We must have been traveling very long on this boat. Today I asked one of the seamen how much was left to sail. He said it was nearly as far from here to North America as it is from North America to here, perhaps only fifty miles’ difference. I thought a lot about that, it seemed so far. Then he laughed, the devil, and the others around him too, and I got so mad I wanted to give him one in the snout so his shit would run out. I told him it was the same to me how far it was. If a seaman who had traveled that way before couldn’t give information, then he needn’t poke fun at honest people. “You must not think, you sheep-coint,” I said, “that we who come from the farm country are any dumber than you who fare around on the sea. We understand when anyone tries to make a spectacle of us.”
However far it is, I think we’ll get there, for the boat sails every day, Sundays and weekdays, and Danjel says that God’s breath blows on the sails. And when I get to America I shall ask all those old, tight peasant shits at home to kiss my ass. No one has ever had such luck as I on my America journey — a free-week in April, a free-week in May, free-weeks throughout the whole damn spring! And three meals on every one of God’s days!
I am damn lucky to be here.
Danjel Andreasson:
The Almighty has so far given us fine weather at sea, and He helps us all He can.
Our ship sails with the Lord’s chosen ones to a land which He has designated. She is a little, fragile ship, the work of faulty human hands, but she is the Lord’s vessel. One night I saw two of God’s angels standing at the helm. They helped the seamen steer the ship on the right course.
I was dubious at first, I worried about the great undertaking: to leave my land and all my kinfolk and voyage with my wife and children over the sea — when I am no longer in the days of my youth. But I drove fear away from my heart, and followed the call of God: His word is the lantern of my feet and a light on my path.
But I observe that doubt and fear assail my little flock: Inga-Lena, my beloved wife, our four dear children, and Ulrika of Västergöhl, and her tender daughter. The Evil One whispers tempting words in their ears to test their faith. My beloved wife fears the language of North America. She is afraid she will have to go about like a deaf-mute among the people of the foreign land. But I assure you, Inga-Lena, as I have done so many times, as soon as we arrive in the land the Holy Ghost will fill us so that we may speak the unknown tongue at once, as if we were born children of the American hamlets. We have the Lord’s promise and the Bible’s words about the miracle on the first Whitsuntide. I have read it many times for you, Inga-Lena: “And there appeared unto them cloven tongues like as of fire, and it sat upon each of them. And they were all filled with the Holy Ghost, and began to speak with other tongues, as the Spirit gave them utterance.”
You must remember what I have so often told you, my dear wife: the Galileans, too, were simple unlearned men and women; yet they were able at once to speak Greek and Arabic, and the languages of the Medes and Elamites, Egyptians and Parthians and Libyans. They arose and spoke these tongues and praised the wonderful works of God. And according to God’s promise, the same miracle will happen to all who are reborn in Christ. As soon as we land on the North American shore, the words of the Holy Ghost will shine over us and our tongues will leap as if we were drunk and the American language will be as accustomed to our lips as if we were children of that land. Sinners and nonrepenters may suffer hardship with the strange language. But we shall be able to stand up at once and praise our new land in our new tongue. And however far we may travel among other races — black, red, or mixed — the Spirit shall have power over our tongues so that we can use their languages.
Yes, no one in my flock need doubt that over us — the Lord’s chosen — the prophecy will be fulfilled about the Spirit filling all flesh: “. . and your sons and daughters shall prophesy, and your youth shall see visions and your elders shall dream dreams. . ” And mockers and deriders will say of us that we are drunk from sweet wine.
The Lord has taken us away from evil spiritual powers at home. The church, that wicked harlot, snatched at us, wanted to swallow us in her sour, stinking mouth. But now we sail on the Lord’s ship, and the ministers in their black capes cannot reach us with their talons here at sea. Evil has passed, my heart is joyous, and my tongue is glad.
All lands in North America will open up to me and be given to me and my seed. There we shall build our new church, which will be like the one of the first Christians. We shall gather together and break bread and drink wine, as the apostles used to do. And we shall have everything in common, as it is written: “They sold their chattels and divided, each what he needed.” And no sheriff will bother us — we shall live in peace.
In the land of North America I shall build an altar of thanks for you, my Lord! And I will sing and play and praise Thee with my tongue and my strings, as once King David did. I am a simple man, I have no gilded harp, but I know You will listen to me when I string my old psalmodikon.
You give us good weather, Lord, and us old ones, all your chosen ones, you have protected from the evils of seasickness — for the sake of our faith. The unbelievers and the lost ones you have punished with this plague.
Last night I beheld one of your angels at the mainmast, and two at the helm. The angel at the mast greeted me before he vanished — I do not fear. You are carrying us in this night over the dark depths! The Lord is our captain, no want shall we know.
Blow, Lord’s wind, fill the sails of the Lord’s ship! — “And your elders shall dream dreams. . ”
Inga-Lena:
Tomorrow I must darn his socks. He wears out so many socks; he always has — during our whole marriage. I don’t know why. He doesn’t walk heavily on earth. Perhaps it is because he has foot-sweat. Yes, that has always been a nuisance to him — and he doesn’t bother to wash his feet. I always have to tell him to. He had three pairs of newly mended whole socks when we left home — besides the pair he had on. All his socks now have holes in them, and I haven’t had time to mend them; and today I noticed he had a hole in the ones he wears with his high boots. Children must be chastised and holes must be darned while they are small; a hole should never be larger than the width of the little finger.
I must see to it that he has socks on his feet in North America — they say there is a scarcity of woolen things there.
They say that the Saviour always went about barefooted when He preached here on earth. But I suppose the ground is warm in the Holy Land. Figs and vines and sweet fruits grow there, they say. I can understand that the Saviour and His apostles didn’t need socks. But my dear husband always gets an ache in his throat when his feet are cold. And he doesn’t attend to his bowels the way he ought to. He says he doesn’t have openings every day. “Empty your guts, keep your feet warm!” That’s a wise saying.
Today when I was sitting on deck with my darning needle and my woolen yarns, trying to mend my black jacket, he came to me and said: “Come with me downstairs — we must pray together.” “I’ll only fasten the lining,” I said, “there are but a few stitches left.” Then he looked at me the longest while, without saying a word, and his eyes were so sad I suspected I had done something wrong. I had preferred worldly duties to the Lord’s service, I was thinking of darning and mending. I could feel his sadness, and I did not want him to speak to me while in that mood, so I went down with him at once.