Transcriber’s Note: Most variations in hyphenation, capitalization, and spelling have been retained as in the original. Spelling errors have been corrected when most occurrences of the word in question are correct. Obvious typos have been amended. All amendments are underlined in text; original text appears in a mouse hoverbox over each amendment, like this. Minor printer errors (quotation marks, punctuation, etc.) have been amended without note. Mid-paragraph illustrations have been relocated between paragraphs for easier reading, causing some page numbers to be removed. Table of Contents has been added.

REMINISCENCES

The STORY

OF AN

EMIGRANT

By HANS MATTSON,

Late Consul General of the United States, in India

saint paul:
D. D. MERRILL COMPANY
1891.

Copyrighted 1891
by
D. D. MERRILL COMPANY
st. paul, minn.

All Rights Reserved

CONTENTS

[CHAPTER I.]

Ancestry and country home in Sweden—Home influences—My first school years—Christmas—Military life—Departure for America.

[CHAPTER II.]

Arrival at Boston—Adventures between Boston and New York—Buffalo—An Asylum—Return to New York—A Voyage—On the Farm in New Hampshire.

[CHAPTER III.]

The Arrival of my Father and Brother—Journey to Illinois—Work on a Railroad—The Ague—Doctor Ober—Religious Impressions—The Arrival of my Mother, Sister and her Husband—A Burning Railroad Train—We go to Minnesota—Our Experience as Wood Choppers and Pioneers.

[CHAPTER IV.]

Future Hopes—Farm Life—Norwegian Pioneers—The Condition of the Immigrant at the Beginning of the Fifties—Religious Meetings—The Growth of the Settlement—Vasa Township Organized—A Lutheran Church Established—My Wedding—Speculation—The Crisis of 1857—Study of Law in Red Wing—I am admitted to the Bar and elected County Auditor—Politics in 1860—War is Imminent.

[CHAPTER V.]

The Beginning of the Civil War—The Scandinavians taking part in it—Appeal in Hemlandet to the Scandinavians of Minnesota—Company D. Organized—The Expressions of the Press—The Departure—The March over the Cumberland Mountains—The Fate of the Third Regiment.

[CHAPTER VI.]

Events of 1863—The Siege of Vicksburg—Anecdotes about Gens. Logan, Stevenson and Grant—Little Rock Captured—Recruiting at Fort Snelling—The engagement at Fitzhugh’s Woods—Pine Bluff—Winter Quarters at Duvall’s Bluff—Death of Lincoln—Close of the War—The Third Regiment Disbanded.

[CHAPTER VII.]

Reconstruction in the South—Third Regiment Mustered Out—The Farewell Order—Sacrifices and Costs of the War.

[CHAPTER VIII.]

My Reason for Taking Part in the Civil War—The Dignity of Labor—The Firm Mattson & Webster—Svenska Amerikanaren, its Program and Reception—The State Emigration Bureau of Minnesota—Its Aim, Plan and Work.

[CHAPTER IX.]

Visit to Sweden in 1868-1869—The Object of my Journey—Experiences and Observations During the Same—Difference Between American and Swedish Customs—My Birth-place—Arrival and Visit There—Visit to Christianstad—Visit to Stockholm—The Swedish Parliament—My Return to America—Reflections on and Impressions of the Condition of the Bureaucracy of Sweden.

[CHAPTER X.]

The Importance of the Scandinavian Element—A Swede Elected Secretary of State in Minnesota—False Rumors of Indian Depredations—The Northern Pacific Railroad is Built—Trip to Philadelphia—The National Convention at Indianapolis—Delegation to Washington—A Swedish Colony in Mississippi Moved to Minnesota—The Second Voyage to Europe.

[CHAPTER XI.]

In Sweden Again—Reception at My Old Home—Visit to Northern Sweden—Field Maneuvers in Sweden—The Opening of Parliament—In Norway—Visit in Stockholm—Royal Palaces—The Göta Canal—A Trip to Finland and Russia—King Oscar II.—A Trip to Dalarne in the Winter.

[CHAPTER XII.]

Visit in Minnesota and Philadelphia—Conversation with Jay Cooke—The Crisis of 1873—Negotiations in Holland—Draining of a Lake in Skåne—Icelandic Colony in Manitoba—Return to America.

[CHAPTER XIII.]

Grasshopper Ravages in Minnesota—The Presidential Election—Chosen Presidential Elector—Minnesota Stats Tidning—Svenska Tribunen in Chicago—Farm in Northwestern Minnesota—Journalistic Work.

[CHAPTER XIV.]

I am Appointed Consul-General to India—Assassination of Garfield—Departure for India—My Stay in Chicago and Washington—Paris and Versailles—Rome—Naples—Pompeii—From Naples to Alexandria—Interesting Acquaintances on the Voyage—The First Impressions in Egypt.

[CHAPTER XV.]

Alexandria and its Monuments—The Egyptian “Fellahs”—The Mohammedans and Their Religion—The Voyage Through the Suez Canal—The Red Sea—The Indian Ocean—The Arrival at Calcutta.

[CHAPTER XVI.]

India—Its People, Religion, Etc.—The Fertility of the Country—The Climate—The Dwellings—Punkah—Costumes—Calcutta—Dalhousie Square—Life in the Streets.

[CHAPTER XVII.]

The Promenades of the Fashionable World—Maidan—The Viceroy—British Dominions in India.

[CHAPTER XVIII.]

An Indian Fête—The Prince of Burdwan—Indian Luxury—The Riches and Romantic Life of an Indian Prince—Poverty and Riches.

[CHAPTER XIX.]

Allahabad—Sacred Places—Kumbh Mela—Pilgrimages—Bathing in the Ganges—Fakirs and Penitents—Sacred Rites—Superstitions.

[CHAPTER XX.]

Benares, the Holy City of the Hindoos—Its Temples and Worshipers—The Sacred Monkeys.

[CHAPTER XXI.]

Nimtoolaghat—Cremation in India—Parsee Funeral Rites.

[CHAPTER XXII.]

Heathenism and Christianity—The Religion of the Hindoos—Caste—The Brahmins—Their Tyranny—Superstition—The Influence of Christianity—Keshub-Chunder-Sen, the Indian Reformer—His faith and Influence.

[CHAPTER XXIII.]

Steamboating On the Ganges—Life on the River—The Greatest Business Firm in the World—Sceneries—Temples—Serampoor—Boat Races—An Excursion to the Himalayas—Darjieling and Himalaya Railroad—Tea Plantations—Darjieling—Llamas—View from the Mountains.

[CHAPTER XXIV.]

Cholera and other Diseases—The Causes of Cholera—How the Soldiers are Protected Against it—Sudden Deaths—Fevers—The Teraj—Contempt for Death—The Cholera Hospital—The Sisters of Mercy—The Princes Tagore—Hindoo Family Customs—Hindoo Gallantry—A Hindoo Fête.

[CHAPTER XXV.]

Agriculture, Manufacture and Architecture—Wheat Growing—The Farm Laborer—His Condition, Implements, etc. The Taj-Mahal—Jugglers—Snake Charmers—From My Journal.

[CHAPTER XXVI.]

The Women of India—The Widows—The American Zenana—Prizes Awarded in a Girl’s School—Annandabai Joshee—Her Visit to America—Reports to the Government—Departure from India—Burmah—Ceylon—Arabia—Cairo.

[CHAPTER XXVII.]

Cairo—Cheop’s Pyramid—Venice—The St. Gotthard Tunnel—On the Rhine—Visit in Holland and England—Father Nugent—Arrival at New York.

[CHAPTER XXVIII.]

Home from India—A Friendly Reception—Journey to New Mexico—The Maxwell Land Grant Company—Renewed Visits to England and Holland—Re-elected Secretary of State—Visit of the Swedish Officers in Minneapolis and St. Paul—Two Hundred and Fiftieth Anniversary of the Landing of the First Swedes in Delaware.

[CHAPTER XXIX.]

The Causes of Immigration—American Influence on Europe, and Especially on Sweden—The Condition of the Swedes in America—American Characteristics—Antipathy against Foreigners—The Swedish Press on America—American Heiresses.

[CHAPTER XXX.]

REVIEW.

NOTE.

These reminiscences were written from memory in such leisure moments as the author could spare from a busy life, and published in the Swedish language nearly a year ago. They were intended solely for Swedish readers in the mother country and America, but since their publication in that language it has been urged by many that they ought to be made accessible to English readers also. And this, principally, in order that the children of the old Swedish emigrants, who are more familiar with the English than the Swedish language, may have an opportunity to learn something of the early struggles of their fathers in this country.

At the same time it was thought that the American reader in general might take pleasure in following the fortunes of one of the many emigrants who owes whatever he has accomplished in life to the opportunities offered by the free institutions of this country, and that it would especially interest him to read the account of oriental life, religion and characteristics as seen by the author during his residence in the wonderful land of the Hindoos.

As to literary finish no claim is made. In a few instances of a descriptive nature recourse has been had to the accounts of other observers. In all other respects the story is a plain recital of the personal experiences of the author, told without pretensions, as an humble contribution by an emigrant to the history of the emigrants, and of the settlement of the Great West.

THE AUTHOR.

Minneapolis, Minn., October, 1891.

[ CHAPTER I.]

Ancestry and country home in Sweden—Home influences—My first school years—Christmas—Military life—Departure for America.

My childhood passed so quietly and smoothly that it would be superfluous to mention it at all, except for the fact that such omission would leave a gap in these reminiscences. For this reason, and, also, in order that the American reader may get some idea of a good country home in Sweden, I shall relate very briefly some incidents from that time.

My parents belonged to one of those old families of proprietary farmers, whose spirit of independence and never failing love of liberty, have, from time immemorial, placed Sweden, as a land of constitutional liberty, in the front rank among all the countries of the Old World.

Like the descendants of the old Scotch clans the ancestors of my father were noted for certain physical and mental qualities, which made them prominent among the inhabitants of the district of Villand, Skåne, where most of them had their home. They were independent freeholders and were generally reckoned among the leading men of their district. They were large and strong with broad shoulders, high and broad foreheads and other family characteristics. The christian names of the male members were generally Bonde, Trued, Lars, Matts, and Hans, and the family can be traced back in the parish records for more than two hundred years.

My mother was born on the island of Ifö, my father’s family also came from that island and were the owners of the estate described by Du Chaillu in his “Land of the Midnight Sun” with the remarkable crypt built by Bishop Andreas Suneson[1] and the estate still belongs to a second cousin of mine. My father inherited a small sum of money for which, at the time of his marriage, he bought a land in the parish of Önnestad near the city of Kristianstad. On this property he built a small house, barn, etc., and on the south side of the former a small flower garden was laid out at either end of which my father planted a spruce tree, one of which grew up into a fine, big tree, the only one of its kind in the whole neighborhood, and to which I shall refer farther on. In this unpretending little cabin I was born Dec. 23d, 1832, and under its lowly but peaceful roof I spent the first years of my childhood, together with an elder sister and a younger brother.

I can yet distinctly remember many incidents from my childhood as far back as my third and fourth year; all these memories are dear and exceedingly pleasant to me. There was no discord, no cause for sorrow and tears in my home during the time of my childhood. Everything bore the stamp of peace and calm, emanating from that spirit of genuine old Swedish honesty and sincere piety, which animated my parents. One of my very first recollections is of my father reading aloud the beautiful hymn:

“The morning light shall wake me
To the strains of sacred song,” etc.

At the age of six my schooling commenced under the guidance of an itinerant schoolmaster by name of Bergdahl, who taught small children at their homes, stopping one day for each child at every house and keeping on in that way the whole term which lasted from three to four months. Old Bergdahl was a good and sensible man, far superior to the average men of his class. He seldom punished his pupils except by appealing to their better nature, and still maintained the best discipline that I have ever seen in any school of even greater pretensions.

My parents were doing well on their little farm, which they sold about this time, buying a larger one on the Önnestad Hills. Here they erected larger and more commodious buildings.

OUR HOME.

Near the house was a park, a creek, and some large rocks, all of which afforded welcome play-ground, and soon made this place dearer to me than the old home. We were followed by the school-master who also settled down in our neighborhood. I continued reading another year under his guidance, after which I attended a private school, and at the age of eight was sent to the village school that was superintended by a lady teacher, a normal school graduate, who was considered one of the best teachers in that part of the country. My parents, desiring a more extensive field for their activity, also rented a large farm, called Kellsagard, near the village church, and we now moved into a still larger and better house. Meanwhile I continued my attendance at the village school until I had learned all that was taught there. During the vacations I worked on my father’s farm at such light work as was suited to my age and strength. I had a decided fancy for horses, of which my father raised a large number, and was always happy for a chance to ride or drive in company with the hired men, and after my twelfth year I used to break the young colts to the saddle. At the same time I had a great taste for reading and never intended to remain long on the farm, but was always meditating on getting a higher education, which would prepare me for a larger field of action than a country farm could offer. At the age of fourteen I was sent to another school, located about three miles from my home. Here I was instructed in the common branches, and in a short time passed through the whole course of studies. I also received instruction from Rev. T. N. Hasselquist, who has played such a prominent part in the Swedish Lutheran Church of America, and took private lessons in arithmetic and writing of Mr. S. J. Willard, a bright young teacher, who afterwards married my only sister, and finally became my companion during our pioneer life in Minnesota.

Our last home offered many conveniences; the house was well furnished, and so large that the second story could be rented most of the time, and it was occupied alternately by a clergyman with his family, and a captain of the army. These people, and our numerous city friends, exerted a refining and elevating influence on the farm surroundings, and our home was widely noted for its hospitality. My father was a kind-hearted, noble-minded man, and was liked by all who knew him. My mother was a woman of strong character, and wielded a great influence over her surroundings. She managed a household of forty to fifty persons, and on Sundays there was always an extra table set for friends and visitors. Her good-will, however, extended not only to our pleasant associates, but also to the poor, the suffering and the unfortunate. I cannot recall any period of my childhood when we did not harbor some poor, forsaken pauper, waif, orphan or cripple in my father’s house.

Christmas has always been, and is yet, the greatest of all festivities or holidays among all the Scandinavian peoples. It is not merely a holiday like it is among Americans, but a festival lasting for many days. While the people in the different localities of the Scandinavian countries, at the time of my childhood, differed in many customs, they were all alike in making this season one of joyous hospitality, blended with religious worship. I shall endeavor to describe Christmas as celebrated in my home in Southern Sweden 50 years ago, and I venture to say that while matters of detail might differ in different parts of the country, the descriptions as a whole will apply to them all. The preparations for Christmas commenced in the beginning of December by butchering, brewing and baking, so as to lay in large stores of the essential elements for enjoyment and hospitality. The fattened animals were slaughtered, the tallow made into candles, the meat salted, smoked, and otherwise prepared for a whole year. The rich brown Yule-ale was made in large quantities, and poured in kegs and barrels. Bread of many varieties was baked for days and days, and stored away in proper places, a large share of it being intended for the poor, who began their rounds of calls a week before Christmas, receiving presents of brown and white loaves, large cuts of meats and cheese, rolls of sausage, etc. The school-master, the parish mid-wife, the village night watchman, and other semi-public characters of small degree were carefully remembered at this time. The village tailor with his journeymen and apprentices appeared a few weeks before Christmas and made the wearing apparel for the family and servants out of home-spun fabrics for the whole year. The village shoemaker with his crowd of workmen followed close upon the former, and made up the boots and shoes out of leather which had been prepared to order, finishing up by repairing the stable harnesses, sometimes making new ones. It was a busy season; the house-wife was kept astir early and late to give directions, and superintending all these things.

Finally the day of Christmas Eve came, on which everything must be in readiness, pans and kettles be scoured, floors scrubbed and strewn with white sand and fresh juniper twigs, even the stables for the cattle receiving an extra scrubbing. The yard was swept and every nook and corner of the premises put in holiday attire, and last of all, the hired men and girls were expected to retire to their respective quarters for a similar cleaning, and make their appearance about five o’clock in the afternoon in clean linen and new clothes, ready for the great event, as for a marriage feast. In the mean time pots and kettles were boiling on the hearth in the great kitchen, baskets were being filled and sent off to the poor who were too feeble to call for their gifts; the family and servants contenting themselves that day with a lunch, well known all over Sweden as dopparebröd. It being now dark, the long table was set in the large common room. The whitest linen, the finest plate, plenty of fresh white bread, and two or three home-made cheeses, baskets of cake, and large decanters containing sweet ale, ornamented the table. In front of the seats of husband and wife was placed a large home-made tallow candle with as many branches as there were members of the family. Other candles were placed in candle-sticks or chandeliers, so that there was an abundance of light, in commemoration of the Great Light which came into the world on that eve. There was also a Christmas tree decorated with ribbons, flowers, confectionery and burning tapers. The lighting of the candles was the signal for all to come to the feast. That evening at least there was no distinction as to persons. The lowest servant-boy had his seat, and received the same attention as the children or members of the family. When all were seated a Christmas prayer was offered by the head of the family, after which a hymn was sung, in which all joined; then were brought in from the kitchen great dishes of “Lut Fisk,” served with drawn butter and mustard sauce; after that a roast of beef or pork, and at last the Yule-mush. About the time that this was finished, some one who had quietly stepped outside returned in the disguise of Santa Claus, and threw baskets full of Christmas presents on the floor. The children and younger servants made a scramble for these, amid shouts of hilarious joy and distributed them according to the directions written on each bundle. No one was forgotten. Then at the table followed cakes with sweet wine or punch, and nuts and apples, all of which was enjoyed hugely and deliberately, so that it was often ten o’clock before the tables were cleared. The remainder of the evening was spent in quiet amusements, such as telling stories about princes and princesses, giants and trolls, conundrums, tricks with cards, etc., and seldom did the happy circle break up until nearly mid-night.

Christmas day was considered a very holy day. There were no visits made, no work done except of the greatest necessity, such as feeding the animals and keeping up the fires; no cooking was done on that day, but meals were served mostly cold from the delicious head cheese, pork roast and other delicacies, which had been prepared beforehand. The greatest event of all the season, and in fact of the whole year, was the early service (ottesång) in the parish church, at five o’clock on Christmas morning. Hundreds of candles were lighted in chandeliers and candlesticks. The altar was covered with gold embroidered cloth; the floor was strewn with fresh twigs of juniper, and soon the people began to assemble. They came from every house and hamlet, in sleighs with tinkling bells, on horseback, and on foot along every road and winding pathway, usually in groups, swelling as the parties and the roads intersected, many carrying lanterns or burning pine-knots to light the way. Everywhere the greeting, “Happy Christmas” was heard, but all with joyful solemnity. Outside the church the burning torches were thrown in a pile which formed a blaze that could be seen a long distance off. The church was soon crowded; then the solemn tones of the organ burst forth; the organist led in the beautiful hymn, “Var hälsad sköna morgon stund” (Be greeted joyful morning hour), in which every member of the congregation joined, until the temple was filled with their united voices so that the walls almost shook. And when the minister ascended the pulpit, clad in his surplice and black cape, he had before him a most devout congregation. Of course the sermon was about the Messiah, who was born in the stable, and placed in the manger at Bethlehem. The next service was at ten o’clock, and the rest of the day was spent quietly at home by everybody.

On the next day, called Second Day Christmas, the previous solemnity was discarded, and the time for visiting and social enjoyments commenced.

The one permanent virtue most conspicuous during the whole Christmas season, which in those days extended way into the month of January, was hospitality, and next to that, or linked with it, charity. It seemed that the heart of every one expanded until it took in every fellow creature high and low, and even the brute animals. Many and many were the loaves of bread, grain and meal thrown out purposely for the birds or stray dogs that might be hungry, and many of the farmers followed the beautiful Norwegian custom of placing sheaves of oats and barley on the roof of their barns that the poor birds might also enjoy Christmas.

But there were also other ennobling influences which surrounded and emanated from our home, and I recollect most vividly those connected with nature. The house was surrounded by a large beautiful garden, with choice flowers and fruit, fine grass plats and luxuriant trees, the branches of which were alive with singing birds, the most noted among these being the nightingale, which every summer filled the garden with sweet melody.

Of the incidents of my childhood I will mention a few, which have left the most vivid impression on my mind:

Once my parents took me along to see the king, who was to pass by on the highway a short distance from our home. The people from the country around had congregated by thousands to see his majesty. Most of them, however, did not get a chance to see anything but a large number of carriages each of which was drawn by four or six horses, and postillions and servants in splendid liveries. In the midst of this confusion I, however, succeeded in catching a glimpse of King Oscar I, as he passed by. In my childish mind I had fancied that the king and his family and all others, in authority were the peculiar and elect people of the Almighty, but after this event which produced a very decided impression on me, I began to entertain serious doubts as to the correctness of my views on this matter.

At another time I went with my mother to the city of Kristianstad to hear the Rev. Doctor P. Fjellstedt, who had just returned from a missionary tour in India. I can never forget how eloquently he described the Hindoos, and the Brahmin idolatry, all of which aroused in me an eager longing to visit the wonderful country and learn to know its peculiar people. But little did I then dream that I was to go there thirty-six years later as the representative of the greatest country of the world.

At one time I went in company with my mother to the Danish capital, Copenhagen, we being among the first Swedish families that traveled by rail, for we took the railroad from Copenhagen to Roskilde, the same being finished several years before any railroads were built in Sweden.

In the summer of 1847, shortly after my confirmation, I was properly supplied with wardrobe and other necessaries, and saying good-bye to the happy and peaceful home of my childhood, I left for the city of Kristianstad to enter the Latin school. In kissing me good-bye my mother urged on me the precious words, which she had inherited from her mother: “Do right and fear nothing.”

When I entered this school I was fourteen years and a-half old, tall of stature and well developed for my age, and, like other country children, somewhat awkward in dress and behavior.

My schoolmates welcomed me by giving me a nick-name, and trying to pick a quarrel with me, which they also succeeded in doing, and before the end of the first day a drawn battle had been fought, after which they never troubled me again. The principal study in this school was Latin, early and late, to which was soon added German, and at the close of the second year, Greek, French, history, geography, and other common branches. I made rapid progress, was awarded a prize at my first examination, and finished the work of two classes in two years, only about half the usual time.

During those two years, and even before that time, I had a peculiar presentiment that I would have to make great mental and physical exertions in the future, and that it was necessary for me to prepare for whatever might happen. Therefore, I often chose the hard floor for my bed and a book for a pillow. At times I would take long walks without eating and drinking, and let my room-mates strike my chest with their fists until it was swollen and inflamed. I even tried how long I could go without food, and still not lose my mental and physical vigor.

When I was sixteen years old, an event took place which had a decisive influence on my whole life.

A captain of the army boarded at my father’s home, and was regarded as a member of the family. Among his acquaintances was a young man of my own age, who also had the same christian name as I. One day this young man came to see the captain, and as he approached the house my mother and sister observing him, both exclaimed at the same time, “There is Hans!” He heard this, and was greatly surprised that they knew him, while the fact was that they mistook him for me. At that time I was in the city, but the next day this second Hans visited me, and told me of the incident. If there is such a thing as affinity between men, it certainly existed between him and me; we felt ourselves irresistibly drawn towards each other, and from that day we have been more than brothers, and nothing but death can separate us. We are of the same size, complexion and age. He had already served a short time as cadet in the artillery, but had been compelled to resign on account of poor health. Now he had recovered and entered service again as a volunteer in the infantry. The events of my life are so closely interwoven with this man and his life, that the reader will often hear of him in these pages. Right here I wish to state, that a more faithful friend and a more noble character cannot be found; he has always been a help and a comfort to me in the many and strange vicissitudes which we have shared together. His name is Hans Eustrom, better known in Minnesota as Captain Eustrom.

The first Danish-German war broke out about this time, and I, with many other youths, felt a hearty sympathy for the Danes. The Swedish government resolved to send troops to help their neighbors, and a few regiments marching through our city fanned our youthful enthusiasm into flame. Finally, a detachment of the artillery, quartered in the city, was ordered to leave for the seat of war, and now I could no longer restrain myself, but besieged my parents to let me join that part of the army which was going to the battlefield, and to clinch the argument I was cruel enough to send word to my distressed mother that if she would not consent I would run away from home and join the army anyway. This last argument made her yield, and in the fall of 1849 I became an artillery cadet, being then in my seventeenth year. But although I won this victory over my mother, whose greatest desire was that I should become a clergyman, she in turn gained a victory over me by persuading the surgeon of the batallion, who was also our family physician, to declare me sick and send me to the hospital, although I had only a slight cold; thus my plan to go with the army to Schleswig-Holstein was frustrated. This did not make much difference, however, as the war was virtually closed before our troops arrived at the place of destination, and my time could now be more profitably employed in learning the duties of a soldier, and in taking a course of mathematics and other practical branches at the regimental school.

I remained in the army a year and a-half, during which time I received excellent instruction in gymnastics, fencing and riding, besides the regular military drill. Two winters were thus devoted to conscientious and thorough work at the military school.

Knowing that the chances for advancement in the Swedish army during times of peace were at this time very slim for young men not favored with titles of nobility, and being also tired of the monotonous garrison life, my friend Eustrom and myself soon resolved to leave the service and try our luck in a country where inherited names and titles were not the necessary conditions of success.

At that time America was little known in our part of the country, only a few persons having emigrated from the whole district. But we knew that it was a new country, inhabited by a free and independent people, that it had a liberal government and great natural resources, and these inducements were sufficient for us. My parents readily consented to my emigration, and, having made the necessary preparations, my father took my friend Eustrom and myself down to the coast with his own horses, in the first part of May, 1851. It was a memorable evening, and I shall never forget the last farewell to my home, in driving out from the court into the village street, how I stood up in the wagon, turned towards the dear home and waved my hat with a hopeful hurrah to the “folks I left behind.” A couple of days’ journey brought us to a little seaport, where we took leave of my father and boarded a small schooner for the city of Gothenburg.

At that time there were no ocean steamers and no emigrant agents; but we soon found a sailing vessel bound for America on which we embarked as passengers, furnishing our own bedding, provisions and other necessaries, which our mothers had supplied in great abundance. About one hundred and fifty emigrants from different parts of Sweden were on board the brig Ambrosius. In the middle of May she weighed anchor and glided out of the harbor on her long voyage across the ocean to distant Boston.

We gazed back at the vanishing shores of the dear fatherland with feelings of affection, but did not regret the step we had taken, and our bosoms heaved with boundless hope. At the age of eighteen, the strong, healthy youth takes a bright and hopeful view of life, and so did we. Many and beautiful were the air-castles we built as we stood on deck, with our eyes turned towards the promised land of the nineteenth century. To some of these castles our lives have given reality, others are still floating before us.

[ CHAPTER II.]

Arrival at Boston—Adventures between Boston and New York—Buffalo—An Asylum—Return to New York—A Voyage—On the Farm in New Hampshire.

The good brig Ambrosius landed us in Boston on June 29, 1851, but during the voyage about one-half of the passengers were attacked by small-pox and had to be quarantined outside the harbor. My good friend and I were fortunate enough to escape this plague; but instead of this I was taken sick with the ague on our arrival at Boston.

Now, then, we were in America! The new, unknown country lay before us, and it seemed the more strange as we did not understand a word of the English language. For at that time the schools of Sweden paid no attention to English, so that although I had studied four languages, English, the most important of all tongues, was entirely unknown to me.

The first few weeks of our stay in Boston passed quietly and quickly, but the ague grew worse and my purse was getting empty. My friend, however, had more money than I, and as long as he had a dollar left he divided it equally between us. I cannot resist the temptation to relate a serio-comical escapade of this period, one that to many will recall similar occurences in their own experience as immigrants ignorant of the language of the country.

In Gothenburg we had become acquainted with a bright young man from Vexiö, Janne Tenggren by name, who had also served in the army. When we met him he had already bought a ticket on a sailing vessel bound for New York, so that we could not make the voyage together. But we agreed to hunt each other up after our arrival in America. We left Sweden about the same time with the understanding that if we arrived first we should meet him in New York, and if he arrived first he should go to Boston to meet us there.

About a week after our arrival in Boston, we heard that the vessel on which he had embarked had arrived, and I immediately left for New York to fulfill our promise. But, unfortunately, I found he had already gone west, so I bought a return ticket to Boston the same day. The journey was by steamboat to Fall River, thence by rail to Boston. We left New York in the evening. I remained on the deck, and went to sleep about ten o’clock on some wooden boxes. About eleven o’clock I awoke, saw the steamer laying to and, supposing we were at Fall River, hurried off and followed the largest crowd, expecting thus to get to the railroad depot. Striking no depot, however, I returned to the harbor, only to find the steamer gone, and everybody but myself had vanished from the pier.

There I stood, in the middle of the night, without money, ignorant of the language, and not even knowing where I was! Tired and discouraged I finally threw myself down on a wooden box on the sidewalk, and went to sleep. About five o’clock in the morning a big policeman aroused me by poking at me with his club. This respectable incarnation of social order evidently took me for a tramp or a madman, and as he could not obtain any intelligible information from me in any language known to him, he took me to a small shoe store kept by a German.

Fortunately, my acquaintance with the German language was sufficient to enable me to explain myself, and I soon found that I had left the steamer several hours too early; that the name of this place was New London, that another steamer would come past at the same time the next night, so that all I had to do was to wait for that steamer and go to Boston on the same ticket.

I spent the day in seeing the city and chatting with my friend, the shoe maker, and in the evening returned to the wharf to watch for the Boston steamer.

This being my ague day, I had violent attacks of ague and fever, so that I was again forced to lie down to rest on the same wooden box, and again went to sleep. After a while I was aroused by the noise of the approaching steamer; rushed on board in company with some other passengers, and considered myself very fortunate when reflecting that I would surely be in Boston the next morning. I had made myself familiar with the surroundings during the day, and when the steamer started, I noticed that it directed its course towards New York, instead of Boston. I had no money to pay my fare to New York, could neither borrow nor beg, and so I crawled down in a little hole in the fore part of the steamer, where the tackles and ropes were kept, thus, fortunately, escaping the notice of the ticket collector.

The next evening I again embarked for Boston and finally arrived safely at my destination.

We stayed in Boston several weeks, and during that time my ague caused a heavy drain on our small treasury. We had no definite plan, did not know what to do, and as we had never been used to any kind of hard work, matters began to assume a serious aspect, especially in regard to myself. But then, as now, the hope of many a young man was the Great West which, at that time, was comparatively little known even in Boston. Toward the close of the month of July we, therefore, went to Buffalo, which was as far as our money would carry us. Here we put up at a cheap boarding house kept by a Norwegian by name of Larson, with whom we stopped while trying to get work. But having learned no trade and being unused to manual labor, we soon found that it was impossible to get a job in the city; so we left our baggage at the boarding house and started on foot for a country place named Hamburg, some ten miles distant, where we learned that two of our late companions across the ocean had found employment. On the road to Hamburg, about dusk, we reached a small house by the wayside, where we asked for food and shelter. I was so exhausted that my friend had to support me in order to reach the house. We found it occupied by a Swedish family, which had just sat down to a bountiful supper. Telling them our condition, we were roughly told to clear out; in Sweden, they said, they had had enough of gentlemen and would have nothing to do with them here.

We retraced our steps with sad hearts until a short distance beyond the house we found an isolated barn partly filled with hay. There was no one to object, so we took possession and made it our temporary home. I am glad to say that during a long life among all classes of people, from the rudest barbarians to the rulers of nations, that family of my own countrymen were the only people who made me nearly lose faith in the nobler attributes of man. I have an excuse, however, for this conduct in the fact that in the mother-country, which they had left a year before, they had probably been abused and exasperated on account of the foolish class distinction then existing there. They evidently belonged to that class of tenants who were treated almost like slaves. The following day we found our late companions a mile from our barn, both working for a farmer at $15.00 per month, which was then considered big wages. They were older men and accustomed to hard labor, so that their situation was comparatively easy. They received us kindly and procured work for Eustrom with the same farmer, while I, still suffering with the ague, could not then attempt to work, and therefore returned to my castle in the meadow, (the hay-barn). There I remained about a week living on berries which I found in the neighboring woods and a slice of bread and butter, which Eustrom brought me in the evening, when with blistered hands and sore back, he called to comfort me and help build better air castles for the future.

A council was finally held among us four, and it was decided to send me back to Buffalo with a farmer who was going there the following morning. One of the men Mr. Abraham Sandberg on parting gave me a silver dollar, with the injunction to give it to someone who might need it worse than I, whenever I could do so. I have never met Abraham since; but I have regarded it as a sacred duty to comply with his request, and, in case these lines should come before his eyes I wish to let him know that my debt has been honestly paid.

On reaching the old boarding house in Buffalo the landlord promised that he would send me to a hospital where I could receive proper treatment and care. I made up a little bundle of necessary underwear, and in an hour a driver appeared at the door; I was lifted into the cart and off we went through the muddy streets to the outskirts of the city, where I was duly delivered at a large building which I supposed to be the hospital. It was near evening, and I was brought into a large dining-room, with a hundred others or more, served with supper, corn mush and molasses water, after which I was shown to a bed in a large room among many others. I suffered with fever, and for the first time in my life with loneliness. Exhausted nature finally took out its due, and I slept soundly until awakened in the morning by a loud sound of a gong. As soon as dressed I walked out in the yard, or lawn, back of the building. On one side was a high plank fence, behind which I heard some strange sounds. I found a knot-hole, and, peeping through this, I observed another lawn, on which were many people. They were strange looking; I never saw any like them before. Some were swinging, some dancing, others shouting, singing and weeping and behaving in a most out-of-the-way manner. I wondered and wondered, and finally it dawned upon me that it must be a lunatic asylum. It was, in fact, as I since learned, the county poor farm, where one part was used for the lunatics and the other for paupers like myself. Has it come to this? I asked myself; is this the goal of all my ambition and hopes? Going back to the room, where I had slept, I stealthily took my little bundle, slipped out through a side door into a back yard, found a gate open and was soon in the street. I started on a run with all the power in me, as if pursued by all the furies of paupers and lunatics, never stopping until I was near the old boarding house, where I was taken in exhausted and in deep despair. I would have killed the landlord for deceiving me if I had been able to do so. One good thing resulted from the sad experience of that day: the mental shock on discovering where I was, cured me for the time being of the ague.

The next day my friend returned from Hamburg, where he could no longer get any employment on account of his blistered hands, and poor health in general. We now put our wise heads together and agreed that we had already had enough of the West for the time being. Having plenty of good clothes, bedding, revolvers and other knick-knacks, we sold to our landlord whatever we could spare, in order to raise money enough to pay our way back to Boston.

During our stay in Buffalo, our renowned countrywoman, Jenny Lind, happened to give a concert there. We were standing on the street where we could see the people crowd into the theatre, but that was all we could afford, and we never heard her sing. Our host advised us to go and ask her for help; but our pride forbade it.

At this time the Swedes were so little known, and Jenny Lind, on the other hand, so renowned in America, that the Swedes were frequently called “Jenny Lind men,” this designation being often applied to myself.

Having purchased tickets for Albany, we returned East in the month of August. I still remember how we rode all night in a crowded second-class car, listening to the noisy merry-making of our fellow-passengers; but we understood very little of it, for up to this time we had lived exclusively among our own countrymen, and learned only a few English words—a mistake, by the way, which thousands of immigrants have made and are still making.

Arriving at Albany, we sat down by an old stone wall near the railroad depot, to talk over our affairs. Fate had been against us while we remained together, and we probably depended too much upon each other. Accordingly, we decided to part for some time and try our luck separately; and if one of us met with success he would, of course, soon be able to find a position for the other. We decided by drawing lots that Eustrom should go to Boston and I to New York. When we had bought our tickets there remained one dollar, which we divided, and we left for our respective places of destination the same evening.

Our landlord in Buffalo had given us the address of a sailors’ boarding-house in New York, which was also kept by a Norwegian by the same name of Larson. So when I left the Hudson River steamer early the next morning, I paid my half-dollar to a drayman, who took me to said boarding house. I found Mr. Larson to be a kind, good-natured man, told him my difficulties right out, and asked him to let me stop at his house until I could find something to do. He agreed to this, and for a week or so I tried my best to get work. But, when asked what kind of work I could do, I was compelled to answer that I had learned no trade, but that I would gladly try to learn anything and do anything whatever, even sweep the streets, if necessary. As a result of my protracted sickness, I was so weak and exhausted that nobody thought I would be able even to earn my bread. As to easy or intellectual work, I had no earthly chance, as long as I did not know the English language. Finally Mr. Larson took me to a ship-owner’s office. I still remember that a Norwegian captain was cruel enough to remark in my hearing, that he did not intend to take any half-dead corpses along with him to sea.

After two weeks of fruitless efforts to get work for me, my host finally declared that he could not very well keep me any longer, because his accommodations were crowded with paying customers; nevertheless, he allowed me to sleep in the attic free of charge, while I had to procure my food as best I could, which I also did for another two weeks. Being a convalescent, I had a ravenous appetite, and, indeed, I found how hard it is to obtain food without having anything to pay for it. Of the few articles of clothing which I brought with me from Buffalo, I had to sacrifice one after another for subsistence. When all other means were exhausted, I was compelled to go to the kitchen-doors and tell my desperate and unfortunate condition by signs, and more than one kind-hearted cook gave me a solid meal.

Tramps! In our day there is a great deal of talk about tramps, and it has become customary, to brand as a tramp, any poor wandering laborer who seeks work. There are undoubtedly many who justly deserve this title; but I think there are tramps who are not to blame for their deplorable condition, and who deserve encouragement and friendly assistance, for I have been one of them myself, without any fault or neglect on my part. It always provokes me to hear a young or inexperienced person use the expression “tramp” so thoughtlessly, and in such a sweeping manner. Long ago I made up my mind that no tramp should ever leave my door without such aid as my resources would allow. It is better to give to a thousand undeserving, than to let one unfortunate but deserving suffer.

My good host, like his Buffalo namesake, finally contrived to get rid of me by representing me as a sailor, and hiring me to the captain of the bark “Catherine,” a coasting vessel bound for Charleston, S. C., telling me that I was to serve as cabin boy. My wages were to be five dollars a month, of which he received seven dollars and a-half in advance, so that I could pay my debts and buy a sailor’s suit of clothes.

On the second day of our voyage we encountered a storm. I was on deck with the sailors and the captain stood on the quarter-deck. We were coursing against the wind and were just going to turn when the captain called on me to untie some ropes. Understanding very little English, and being no sailor, I naturally knew nothing about the names of the different ropes, and I grabbed one after another, but invariably missed the right one. The captain was swearing with might and main in English. Seeing that I did not understand him he suddenly roared out angrily the name of the rope in good Swedish and added: “Do you understand me now, you confounded blockhead!” Turning to him, cap in hand, I answered: “No, captain, I do not know the name of a single rope.” “And still,” he continued “you have followed the sea three years, what a dunce you are.” I answered: “Indeed Mr. Captain, I have never been a sailor, and will never be worth anything at sea. But I am willing and anxious to do all you ask if within my power.” The captain, whose name was Wilson, was a Swedish American and, although somewhat gruff, he was in fact one of the noblest men who ever commanded a ship. He immediately saw how the matter stood; the boarding house man had cheated both him and me and from that hour Captain Wilson became my friend and benefactor.

Afterwards I found out of the whole crew, which numbered twenty-six men, nine-tenths were Scandinavians, but they always used the English language while on board the ship. Captain Wilson told me to see him in his cabin as soon as the work was performed. Here he asked me about my circumstances, and I told him the short story of my life, which elicited his sympathy to such an extent that he even asked me to pardon his rude behavior toward me. He assigned me to a place to sleep in the cabin; told the officers not to give me any orders as he was going to do that himself, and treated me with the utmost kindness and consideration in every respect.

After this I was excused from all work properly belonging to a sailor, but kept the cabin in order, and helped the steward in waiting at the table, and the officers with their calculations. During my spare hours I read and conversed with the captain and his two mates, one of whom was a Dane and the other an Irishman, both splendid fellows. The first mate was preparing the second mate for a captain’s examination, and I, having recently taken a course in mathematics, at a military school, was able to assist them in their studies.

On the table in the cabin was a large English Bible, with which I spent many happy hours, and by which I learned the English language. At first I used to pick out chapters of the New Testament, which I knew almost by heart, so that I could understand them without a dictionary or an interpreter. After my first conversation with the captain I did not speak another word in the Swedish language during the voyage, and when I returned to Boston, three months afterwards, it seemed to me that I could talk and read English about as well as Swedish.

I made two trips with the captain from New York to Charleston and back again. At the wharf of Charleston, I was, for the first time in my life, brought face to face with American Negro slavery in its most odious aspect. Crowds of Negroes were running along the pier pulling long ropes, by means of which the ships were loaded and unloaded. Each gang of Negroes was under the charge of a brutal overseer, riding on a mule, and brandishing a long cowhide whip, which he applied vigorously to the backs of the half-naked Negroes. During the night they were kept penned up in sheds, which had been erected for that purpose near the wharf. They were treated like cattle, in every respect. This sight influenced me in later life to become a Republican in politics.

After our second return to New York, Capt. Wilson assumed the command of one of the first clipper ships which carried passengers to California in those days. This was at the most stirring time of the gold fever, and the captain kindly offered to take me along and let me stay out there, an offer which thousands would have accepted. But I was never smitten with the gold fever, and, having a distaste for the sea, I said good-bye to the kind captain, never to see him again. My wages were to have been only five dollars a month, but he generously paid me eight dollars, so that I bad earned enough money to pay my way to Boston, whence my friend Eustrom had written me and urged me to come.

I arrived in Boston about the middle of December, and, when I returned to the old boarding house, I spoke English so well that my acquaintances hardly believed it possible that I could be the same person. Mr. Eustrom was now working as wood polisher. He had made many friends and lived happily and contented on $4 a week. By strict economy these wages sufficed for board, lodging, and clothes. It happened to be an unfavorable time of the year when I arrived, however, and many men who had been employed during the summer were now discharged at the approach of winter. Mr. Eustrom’s employer had a good friend in New Hampshire, an old Swedish sailor, Anderson by name, who was farming up there. He promised to let me come and live with him and do whatever chores I could until something might turn up the next spring.

A few days afterwards I went by rail to Contocook where I was met by Mr. Anderson, who took me out to his hospitable home a couple of miles from the town. This Anderson was a remarkable man. Having no education to speak of, he was a better judge of human nature and practical affairs of life than any other man I ever met. He was pleased with me, and said he wished I would sit down in the evening and tell him about Sweden, and explain to him what I had learned at school. Poor Anderson! He had one fault, rum got the better of him, and it was cheap in New England at that time, only sixteen cents a gallon. He bought a barrel of it at a time, and did not taste water as long as the rum lasted.

The day after my arrival he asked me if I would like to go with him into the woods to help cut some logs. Of course I would, and we took our axes and started off. It was a very cold December day, and I had thin clothes and no mittens. Mr. Anderson went to cut down a tree, and I commenced to work at one which was already felled. This was the first time I swung an axe in earnest, and after a short while I felt that my hands were getting cold. But I made up my mind not to stop until the log was finished. By holding the axe handle very tight it stopped the circulation of the blood through my fingers, and when I finally stopped and dropped the axe I could not move my fingers, for eight of them were frozen stiff. Mr. Anderson now took off his cap, filled it with snow, put my hands into the snow, and thus we ran to the house as fast as our legs would carry us. The doctor tried his very best; but, nevertheless, in a few days the flesh and the nails began to peel off, and two doctors decided to amputate all the fingers on my right hand. Fortunately I did not give my consent, but told them that I would rather die of gangrene than live without hands, for my future depended exclusively on them.

My friend Eustrom, having heard of my misfortune, soon came to visit me, and brought with him an old Irish woman who was something of a doctor, and cured my hands by means of a very simple plaster which she prepared herself. But I was forced into complete inactivity for more than three months, during which time I was entirely helpless, and had to be washed, dressed, and fed like an infant. But, as to me, the old proverb has always proved true: “When things are at the worst they’ll mend.” There were men and women in my accidental home who willingly tended to me in my trouble. May God bless them for it! In the latter part of March, Mr. Anderson, who had always treated me with the greatest kindness, quite unexpectedly told me that I was now able to work again and could try to get a place with some other family in the neighborhood, because he could not keep me any longer.

Our nearest neighbor was a genuine Yankee, Daniel Dustin by name. He was very rich, well read, liberal minded, respectable and honest, but so close that he would scarcely let his own family have enough food to eat, and his wife was even more stingy. Mr. Dustin agreed to let me work for my board until spring, and then he would give me five dollars a month, which offer I cheerfully accepted. He immediately took me out into the woods to chop wood for the summer, and he was to haul it home. The new, tender muscles and nails on my fingers made wood chopping very painful to me, and I could feel every blow of the axe through my entire body. Never has any man worked so hard for me, when I afterwards hired help for good wages, as I worked for my board here; and, by the way, this board consisted chiefly of potatoes and corn meal cake. When the spring work commenced I got five dollars a month, and had to get up at five o’clock in the morning to do the chores, and then work in the field from seven in the morning until dark.

In the beginning of June I got a letter from my parents, stating that my father and brother were going to leave for New York immediately, and they asked me to meet them there and go West with them. I had never complained in my letters to my parents, but, on the other hand, I had not advised them to come to America, either. They had been advised to do so by some of my fellow-passengers on the “Ambrosius,” who went to Illinois, and were highly pleased with their prospects. So I went to Boston again. My father’s voyage had been delayed, and I had to wait for him over a month, during which time I got sick, and would have been in a sorry plight, indeed, if it had not been for my friend Eustrom, who now felt like a rich man, with his six dollars a week. A couple of years later he became the partner of his employer.

[ CHAPTER III.]

The Arrival of my Father and Brother—Journey to Illinois—Work on a Railroad—The Ague—Doctor Ober—Religious Impressions—The Arrival of my Mother, Sister and her Husband—A Burning Railroad Train—We go to Minnesota—Our Experience as Wood Choppers and Pioneers.

Finally my father and brother arrived, and again I turned my course westwards in company with them and their friends. We traveled by rail to Buffalo and across the lake to Toledo, thence by rail again to Chicago. In the summer of 1852 there were no railroads west of Chicago, and our company had to take passage on a canal-boat drawn by horses to La Salle, and from this place we rode in farmers wagons to Andover and Galesburg. The country around there was as yet only in the first stages of development; there was very little money in circulation, and no demand for farm products. The immigrants suffered a great deal from fever and other climatic diseases.

My brother who was nearly sixteen years old soon obtained steady work from an American farmer, while my father and I had to do different kinds of work, such as building fences, stacking grain, etc. The only pay we could get was checks on some store. I remember what an abundance of provisions there was in that locality, and nobody seemed to be in need.

A farmer near Galesburg, for whom I worked a week, had so many hens and chickens and eggs, that when people came out from town to buy eggs, they were told to pay ten cents, go out to the barn and fill their baskets with freshly-laid eggs, no matter how big the basket. Beef and pork had scarcely any value, and anybody could go into a cornfield that fall and gather a crop on half shares.

There was much religious interest among the Swedes in Illinois at that time. The Methodists and Lutherans were already building churches, and held services side by side in many of the towns and settlements, although they numbered only a few families yet. I remember distinctly one Sunday attending service in a Methodist church listening to an eloquent preacher, taking for his text “The Broad and the Narrow Ways.” He depicted both in glowing language, and wound up with the following words, pronounced in a broad (Swedish) dialect: “My dear brethren, I have now shown you the two ways, and you may take which ever you like; that is all the same to me.”

My father had taken with him only just enough money to pay his way, although he had by no means exhausted his resources in Sweden, for he had prudently decided to spend at least a year in seeing the country and making himself familiar with its institutions, customs, manner of tilling the soil, etc. At this time he was a strong man, at the age of fifty. In order to obtain steady work, we two, and a few others of our company, hired a man in Galesburg to take us to Rock River, where a bridge for the Chicago & Rock Island Railroad was being built. We all got work, and had to take hold of the spade and the shovel. The wages in those days for railroad laborers were from seventy-five cents to one dollar per day. I received only seventy-five cents, out of which my board was to be paid, which, however, was very cheap, one dollar and a half per week only. A Swede by the name of Hoffman kept a boarding house for thirty-four of us, and all would have been well except for the ague. No man remained there many days without getting the “shakes;” I and my father got them the second day. The lower part of the shanty in which we boarded was used for dining-room and kitchen, the upper for sleeping on the floor. The shanty was as shaky as the ague, which came regularly every other day. Fate had so arranged it that seventeen of us had the chills one day, and seventeen the next day. Hoffman and his wife fortunately also had the chills alternate days, so that there was always one to attend to the cooking.

Some may doubt it, but it is a solemn fact, that when seventeen ate dinner below, the shaking of those upstairs sometimes shook the house until we could hear the plates rattling on the table.

During my healthy days I stood on the bottom of Rock River from seven o’clock in the morning until seven at night, throwing wet sand with a shovel onto a platform above, from which it was again thrown to another, and from there to terra firma. The most disagreeable part of the business was that one-quarter of each shovel-full came back on the head of the operator.

After a couple of weeks the company’s paymaster came along, and upon settling my board bill and deducting for the shaking days, I made the discovery that I was able to earn only fifteen cents net per week in building railroad bridges.

Being half dead by this time from over work and sickness, we decided to see if we could strike an easier job, and, if possible, a better climate. We happened to meet a farmer by the name of Peterson, with whom we rode to a place near Moline, where my father tended to me during my illness. When he was not occupied with this he chopped cord wood from dry old trees. I also tried to assist him in this, but found my strength gone.

Among the Swedes living in Moline at that time was a tailor, Johnson by name, a good kind-hearted man who, together with his wife, was always ready to aid his needy countrymen and get something to do for such as could work. I went to him one day to ask for advice or assistance, just as a great many had done before me. I was so weak and sickly that they had to assist me in getting into the house, but they received me as if I had been their own son, and, after a short rest, Mr. Johnson took me to one Dr. Ober, who carefully investigated my mental as well as my physical condition, and told me that such hard work as I had been doing would kill me, and that I ought to rest and take it easy. He was one of those magnanimous, noble men who are to be met with in all climes and walks of life, but who are easily recognized because they are so few. As I have said before, I have been very fortunate in getting acquainted with the best men and women of different classes and nations with which I have come in contact. While we were sitting in his reception room the doctor suddenly left us and went into his private room. In a short time he returned accompanied by his wife, a lady whose silvery locks and benignantly sympathizing looks made her seem more beautiful to me than a madonna. Having simply taken a hasty look at me, the doctor and his wife again withdrew, and when they returned he offered to let me stay with them like a member of the family in order that he might try to restore my health; he also allowed me to avail myself of his library and to attend school, the only condition being that I should do chores around the house and take care of the horses.

I moved the same day, got a pleasant room and a snug bed, good, substantial food, and, above all, good and friendly treatment, so that from the time I came there until the day I left, I felt as if I had been a child of the house. Dr. Ober, who was a religious man, belonged to the Baptist Church, and as I now lived under its beneficient influence, and also became acquainted with the Swedish Baptist Pastor, Rev. G. Palmquist, and a few others who constituted the nucleus of the First Swedish Baptist Church of America. I became a member of their society before spring and would probably have continued a member of this denomination, if circumstances which were beyond my control, had not brought me to other fields of action and other surroundings.

This winter passed in a very pleasant manner. In the afternoon I attended an English school, and in the evening I gave instructions in English to other young men and women. The friendship of Dr. Ober and his wife never failed, and many years afterwards I was a welcome guest at their home in La Crosse, Wis., to which place they had moved from Moline. Both of them now slumber under the sod, but their many good deeds shall live for ever.

My father was much pleased with the great west, and he wrote back to the rest of our family in Sweden to come to this country the next summer, and in May I started to meet them in Boston. As there were no railroads to Moline, I took a steamboat to Galena, and thence the stage-coach to Freeport, and from there to Chicago by rail.

The vessel carrying my mother and the party with her was three months on the ocean, and there was great scarcity of provisions on board. The ship at last arrived, in the month of July, and a couple of days later the whole party, consisting of about two hundred, took the train for the west, I volunteering as their guide and interpreter. All went well until about one hundred miles east of Chicago, when the baggage car attached to our train in front caught fire. It was thought best to try to reach a station, and the burning train sped on at the rate of sixty miles an hour. The scene was a frightful one, the cars crammed full of frightened emigrants, the flames hissing like serpents from car to car, windows cracking, people screaming, and women fainting, all at the same time looking to me, who was not yet twenty years of age, for protection and deliverance.

As soon as possible I placed reliable men as guards at the doors to prevent the people from rushing out and crowding each other off the platform. The train did not reach the station but had to be stopped on the open prairie, where we all were helped out of the cars with no accident of any kind except every particle of baggage, saving only what the passengers had in their seats with them, was burnt. In due time another train brought us to Chicago, where the railroad company immediately offered to pay all losses as soon as lists of the property destroyed could be made out and properly verified. I undertook to do all that work without the aid of consul, lawyer or clerk, collecting nearly twenty thousand dollars, for old trunks, spinning-wheels, copper kettles, etc. Having lost nothing myself, I of course received nothing, and as the Company did not consider it their duty to pay me for my trouble, one of the emigrants suggested that they should chip in to compensate me for the valuable services I had rendered. Accordingly the hat was passed, the collection realizing the magnificent sum of two dollars and sixty cents, which was paid me for being their interpreter during the long journey and for collecting that large sum of money without litigation or delay. No lawyer, consul or agent would have been satisfied with less than five hundred dollars, but I can truthfully say that I never raised a word of complaint, but freely forgave the people on account of their ignorance. Many of them I also served afterwards on the way to Moline and Minnesota. In due time our party arrived in Moline, where my parents bought a small piece of property with the money brought from Sweden.

Minnesota was then a territory but little known; yet we had heard of its beautiful lakes, forests, prairies and salubrious climate. Quite a number of our company had decided to hunt up a place for a Swedish settlement where land could be had cheap. It was finally agreed that a few of us should go to Minnesota and select a suitable place. Being the only one of the party who could speak English, I was naturally appointed its leader. My father also went with us, and so did Mr. Willard and his wife, the whole party taking deck passage on a Mississippi steamer, and arriving at St. Paul in the month of August.

At that time St. Paul was an insignificant town of a few hundred inhabitants. There we found Henry Russell, John Tidlund, and a few other Swedish pioneers. Mr. Willard and I had very little money, and for the few dollars which we did own we bought a little household furniture, and some cooking utensils. We therefore at once sought employment for him, while the rest of our party started off in search of a suitable location for the proposed settlement.

We had been told that there were a number of our countrymen at Chisago Lake and a few near Carver, but that all had settled on timber lands. We also learned that near Red Wing, in Goodhue county, places could be found with both timber and prairie, and an abundance of good water. Having looked over the different localities we finally decided on the present town of Vasa, about twelve miles west of Red Wing. The first claims were taken at Belle Creek, south of White Rock, and afterwards others were taken at a spring now known as Willard Spring, near which the large brick church now stands.

After selecting this land my father returned to Illinois. In company with the other explorers, I went to St. Paul, where a council was held in which all participated, and at which it was decided that three of us, Messrs. Roos, Kempe, and myself, should go to our claims that fall and do as much work as possible, until the others could join us the following spring.

Having made the necessary preparations we three went to Red Wing by steamboat and found a little town with half a dozen families, among whom was the Rev. J. W. Hancock, who for several years had been a missionary among the Indians. The other settlers were Wm. Freeborn, Dr. Sweeney, H. L. Bevans, and John Day. Besides these we also met two Swedes, Peter Green, and Nels Nelson, and a Norwegian by the name of Peterson. On the bank of the river the Sioux Indians had a large camp. The country west of Red Wing was then practically a wilderness, and our little party was the first to start in to cultivate the soil and make a permanent settlement.

At Red Wing we supplied ourselves with a tent, a cook stove, a yoke of oxen, carpenter’s tools, provisions and other necessaries. Having hired a team of horses, we then packed our goods on a wagon, tied the cattle behind, and started for the new settlement. The first four miles we followed the territorial road; after that we had nothing but Indian trails to guide us. Toward evening we arrived at a grove on Belle Creek, now known as Jemtland. Here the tent was pitched and our evening meal cooked, and only pioneers like ourselves can understand how we relished it after our long day’s tramp. The team was taken back the next day, and we were left alone in the wilderness.

After a day’s exploration we moved our camp two miles further south, to another point near Belle Creek, where Mr. Roos had taken his claim.

It was now late in September, and our first care was to secure enough hay for the cattle, and in a few days we had a big stack. Having read about prairie fires, we decided to protect our stack by burning away the short stubble around it. But a minute and a half was sufficient to convince us that we had made wrong calculations, for within that time the stack itself was burning with such fury that all the water in Belle Creek could not have put it out. Still, this was not the worst of it. Before we had time to recover from our astonishment the fire had spread over the best part of the valley and consumed all the remaining grass, which was pretty dry at that time of the year. Inexperienced as we were, we commenced to run a race with the wind, and tried to stop the fire before reaching another fine patch of grass about a mile to the north; but this attempt was, of course, a complete failure, and we returned to our cheerless tent mourning over this serious misfortune.

The next morning we all started out in different directions to see if any grass was left in Goodhue County, and fortunately we found plenty of it near our first camping-ground. Having put up a second stack of very poor hay, we proceeded to build a rude log house, and had just finished it when my brother-in-law, Mr. Willard, surprised us by appearing in our midst, having left in Red Wing his wife and baby, now Mrs. Zelma Christensen of Rush City, who is, as far as I know, the first child born of Swedish parents in St. Paul. Mr. Willard who was a scholarly gentleman and not accustomed to manual labor, had found it rather hard to work with shovel and pick on the hilly streets of St. Paul, and made up his mind that he would better do that kind of work on a farm. Messers. Roos and Kempe having furnished all the money for the outfit, I really had no share in it, and as we could not expect Mr. Willard and his family to pass the winter in that cabin, I immediately made up my mind to return with him to Red Wing. In an hour we were ready and without waiting for dinner we took the trail back to that place. I remember distinctly how, near the head of the Spring Creek Valley, we sat down in a little grove to rest and meditate on the future. We were both very hungry, especially Mr. Willard, who had now walked over twenty miles since breakfast. Then espying a tempting squirrel in a tree close by, we tried to kill it with sticks and rocks; but we were poor marksmen, and thus missed a fine squirrel roast.

Tired and very hungry we reached Red Wing late in the afternoon, and soon found my sister, Mrs. Willard, comfortably housed with one of the families there. Her cheerful and hopeful nature and the beautiful baby on her arm gave us fresh joy and strength to battle with the hardships that were in store for us. Mr. Willard and his wife had taken along what furniture they owned, a few eatables and five dollars and fifty cents in cash, which was all that we possessed of the goods of this world. But who cares for money at that age? Mr. Willard was twenty-five years old, my sister twenty-three, and I twenty, all hale and hearty, and never for a moment doubting our success, no matter what we should undertake.

Our first work was wood chopping, for which we were less fit than almost anything else. We had to go to a place about three miles above Red Wing, where a man had made a contract to bank up fifteen hundred cords of wood for the Mississippi steamers. There was an old wood chopper’s cabin which we repaired by thatching it with hay and earth, putting in a door, a small window, and a few rough planks for a floor. In a few days we were duly installed, baby and all, in the little hut which was only twelve by sixteen feet, but to us as dear as a palace to a king.

We began to chop wood at once. The trees were tall, soft maples and ash, and our pay was fifty-five cents a cord for soft and sixty-five cents for hard wood. At first both of us could not chop over a cord a day together; but within a week we could chop a cord apiece, and before the winter was over we often chopped three cords together in a day. After a few days we were joined by four Norwegian wood choppers for whom we put up a new cabin to sleep in; but my sister cooked for us all, and the others paid for their board to Mr. Willard and myself, who had all things in common. Those four men were better workmen than we, and one of them, Albert Olson, often chopped three cords a day. They were quiet, industrious, and generous fellows, so that we soon became attached to each other, and we were all very fond of the little Zelma. My sister managed our household affairs so well and kept the little house so neat and tidy that when spring came we were all loth to leave.

The weather being fine and the sleighing good in the beginning of January, we hired John Day to take us with his team to our claims while there was yet snow, so that we might chop and haul out logs for the house which Mr. Willard and I intended to put up in the spring. My sister remained in the cabin, but Albert went with us for the sake of company. We put some lumber on the sled, and provided ourselves with hay and food enough to last a few days, and plenty of quilts and blankets for our bedding. John Day, who was an old frontiersman with an instinct almost like that of an Indian, guided us safely to Willard Spring. A few hundred yards below this, in a deep ravine, we stopped near some sheltering trees, built a roaring camp-fire, and made ourselves as comfortable as possible. Having supped and smoked our evening pipe, we made our beds by putting a few boards on the snow, and the hay and blankets on top of those. Then all four of us nestled down under the blankets and went to sleep.

During the night the thermometer fell down to forty degrees below zero, as we learned afterwards. If we had suspected this and kept our fire burning there would, of course, have been no danger. But being very comfortable early in the night and soon asleep, we were unconscious of danger until aroused by an intense pain caused by the cold, and then we were already so benumbed and chilled that we lacked energy to get up or even move. We found, on comparing notes afterwards, that each one of us had experienced the same sensations, namely, first an acute pain as if pricked with needles in every fibre, then a deep mental tranquillity which was only slightly disturbed by a faint conception of something wrong, and by a desire to get up, but without sufficient energy to do so. This feeling gradually subsided into one of quiet rest and satisfaction, until consciousness ceased altogether, and, as far as pain was concerned, all was over with us.

At this stage an accident occurred which saved our lives. Mr. Day, who lay on the outside to the right, had evidently held his arm up against his breast to keep the blankets close to his body. His will-force being gone, his arm relaxed and fell into the snow. As the bare hand came in contact with the snow the circulation of the blood was accelerated, and this was accompanied by such intense pain that he was aroused and jumped to his feet.

Thus we were saved. It took a good while before we could use our limbs sufficiently to build a fire again, and during this time we suffered much more than before. From that experience I am satisfied that those who freeze to death do not suffer much, because they gradually sink into a stupor which blunts the sensibilities long before life is extinct.

It was about four o’clock when we got up. Of course we did not lie down again that morning, nor did we attempt to haul any timber, but started in a bee line across the prairie for the ravine where Mr. Willard and I had seen the tempting squirrel a few months before. We soon found that going over the wild, trackless prairie against the wind, with the thermometer forty degrees below zero was a struggle for life, and in order to keep warm we took turns to walk or run behind the sleigh. In taking his turn Mr. Willard suddenly sat down in the snow and would not stir. We returned to him, and it required all our power of persuasion to make him take his seat in the sleigh again. He felt very comfortable he said, and would soon catch up with us again if we only would let him alone. If we had followed his advice, he would never have left his cold seat again. After a drive of eight miles we arrived at a house on Spring Creek, near Red Wing, where we found a warm room and a good shed for the horses. After an hour’s rest we continued the journey, and safely reached our little home in the woods before dark. I do not know that I ever appreciated a home more than I did that rude cabin when again comfortably seated by its warm and cheerful fire-place.

A few weeks later I had an opportunity to visit St. Paul, and while there attended the wedding of a young Norwegian farmer from Carver County and a girl just arrived from Sweden. The ceremony was performed by the Rev. Nilsson, a Baptist minister, who had been banished from Sweden on account of proselyting. Among the guests was Mr. John Swainsson, who since became well known among the Swedes of Minnesota, and who died in St. Paul a short time ago. I also made the acquaintance of one Jacob Falstrom, who had lived forty years among the Indians and devoted most of that time to missionary work among them. He was a remarkable man, and was well known among the Hudson Bay employees and other early settlers of the Northwest. As a boy he had deserted from a Swedish vessel in Quebec and made his way through the wilderness, seeking shelter among the Indians; and, by marrying an Indian girl, he had become almost identified with them. I think he told me that he had not heard a word spoken in his native tongue in thirty-five years, and that he had almost forgotten it when he met the first Swedish settlers in the St. Croix valley. His children are now living there, while he has passed away to the unknown land beyond, honored and respected by all who knew him, Indians as well as white men.

On my return from St. Paul I stopped at the cabin of Mr. Peter Green, at Spring Creek, near Red Wing. The only domestic animals he had was a litter of pigs, and as Mr. Willard and I intended to settle on our land in the spring I thought it might be well to start in with a couple of pigs. Accordingly, I got two pigs from Mr. Green, put them in a bag which I shouldered, and left for our cabin in the woods. According to my calculations, the distance I had to walk ought not to be over three miles, and in order to be sure of not getting lost I followed the Cannon river at the mouth of which our cabin stood. I walked on the ice where the snow was about a foot deep, and, if I had known of the meandering course of the river, I would never have undertaken to carry that burden such a distance. From nine in the morning until it was almost dark I trudged along with my burden on my back, prompted to the greatest exertion by the grunting of the pigs, and feeling my back uncomfortably warm. These were the first domestic animals I ever owned, and I think I well earned my title to them by carrying them along the windings of the river at least ten miles. Both I and the pigs were well received when we reached the cabin. We made a pig pen by digging a hole in the ground and covering it with poles and brush, and fed them on the refuse from the table. Before we were ready to move one of them died, while the other, after being brought to our new farm, ungratefully ran away, and was most likely eaten up by the wolves, which perhaps was just as agreeable to him as to be eaten by us.

While living in this camp we saw more Indians than white men. A band of Sioux Indians camped near us for several weeks. They were very friendly, and never molested us. The men brought us venison and fresh fish, which they caught in great quantities by spearing them through the ice. We gave them bread and coffee, and sometimes invited one or two to dinner after we were through. Their women would stay for hours with my sister and help her take care of the baby. Indeed they were so fond of the white-haired child that they would sometimes run a race in vying with each other to get the first chance to fondle her. Sometimes we visited them in their tents in the evening and smoked Kinikinick with them. Several of their dead reposed in the young trees near our cabin. When somebody died it was their custom to stretch the dead body on poles which were tied to young trees high enough to be out of the reach of wild beasts, then cover it with blankets, and finally leave some corn and venison and a jar of water close by. At some subsequent visit to the neighborhood they would gather the bones and bury them at some regular burial-ground, usually on a high hill or bluff.

MOUNTAIN CHIEF.

Once we saw a regular war dance in Red Wing. A few Sioux had killed two Chippewas and brought back their scalps stretched on a frame of young saplings. At a given hour the whole band assembled, and, amid the most fantastic gestures, jumping, singing, yelling, beating of tom-toms and jingling of bells, gave a performance which in lurid savageness excelled anything I ever saw. The same Indians again became our neighbors for a short time on Belle Creek the following winter, and we rather liked them, and they us. But eight years later they took part in the terrible massacre of the white settlers in Western Minnesota, and thirty-nine of their men were hanged on one gallows at Mankato in the fall of 1862 and the rest transported beyond our borders.

Thus our first winter in Minnesota passed without further incidents, until the beginning of March, when the weather turned so mild that we were afraid the ice on the Mississippi might break up, and we therefore hurried back to Red Wing. By our wood chopping and Mrs. Willard’s cooking enough money had been earned to buy the most necessary articles for our new home. When we had procured everything and taken a few days’ rest, we again hired Mr. John Day to take us out to our land with his team. Hundreds of thousands of immigrants have had the same experience, and can realize how we felt on that fine March morning, starting from Red Wing with a wagon loaded with some boards on the bottom, a cook stove and utensils, doors, windows, a keg of nails, saws, spades, a small supply of provisions, a bedstead or two with bedding, a few trunks, and a little box containing our spotted pig, Mrs. Willard in the seat with the driver, her baby in her arms, her husband and myself taking turns as guides, John Day shouting to his horses, laughing and joking; all of us full of hope, strength and determination to overcome all obstacles and conquer the wildness. The snow was now nearly gone, and the air was spring-like.

After a twelve miles’ heavy pull we arrived at our destination, and made a temporary tent of sticks and blankets, very much after the Indian fashion. Two of the Norwegians had accompanied us to help build our cabin. Mr. Day stopped a couple of days hauling building material, and before night the second day the rear part of our cabin was under roof. After a few days the Norwegians left us, and Mr. Willard and myself had to finish the main part of the building which was also made of round logs. For many a year this rude log cabin was the centre of attraction, and a hospitable stopping place for nearly all the settlers of Vasa.

In the month of April cold weather set in again, and it was very late in the season when steamboat navigation was opened on the Mississippi. At that time all provisions had to be shipped from Galena or Dubuque, and it happened that the winter’s supplies in Red Wing were so nearly gone that not a particle of flour or meat could be bought after the first of April. Our supplies were soon exhausted, and for about two weeks our little family had only a peck of potatoes, a small panful of flour, and a gallon of beans to live on, part of which was a present from Messrs. Roos and Kempe, who had remained all winter on their claims, three miles south of us. They had been struggling against great odds, and had been compelled to live on half rations for a considerable length of time. Even their oxen had been reduced almost to the point of starvation, their only feed being over-ripe hay in small quantities.

We would certainly have starved if it had not been for my shot-gun, with which I went down into the woods of Belle Creek every morning at day-break, generally returning with pheasants, squirrels or other small game. One Sunday the weather was so disagreeable and rough that I did not succeed in my hunting, but in feeding the team back of the kitchen some oats had been spilt, and a flock of blackbirds came and fed on them. Through an opening between the logs of the kitchen I shot several dozen of these birds, which, by the way, are not ordinarily very toothsome. But, being a splendid cook, my sister made them into a stew, thickened with a few mashed beans and a handful of flour—in our estimation the mess turned out to be a dinner fit for kings.

Our supplies being nearly exhausted, I started for Red Wing the next morning, partly to save the remaining handful of provisions for my sister and her husband, partly in hopes of obtaining fresh supplies from a steamboat which was expected about that time. Three days afterwards the steamer arrived. As soon as practicable the boxes were brought to the store of H. L. Bevans. I secured a smoked ham, thirty pounds of flour, a gallon of molasses, some coffee, salt and sugar, strapped it all (weighing almost seventy pounds) on my back, and started toward evening for our cabin in the wilderness. I had to walk about fourteen miles along the Indian trail, but in spite of the heavy burden I made that distance in a short time, knowing that the dear ones at home were threatened by hunger; perhaps the howling of the prairie wolves near my path also had something to do with the speed. There are events in the life of every person which stand out like mile-stones along the road, and so attract the attention of the traveler on life’s journey that they always remain vivid pictures in his memory. My arrival at our cabin that evening was one of those events in our humble life. I will not attempt to describe the joy which my burden brought to all of us, especially to the young mother with the little babe at her breast.

[ CHAPTER IV.]

Future Hopes—Farm Life—Norwegian Pioneers—The Condition of the Immigrant at the Beginning of the Fifties—Religious Meetings—The Growth of the Settlement—Vasa Township Organized—A Lutheran Church Established—My Wedding—Speculation—The Crisis of 1857—Study of Law in Red Wing—I am admitted to the Bar and elected County Auditor—Politics in 1860—War is Imminent.

We had now commenced a new career, located on our farm claims in the boundless West, with no end to the prospects and possibilities before us. We felt that independence and freedom which are only attained and appreciated in the western wilds of America.

From the Mississippi river and almost to the Pacific Ocean, was a verdant field for the industry, energy and enterprise of the settler. To be sure, our means and resources were small, but somehow we felt that by hard work and good conduct we would some day attain the comfort, independence and position for which our souls thirsted. We did not sit down and wait for gold mines to open up before us, or for roasted pigs to come running by our cabin, but with axe and spade went quietly to work, to do our little part in the building up of new empires.

OUR WAGON.

In the beginning of May, my father came from Illinois and brought us a pair of steers and a milch cow; this made us rich. We made a wagon with wheels of blocks sawed off an oak log; we also bought a plow, and, joining with our neighbors of Belle Creek, had a breaking team of two pair of oxen. That breaking team and that truck wagon, with myself always as the chief ox driver, did all the breaking, and all the hauling and carting of lumber, provisions, building-material and other goods, for all the settlers in that neighborhood during the first season.

Soon others of our party from last year joined us. Some letters which I wrote in Hemlandet describing the country around us, attracted much attention and brought settlers from different parts of the west, and while the Swedes were pouring into our place, then known as “Mattson’s Settlement,” (now well known under the name of Vasa), our friends, the Norwegians, had started a prosperous settlement a few miles to the south, many of them coming overland from Wisconsin, bringing cattle, implements and other valuables of which the Swedes, being mostly poor new-comers, were destitute. Many immigrants of both nationalities came as deck passengers on the Mississippi steamers to Red Wing.

There was cholera at St. Louis that summer, and I remember how a steamer landed a large party of Norwegian immigrants, nearly all down with cholera. Mr. Willard and myself happened to be in Red Wing at the time, and the American families, considering these Norwegian cholera patients our countrymen, hastily turned them over to our care. We nursed them as best we could, but many died in spite of all our efforts, and as we closed their eyes, and laid them in the silent grave under the bluffs, it never occurred to us that they were anything but our countrymen and brothers.

From these small beginnings of the Swedish and Norwegian settlers in Goodhue county, in the years of 1853 and 1854, have sprung results which are not only grand but glorious to contemplate. Looking back to those days I see the little cabin, often with a sod roof, single room used for domestic purposes, sometimes crowded almost to suffocation by hospitable entertainments to new-comers; or the poor immigrant on the levee at Red Wing, just landed from a steamer, in his short jacket and other outlandish costume, perhaps seated on a wooden box, with his wife and a large group of children around him, and wondering how he shall be able to raise enough means to get himself ten or twenty miles into the country, or to redeem the bedding and other household goods which he has perchance left in Milwaukee as a pledge for his railroad and steam-boat ticket. And I see him trudging along over the trackless prairie, searching for a piece of land containing if possible prairie, water and a little timber, on which to build a home. Poor, bewildered, ignorant, and odd looking, he had been an object of pity and derision all the way from Gothenburg or Christiania to the little cabin of some country-man of his, where he found rest and shelter until he could build one of his own.

OUR FIRST HOME.

Those who have not experienced frontier life, will naturally wonder how it was possible for people so poor as a majority of the old settlers were, to procure the necessaries of life, but they should remember that our necessities were few, and our luxuries a great deal less. The bountiful earth soon yielded bread and vegetables; the woods and streams supplied game and fish; and as to shoes and clothing, I and many others have used shoes made of untanned skins, and even of gunny-sacks and old rags. Furthermore, the small merchants at the river or other points, were always willing to supply the Scandinavian emigrants with necessary goods on credit, until better times should come. Our people in this country did certainly earn a name for integrity and honesty among their American neighbors, which has been a greater help to them than money.

Some of the men would go off in search of work, and in due time return with means enough to help the balance of the family.

Frontier settlers are always accommodating and generous. If one had more than he needed, he would invariably share the surplus with his neighbors. The neighbors would all turn in to help a new-comer,—haul his logs, build his house, and do other little services, for him.

The isolated condition and mutual aims and aspirations of the settlers brought them nearer together than in older communities. On Sunday afternoons all would meet at some centrally located place, and spend the day together. A cup of coffee with a couple of slices of bread and butter, would furnish a royal entertainment, and when we got so far along that we could afford some pie or cake for dessert, the good house-wives were in a perfect ecstacy. The joys and sorrows of one, were shared by the others, and nowhere in the wide world, except in a military camp, have I witnessed so much genuine cordial friendship and brotherhood as among the frontier settlers in the West.

One fine Sunday morning that summer, all the settlers met under two oak trees on the prairie, near where the present church stands, for the first religious service in the settlement. It had been agreed that some of the men should take turns to read one of Luther’s sermons at each of these gatherings, and I was selected as reader the first day. Some prayers were said and Swedish hymns sung, and seldom did a temple contain more devout worshipers than did that little congregation on the prairie.

Before the winter of 1854-55 set in, we had quite a large community in Vasa, and had raised considerable grain, potatoes and other provisions. During that winter the Sioux Indians again became our neighbors, and frequently supplied us with venison in exchange for bread and coffee. The following spring and summer the settlers increased still faster, several more oxen and other cattle, with a horse or two, were brought in, and I had no longer the exclusive privilege of hauling goods on the little truck wagon.

That summer I again went to Illinois to meet a large party of newly-arrived emigrants from Sweden, who formed a settlement in Vasa, known as Skåne. The people from different provinces would group themselves together in little neighborhoods, each assuming in common parlance the name of their own province; thus we have Vasa, Skåne, Småland and Jemtland.

About this time a township was formally organized, and, at my suggestion, given the name of Vasa, in commemoration of the great Swedish king. Roads were also laid out legally, and a township organization perfected. A school district was formed and soon after an election precinct, and as I was the only person who was master of the English language the duty of attending to all these things devolved upon me. We were particularly fortunate in having many men, not only of good education from the old country, but of excellent character, pluck and energy, men who would have been leaders in their communities if they had remained at home, and who became prominent as soon as they had mastered the English language. This fact, perhaps, gave a higher tone and character to our little community than is common in such cases, and Vasa has since that time furnished many able men in the county offices, in the legislative halls, and in business and educational circles. There can be much refinement and grace even in a log cabin on the wild prairie.

In the beginning of the month of September, 1855, Rev. E. Norelius visited the settlement and organized a Lutheran church.

Thirty-five years have elapsed since that time, and many of those who belonged to the first church at Vasa now rest in mother earth close by the present stately church edifice, which still belongs to the same congregation, and is situated only a short distance from the place where the latter was organized. Rev. Norelius himself lives only a few hundred yards from the church building. Thirty-five years have changed the then cheerful, hopeful young man into a veteran, crowned with honor, and full of wisdom and experience. His beneficent influence on the Swedes of Goodhue county and of the whole Northwest will make his name dear to coming generations of our people.

On November 23d, in the same fall, the first wedding took place in our settlement. The author of these memoirs was joined in matrimony to Miss Cherstin Peterson, from Balingslöf, near Kristianstad, whose family had just come to Vasa from Sweden. By this union I found the best and most precious treasure a man can find—a good and dear wife, who has, faithfully shared my fate to this day. Rev. J. W. Hancock, of Red Wing, performed the marriage ceremony. Horses being very scarce among us in those days, the minister had to borrow an Indian pony and ride on horseback twelve miles—from Red Wing to Vasa. On the evening of our wedding day there happened to be a severe snow-storm, through which my young bride was taken from her parents’ home to our log house, on a home-made wooden sled, drawn by a pair of oxen and escorted by a number of our young friends, which made this trip of about a quarter of a mile very pleasant, in spite of the oxen and the snow-storm.

The next winter was very severe, and many of our neighbors suffered greatly from colds and even frozen limbs. But there was an abundance of provisions, and, as far as I can remember, no one was in actual need after the first winter.

In the spring of 1856 several new-comers arrived in our colony. That year marked the climax of the mad land speculation in the Northwest. Cities and towns were staked out and named, advertised and sold everywhere in the state, and people seemed to be perfectly wild, everybody expecting to get rich in a short time without working. The value of real estate rose enormously, and money was loaned at three, four, and even five per cent. a month. Fortunately, very few of the settlers in our neighborhood were seized by this mad fury of speculation. I, however, became a victim. I bought several pieces of land, and sold some of them very profitably, and mortgaged others at an impossible rate of interest. And, the world becoming too narrow for me on the farm, I availed myself of the first opportunity to trade away my land for some property in Red Wing, which was a booming little town at that time. We moved from the plain log cabin on the old farm into a house in town, where I engaged in a successful mercantile business. But speculation was in the air, and before the spring of 1857 my entire stock of merchandize was exchanged for town lots in Wasioja and Geneva, two paper cities further west. Meanwhile my friend Mr. Eustrom, with his young wife and baby, had arrived from Boston, and both of us, with our families and a few friends, moved out to Geneva early in the summer, with the intention of building up a city and acquiring riches in a hurry. But at that time the waves of speculation began to subside, and nine-tenths of the cities and towns which were mapped out, and the great enterprises which were inaugurated by enthusiasts like myself suddenly collapsed into a mere nothing. Among these was also Geneva, which is not larger to-day than when we left it, and it was about all I could do to raise enough money to get back to Vasa with my wife. My friend Eustrom pre-empted a claim near Geneva and remained there.

Making an inventory of my property after the return to Vasa in 1857, I found that the principal thing I had was a debt of $2,000, bearing an interest of five per cent. a month. In order to pay this debt we sold everything we had, even our furniture and my wife’s gold watch. This was the great crisis of 1857. It stirred up everybody and everything in the country, and it was no wonder that I, being an inexperienced and enthusiastic young man, had to suffer with so many others. But now the question was, what should I do? I could not return to the farm, for I had none; that is, it was encumbered for about twice its value.

In the midst of these difficulties I went to Red Wing one day to consult a prominent lawyer in regard to some business matters. During my conversation with him he said: “You have nothing to do now, you have had enough of speculation, you know the English language, you are tolerably well acquainted with our laws, well educated, young and ambitious, why not study law, then? This state and this county is just the place for you to make a splendid beginning in that profession. Come to me, and within a year you can be admitted to the bar, after which you will find it easy to get along.”

I returned to Vasa in the evening, and, having consulted my wife, who was visiting her parents, I soon made up my mind. The next day both of us were on the way to Red Wing supplied with clothes, bedding, a few dishes and some provisions, which had been given us by my wife’s parents, who also conveyed us to town. In Red Wing we rented a room about sixteen feet square, got a cook stove and a few articles of furniture on credit, and everything was in order for housekeeping and the study of law. I immediately commenced my course of study with that excellent lawyer, Mr. Warren Bristol, who afterwards for many years served as United States Judge in New Mexico, where he recently died.

This life was something new for my young wife, who had grown up in a house of plenty. Now she had to try her hand at managing our household affairs, with the greatest economy, and she accomplished her task so well that no minister of finance could have done better. In fact we were so poor that winter that we could not afford to buy the tallow candles which were necessary for my night studies (kerosene was unknown at that time). But every evening during this trying but happy winter my wife made a lamp by pouring melted lard, which her parents sent us, into a saucer, and putting in a cotton wick, and in my eyes this light was more brilliant than the rays from the golden chandeliers in the palaces of the rich. By this light I studied Blackstone, Kent, and other works on law.

Late in the spring of 1858 a place became vacant in the justice of the peace, and I succeeded in getting the appointment to this position, which brought me a couple of dollars now and then, thus improving our financial condition considerably. Early in the summer I was appointed city clerk, with a salary of $12.50 a month, which was quite a fortune for us at that time. After one year’s hard study I was admitted to the bar, and my honored teacher accepted me as his partner on good conditions. My profession seemed to be well chosen; I had plenty to do, and met with all the success I could expect.

My first case in the district court was before Judge McMillan, who afterwards became chief justice of our supreme court, and then United States senator. In opening the case I became nervous and excited and would have broken down entirely had it not been for the kindly manner in which the judge overlooked my diffidence, and helped me out of the embarrassment by leading me on and putting the very words in my mouth; this was only natural to his kind heart, and he probably never remembered it, but to me it was an act of great kindness, never to be forgotten, especially not when more than twenty years after the little incident he needed all his friends to rally for his return to the United States senate, his most formidable opponent being the venerable and beloved statesman, Alexander Ramsey.

My law practice lasted only a few months, as I was appointed county auditor to fill a vacancy, and soon afterwards elected to fill the regular term of office, and again re-elected two years later. Before that time no Swedish-American had occupied such responsible civil office in the United States. But I probably made a mistake in accepting this office and thereby turning my back on a profession at which I would undoubtedly have made more easy and rapid progress than by anything else. But for the time being it produced great economical improvements in our private life. Our little home, the narrow room which served as bedroom, study, kitchen and parlor, was soon exchanged for a neat little house, and a year later we moved into a larger and more comfortable building, which was our own property.

Meanwhile the settlement at Vasa had prospered, and the population had materially increased. The Scandinavian settlers had scattered over the neighboring towns and counties with marvelous rapidity. The crisis of 1857 had been an excellent lesson to us all, for, although the price of real estate had fallen to about one-fourth of its former value, the people were better off now than formerly, owing to better management and more prudent economy.

The Scandinavians had now commenced to take a lively interest in the political discussions which were agitating the entire country at that time. The all absorbing political question of the day was “slavery” or “no slavery” in the new territories. It is unnecessary to say that the Scandinavians were almost to a man in favor of liberty to all men, and that they consequently joined the Republican party, which had just been organized for the purpose of restricting slavery.

In the winter of 1861, while I was holding the office of auditor the second term, the legislature of Minnesota appointed a committee to revise the tax laws. This committee invited five county auditors, of which number I had the honor to be one, to assist in its work. The tax laws which were formulated by this general committee were in force over twenty years.

It was about this time the great American statesman, W. H. Seward, visited Minnesota. I heard him make his famous speech in St. Paul, in which, with the gift of prophecy, he depicted the future grandeur of the twin cities. I also heard Owen Lovejoy, a member of congress from Illinois, and one of the leading anti-slavery agitators of the times.

During the presidential election of 1860 the political excitement ran very high in the whole country. The Southern states had assumed a threatening position, and expressed their intention to secede from the Union if Lincoln was elected president. Throughout the whole country political clubs were organized. The Democrats formed companies which they called “Little Giants,” which was the nickname given to Stephen A. Douglas, their candidate for president.

The Republicans also organized companies which they called “Wide Awakes.” I was chosen leader of the Republican company in Red Wing. Political meetings were very frequent during the last few weeks before election, and among the most prominent features of those meetings were processions and parades of the companies, which were uniformed, and carried banners and torches. During the campaign C. C. Andrews and the late Stephen Miller, respective candidates for presidential electors on the Democratic and Republican tickets, held meetings together and jointly debated the important questions of the day, taking of course opposite sides, but within a year both were found as officers in the Union army, gallantly fighting for the same cause.

About this time a company of militia organized in Red Wing, and I was one of the lieutenants, and took active part in its drill and maneuvers. Although none of the men who took part in these movements could foresee or suspect the approach of the awful struggle which was to plunge the country into a deluge of fire and blood, still they all seemed to have a presentiment that critical times were near at hand, and that it was the duty of all true citizens to make ready for them. It is a significant fact that fifty-four men out of our little company of only sixty, within two years became officers or soldiers in the volunteer army of the United States. Although the Scandinavian emigrants had been in the state only a few years, they still seemed to take as great an interest in the threatening political difficulties of the times, and were found to be just as willing as their native fellow-citizens to sacrifice their blood and lives for the Union.

[ CHAPTER V.]

The Beginning of the Civil War—The Scandinavians taking part in it—Appeal in Hemlandet to the Scandinavians of Minnesota—Company D. Organized—The Expressions of the Press—The Departure—The March over the Cumberland Mountains—The Fate of the Third Regiment.

Going from the court house on the afternoon of April 12th, 1861, a friend overtook me with the news that the rebels of the South had fired on Fort Sumpter. The news spread rapidly, and caused surprise and intense indignation. In a few days the governor issued a proclamation that one thousand men should be ready to leave our young state for the seat of war; more than a sufficient number of companies were already organized to fill this regiment, and the only question was, who were to have the first chance? This first excitement was so sudden that the Scandinavians, who are more deliberate in such matters, scarcely knew what was going on before the first enlistment was made.

A few months passed, and the battle of Bull Run was fought. It was no longer a mere momentary excitement; it was no longer expected that the Rebellion could be subdued in a single battle or within a few months, but it was generally understood that the war would be long and bitter. Then the Scandinavians of Minnesota began to stir. We had heard that a few Swedes in Illinois, especially Major—afterward General—Stohlbrand and a few others, had entered the army. A few Scandinavians had also enlisted in the First and Second regiments; but there was no general rising among them in our state until I published an appeal in the Swedish newspaper Hemlandet in Chicago. The following is an extract from that paper:

“To The Scandinavians of Minnesota!

“It is high time for us, as a people, to arise with sword in hand, and fight for our adopted country and for liberty.

“This country is in danger. A gigantic power has arisen against it and at the same time against liberty and democracy, in order to crush them.

“Our state has already furnished two thousand men, and will soon be called upon for as many more to engage in the war. Among the population of the state the Scandinavians number about one-twelfth, a part of its most hardy and enduring people, and ought to furnish at least three or four hundred men for this army. This land which we, as strangers, have made our home, has received us with friendship and hospitality. We enjoy equal privileges with the native born. The path to honor and fortune is alike open to us and them. The law protects and befriends us all alike. We have also sworn allegiance to the same.

“Countrymen, ‘Arise to arms; our adopted country calls!’ Let us prove ourselves worthy of that land, and of those heroes from whom we descend.

“I hereby offer myself as one of that number, and I am confident that many of you are ready and willing to do likewise. Let each settlement send forth its little squad. Many in this neighborhood are now ready to go. A third regiment will soon be called by the governor of this state. Let us, then, have ready a number of men of the right kind, and offer our services as a part of the same. Let us place ourselves on the side of liberty and truth, not only with words but with strong arms,—with our lives. Then shall our friends in the home of our childhood rejoice over us. Our children and children’s children shall hereafter pronounce our names with reverence. We shall ourselves be happy in the consciousness of having performed our duty, and should death on the field of battle be our lot, then shall our parents, wives, children and friends find some consolation in their sorrow in the conviction that they, also, by their noble sacrifices, have contributed to the defense and victory of right, justice, and liberty. And a grateful people shall not withhold from them its sympathy and friendship.”

A few days later I left a dear wife, home, and two children, and started for Fort Snelling, but not alone; about seventy Swedes and thirty Norwegians from Red Wing, Vasa, Chisago Lake, Holden, Wanamingo, Stillwater, Albert Lea and other places, went there with me, or joined us in the course of a few days.

MUSTERING VOLUNTEERS.

Meanwhile the third regiment had been called, and one hundred of my companions were mustered in as Company D of that regiment, with myself as their captain, a Norwegian friend, L. K. Aaker, formerly a member of our legislature, as first lieutenant, and my old friend H. Eustrom as second lieutenant. Although Company D was the only military organization in our state consisting exclusively of Scandinavians, there were quite a number of those nationalities in every regiment and company organized afterwards.

I may be excused for saying a few words concerning my old military company. It consisted of the very flower of our young men. It was regarded from the start as a model company, and maintained its rank as such during the whole term of four years’ service. Always orderly, sober, obedient and faithful to every duty, the men of Company D, though foreigners by birth, won and always kept the affectionate regard and fullest confidence of their native-born comrades. A large majority of them are resting in the last grand bivouac, many under the genial Southern sun, but no word of reproach or doubt of soldierly honor has ever been heard against any of those living or dead.

About this time a whole regiment of Scandinavians, mostly Norwegians, was organized in Wisconsin,—the Fifteenth Wisconsin Infantry regiment,—which rose to great distinction during its long service. Its brave colonel, Hans Hegg, fell mortally wounded while commanding a brigade on the bloody field at Chickamauga. There were many partially or wholly Swedish companies from Illinois, one of which belonged to the Forty-third Illinois regiment, under the lamented Capt. Arosenius, and came under my command a few years later in Arkansas. There were also many prominent Swedish officers in other regiments, such as Gen. C. J. Stohlbrand, Cols. Vegesack, Malmborg, Steelhammar, Broddy, Elfving, and Brydolf, Capts. Stenbeck, Silversparre, Sparrstrom, Lempke, Chas. Johnson, Erik Johnson, Vanstrum, Lindberg, etc., and Lieuts. Osborne, Edgren, Liljengren, Johnson, Lindall, Olson, Gustafson, Lundberg, and many others whose names I do not now recall.

In the Goodhue county records for October 15, 1861, is a paragraph which states that, as the county auditor, H. Mattson, has voluntarily gone to the war with a company of soldiers to defend our country, it is resolved that leave of absence shall be extended to him, and that the office of county auditor shall not be declared vacant so long as the deputy performs his duties properly.

The St. Paul Press of the same date, has the following: “We congratulate Capt. Mattson and his countrymen for the splendid company of Swedes and Norwegians which he commands. Never was a better company mustered in for service.”

In the beginning of November two steamers arrived at Fort Snelling and took the Third regiment on board. We were ordered to join Buell’s army in Kentucky. Company E, of our regiment, was also mainly from Goodhue county, and when the steamers arrived at Red Wing, they stopped half an hour to let Companies D and E partake of a bountiful supper, to which they had been invited by their city friends, and to say a last farewell to their families and acquaintances. My wife, with the little children, my sister, father, brother, and other relatives, were gathered in a large room in the hotel opposite the landing. The half hour was soon past, and the bugle sounded “fall in.” I pass over the parting scene, leaving it to the imagination of the reader, for I cannot find words to describe it myself. I will only relate one little episode. When the bugle sounded for departure I held my little two-year-old daughter in my arms; her arms were clasped around my neck, and, when I endeavored to set her down, she closed her little fingers so hard together that her uncle had to open them by force before he could take her away from me. When a little child was capable of such feelings, it may be surmised what those felt who were able to comprehend the significance of that moment.

In a few days we were camped on a muddy field in Kentucky, quickly learning the duties of soldier-life, and familiarizing ourselves with the daily routine of an army in the field.

My military career of four years’ duration passed without any event of particular interest or importance; it was like that of two million other soldiers—to do their duty faithfully, whatever that duty might be—that was all.

After eight months’ service I was promoted to the rank of major in the regiment. At that time we were serving in middle Tennessee. Shortly afterward our regiment, with some three thousand men of the troops, made a forced march across the Cumberland mountains. In order to give the reader an idea of the hardships which the soldiers occasionally had to endure on a march, I shall give a short sketch of this. The detachment broke camp in Murfreesboro in the forenoon of a very hot day toward the close of May, and marched twenty miles before night, which was considered a good distance for the first day. Most of the men suffered from blistered feet, and they were all very tired. We prepared our supper, and had just gone to rest in a large open field and were beginning to fall asleep, when, at ten o’clock in the evening, the signal was given to fall in. In a few minutes the whole force was in line, and silently resumed the march forward. We marched the whole night, the whole of the next day, the following night, and till noon the day after, moving altogether a distance of over eighty miles, over a difficult and partly mountainous country, and stopping only one hour three times a day to cook our coffee and eat, while those who sank down by the roadside entirely exhausted were left until the rear-guard came and picked them up. When we finally arrived at our destination the enemy that we were pursuing had already decamped, and we had to return by the same route over which we had come, though more leisurely. Among the many victims of this march was a bright Norwegian lieutenant of my old company, Hans Johnson, who died shortly after our return to Murfreesboro.

A few days afterward the regiment started on an expedition to the South. During this march I got sick with the fever, and would probably have died at Columbia, Tenn., if my friend Eustrom, who at that time was captain of Company D, had not succeeded in getting me into a rebel family, where I was treated with the greatest care, so that in a few days I was able to go by rail to Minnesota on a twenty days’ leave of absence. This took place in the beginning of the month of July, 1862.

Having spent a fortnight in the bosom of my family I returned, with improved health, to resume my command. I arrived at Chicago on a Sunday morning, and, as I had to wait all day for my train, I went to the Swedish church on Superior street. Leaving the church, I heard a news-boy crying, “Extra number of the Tribune; great battle at Murfreesboro; Third Minnesota regiment in hot fire!” I bought the paper and hurried to the hotel, where another extra edition was handed me. The Union troops had won a decisive victory at Murfreesboro, and totally routed the forces of Forrest, consisting of eight thousand cavalry. Later in the evening a third extra edition announced that “The Third regiment has been captured by the enemy, and is on the march to the prisons of the South.” Only a soldier can imagine my feelings when I received this news. I arrived in Tennessee two days later, only to meet the soldiers returning from the mountains where they had been released on written parole by the enemy. They were sore-footed, exhausted, hungry and wild with anger, and looked more like a lot of ragged beggars than the well-disciplined soldiers they had been a few days before. All the captured officers had been taken to the South, where they were kept in prison several months. Only two of them succeeded in making their escape. One of those was Capt. Eustrom, who, in company with Lieut. Taylor, made his escape from a hospital building, some negroes giving them clothes, and, through almost incredible hardships and dangers, they succeeded in reaching our lines, and I met them two days after my arrival at Nashville.

The capitulation of our splendid regiment was one of the most deplorable events of its kind during the whole war. It was regarded one of the best regiments of volunteers of the Western army. It had defended itself with great valor, and, in fact, defeated the enemy, when for some unaccountable reason, Col. H. C. Lester decided to surrender, and he exerted such a great influence over our officers that seven company commanders went over to his side in the council of war, which he called, while the remaining officers and the soldiers were strongly opposed to the capitulation. When the men finally were ordered to stack arms they did so with tears in their eyes, complaining bitterly because they were not allowed to fight any longer. All the officers who had been in favor of capitulation were afterward dismissed from service in disgrace.

Arriving at Nashville I was immediately ordered to assume command of my own scattered regiment, of the Ninth Michigan Infantry regiment, and of a battery of artillery, which had also capitulated on that fatal Sunday. Having supplied the men with clothing and other necessaries, I took them by steamboats to a camp for prisoners in St. Louis, and returned to Nashville to report the matter in person. On my return to Nashville I was appointed member of a general court martial, and shortly afterwards its president, which position I occupied from July till December, 1862. The sufferings which my friend Captain Eustrom had endured during his flight from the rebels shattered his health so that he was soon forced to retire from service.

About this time the well-known Indian massacre in the western settlements of Minnesota took place. About eight hundred peaceable citizens, mostly women and children, and among those many Scandinavians—were cruelly butchered, and their houses and property burnt and destroyed. The soldiers of the Third regiment had given their parole not to take up arms against the enemy until they were properly exchanged, but, as this did not have anything to do with the Indian war, they were ordered from St. Louis to Minnesota and put under the command of Major Welch, of the Fourth regiment, and soon distinguished themselves by their fine maneuvers and valor in the struggle with the Indians.

[ CHAPTER VI.]

Events of 1863—The Siege of Vicksburg—Anecdotes about Gens. Logan, Stevenson and Grant—Little Rock Captured—Recruiting at Fort Snelling—The engagement at Fitzhugh’s Woods—Pine Bluff—Winter Quarters at Duvall’s Bluff—Death of Lincoln—Close of the War—The Third Regiment Disbanded.

In the month of December the officers were exchanged and ordered back to Fort Snelling, to where the enlisted men had also returned from the Indian war. In January, 1863, we again left Minnesota for the South. The whole of this winter and the beginning of spring were devoted to expeditions against guerillas and Confederate recruiting camps in southern Tennessee. Most of this time I commanded the regiment, four companies of which were mounted. We had to procure horses as best we could, here and there through the country. We had many skirmishes with the enemy, and captured a number of prisoners.

In the beginning of June we joined the forces that were besieging Vicksburg under the command of Gen. Grant, and remained there until that city had capitulated. The siege of Vicksburg is so well known from history that I shall make no attempt to describe it here. For five consecutive weeks the cannonading was so incessant that the soldiers became as accustomed to it as the passengers on a steamer to the noise of the propeller, and, when the capitulation finally put an end to all this noise, we found it very difficult to sleep for several nights on account of the unusual silence.

The July number of Hemlandet, contained a letter from me, dated Vicksburg, June 24th, from which I make the following extract:

“The army of Gen. Grant is divided into two Grand Divisions, one of which is arranged in a semi-circle toward Vicksburg, only a few hundred yards from the intrenchments of the rebels, the other in a semi-circle turned away from Vicksburg, and fronting the army of Gen. Johnston. We are all protected by strong intrenchments, and always keep over two thousand men as picket guards, and the same number are digging rifle pits and building intrenchments.

“Gen. Logan’s Division is close up to the intrenchments of the rebels. The Swedish Maj. Stohlbrand is chief of artillery in Logan’s Division, and, has, as such, under his special charge one of the most important positions in the beleaguering army.

“I visited Gen. Logan yesterday, and will relate a little episode concerning this brave commander: When Gen. Logan heard that I was a Swede, and wished to see Maj. Stohlbrand, who had just ridden out to look after his batteries, the general, being always full of fun, assumed a very solemn air, and said: ‘Too bad you did not come an hour sooner, for then you could have seen Stohlbrand. There’—and he went to the door of his tent and pointed across the camp ground—‘there is the tent of Maj. Stohlbrand. Half an hour ago a bomb exploded from the main fort yonder. Poor Stohlbrand! Only a few remnants were left of the contents of his tent. Poor Stohlbrand! Perhaps you would like to see the remains?’

“Accompanied by Gens. Stevenson, Ransom, and several other officers, I followed Gen. Logan to the tent of Stohlbrand. Then Logan said: ‘Out of respect for poor Stohlbrand we have put everything in order again. Here you see his camp stool, there his uniform, and there is his little field cot.’ The bed looked as if a dead body was lying on it, covered by a blanket. Logan walked solemnly up to the head of the bed, lifted the blanket, and behold, there was only a bundle of rags! The rest of us, of course, supposed that Stohlbrand was dead, and that his corpse was lying on the bed. This little joke made the humorous Logan laugh so that his whole body shook.

“As to the Swedes in the army, I may mention that, besides our Company D, there are in the same division the company of Capt. Arosenius of the Forty-third Illinois regiment, and that of Capt. Corneliuson of the Twenty-third Wisconsin regiment, and a number of Swedes of the other regiments from Illinois and Wisconsin, and of the Fourth and Fifth Minnesota regiments. Old Company D is a model, as usual,—the best one I have seen yet. Both officers and men are quiet, orderly, cheerful and obedient, always faithful at their post, and ready to go wherever duty calls them. They are loved and respected by all who come in contact with them. When I feel sad or despondent, all I need do is to walk along the camp street and take a look at some of my old Scandinavians. Their calm and earnest demeanor always makes me glad and proud. I ask for no greater honor than to point them out to some stranger, saying: ‘This is my old company.’

“Not these alone, however, but all of my countrymen whom I met in the army have a good name, and are considered most reliable and able soldiers.”

I shall now relate a couple of anecdotes from the siege of Vicksburg, which I did not mention in the letter to Hemlandet.

GRANT’S HEADQUARTERS.

Outside Gen. Logan’s tent stood a big magnolia tree. While laughing at Logan’s joke Gen. Stevenson picked up a little stick of wood and whittled on it with his penknife, in genuine Yankee fashion. Accidently he dropped his knife, and, while stooping down to pick it up, a fragment of a shell from the rebel batteries came and went two inches deep into the tree right where his head had been when he was whittling. He coolly remarked, “That piece of iron was not made for me.”

One day as I, in company with Lieut. Col. (afterward Gen.) C. C. Andrews, was visiting Gen. Grant outside of Vicksburg, a wagon drawn by six mules passed close by his headquarters. The driver, an old, rough-looking soldier, stopped, and asked the way to a certain regiment. Gen. Grant’s tent stood on a little elevation, at the foot of which were several fresh wagon tracks. A number of officers, including myself, were standing and sitting around the general outside the tent. Gen. Grant, who was dressed in a fatigue suit and slouched hat, without other marks of distinction than three small silver stars, which could scarcely be distinguished on his dusty blouse, went toward the driver and, with the most minute particulars, gave him directions how to drive. While he was talking, we observed that the driver showed signs of deep emotion, and finally he alighted from the mule, which he was riding, stretched out his arms, and, with tears in his eyes, exclaimed: “My God! I believe it is Gen. Grant! General, do you remember Tommy Donald? I was a soldier in your company during the Mexican war!” With touching kindness the great commander-in-chief now took both hands of the ragged soldier in his, and, like old friends who had not met for a long time, they rejoiced in remembering the companionship of fifteen years before.

ARMY WAGON.

When Gen. Grant returned to the tent the conversation turned to the newspaper clamor and general discontent because Vicksburg was not yet taken, upon which the general expressed himself in the following words: “I could make another assault and hasten the capture a few days, but will not do it because I know positively that within ten days the garrison must surrender anyhow, for I have got them, and will take them all. Let them howl. I don’t care. I have got Pemberton tight as wax.” Saying which, he closed his right hand and laid it on the little camp table with such force that I noticed the veins filling and turning blue on the back of his hand. These two little incidents give a key to Gen. Grant’s whole character, and the secret of his unparalleled success, not only in winning battles, but in bagging the entire opposing force.

A week later Vicksburg fell into our hands. We took thirty-two thousand prisoners, fifteen generals, two thousand other officers, and nearly two hundred cannon.

GENERALS GRANT AND PEMBERTON.

About a week after the surrender of Vicksburg the Third regiment was transferred to the Seventh army corps, under the command of Gen. Fred. Steele, and took part in the campaign against Little Rock. In the beginning of September, when we were only ten miles from Little Rock, our regiment enjoyed the distinction of marching at the head of the infantry column. We came upon the Confederate batteries on the west bank of the Arkansas river, where a brisk cannonade was opened. This combat afforded the most beautiful sight imaginable, if carnage and slaughter may be called beautiful. We stood on the east side of the river, the Confederates on the west. The water being very low, a steamer had been grounded about an eighth of a mile above us, and near the steamer the water was so shallow that the cavalry could ford the river; but just in front of the Third regiment the water was so deep that we had to throw a pontoon bridge for the infantry.

Our regiment was stationed in a cornfield near the river bank to cover the march across the bridge, and the soldiers were ordered to lie down on the ground. But we found it very difficult to make them obey, for, in their eagerness to cross the river, they felt more like rushing ahead and shouting for joy. Many shots from the Confederate batteries passed over our heads, so low that the soldiers, in a sporting mood, jumped up and grabbed with their hands in the air, as if trying to catch them. In less than an hour the bridge across the deep channel was ready. A cavalry brigade had meanwhile moved up to the ford above, and now the signal for crossing was given. The Confederates set fire to the steamer, which they were unable to save.

It was about noon on one of those glorious autumn days peculiar to this country, which greatly enhanced the impression of the sublime spectacle then to be seen on the Arkansas river. The burning steamer reddening the atmosphere with brilliant flames of fire, a long line of cavalry fording the shallow river in three files, the infantry marching by the flank over the pontoon from which they jumped into the water, forming on double-quick, first companies, then battalion, whereupon they marched cheerily, in knee-deep water, under flying banners and to the beat of regimental music, while the air was filled with shells and balls. Before the infantry had reached the woods where the batteries of the enemy were hidden, the latter was already in retreat, and Little Rock soon fell into our hands.

On our march into the captured city the next morning, the Third regiment was again accorded the place of honor at the head of the army. It was designated to act as provost-guard for the purpose of maintaining order, and the whole regiment was soon quartered in the state capitol. Gen. C. C. Andrews, who held the position of colonel at that time, was appointed post commander at Little Rock, and I, who had been promoted to the rank of lieutenant-colonel soon after the surrender of Vicksburg, took command of the regiment, whereby it became my duty to maintain law and order in the captured city. This was an onerous and difficult task, for it must be remembered that the only executive authority in the southern states during the war was vested in the army, and especially delegated to the provost officers and guards. The third regiment was occupied with this task until the following spring, and performed its duty so well that the governor of Arkansas, in a message, expressed himself regarding it, in the following language:

“During the time of their service in our capital good order has prevailed, and they have commanded the respect of our citizens. When called upon to meet the enemy they have proven themselves equal to any task, and reliable in the hour of imminent danger. Such men are an honor to our government and the cause which they serve. Their state may justly feel proud of them, and they will prove themselves to be worthy sons of the same wherever duty calls them.”

Toward Christmas I was ordered to Fort Snelling, with a detachment of officers and non-commissioned officers, for the purpose of recruiting our decimated ranks. I remained on this duty till the month of March, and then returned with four hundred recruits. Shortly afterwards the battle of Fitzhugh’s Woods, near Augusta, Arkansas, was fought, and the regiment distinguished itself by very gallant conduct. During the stay in Little Rock most of the soldiers had re-enlisted for three years, or until the close of the war, whereby we acquired the title of “Veteran Regiment.” But that was not the only distinction which was conferred on our men. A large number of young soldiers had been promoted from the ranks to be officers in several negro regiments, which were organized in Tennessee and Arkansas, and some as officers of new regiments of our own state. Col. Andrews had meanwhile been promoted to the rank of brigadier-general, and, in April, 1864, I was promoted to colonel of the regiment in his place, and was shortly afterward ordered to march with its eight hundred men to Pine Bluff, on the Arkansas river.