and asked her
to arrange her own work so that she could go over toward evening and
stay there for the night. It might be late before he could get back....
At supper time Tönseten called at Per Hansa’s as he was going
by. He was on his way home from the east part of the settlement, and
just wanted to drop in to see how they were after the storm. When he
heard the news about Hans Olsa—how he had come down with such a bad
cough, that it was doubtful if he would pull through—he decided to go
over at once and tell Sörine what to do. If anyone in these parts knew
all there was to know about a cough, he was the man! Tönseten was in
an extraordinarily bright humour that evening. He told Per Hansa not
to worry, if it was nothing worse than the cough; put on his skis and
started off for Hans Olsa’s.
Out in the bedroom lay the sick man, propped up by pillows; Little-Hans
sat at the foot of the bed with his playthings; Sörine and the daughter
had finished the chores and were now working in the kitchen; Beret sat
in the bedroom, taking care that the poultices were kept hot and that
the patient’s shoulders were covered up warm; she had her knitting in
her hands and was singing a hymn when Tönseten came in.
On entering the room Tönseten greeted them both cheerily; but instantly
he began to feel ill at ease.... No need, surely, to begin the funeral
before the man was in the coffin!... He managed to hold his tongue,
however. Since Beret had recovered, he couldn’t stand her. She had
become so pious that if a fellow made the most innocent remark, she was
sure to preach at him. And never a drop of whisky would she tolerate,
either for rheumatism or for cough.... One ought to have some sense,
even if one was going to be religious. Surely he who was both _klokker_
and deacon ought to be privileged to talk a little sense into her!...
But such was the respect which she commanded, that even though he had
thought about it for two years, he had never dared to say the first
word.
To-night Tönseten could think only of how serious things looked for
Hans Olsa; he went straight to the bedside, and said in a tone of
voice that was meant to be cheerful: “I’m surprised at you, Hans
Olsa!... What do you mean by lying here like this, _you slugabed_?
And here you have the finest ski-slide the Lord ever made, clear from
your housetop all the way down to my place!” ... The sick man’s face
brightened as he looked into Tönseten’s merry eyes; a breath of fresh
air flurried from out the red, icicled beard; the whole face bending
above him radiated good humour.... “I’m glad you came, Syvert,” said
Hans Olsa in a faint voice.
Tönseten now began to feel that the right atmosphere had been
established; he hummed a tune, took a chair, and sat down beside the
bed. Without further prelude, he started to relate what had happened
to him that day.... Yesterday morning, when Kjersti had tried to make
the fire, the stove wouldn’t draw and the room had filled with smoke;
not being able to manage the thing, she had come and roused him. He had
got up, had dressed, and had then tried to open the door, only to find
that the whole house was snowed under; from the hillside to the creek
stretched one huge, solid drift, and the chimney itself was packed full
of snow....
Well, he had succeeded after a while in getting a hole through, so that
at last they could have their morning coffee. It was simply terrible
how much snow there was down his way. Yesterday he had been busy all
day, making steps in the snow down to the house; these had packed
fairly well during the day, but to-day they were as solid as ice....
And this morning when Kjersti had come along carrying a pail of water,
she had been so unfortunate as to slip on the top step—“ha-ha!” ...
She had thrown the pail into the air, her feet had shot out from under
her, and she hadn’t stopped until she’d landed on her backsides in
the middle of the floor!... “ha-ha-ha!” ... There she sat.... “What
in Heaven’s name are you up to, Kjersti?” he had said, when he saw
that she hadn’t hurt herself very much; and then he naturally had gone
off into a fit of laughing. This had infuriated Kjersti; and when he
saw that he’d tried his damnedest to stop—but for the life of him he
couldn’t! He’d laughed and laughed, and the more he’d laughed the worse
things had got; until finally she had lost her temper completely
and just driven him out of the house....
Well, this is what he had done next; he had put on his skis and gone
over east in the settlement—had spent the whole afternoon there—just
to visit around and see how folks were getting along. At last he had
dropped in to see Johannes Mörstad and his wife Josie—Josie was about
to have her fifth child, you know, and was expecting it any day now;
Tönseten felt compelled to keep himself posted on the intimate progress
of that family. So he had sat there gossiping with them a long while,
and had just been telling them what had happened at home that day, when
there!—he’d burst out laughing again, and laughed so hard that they all
had to join in. And this had thrown Johannes into such a good humour
that he had hunted up a bottle which he was saving for the coming
event, and had given Tönseten a drop or two—perhaps it was three—well,
it may have been four—if one must be accurate.... All this about the
stove, and the steps, and Kjersti, and about how he had had to take to
his heels in order to find peace, he related in epic detail to Hans
Olsa—there seemed to be need of something jolly here!... But the number
of drinks he really had had, he didn’t fully reveal.
There was something so infectious about Tönseten’s good spirits that
they almost coaxed Hans Olsa into a brighter mood. But then a spell of
coughing came on; he choked it back and asked if Kjersti hadn’t hurt
herself pretty badly?
“Oh no, boys, never you fear!” hiccoughed Tönseten, wiping his eyes
with the backs of his hands. “She’s all right, except for a few
scratches here and there in the bottom—_here_ and _there_—but they’ll
heal up in a little while.... Everything grows so big and fat around
here, you know!” ... Tönseten went off into such another gale of
laughter that he almost fell out of his chair.
“Well, well!” ... he said as soon as he could control himself, getting
up to leave. “To-morrow I shall bring Kjersti over here with me. You
just wait—we’ll get the cough boiled out of that chest of yours!
Kjersti knows how to treat a cough, I can tell you!” ...
V
Beret had stopped her singing abruptly when Tönseten came in. As he
rambled on she sat and watched his face—something made her look at him
in spite of herself. She listened to his half-maudlin laughter—and it
seemed to her she never had realized before how disgusting his laugh
was. His breath smelled of whisky. At first she felt furious with him
and wanted to order him out of the house. Didn’t the fool know that it
was unseemly to talk that way at a deathbed.... But she only took her
chair and moved farther off, as a child draws away from one of whom it
is afraid.
When Tönseten had at last gone the air of the room seemed close and
foul to Beret; filth and pollution had entered in where all should have
been the serenity and holiness of a Sabbath. In a vision of startling
clearness she saw how evil besmirches all life. What a degraded thing
man’s life on earth had become! Here was one neighbour calling on
another at the point of death; if ever there was need of godly speech,
it was at this moment; and yet there had been nothing but vileness
in his mouth! She felt a physical desire to cleanse the place of its
corruption; folding her hands, she began to sing, soft and low:
“O Jesus, see
My misery:
God’s image out is blotted,
And with snow-white leprosy
Sin my soul has spotted.
“Once heavenly bright
Thy own delight,
It was—a new creation;
Now, because of sin’s dread blight,
Under condemnation.
“In death’s dark night,
Devoid of light,
It sought to find its pleasure;
All in vain, since it did slight
God, its greatest treasure.
“No tongue can tell
How low it fell
In sin’s dire degradation;
By forgetting heaven and hell,
It sought consolation.
“Thus it was found
In darkness bound,
With all its powers shattered,
Led at will by Satan round,
And with filth bespattered.
“O Christ, in Thee,
Who cam’st to be
A ransom for us given,
Is our only sanctity
And our way to heaven.
“Thy mercy be
My only plea;
Thy light my soul enlighten,
That it God again may see,
And life’s pathway brighten.
“Let morning rays
Of Thy mild grace
Upon my heart be streaming,
And from death my soul thus raise
By Thy love redeeming.
“O sinner’s friend,
Whom thorns did lend
Death’s scornful coronation,
Grant me peace with God again,
And with it salvation.”
She sang the whole hymn through before she got up again to change the
cloths; that duty done, she went out to help Sörine and Sofie in the
kitchen.
All that night Beret sat by the bedside. Though the sick man
seemed no worse, the specks of rust that he raised from the depths of
his chest appeared to her to be larger and more numerous. He slept
little, but she didn’t wonder at that—he must have solemn things to
think about now. She wanted to talk them over with him, but did not
like to disturb his thoughts yet awhile. During the early part of the
night they exchanged few words. But along toward morning the paroxysms
of coughing became more frequent and violent; there were times when
they almost choked him. Once she grew frightened and got up to hold his
head; his face was turning blue as he struggled for breath; then she
said, slowly: “Now I think you must prepare yourself, Hans Olsa.”
He turned his head sharply and looked at her.... “Prepare myself?” ...
“You will hardly be able to stand this very much longer.”
The big bulk of Hans Olsa lay very quiet; only his hand was moving
nervously over the cover; his eyes had a questioning, startled look....
“Well ... many have got over the cough.” ....
She did not answer him. After a while he added, thoughtfully, “It will
be worse for those who are left.” ...
“You ought not to say that, Hans Olsa—their time has not yet come.
But remember that for you the day of grace is nearly over.” She spoke
quietly and compassionately, in a tone of voice which, whenever she
used it, always carried conviction by its confident faith.
For a long time Hans Olsa made no reply; he turned his face to the wall
and closed his eyes. Beret stood looking at him.... “He does not like
what I said. That’s how we are, we sinners. But I am glad I said it. I
don’t believe he will ever get up again.”
... “Oh, well,” murmured Hans Olsa after a while. “He has had mercy on
many a sinner before. I suppose there will be a little left for me,
too.” ...
A great eagerness suddenly welled up in Beret’s soul.... “If only you
will bring him a contrite heart! But how can one forgive the erring
child who does not repent?... Woe unto you that are rich!—For ye
have received your consolation.... Woe unto you that are full!—For
ye shall hunger.... Woe unto you that laugh now!—For ye shall weep
and mourn.... Oh no, we cannot only comfort ourselves with the belief
that there is mercy enough—that it is free!” ... With firm hands, she
changed the cloths again.
One severe coughing spell after another began to attack him now, and
nothing more was said; but after a prolonged struggle he got his breath
again; completely exhausted, he turned his face to the wall, and it
looked as if he might drop off to sleep.... He lay perfectly quiet a
long time.
Beret knit steadily until her hands grew tired; she wondered if she
couldn’t find something to do for Sörine, took the lamp and went
into the kitchen. Here she found a great pile of coarse hay stacked
against the wall; she set to work at once, making twists of it for
the fire. All the while she was thinking about her conversation with
Hans Olsa.... “It will seem strange not to meet Hans Olsa in the
hereafter—that it will. In the old country we grew up together....
They are good folk, both he and she.... And now he is starting out on
his long journey—and will not pass through the heavenly gates!... His
mother, Ellen, was a very God-fearing woman; his father I didn’t know,
but I never heard a word against him.... Now they have waited there
for him these many years; it will be hard for me to meet them some day
and tell them how it all happened here.... Perhaps I will be to blame,
too; I certainly haven’t done what I should.... Oh, how can he hope
to get in? Not many from the Dakota prairie will ever stand in glory
_there_—that I am sure of!... For here Earth takes us. What she cannot
get easily she wrests by subtle force, and we do not even know it....
I see what happens in my own home.... It is awful!... Here he lay at
the point of death, enjoying Tönseten’s ribaldry!... With thoughts like
this, he is now to meet his God!” ...
The lamp burned low. The room was growing cold. She got up and threw
some fagots into the fire, waited until it burned up briskly,
then put on a couple of sticks of wood—there were not many left in
the box.... “It will not be easy for Sörrina when he is gone.... But
nothing else matters, if only he could reach the Heavenly Home! We can
take care of things here.” ...
She went into the bedroom again, to see if she could do anything for
the sick man. He was awake when she came in; his manner showed that he
had been waiting for her.
“How is the weather outside?” he asked, slowly. “Would it be possible
for a man to travel in it?”
“What do you say?” She came close to the bed.
“Could we try to get the doctor, do you suppose?... Others out here
have had him.” ...
“We shall see when daylight comes.... But how about the minister, Hans
Olsa?”
“The minister?”
“Yes—when the Lord’s hour is at hand, man’s help is of no avail;
for from His wrath no man can flee!... What you need most of all is
Communion, Hans Olsa!”
“Communion . . .? Well ... yes ... I suppose so . . . that is true.”
“It is terrible to fall into the hands of the living God,” said Beret,
quietly, and looked into his face with sorrowful despair. “There is
nothing but evil in us—yes, nothing! But when He comes to us in Holy
Communion, laying His merciful hands benignantly upon us and assures us
from out the Gates of Eternity that all our sins are forgiven—oh, there
is no moment so great as this for the sin-burdened soul! Then we may
rest in peace.” ...
Once more he turned his face away, gave a light cough, and looked
fixedly at the wall. Beret felt intuitively that his cough was forced
this time.... “How strange we are—we erring mortals! Here I stand,
telling him of the truth and the light and the way. Now he is wandering
in the dark—he does not know which way to go. But when I tell him, he
coughs the word away!... Thus it is to be dead in the midst of life!”
He lay still awhile, and then he said, wearily, “All my life I
have thought it would be blessed to come Home.”
Tears came to Beret’s eyes.... “But are you ready to journey on? Do
you dare now to meet Him as you are?... Here you have lived all these
years, in error and sin, and have not taken time to give Him any
thoughts at all.”
“Oh no,” he sighed, heavily.... “But that isn’t so very strange, is it?”
She felt uplifted by what she had been able to say; it gave her greater
courage to go on.... “That’s why you must seek Him here, before you
meet Him face to face yonder!” she cried, exultantly. “Now I will pray
for you.” ... Without waiting for his consent, she knelt beside the bed
and began to pray earnestly, with sweet compassion vibrating through
her mellow voice, that he who now lay here might be given the grace to
see his sin and to repent before the door had closed.
But she had hardly begun when something stopped the prayer.... Hans
Olsa had reared himself up on his elbows when she had sunk to her
knees beside the bed, and had remained in this position, staring at
her wide-eyed. As he heard how she pleaded for him he was seized with
a sudden convulsion of coughing; he sat up frantically in bed, gasping
for breath. The bedclothes fell off him, the poultices slipped down,
and Beret had to leave her praying to attend to him. And when he was
quiet again he asked to have his milk warmed; then he had to get up;
from that he got an attack of chills, and Beret had to call Sörine to
help her warm the cloths once more and tuck him in.
With the first grey light of dawn Johannes Mörstad arrived, begging and
begging that Beret go with him—Josie was coming down; he had tried to
get Kjersti, but she had lamed herself so badly the other day, that it
was impossible for her to walk that far.... “This is certainly the work
of the devil!” thought Beret. “Just now ...!” But she went out of the
house full of the same great exaltation, like one whose sins had been
laid bare before the whole congregation....
VI
A little while later Per Hansa dropped in to see how they were getting
along. He said that he would arrange with the Solum boys to help him
carry hay and water to the herd up north; that done, he would go to
Gjermund Dahl’s, to get him to come and help Sörine with the chores.
This evening he would come back to make a report about everything. Now
he must be gone....
People were hard at work throughout the whole settlement; the weather
continued threatening, and there was much to be done after the storm;
hogs and cattle, as well as human beings, had to be safeguarded against
another onslaught of winter. On most of the farms the outhouses were
still of primitive construction, built either of sod or of poles and
straw. The last storm had buried some of them entirely; from others it
had stripped off the straw so completely, that the tops of the poles
poking through the snowdrifts resembled nothing so much as bleached
bones sticking out of the ground. Of some of the farmhouses only the
roofs could be seen; of the sod huts, only the chimneys; down at
Tönseten’s, the smoke came right out of a hole in the snowbank. If one
wanted to go to his neighbour’s, he had to put on skis or snowshoes,
and keep on top of the drifts. There were homes where no other food
was left than dry corn and the little milk that the cows gave. On the
outskirts of the settlement, where the latest newcomers lived, they
sometimes didn’t even have that much. But the people there would borrow
a sack of wheat from anybody who had one; and if they had no coffee
mill in the house, they would use a mortar, or improvise one from a
kettle. Folks were cheerful about helping one another in those days.
What one didn’t have, he borrowed; if one got a new idea, he passed it
on to his neighbours. The scarcity of fuel caused the most suffering,
for hay burned like hay, even if twisted.
Tönseten was sitting in the bedroom at Hans Olsa’s when Per Hansa came
back after supper. He was down-hearted and quiet to-day. Kjersti had
been in bed most of the time because of the stiffness and soreness
from her fall; and she was so cross, he explained, that if a fellow as
much as looked at her she would bite his head off. He had had the devil
to pay, with taking care of both her and himself and doing the chores
besides.... As he noticed how flushed Hans Olsa’s face was and heard
how he struggled for breath, he wondered if his own cough had ever been
as bad as this. If this was _worse_ than he had had it three years ago,
the man would never be able to throw it off.... But he kept the thought
to himself.
Things had been in a bad way with Hans Olsa all that day; the coughing
spells had come oftener; he had been restless and fretful; had asked
first for one thing, and then for another, and was always inquiring
about the weather. At that moment he happened to be quiet; when all at
once he began to talk about the inevitable.... He asked both of his
neighbours to help Sörine when he was gone, and to give her their best
advice about running the farm, just as he would have done for them,
if either one of them had been in his place.... “Per Hansa, stay with
me to-night! Sörrina must have some sleep; she has had all the work
to do outdoors, and needs some rest. It may take a long time with me
yet—perhaps we shall need help from all of you!”
Thus it came about that Per Hansa watched with him that night. Sörine
lay down in the other room, fully dressed. The door between the rooms
stood open. She intended to doze only a minute and not lose herself so
completely that she couldn’t jump up to help when the worst spells came
on; but she had tramped about working in the snow nearly all day, and
was so worn out that she soon dropped off into a sound sleep.
After all had been quiet in the house for some time, Hans Olsa looked
up and asked, in a needlessly loud voice, if his wife was asleep.
When no answer came from the other room, he lay still for quite a
while, gazing up with his eyes fixed on space; then he began, in a
calm, matter-of-fact way, to tell Per Hansa how he thought everything
ought to be arranged after he was gone. He mentioned first a couple of
little debts which he had in Sioux Falls; then he spoke of several
of the new settlers who owed him for seed and cattle, and stipulated
how much each was to pay. It transpired later that in every case he had
stated less than what was owing to him.... Sörine ought to hold the
farm and keep on living here; for this was the country of the future—of
that he was certain. Per Hansa would hereafter have to be her chief
counsellor; if he could hire an honest and capable manager for her,
she and the children would get along all right.... And then there was
Little-Hans—it was hard to go away and not see what this seedling of
manhood would grow up into. If he showed any aptitude for his books,
they would have to send him to St. Olaf College.... Or if the Lord
had destined him for the ministry—But that was probably expecting too
much....
He talked with great difficulty. Every now and then he had to stop for
breath. Per Hansa only nodded his replies; all he could think of to say
was: “Don’t worry.... Is there anything else now?... I will take care
of everything.”
Little by little Per Hansa got the feeling that his friend had
something on his mind; he could not tell exactly why he felt that way,
but the impression grew stronger and stronger. Every time a pause came
over the sick man’s talk, he expected to hear what it was. But there
seemed to be nothing more. At last Hans Olsa fell silent; he was still
looking straight ahead of him; but now he began to be very restless.
A violent fit of coughing shook his frame. From out that great chest
of his came a dreadful wheezing, grating sound, as from an old pair of
leaky bellows when they are blown up hard.
When the cough had eased itself, Hans Olsa began once more his
frightened groping among the things of the future; but now he spoke
less coherently. After midnight he had a quiet spell when he lay as
if exhausted and said nothing; but off and on he would glance at his
neighbour out of the corners of his eyes; there was something unusual
and urgent in the look—something that made a man afraid.... Per Hansa
wondered if the end were at hand....
But suddenly the sick man began to talk again. It was hardly what
Per Hansa had expected to hear. He merely raised his eyes and asked in
a low voice:
“Is the snow very deep?”
“Between our farms,” said Per Hansa, “it doesn’t lie less than four
feet anywhere; and it’s as deep as that on the level all over the
prairie. Down near the creek, by Tönseten’s, it must be as much as
twenty feet deep!... It snowed just a little, I want you to know!”
“Is it as bad as that?” ... The sick man sighed heavily, his hands
fidgeting with the covers; then he repeated in a low voice: “So—is it
as deep as that?”
“Was there something on your mind?”
“Then it isn’t possible to get anywhere!” ... The powerful jaws closed;
drops of sweat stood out on the great, shiny face.
Per Hansa’s heart stirred with a nameless dread; he felt himself grow
dizzy, but he cleared his throat and said, firmly:
“What is it that you want, Hans Olsa?... Do you want the doctor?”
The sick man turned toward him.
“Oh—it’s the minister I need!” ... Then, after a moment, he added: “But
don’t you think the weather will be better in a day or two?” ...
He lay perfectly still. When he got no answer he looked up and
repeated, imploringly:
“Don’t you think so?”
Per Hansa rose to his feet and began pacing back and forth across
the floor. It must be very close in here ... he felt so faint.
Thinking of how it was outdoors, he suddenly found himself bathed in
perspiration.... God pity him who had to travel the prairie these days!
He came back to the bed.
“You feel that you must have him?”
“It is terrible to fall into the hands of the living God!” ... The
large, kindly features were drawn and trembling, with fear of the
unknown. Per Hansa could scarcely endure it to look at him; he had
to lean against the back of a chair for support.... In broken words,
his friend repeated: “It is terrible ... terrible ... to fall ... into
His hands!” ...
“Hush, now! Hush, now, man! Don’t talk blasphemy!” cried Per Hansa.
“Lie down, now.... See here ... the covers are falling off you!”
The bulky form had reared itself violently up in bed. Through a
paroxysm of coughing Hans Olsa whimpered:
“Tell Sörrina to come here!”
It looked for a moment as if he were passing away in the midst of the
attack. Hans Olsa himself thought so. In wild alarm, Per Hansa resorted
to pounding the sick man’s back, just as one does with children
when they have swallowed the wrong way. But after a while the spell
gradually left him, as the others had done. He settled back, and a
little later fell into a deep sleep, which lasted till morning.
The first rays of daylight woke Sörine. Her husband was already awake
by that time, and seemed better. Per Hansa put on his coat and prepared
to go; he had all his own work to do at home, besides Hans Olsa’s
cattle up north to look after.
Hans Olsa watched him get ready, following all his movements with a
pathetic sadness like that which stands in a dog’s eyes when he watches
his master go away without him. Then he called him over to the bedside
and asked him again what the weather was like. There was an odd little
quiver in his voice as he said, almost as though he were ashamed:
“I suppose it’s still impossible to get anywhere?”
Per Hansa felt like laughing at such childishness in a grown-up man; he
scarcely knew what to answer. But answer he must; so he braced himself,
buttoned his big coat, put on his mittens, and said, firmly: “You ought
to lie still and sleep awhile longer, Hans Olsa.... During the night
you slept like a rock—and see how much better you are already.... I
promise you that I’ll be back some time later in the day.”
“You don’t think it can be done?”
Nameless dread again seized Per Hansa. He stepped back and said,
hastily: “Calm yourself now, Hans Olsa!... We’ll have to see about
it—you understand.”
The sick man reached out toward him, caught his hand and held it
tightly, with something of his old strength.... “Oh, Per Hansa!” he
cried.... “There never was a man like you ...!” and fell back on the
pillow, exhausted.
VII
All through the latter part of last summer and early fall Per Hansa had
done a full man’s work plus a bit more; nor had he spared the boys,
either. And he had hired a number of men besides. He needed all the
help he could get; for there was the new house to be built, the crops
to be harvested, the fall plowing that must be done, and in addition,
all the other work about the farm.
But he had gone about his duties in a mood that made any task easy both
for himself and for those who worked with him. His wife’s improved
condition had relieved him of whole loads of worry and anxiety. During
the years that her mind had been beclouded he had treated her as a
father would a delicate, frail child that, by some inexcusable fault
on his part, had been reduced to helplessness. So solicitous had been
his watchful care over her through all these years, that this paternal
attitude had become fixed with him. Even now that she was well again,
it didn’t change.
Her growing religious concern didn’t alarm him; that, too, he took
as a notion on the part of a frail child. He either would meet her
admonitions with silence, or else laugh kindly at her eagerness, or he
might throw himself into the work all the harder. The fact that she now
was quite all right again, that he no longer needed to watch over her
in constant dread, but that she, on the contrary, could take care of
the house in a capable way and even find time to help with the outside
work, was a constant source of thankfulness to him. To him she was
still the delicate child that needed a father’s watchful eye. To desire
her physically would be as far from his mind as the crime of incest.
Shortly before the Christmas holidays they had had a set-to over
religion. She had insisted that he as the father of the family should
conduct daily devotion. At this demand he had laughed, not unkindly but
humorously, as if she had sprung a good joke on him.... He conducting
devotion—the idea! She had become insistent; her voice was full of deep
sorrowful concern over his seemingly total depravity. She had entreated
him earnestly and yet so kindly that he, too, was touched. And so he
had said, as one yields to an unreasonable whim of a dear child, that
that he would not do, but he would be glad to have her do it, for she
could read so beautifully, which was true. Feeling that it would be
dangerous to his temper to argue the matter any longer, he had gone out
of the house to find some work outside. From that time on she had been
conducting devotion each day, but both of them had studiously avoided a
new discussion, with the result that the relation between them was less
frank than before; each seemed to feel the guardedness of the other.
As time passed her devotional exercises became less and less pleasing
to him; at times they would get on his nerves. In the prayers she
began to offer there would creep in more and more of concern for him;
and little by little it got to be almost exclusively for him. As he
sat there listening it sounded to him as if he were the most hardened
sinner in all Christendom; he would feel ashamed before the children,
would find some pretext to steal out of the house. But he couldn’t
bring it across his heart to speak to her; for how can one reason with
a child that is so delicate as she, he thought.
* * * * *
In the grey light of dawn Per Hansa returned from the bedside of Hans
Olsa, looking like a man who had reached the end of his rope. He hung
up his coat and hat and sat down at the table in the large kitchen to
eat his breakfast. Off and on he glanced out of the window. While Beret
brought him his food, she asked how things were over at Hans Olsa’s.
At first she got very little satisfaction; his answers were short and
taciturn, and he seemed engrossed in his own thoughts. He ate slowly
and took a long time over the meal; all the while he kept looking
out of the window.
At length he got up from the table, crossed to the stove, turned his
back to it, and put his hands behind him, as though he still felt cold
and needed the warmth of the fire.... “Well,” he said, meditatively,
“I suppose he doesn’t expect to get over this sickness—and it’s more
than likely he won’t. He just lies there and whimpers about having the
minister.... There’s something uncanny about him. I can’t understand
it at all.” ... These remarks were not directed at Beret; he stood
looking straight ahead of him, as if thinking aloud. Beret had stopped
working when she heard him; her face lighted up as she answered, with
an unmistakable ring of exultation in her voice: “But I can understand
it!... Now may God be near and hear his prayer! Some one must go for
the minister at once.”
Per Hansa did not move; he was staring off into space. Beret crossed
the floor, her hands full of dishes, and stopped directly in front of
him.... “You must persuade some one to go with you. This is terrible
weather!... Could you try going on horseback?”
“Huh—horseback! How you talk!”
“But it is an awful thing for a soul to be cast into hell when human
beings can prevent it!”
Per Hansa seemed amused at this idea. “Well, if Hans Olsa is bound in
that direction, there’ll be a good many more from here in the same
boat!... He’ll land in the right place, don’t worry.”
The words sounded so blasphemous to Beret that she could not repress
a shudder of horror. Greatly wrought up, she set the dishes down on
the table and said, fiercely: “You know what our life has been: land
and houses, and then more land, and cattle! That has been his whole
concern—that’s been his very life. Now he is beginning to think about
not having laid up treasures in heaven.... Can’t you understand that a
human being ever becomes concerned over his sins and wants to be freed
from them?”
“I suppose I don’t understand anything, do I?” said Per Hansa in a
tone of disgust. “Perhaps I don’t understand, for instance—though God
knows it would not be difficult for any grown person to see it—that no
man could cross the prairie from here to the James River, as things are
now, and come out alive—... As for Hans Olsa, the Lord will find him
good enough, even without either minister or _klokker_—that I truly
believe!”
“The God of this world hath blinded the minds of them which believe
not!... Here lies one who is about to receive his sight, and we will
not reach out a hand to help him!”
“Hold your tongue, Beret!” cried Per Hansa, sharply, anger at the
hopelessness of the argument getting the better of him. “Do you want to
drive me out into the jaws of death?”
“What horrible things you say, Per Hansa!”
“Horrible—well I Don’t you suppose the good Lord would have provided
other weather if he had intended me to make this trip?”
She gave him a quick look.
“It’s possible to try, isn’t it?” she said with cold persistence.
“Why can’t you get some one to go with you? You could take Indi—he is
light-footed, and we could wrap things around all four legs, so that he
wouldn’t sink through the snow. They say that has been done before—I’ve
read about it.... Henry has a sleigh; and you could turn back at any
time, if you couldn’t make it.... The Lord would forgive us then for
what we couldn’t possibly do—if we had tried!”
“He had better do that right now!” growled Per Hansa, a gust of hot
anger nearly choking him. Without another word he went to the stairs,
called Ole and Store-Hans, and told them to get into their clothes
right away. Pulling on his coat, he slammed out of the house to do the
morning chores.
Beret looked at the door through which he had just disappeared....
There he leaves in a fit of temper, fuming and cussing!... She took
up the morning work, her thoughts busy with many things. Before she
realized it she was absorbed in what had so often been on her
mind lately: What had happened to him, anyway? What had made him so
different?... His warm playfulness, his affectionate tenderness—what
had become of it?... Oh no, no! she caught herself, how can I be
thinking of such things again! The sweet desires of the flesh are the
nets of Satan.... How deeply sin has besoiled all life!... Beret went
about her work with a greater determination; but her sad mood did not
lift.
A hundred things were waiting for Per Hansa outside, but he was so
angry that he scarcely noticed what he was about.... The world seemed
upside down to-day.... That grown people couldn’t see an inch beyond
their noses! Here lay Hans Olsa, driving himself out of his mind
because he couldn’t have a minister—when there was no better man than
himself in all Christendom!... And here was Beret insisting that he
leap right into the arms of death—she who had a heart so tender that
she couldn’t harm a mouse!... People could certainly twist things
around in a queer way! All his life he had worked and slaved in order
that she and the children might be made comfortable ... and now it was
flung in his face and he was taunted with being only a blind mole who
saw nothing but the hole he had burrowed himself into!... “By God, it’s
a strange world we live in!” ... If this went on much longer, he would
go out of his mind himself—if he wasn’t a little crazy already!... He
dashed from one thing to another in a frenzy, leaving everything half
done.
When the boys came out they all put on their skis and started across
the snowdrifts to Hans Olsa’s north quarter. The day was bleak; a
cold air was drawing in from the west. To Store-Hans, all these
fields of snow were glorious; now he could skim like a bird over the
drifts. Little by little Per Hansa, forgot his temper as he caught the
infection of the boy’s exuberant joy.
While they were working over the cattle, Per Hansa talked in a steady
stream to the boys. All this snow, he said, promised a bumper crop
next summer—you could depend on that!... One of his moods of high
good humour had come over him now with a rush; and as was customary
with him in that frame of mind, he discussed things with the boys
as if they had been grown men. He outlined at length how they could
manage their place in order to have the very finest of farms. If all
went well, they would build a big barn next fall; but they certainly
wouldn’t be such damned idiots as to build a horse barn and cow barn
separate, as that fool Torkel Tallaksen had done! It made a fine show,
all right, but it was hardly practical; besides costing a good deal
more, the barns were cold.... But they were going to have a real show
barn, just the same—red with white cornices, because he always thought
those colors looked the best.... Then he told them how he had read
in the _Skandinaven_[23] that the big farmers in the East now built
a track under the ridgepole, along which they hauled the hay right
into the barn loft. They would have to investigate this idea, for it
sounded practical.... They found plenty to do up north; they saw to it
that the cattle had water and hay enough; they carried in more straw;
they stuffed the cracks in the walls; and all the while they talked
and worked together like three grown men. Per Hansa felt the need
of throwing off the great burden that weighed him down; and for the
moment he seemed to be succeeding fairly well. But at last they had
finished everything that needed to be done; then the skis went on in a
hurry, and off flew the boys like two great sea gulls soaring across
the fiord.... No more time for talk! They struck off directly for the
highest hill in sight; from there they could slide all the way down to
the creek.... Wasn’t it wonderful ... all this snow!
[23] Norwegian-American newspaper published in Chicago.
Just as Per Hansa reached the yard at home Sörine was coming out of the
kitchen door; she went over to the wall of the house, took a pair of
skis that stood there, and put them on. He noticed that she was very
thinly clad. She had a shawl over her head, but wore no other outdoor
wrap. He concluded at once that she must have left home in a hurry,
and feared that the worst had happened.... Was anything wrong?
he asked.... No, Hans Olsa didn’t seem much worse; she thought he
looked a little better. But her face was sad and she looked down as
she spoke.... Bridget had been to see him again and had said there was
no hope.... “And I guess there isn’t, either,” she went on. “But I
had to come over and ask your advice, Per Hansa.... He said that you
were going after the minister for him. And I suppose that might be a
good thing to do; at any rate, he is very happy about it.... But now,
of course, I see that it’s impossible to go anywhere.... Still, I was
thinking that if you _did_ intend to try, it might be better to get the
doctor instead.... I don’t suppose you can think of it in this weather,
but I had to come over, anyway....” Not once did she look up as the
obvious pleading went on.
Per Hansa glanced down at his skis. Her voice had a thin, timid sound
in this piercing wind. He felt the cold himself and remembered how
thinly she was clad.
“You must stay awhile and get warm before you go,” he said, quietly.
“No, I must hurry home. I know I shouldn’t have come, but—” her voice
suddenly left her. In a moment it came back, and then she went on,
bravely: “It is so hard to see him go, without being able to help! And
then we all have a feeling that nothing is ever impossible for you—and
I thought that perhaps you might find a way out of this, too!” ... All
at once her pleading had taken on a frantic urgency.
“Did he ask you to come to me?”
“No—he didn’t exactly do that. But he kept wondering if you weren’t
getting ready—if you wouldn’t be starting soon. I could see plainly
enough that he wanted some one to come over.”
Per Hansa said nothing more, nor did he look at her again. She went
away at once. When she had gone, he took off his skis, beat the snow
from them, and set them up against the wall. But he did not go in
immediately.... His thoughts followed her who was now walking across
the snow, passed her, entered the house before her, saw his friend
lying there—saw the great face staring up at him, the frightened eyes
imploring him like those of a kindly dog. He stood still in his
tracks a long time, gazing off into vacancy, without the will to
move....
On the kitchen floor Permand was playing at threshing. When the father
came in he hailed him, giving off orders like a man: “Come here and
help me, you; we’ve got to get this work done before evening!” The
boy’s heart and soul were in his play. Seeing that dinner was not yet
ready, the father hung up his coat and hat and sat down on the floor
beside his son. In a moment they were both absorbed in the play.
During the meal the two parents scarcely spoke to each other, and never
once did their eyes meet. As soon as they had finished the boy came
and wanted his father to play with him some more; the father willingly
agreed, and soon they were hard at it again. It was a serious question
as to how they could get a lot of threshing done to-day; all the while
they were laughing and talking about it, making a great deal of noise.
As the mother cleared the table she kept looking at them in wonder and
dismay.... Here he sat and played with the child, just as if there were
nothing serious in the world for him. The day was wearing on. Didn’t he
really intend to try to do anything? She could have cried aloud in her
anguish! Had he become stone blind?... When she had finished washing
the dishes she went to the window and stood there awhile, looking out;
then she crossed to the wall where her outdoor clothes hung, and began
to put them on. This attracted Per Hansa’s attention.
... Was she going out? he asked.
... Yes.... She put on one of his coats over her own wrap, then pulled
his big stocking cap over her head.
He looked up a second time.
“Are you going far? You seem to be wrapping up a good deal.”
She waited a moment before she answered.
“I have to talk to Henry.... _Some one_ must go on this errand for
Hans Olsa!” Her face was flushed with determination and her eyes shone
with a quiet light.
Per Hansa burst into a laugh and scrambled to his feet.
“You’ll have to behave yourself now, woman,” he said, like a man trying
to talk reason into a naughty child. “You ought to know that this is no
weather for a woman to be out in.”
“It’s no weather for men to be out in, either, by the way it looks in
here!”
He whirled on her suddenly, his face white with passion; the eyes that
stared at her fiercely, burned with a lambent flame.
“God help me!” she thought. “Now he’s going to lay hands on me!... But
I only spoke the truth!”
“I want no more damned nonsense about this!” he burst out, hoarsely.
“If you ... if you have something to say to Henry, you’ll have to
say it here in this house.... You can’t go chasing from farm to farm
to-day!” ...
Before she knew it he had gone out of the kitchen.
VIII
In front of the steps stood the forward part of a sleigh, on which the
boys had tried to haul hay to the house; it was a clumsy, homemade
affair, so heavy that the boys couldn’t budge it after it had stood
awhile, and so they had left it where it was. Per Hansa had noticed it
earlier in the day, and it had angered him at the time to think that
the boys were so careless.... When he came out now this object was the
first thing he saw. He rushed at it; wrenched it out of the snow with
a violent jerk, and flung it so hard into a drift that only one runner
remained in sight.
“_There_!... God damn the thing!” he muttered.
With that passionate outburst his temper seemed suddenly to have left
him; but his face was still very pale. His skis leaned up against the
wall where he had placed them; he put them on and stood still for a
moment, lost in thought; then, staff in hand, he started off....
In the east part of the settlement lived two Telemarking[24] boys, who
had come over a couple of years before. They were skilled skismiths;
last winter each one had made himself a pair with straps and staffs,
the finest ever seen in this part of the country. This year they had
made two trips to town on them before Christmas.... It was to these
boys that Per Hansa now went. In about an hour he returned with one
pair of skis on his shoulders, and another on his feet. Neither pair
was his own.
[24] People from the mountain district of Telemarken, Norway.
Beret, greatly agitated by her husband’s hasty departure, walked back
and forth across the kitchen floor.... “Now I have brought things to a
sorry pass!” she thought. “I know I said too much—but what could I do?
Some one has to go, and I had no one else to ask.” ... When she saw him
returning with the skis she felt relieved.... “It’s sensible of him to
go on skis; it’s the only way he can possibly get along.... I wonder
who he intends to take along with him? He ought to have thought of the
plan more seriously this morning; the boys and I could have managed
with the chores.... I must hurry up and make him a cup of coffee; he
must have something hot to drink before he leaves.... They’ll hardly
get far to-day.” ... She put the coffeepot on the stove and began to
set the table.... “I guess I’ll put on a tablecloth to make things nice
for him.... He mustn’t think that I hold any hard feelings.” ...
The oldest two boys were busy digging a tunnel from the cow barn to
the pigsty—the latter had been completely snowed under. Per Hansa went
over there first; he talked to them as if he were in no hurry, and when
it seemed to him that they were losing interest, he went down into the
tunnel where they were.... He said that now he was going away, and that
it was uncertain when he would return. Could he depend on them to look
after things while he was gone?... The boys were absorbed in their
task and didn’t pay much attention to what he said. Certainly he could
go. They would look after everything. They went on with their work,
and soon fell into a quarrel about how long it would take them to
reach the pigsty.... He left the boys, took his skis, and went into the
granary; there he rubbed one pair of skis with some tallow which he
kept for the purpose, and put a piece of the tallow into his pocket. He
also had to adjust the straps a little before he could start....
While he was doing this Peder Victorious came trudging in and announced
that mother had made coffee. She said father must come in before it got
cold.
“What?” ... Per Hansa’s face brightened. “Did mother really say that?”
“She said coffee was ready.”
“Oh!...”
Per Hansa had now adjusted the straps as he wanted them, and stood
looking around for a rope with which to strap the other pair of skis on
his back.
“Did she send you out and tell you to say that?” ...
“She said—she said—coffee was ready, she said!”
The father looked at his son. “You haven’t got enough on, Permand,” he
said in a low, tender voice, stroking the boy’s cheek with his hand and
running his finger down into the soft warm neck. The boy screamed when
it tickled. Per Hansa laughed to hear him. “Hm—hm—cold as an icicle!
Pack yourself in this minute!... So mother has the coffee ready, you
say?”
He carried the boy out lovingly, set him down with a lingering touch,
and went back after his skis. One pair he tied to his back; the other
he put on.
The boy waited, watching him.
“Aren’t you coming, father?”
“Get into the house with you!” the father said with mock severity.
“I’ll probably be along in a little while.” ... Then, as he
straightened up and put on his mittens, he suddenly remembered
something:
“Permand!”
“Ya?” ...
“There’s a ball of nice twine in the bedroom. Ask mother to find it and
give it to you to play with.... And now you must be a good boy,
and get a lot of threshing done before I come back!”
“Yes, father,” said the boy as he trotted away.
Per Hansa stood motionless, watching him until he had passed from sight
inside the house. Then, with a staff in either hand, he started off....
Was that a face at the window that he saw?...
He did not look at the house again. In a moment he had passed the place
where the boys were digging the tunnel; he longed to talk with them
once more, but crushed the feeling down.... He struck out westward.
Something tugged and pulled at his heart, trying to make him turn back;
it was as if he had a bridle on and the driver were pulling hard on
one of the reins. He had to bend his head forward against this unseen
force in order to hold his direction.... “No—not now—not now....” he
murmured, bitterly, wiping his mitten across his eyes.
In the kitchen window Beret stood watching him; her soft, kindly
eyes grew large and questioning.... Wasn’t he coming in? Had Permand
forgotten to tell him?... Surely, surely, he would come. She had fixed
things so nicely for him.... Oh, this would never do! She must find
out at once who was going with him!... She hurried to the door, flung
it open, ran out on the steps, and tried to call to him—he simply
mustn’t leave this way!... But he had already gone beyond the range of
her voice; the westerly gusts, driving full against her, snatched her
words away. Her eyes filled with tears, so that she could scarcely see
him now. Furious blasts came swirling out of the grey, boundless dusk,
sweeping the snow in stinging clouds, whirling it round and round,
dropping it only to pick it up again. Per Hansa soon disappeared in the
whirling waste.... The wind was so cold that it penetrated to the very
marrow of her bones.
A little later Per Hansa turned in at Hans Olsa’s; he sat and talked
with them awhile in the bedroom. Their words were few and far between.
Per Hansa felt that there was nothing more for him to do here. At
length he got up and said that now he was going—what sort of a
trip he would have he did not know. If luck were with him, he would
bring back the minister. In the meantime Hans Olsa must behave himself
and rest as much as possible, for he really had nothing to worry
about.... The sick man groped for Per Hansa’s hand, and did not seem
to want to let it go. He acted like a child who has teased and teased
until it has finally got its way....
“I didn’t dare to ask you right out,” he said, as if in explanation.
“But I knew you would go as soon as it was possible—that’s always been
the way with you.... Now I can sleep in comfort.” ...
Out in the kitchen Sörine sat waiting at the table; when she heard this
she hurried to pour the coffee, intending to make him sit down and have
a cup before he left.
“Must I have coffee here too?... No, no,” he said, jerking up his head.
“I’ve had enough for to-day!” ...
With these words he went out.
He put on his skis, straightened himself up, and remained standing
there for some time; as he pulled on his mittens he took one glance
homeward. He could just make out the house in the dim distance. Then
the whiteness all around it thickened—rose up in a cloud—seemed to be
piling in. Whirls of snow flew high over the housetop—sometimes the
house itself disappeared.... He sighed deeply, brushed his eyes with
his mitts, and started on his way.
He took his bearings from familiar outlines of the landscape, and laid
the course he thought he ought to follow.... Perhaps it wasn’t so
dangerous, after all. The wind had been steady all day, had held in the
same quarter, and would probably keep on.... Oh, well—here goes!...
He thought no more about his course for a while; but instead he began
to wonder if he had done wrong in not going in to drink the coffee,
when Beret had taken all the trouble to make it.... “Now she’ll go
around feeling unhappy, just because I am so touchy; and she’ll be so
melancholy that she’ll have little patience with the boys.... Such
high-spirited colts need to be managed with a careful hand.
She doesn’t understand that at all!” ... Thoughts of home continued
to come, warm and tender; he laughed softly at them.... “You may be
sure she’ll get Permand to remember me in his prayers to-night, if he
doesn’t think of it himself.... It would be fun to listen to them!” ...
He moved slowly on with steady strokes, taking note of the wind at odd
times. The picture would not leave him.... “It would be fun just to
look in on them.... Oh, Permand, Permand! Something great must come of
you—you who are so tenderly watched over!” ...
The swirling dusk grew deeper.... Darkness gathered fast.... More
snow began to fall.... Whirls of it came off the tops of the drifts,
circled about, and struck him full in the face.... No danger—the wind
held steady.... At home all was well ... and now mother was saying her
evening prayers with Permand.... Move on!—Move on!...
IX
About halfway across the stretch from Colton to the James River a
cluster of low hills rear themselves out of the prairie. Here and there
among them a few stray settlers had already begun to dig in.
On one of the hillsides stood an old haystack which a settler had left
there when he found out that the coarse bottom hay wasn’t much good for
fodder. One day during the spring after Hans Olsa had died, a troop
of young boys were ranging the prairies, in search of some yearling
cattle that had gone astray. They came upon the haystack, and stood
transfixed. On the west side of the stack sat a man, with his back to
the mouldering hay. This was in the middle of a warm day in May, yet
the man had two pairs of skis along with him; one pair lay beside him
on the ground, the other was tied to his back. He had a heavy stocking
cap pulled well down over his forehead, and large mittens on his
hands; in each hand he clutched a staff.... To the boys, it looked
as though the man were sitting there resting while he waited for better
skiing....
... His face was ashen and drawn. His eyes were set toward the west.
THE END
_The greatest pleasure in life is that of reading. Why not then own the
books of great novelists when the price is so small_
_Of all the amusements which can possibly be imagined for a
hard-working man, after his daily toil, or in its intervals, there
is nothing like reading an entertaining book. It calls for no bodily
exertion. It transports him into a livelier, and gayer, and more
diversified and interesting scene, and while he enjoys himself there he
may forget the evils of the present moment. Nay, it accompanies him to
his next day’s work, and gives him something to think of besides the
mere mechanical ♦drudgery of his every-day occupation—something he can
enjoy while absent, and look forward with pleasure to return to._
♦ “drugdgery” replaced with “drudgery”
_Ask your dealer for a list of the titles in Burt’s Popular Priced
Fiction_
_In buying the books bearing the A. L. Burt Company imprint you are
assured of wholesome, entertaining and instructive reading_
Adventures of Jimmie Dale. Frank L. Packard.
Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. A. Conan Doyle.
Affair in Duplex 9B, The. William Johnston.
Affinities and Other Stories. Mary Roberts Rinehart.
After House, The. Mary Roberts Rinehart.
After Noon. Susan Ertz.
Alcatraz. Max Brand.
Amateur Gentleman. Jeffery Farnol.
Anne’s House of Dreams. L. M. Montgomery.
Anne of the Island. L. M. Montgomery.
And They Lived Happily Ever After. Meredith Nicholson.
Are All Men Alike, and The Lost Titian. Arthur Stringer.
At the Foot of the Rainbow. James B. Hendryx.
Auction Block, The. Rex Beach.
Aw Hell! Clarke Venable.
Bab: a Sub-Deb. Mary Roberts Rinehart.
Bar-20. Clarence E. Mulford.
Bar-20 Days. Clarence E. Mulford.
Bar 20 Rides Again, The. Clarence E. Mulford.
Bar-20 Three. Clarence E. Mulford.
Barrier, The. Rex Beach.
Bars of Iron, The. Ethel M. Dell.
Bat Wing. Sax Rohmer.
Bellamy Trial, The. Frances Noyes Hart.
Beloved Traitor, The. Frank L. Packard.
Beloved Woman, The. Kathleen Norris.
Beltane the Smith. Jeffery Farnol.
Benson Murder Case, The. S. S. Van Dine.
Big Brother. Rex Beach.
Big Mogul, The. Joseph C. Lincoln.
Big Timber. Bertrand W. Sinclair.
Bill—The Sheik. A. M. Williamson.
Black Abbot, The. Edgar Wallace.
Black Bartlemy’s Treasure. Jeffery Farnol.
Black Buttes. Clarence E. Mulford.
Black Flemings, The. Kathleen Norris.
Black Oxen. Gertrude Atherton.
Blatchington Tangle, The. G. D. H. & Margaret Cole.
Blue Car Mystery, The. Natalie Sumner Lincoln.
Blue Castle, The. L. M. Montgomery.
Blue Hand. Edgar Wallace.
Blue Jay, The. Max Brand.
Bob, Son of Battle. Alfred Ollivant.
Box With Broken Seals. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Brass. Charles G. Norris.
Bread. Charles G. Norris.
Breaking Point, The. Mary Roberts Rinehart.
Bright Shawl, The. Joseph Hergesheimer.
Bring Me His Ears. Clarence E. Mulford.
Broad Highway, The. Jeffery Farnol.
Broken Waters. Frank L. Packard.
Bronze Hand, The. Carolyn Wells.
Brood of the Witch Queen. Sax Rohmer.
Brown Study, The. Grace S. Richmond.
Buck Peters, Ranchman. Clarence E. Mulford.
Bush Rancher, The. Harold Bindloss.
Buster, The. William Patterson White.
Butterfly. Kathleen Norris.
Cabbages and Kings. O. Henry.
Callahans and the Murphys. Kathleen Norris.
Calling of Dan Matthews. Harold Bell Wright.
Cape Cod Stories. Joseph C. Lincoln.
Cap’n Dan’s Daughter. Joseph C. Lincoln.
Cap’n Eri. Joseph C. Lincoln.
Cap’n Warren’s Wards. Joseph C. Lincoln.
Cardigan. Robert W. Chambers.
Carnac’s Folly. Sir Gilbert Parker.
Case and the Girl, The. Randall Parrish.
Case Book of Sherlock Holmes, The. A. Conan Doyle.
Cat’s Eye, The. R. Austin Freeman.
Celestial City, The. Baroness Orczy.
Certain People of Importance. Kathleen Norris.
Cherry Square. Grace S. Richmond.
Child of the North. Ridgwell Cullum.
Child of the Wild. Edison Marshall.
Club of Masks, The. Allen Upward.
Cinema Murder, The. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Clouded Pearl, The. Berta Ruck.
Clue of the New Pin, The. Edgar Wallace.
Coming of Cassidy, The. Clarence E. Mulford.
Coming of Cosgrove, The. Laurie Y. Erskine.
Comrades of Peril. Randall Parrish.
Conflict. Clarence Budington Kelland.
Conquest of Canaan, The. Booth Tarkington.
Constant Nymph, The. Margaret Kennedy.
Contraband. Clarence Budington Kelland.
Corsican Justice. J. G. Sarasin.
Cottonwood Gulch. Clarence E. Mulford.
Court of Inquiry. A. Grace S. Richmond.
Cross Trails. Harold Bindloss.
Crystal Cup, The. Gertrude Atherton.
Cup of Fury, The. Rupert Hughes.
Curious Quest, The. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Cytherea. Joseph Hergesheimer.
Cy Whittaker’s Place. Joseph C. Lincoln.
Dan Barry’s Daughter. Max Brand.
Dancing Star. Berta Ruck.
Danger. Ernest Poole.
Danger and Other Stories. A. Conan Doyle.
Daughter of the House, The. Carolyn Wells.
Deep in the Hearts of Men. Mary E. Waller.
Dead Ride Hard, The. Louis Joseph Vance.
Deep Seam, The. Jack Bethea.
Delight. Mazo de la Roche, author of “Jalna.”
Depot Master, The. Joseph C. Lincoln.
Desert Healer. E. M. Hull.
Desire of His Life and Other Stories. Ethel M. Dell.
Destiny. Rupert Hughes.
Devil’s Paw, The. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Devil of Pei-Ling, The. Herbert Asbury.
Devonshers, The. Honore Willsie Morrow.
Diamond Thieves, The. Arthur Stringer.
Door of Dread, The. Arthur Stringer.
Door with Seven Locks, The. Edgar Wallace.
Doors of the Night. Frank L. Packard.
Dope. Sax Rohmer.
Double Traitor, The. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Downey of the Mounted. James B. Hendryx.
Dr. Nye. Joseph C. Lincoln.
Dream Detective. Sax Rohmer.
Emily Climbs. L. M. Montgomery.
Emily of New Moon. L. M. Montgomery.
Empty Hands. Arthur Stringer.
Enchanted Canyon, The. Honore Willsie.
Enemies of Women. Vicente Blasco Ibanez.
Evil Shepherd, The. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Exile of the Lariat, The. Honore Willsie.
Extricating Obadiah. Joseph C. Lincoln.
Eyes of the World, The. Harold Bell Wright
Face Cards. Carolyn Wells.
Faith of Our Fathers. Dorothy Walworth Carman.
Fair Harbor. Joseph C. Lincoln.
Feast of the Lanterns, The. Louise Jordan Miln.
Feathers Left Around. Carolyn Wells.
Fire Brain. Max Brand.
Fire Tongue. Sax Rohmer.
Flaming Jewel, The. Robert W. Chambers.
Flowing Gold. Rex Beach.
Forbidden Door, The. Herman Landon.
Forbidden Trail, The. Honore Willsie.
Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, The. Vicente Blasco Ibanez.
Four Million, The. O. Henry.
Foursquare. Grace S. Richmond.
Four Stragglers, The. Frank L. Packard.
Fourteenth Key, The. Carolyn Wells.
From Now On. Frank L. Packard.
Further Adventures of Jimmie Dale, The. Frank L. Packard.
Furthest Fury, The. Carolyn Wells.
Gabriel Samara, Peacemaker. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Galusha the Magnificent. Joseph C. Lincoln.
Gaspards of Pine Croft. Ralph Connor.
Gift of the Desert. Randall Parrish.
Glitter. Katharine Brush.
God’s Country and the Woman. James Oliver Curwood.
Going Some. Rex Beach.
Gold Girl, The. James B. Hendryx.
Golden Beast, The. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Golden Ladder, The. Major Rupert Hughes.
Golden Road, The. L. M. Montgomery.
Golden Scorpion, The. Sax Rohmer.
Goose Woman, The. Rex Beach.
Greater Love Hath No Man. Frank L. Packard.
Great Impersonation, The. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Great Moment, The. Elinor Glyn.
Great Prince Shan, The. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Green Archer, The. Edgar Wallace.
Green Dolphin, The. Sara Ware Bassett.
Green Eyes of Bast, The. Sax Rohmer.
Green Goddess, The. Louise Jordan Miln.
Green Timber. Harold Bindloss.
Grey Face. Sax Rohmer.
Gun Brand, The. James B. Hendryx.
Gun Gospel. W. D. Hoffman.
Hairy Arm, The. Edgar Wallace.
Hand of Fu-Manchu, The. Sax Rohmer.
Hand of Peril, The. Arthur Stringer.
Harriet and the Piper. Kathleen Norris.
Harvey Garrard’s Crime. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Hawkeye, The. Herbert Quick.
Head of the House of Coombe, The. Frances Hodgson Burnett.
Heart of Katie O’Doone, The. Leroy Scott.
Heart of the Desert. Honore Willsie.
Heart of the Hills, The. John Fox, Jr.
Heart of the Range, The. William Patterson White.
Heart of the Sunset. Rex Beach.
Helen of the Old House. Harold Bell Wright.
Her Mother’s Daughter. Nalbro Bartley.
Her Pirate Partner. Berta Ruck.
Hidden Places, The. Bertrand W. Sinclair.
Hidden Trails. William Patterson White.
High Adventure, The. Jeffery Farnol.
Hildegarde. Kathleen Norris.
His Official Fiancee. Berta Ruck.
Honor of the Big Snows. James Oliver Curwood.
Hopalong Cassidy. Clarence E. Mulford.
Hopalong Cassidy Returns. Clarence E. Mulford.
Hopalong Cassidy’s Protege. Clarence E. Mulford.
Horseshoe Robinson. John P. Kennedy.
House of Adventure, The. Warwick Deeping, author of “Sorrell and Son”
House of Intrigue, The. Arthur Stringer.
Hunchback of Notre Dame. Victor Hugo.
Hustler Joe and Other Stories. Eleanor H. Porter.
Illiterate Digest, The. Will Rogers.
Immortal Girl, The. Berta Ruck.
Inn of the Hawk and Raven, The. George Barr McCutcheon.
In Another Girl’s Shoes. Berta Ruck.
In a Shantung Garden. Louise Jordan Miln.
Indifference of Juliet, The. Grace S. Richmond.
Inevitable Millionaires, The. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu. Sax Rohmer.
Inverted Pyramid. Bertrand Sinclair.
Invisible Woman, The. Herbert Quick.
Iron Trail, The. Rex Beach.
Isle of Retribution, The. Edison Marshall.
It Happened in Peking. Louise Jordan Miln.
I Want To Be a Lady. Maximilian Foster.
Jacob’s Ladder. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Jean of the Lazy A. B. M. Bower.
Jimmie Dale and the Phantom Clue. Frank L. Packard.
Johnny Nelson. Clarence E. Mulford.
Judith of the Godless Valley. Honore Willsie.
Keeper of the Door, The. Ethel M. Dell.
Kent Knowles: Quahaug. Joseph C. Lincoln.
Keziah Coffin. Joseph C. Lincoln.
Kilmeny of the Orchard. L. M. Montgomery.
Kindling and Ashes. George Barr McCutcheon.
Kingdom of the Blind. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
King By Night, A. Edgar Wallace.
King of the Wilderness. Albert Cooper Allen.
Knave of Diamonds, The. Ethel M. Dell.
Kneel To The Prettiest. Berta Ruck.
Knights of the Desert. W. D. Hoffman.
Labels. A. Hamilton Gibbs.
Ladies of Lyndon, The. Margaret Kennedy.
Land of Forgotten Men. Edison Marshall.
Land of Mist, The. A. Conan Doyle.
Last Trail, The. Zane Grey.
Leap Year Girl, The. Berta Ruck.
Leave It to Psmith. P. G. Wodehouse.
Letters of a Self-Made Diplomat to His President. Will Rogers.
Light That Failed, The. Rudyard Kipling.
Limping Sheriff, The. Arthur Preston.
Little Pardner. Eleanor H. Porter.
Little Red Foot, The. Robert W. Chambers.
Little Ships. Kathleen Norris.
Little White Hag, The. Francis Seeding.
Locked Book, The. Frank L. Packard.
Lone Hand, The. Joseph B. Ames.
Lone Wolf, The. Louis Joseph Vance;
Long Live the King. Mary Roberts Rinehart.
Loring Mystery, The. Jeffery Farnol.
Lost World, The. A. Conan Doyle.
Loudon from Laramie. Joseph B. Ames.
Luck of the Kid, The. Ridgwell Cullum.
Lucky in Love. Berta Ruck.
Lucretia Lombard. Kathleen Norris.
Lydia of the Pines. Honore Willsie.
Lynch Lawyers. William Patterson White.
Madame Claire. Susan Ertz.
Major, The. Ralph Connor.
Man and Maid. Elinor Glyn.
Man from Bar-20, The. Clarence E. Mulford.
Man from El Paso, The. W. D. Hoffman.
Man from Smiling Pass, The. Eliot H. Robinson.
Man They Couldn’t Arrest, The. Austin J. Small.
Man They Hanged, The. Robert W. Chambers.
Mare Nostrum (Our Sea). Vicente Blasco Ibanez.
Martin Conisby’s Vengeance. Jeffery Farnol.
Mary-’Gusta. Joseph C. Lincoln.
Master of Man. Hall Caine.
Master of the Microbe, The. Robert W. Service.
Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes. A. Conan Doyle.
Men Marooned. George Marsh.
Michael’s Evil Deeds. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Mine With the Iron Door. Harold Bell Wright.
Mind of a Minx, The. Berta Ruck.
Miracle. Clarence B. Kelland.
Mischief Maker, The. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Miss Blake’s Husband. Elizabeth Jordan.
Money, Love and Kate. Eleanor H. Potter.
Money Moon, The. Jeffery Farnol.
More Tish. Mary Roberts Rinehart.
Mr. and Mrs. Sen. Louise Jordan Miln.
Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Mr. Pratt. Joseph C. Lincoln.
Mr. Pratt’s Patients. Joseph C. Lincoln.
Mr. Wu. Louise Jordan Miln.
Mrs. Red Pepper. Grace S. Richmond.
My Best Girl. Kathleen Norris.
My Lady of the North. Randall Parrish.
My Lady of the South. Randall Parrish.
Mystery of the Sycamore. Carolyn Wells.
Mystery Road, The. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Ne’er-Do-Well, The. Rex Beach.
Net, The. Rex Beach.
Night Hawk. Arthur Stringer.
Night Horseman, The. Max Brand.
Night Operator, The. Frank L. Packard.
Nina. Susan Ertz.
No. 17. J. Jefferson Fairjeon.
Nobody’s Man. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
No Defence. Gilbert Parker.
North. James B. Hendryx.
Oak and Iron. James B. Hendryx.
Obstacle Race, The. Ethel M. Dell.
Odds, and Other Stories. Ethel M. Dell.
Old Home Town, The. Rupert Hughes.
Oliver October. George Barr McCutcheon.
On the Rustler Trail. Robert Ames Bennet.
Orphan, The. Clarence E. Mulford.
Owner of the Lazy D. William Patterson White.
Padlocked. Rex Beach.
Panted Ponies. Alan Le May.
Paradise Bend. William Patterson White.
Partners of the Tide. Joseph C. Lincoln.
Passer-By, The, and Other Stories. Ethel M. Dell.
Passionate Quest, The. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Patrol of the Sun Dance Trail, The. Ralph Connor.
Pawned. Frank L. Packard.
Pawns Count, The. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Pearl Thief, The. Berta Ruck.
Peregrine’s Progress. Jeffery Farnol.
Peter Ruff and the Double Four. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Philopena. Henry Kitchell Webster.
Pine Creek Ranch. Harold Bindloss.
Poisoned Paradise, The. Robert W. Service.
Pollyanna; “The Glad Book.” (Trade Mark.) Eleanor H. Porter.
Pollyanna of the Orange Blossoms. (Trade Mark.) Harriet Lummis Smith.
Poor Man’s Rock. Bertrand W. Sinclair.
Poor Wise Man, A. Mary Roberts Rinehart
Portygee, The. Joseph C. Lincoln.
Possession. Mazo de la Roche, author of “Jalna.”
Postmaster, The. Joseph C. Lincoln.
Power of the Glory, The. Gilbert Parker.
Prairie Flowers. James B. Hendryx.
Prairie Mother, The. Arthur Stringer.
Prairie Wife, The. Arthur Stringer.
Prillilgirl. Carolyn Wells.
Prodigal Son. Hall Caine.
Profiteers, The. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Progressive Marriage. Bonnie Busch.
Promise, The. J. B. Hendryx.
Purple Mask, The. Louise Jordan Miln.
Purple Mist, The. Gladys Edson Locke.
Queer Judson. Joseph C. Lincoln.
Quest of the Sacred Slipper, The. Sax Rohmer.
Quill’s Window. George Barr McCutcheon.
Rainbow’s End, The. Rex Beach.
Rainbow Valley. L. M. Montgomery.
Re-Creation of Brian Kent, The. Harold Bell Wright.
Red and Black. Grace S. Richmond.
Red Lamp. Mary Roberts Rinehart.
Red Ledger, The. Frank L. Packard.
Red Pepper Burns. Grace S. Richmond.
Red Pepper’s Patients. Grace S. Richmond.
Red of the Redfields, The. Grace S. Richmond.
Red Road, The. Hugh Pendexter.
Red Sky at Morning. Margaret Kennedy.
Renegade. Arthur O. Friel.
Return of Dr. Fu-Manchu. Sax Rohmer.
Rhoda Fair. Clarence Budington Kelland.
Riddle of Three Way Creek, The. Ridgwell Cullum.
Rider of the Golden Bar. William Patterson White.
Rilla of Ingleside. L. M. Montgomery.
Ringer, The. Edgar Wallace.
Rise of Roscoe Paine, The. Joseph C. Lincoln.
Rivers to Cross. Roland Pertwee.
Rocks of Valpre, The. Ethel M. Dell.
Romantic Comedians, The. Ellen Glasgow.
Romeo in Moon Village. George Barr McCutcheon.
Rose of the World. Kathleen Norris.
Round the Corner in Gay Street. Grace S. Richmond.
Rowforest. Anthony Pryde.
Ruben and Ivy Sen. Louise Jordan Miln.
Rufus. Grace S. Richmond.
Rugged Water. Joseph C. Lincoln.
Running Special. Frank L. Packard.
Rustlers’ Valley. Clarence E. Mulford.
Sackcloth and Ashes. E. W. Savi.
Saint Michael’s Gold. H. Bedford-Jones.
Saint of the Speedway. Ridgwell Cullum.
Sea Gull, The. Kathleen Norris.
Second Violin, The. Grace S. Richmond.
Seven Sleepers, The. Francis Beeding.
Seventh Man, The. Max Brand.
Seward’s Folly. Edison Marshall.
Shadow of the East, The. E. M. Hull.
Shavings. Joseph C. Lincoln.
Sheik, The. E. M. Hull.
Shepherd of the Hills, The. Harold Bell Wright.
Shepherds of the Wilds. Edison Marshall.
Sherry. George Barr McCutcheon.
Sight Unseen and the Confession. Mary Roberts Rinehart.
Silver Horde, The. Rex Beach.
Silver Poppy, The. Arthur Stringer.
Sin That Was His, The. Frank L. Packard.
Singing Heart, The. Florence Ward.
Sinister Man, The. Edgar Wallace.
Sir John Dering. Jeffery Farnol.
Sir Percy Hits Back. Baroness Orczy.
Sisters-in-Law. Gertrude Atherton.
Sir or Madam. Berta Ruck.
Six Days. Eleanor Glyn.
Sixth Commandment, The. Carolyn Wells.
Skyline of Spruce, The. Edison Marshall.
Slayer of Souls, The. Robert W. Chambers.
Sleeper of the Moonlit Ranges, The. Edison Marshall.
Small Bachelor, The. P. G. Wodehouse.
Smiles: A Rose of the Cumberlands. Eliot H. Robinson.
Smiling Pass. Eliot H. Robinson.
Snowdrift. James B. Hendryx.
Snowshoe Trail, The. Edison Marshall.
Son of His Father, A. Harold Bell Wright.
Sons of the Sheik. E. H. Hull.
Sorrows of Satan. Marie Correlli.
Soul of China and Other Stories, The. Louis Jordan Miln.
Soundings. A. Hamilton Gibbs.
Spaniard, The. Juanita Savage.
Spirit of Iron. Harwood Steele.
Spirit of the Border, The. Zane Grey.
Spoilers, The. Rex Beach.
Spooky Hollow. Carolyn Wells.
Steele of the Royal Mounted. James Oliver Curwood.
Stepchild of the Moon. Fulton Oursler.
Still Jim. Honore Willsie.
Stolen Idols. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Story Girl, The. L. M. Montgomery.
Strange Case of Cavendish. Randall Parrish.
Strawberry Acres. Grace S. Richmond.
Strength of the Pines. Edison Marshall.
Subconscious Courtship. Berta Ruck.
Substitute Millionaire. Hulbert Footner.
Sweet Stranger. Berta Ruck.
Tales of Chinatown. Sax Rohmer.
Tales of Secret Egypt. Sax Rohmer.
Tales of Sherlock Holmes. A. Conan Doyle.
Temperamental People. Mary Roberts Rinehart.
Tenderfoots, The. Francis Lynde.
Terrible People, The. Edgar Wallace.
Terror Keep. Edgar Wallace.
Tetherstones. Ethel M. Dell.
Tex. Clarence E. Mulford.
Texan, The. James B. Hendryx.
Thankful’s Inheritance. Joseph C. Lincoln.
That Printer of Udell’s. Harold Bell Wright.
Their Yesterdays. Harold Bell Wright.
Three of Hearts, The. Berta Ruck.
Three Ships in Azure. Irvin Anthony.
Tish. Mary Roberts Rinehart.
To Him That Hath. Ralph Connor.
Torrent, The. (Entre Naranjos.) Vicente Blasco Ibanez.
Trailin’. Max Brand.
Treading the Wine Press. Ralph Connor.
Treasure. Albert Payson Terhune.
Trimmed Lamp, The. O. Henry.
Triumph of John Kars. Ridgwell Cullum.
T. Tembarom. Frances Hodgson Burnett.
Tumbleweeds. Hal G. Evarts.
Twenty-fourth of June. Grace S. Richmond.
Twisted Foot The. William Patterson White.
Two Stolen Idols. Frank L. Packard.
Uncertain Glory, The. Harriet Lummis Smith.
Under the Country Sky. Grace S. Richmond.
Under the Rainbow Sky. Alice Ross Colver.
Uneasy Street. Arthur Somers Roche.
Unknown Quantity, The. Ethel M. Dell.
Untamed, The. Max Brand.
Valley of Fear, The. A. Conan Doyle.
Valley of Voices, The. George Marsh.
Vandemark’s Folly. Herbert Quick.
Vanished Messenger, The. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Vanity Case, The. Carolyn Wells.
Vanity Fair. Wm. M. Thackeray.
Vickey Van. Carolyn Wells.
Viola Gwyn. George Barr McCutcheon.
Virgin of Yesterday, A. Dorothy Speare.
Virginia of Elk Creek Valley. Mary Ellen Chase.
Virtuous Husband, The. Freeman Tilden.
Voice of the Pack, The. Edison Marshall.
Wagon Wheel, The. William Patterson White.
Walls of Glass. Larry Barretto.
Way of an Eagle, The. Ethel M. Dell.
Way of the Strong, The. Ridgwell Cullum.
Way of These Women. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
We Must March. Honore Willsie.
West Broadway. Nina Wilcox Putnam.
Westward to Paradise. W. D. Hoffman.
West Wind. Crosbie Garstin.
West Wind Drift. George Barr McCutcheon.
Wheels Within Wheels. Carolyn Wells.
Whelps of the Wolf. George Marsh.
When a Man’s a Man. Harold Bell Wright.
Where the Waters Turn. Theodore Von Ziekursch.
Whispering Outlaw, The. George Owen Baxter.
White Wolf, The. Max Brand.
White Moll, The. Frank L. Packard.
Wild West. Bertrand W. Sinclair.
Window at the White Cat. Mary Roberts Rinehart.
Winds of Chance, The. Rex Beach.
Winning of Barbara Worth. Harold Bell Wright.
Wire Devils, The. Frank L. Packard.
Wishing Ring Man, The. Margaret Widdemer.
With Juliet in England. Grace S. Richmond.
Without Gloves. James B. Hendryx.
Woman Haters, The. Joseph C. Lincoln.
Woman of Knockaloe, The. Hall Cane.
Woman Thou Gavest Me. Hall Caine.
Women of the Family, The. Margaret Culkin Banning
Woodcarver of ’Lympus. Mary E. Waller.
Wrath to Come, The. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Wrong Mr. Wright, The. Berta Ruck.
Year of Delight, The. Margaret Widdemer.
Yellow Claw, The. Sax Rohmer.
Yellow Shadows. Sax Rohmer.
You Can’t Win. Jack Black.
You’re Only Young Once. Margaret Widdemer.
You’re Young But Once. Louise Breitenbach Clancy.
Zeppelin’s Passenger, The. E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Transcriber’s Notes
1. Italicised words are indicated by _underscores_.
2. Footnotes have been renumbered and moved to the end of the
paragraph.
3. Misspelled words have been corrected (see below). Archaic,
inconsistent and alternative spellings have been left unchanged
(e.g. quotations from the King James Version of the Bible).
Hyphenation has not been standardised.
4. Ellipsis placement has been modified in order to facilitate text
reflow. In most cases ellipses between sentences have been merged
with the closing punctuation of the preceding sentence. Ellipses
between words within a sentence have had spaces added before
and after.
5. Thought breaks (larger gaps between paragraphs) are indicated by
a row of asterisks.
6. “Edit Distance” in Corrections table below refers to the
Levenshtein Distance.
Corrections:
Page Source Correction Edit distance
192 runing running 1
292 vigourous vigorous 1
ads drugdgery drudgery 1
*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GIANTS IN THE EARTH ***
Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will
be renamed.
Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
States without permission and without paying copyright
royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may
do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
license, especially commercial redistribution.
START: FULL LICENSE
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™
electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person
or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the
Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting
free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily
comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when
you share it without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country other than the United States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work
on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the
phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you
are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws
of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is
derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works
posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg™ License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format
other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain
Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
provided that:
• You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has
agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation.”
• You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™
License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™
works.
• You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
receipt of the work.
• You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
forth in Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right
of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™
Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.
The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West,
Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up
to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website
and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread
public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state
visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.
Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
facility: www.gutenberg.org.
This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
