He would be received immediately, the bogus priest would open his arms to him, hold him to his heart, and in the presence of the whole congregation call him his long-lost brother. And then many of those sitting in the audience, till now somewhat doubting and undecided, would come up to the priest and testify to the same thing: they too belonged to the lost tribes of Israel, and they too had this evening seen the prophet. All would be received into the church, and a collection would be taken up.
Evening after evening this was his sole occupation; he acted again and again the son of Zion, a brother of the Lord’s prophet, and for his services he received a dollar a day in cash, two free meals, free journeys on the railroad, and beautiful clothes lent him by his boss.
Almost every evening some woman in the audience would remember that she had been a daughter of Zion. The priest would take the most tender care of the prodigal sister, and marry her immediately, as, he said, the Lord commanded him to do. This was the one and only salvation of a woman’s souclass="underline" she must be taken to wife. There was no other road along which a woman might reach the glories of heaven. She must be sealed by a man who fulfilled his duties as bridegroom.
Sometimes it happened that more than one of Zion’s lost daughters were granted their memory, and returned to the church. Then the boss was not able to marry all of them. Neither his time nor strength was sufficient for such a task; moreover, he was a little ailing at times — especially on Saturday evenings — and then he wished to have a little time off. On those days he seldom married more than once or twice. Sometimes he actually needed a little peace, particularly as his health was not rugged. Then he would order the speaker, his paid assistant, to help: he too, at the priest’s order, would marry one or two of the lost daughters of Israel. He was not one to bar the road to heavenly glory for good sisters in Zion. Furthermore, he had been engaged to help in all matters.
The boss himself chose his brides from among the youngest sisters. Tender, helpless women were, of course, most in need of a skilled helper who could guide them to the Lord, who could lead them with experienced hands. It was the assistant’s duty to marry older, riper women, many of whom had never before known a man. But the more advanced in years the bride, the more shy she appeared — sometimes dressed in innumerable undergarments for the marriage consummation. Then the bridegroom’s first occupation might be likened to the patient, reverent turning of the leaves in the old family Bible — one of those really old ones, with big pages. So there was, after all, an air of religion in the wedding night.
But this job had lasted only half a year. The boss had had a most unpleasant accident one dark evening in the fall. The two of them had come traveling on the steam wagon to an out-of-the-way little town far in the West, in which place little was known about God and His Ten Commandments. The people in the town were heathenish and wild, sometimes attacking strangers — before they had said a single evil word, or even had time to fire a shot at the inhabitants. And as the fake priest and his assistant stepped off the railroad car in this town they were attacked without warning by a group of godforsaken hoodlums. They were infuriated by the very idea of Mormons, it seemed, because in the past so many of the town’s women had become daughters of Zion. There were scarcely any women left for wives and cooks among the settlers of the district. Now of course he, as a hired assistant, had little to do with this, he had only done what he was told to do. And luck was with him, too: he was able to get away from his boss as the mob surrounded him. As it happened, he had just that day received his weekly pay, so there was no reason to speak further to the priest. He had left the town as fast as his legs could carry him, and reached another village where people were more humane and refined.
Meanwhile the infuriated mob took charge of his boss, and the following day the assistant read in a paper, with great sorrow, that the poor man had been found dead, dangling from a tree. He had really had bad luck, encountering such uncivil people. He had been a just employer, too, and deserved more friends — or someone, at least, to help him in his hour of need.
It had also said in the paper that many were anxious to locate the supposed priest’s assistant. This he couldn’t understand, as he himself had nothing to do with the Mormon religion, real or pretended: he was a Lutheran engaged merely as servant to the priest — simply employed to help him with various things. And if the priest was not a priest anyway, and not a Mormon — well, it was not in any sense reasonable.
The passenger in the loud-checked suit finished his tale. He spat once more over the rail, pulled out the large handkerchief from his hip pocket, and dried his eyes. Robert and Arvid silently stared at him, thinking he was shedding tears over the fate of his employer. But it appeared he was only drying spray from his face. Then he nodded to the boys, left them, and resumed his leisurely walk, his big handkerchief dangling behind like the tail of a skulking dog.
Arvid was unable to solve the stranger’s mystifying occupation in North America.
“Was he an assistant pastor, do you think?”
“Something of the sort, I suppose,” said Robert.
“Are they allowed to hang ministers from trees in America?”
“Perhaps — if it is absolutely necessary. Otherwise I don’t think it’s permitted.”
The two America-bound farmhands continued inspecting the ship from stem to stern — forty paces long and eight paces wide. They would prefer to stay on deck both night and day. They did not look forward to going back into the huddle below, to the dark space under the deck, the moist, smelly hold filled with dust from mattresses and straw, stinking of urine and vomit.
When on land Robert had always imagined a sailing ship as something immaculate and shining. He had thought of sails as being like white angels’ wings. But the Charlotta of Karlshamn had dark gray sails, dirty from wind and weather, gray as potato sacks in a muddy field in autumn. The brig Charlotta had no angels’ wings. She was no yacht with white sails, flying lightly over the sea. She was a lumbering cargo ship, deep in the water, her lower holds loaded with pig iron, plowing her way heavily along. She wasn’t Robert’s dream ship, she wasn’t the ship he had seen for days and nights in his expectant longing. Yet he felt pleased, nevertheless, as he walked about on deck, looking up at the rigging where seagulls swarmed with their wings white and clean against the gray sails.
He was participating in a great adventure. If only he didn’t have to go below. .
— 2—
The passengers had been called on deck and gathered around the un-battened main hatch, where the second mate announced in his singsong Finnish-Swedish: “The first week’s provisions!”
Two of the seamen were busy rolling barrels and tubs from the storage hold. Lids were removed from the provision vessels, and the smell of food, combined with the sea air, made the emigrants hungry.
During the passage they were to receive their food and water at the ship’s expense. Curiosity about the fare was great, and all passengers — men and women, children and adults — assembled to watch as the provisions were handed out. But the mate told them it would not be necessary for every passenger to come up and crowd around him; one person from each family should fetch the food, the head of each family only.
He further said that definite portions of unprepared provisions would be allotted to each and every one weekly. They must manage so that their provisions lasted the intended time. They could not return after a few days, said the mate, to tell him they were hungry, and demand larger allotments. He wanted them to understand, once and for all, that this was a whole week’s supply. Each in turn could prepare his food in the galley on deck, and use the ship’s utensils if he didn’t have his own. The passengers must agree among themselves on time, and take turns at the galley so that everyone’s right was respected. Refuse, bones, dishwater, and sweepings must be thrown overboard — leeward, not windward. It was strictly forbidden to throw anything windward.