Thus Jonas Petter avoided the truth without telling a lie.
Anders Månsson nodded and seemed satisfied with this information. Such an elegant and handsome woman as Ulrika, he said, would soon be married here in Minnesota Territory.
— 4—
Later in the afternoon the four Swedes reached a small, longish lake with low shores overgrown with reeds and grass. Oaks, maples, lindens, and ash trees were scattered in this region, but the ground nearest the lake was even and ready to till, sloping gently toward the water.
“Here it’s easy to break land,” said their guide. “This is a fine place for homesteading.”
They walked around the lake, a distance of only a few miles, and inspected the ground everywhere. Yes, the earth was easy to break; one need only turn it with the plow. The topsoil was two and a half feet deep in some places. Material for building grew everywhere close by.
Danjel and Jonas Petter were at once satisfied with the location and inclined to stake claims here. Karl Oskar admitted that the topsoil was excellent, but the ground nearest the lake was low and swampy, full of muddy pools and quagmires.
“It’s a mosquito hole,” he said.
Jonas Petter replied that the mosquitoes swarmed about every place and that they shouldn’t let this factor influence their decision. And when they discovered a spring with clear, translucent water under a fallen tree near by, he and Danjel were in enthusiastic accord: At this little lake they had found all they wanted, here they wished to settle.
Anders Månsson advised neither one way nor another. The lake was about seven or eight miles as the crow flies from Taylors Falls, and he didn’t think they would want to be farther away from people.
“It is far enough,” Danjel said. “Let us all three take claims here. This is a good place for us to live.”
They laid down their burdens at the edge of the forest and rested in the shade to talk it over. Danjel continued: As they had come from the same place at home, they oughtn’t to separate now, they ought to stick together. If they settled here, close to each other, they could help each other and enjoy each other’s company. To begin with, they could even use each other’s tools and teams.
Jonas Petter also wanted them to build close together, like a village at home; to live like villagers would be more enjoyable here in the wilderness than to live alone.
Then it was Karl Oskar’s turn to voice his thoughts: Just because there was so much space out here, they must not settle on top of each other, elbow each other and build their homes corner to corner as farmers did in Sweden. He thought they should live a little apart. They could do as they pleased, but he wanted to settle in a place some distance from the others. He didn’t, of course, mean to be so far away that they couldn’t see each other and help each other when needed.
Danjel wanted them to remain one family, as they were at present; the first Christians, whom he tried to imitate, had owned all things in common. But Karl Oskar wanted to think this over, and he would obey no head except his own. Even though Danjel well knew that his sister’s daughter’s husband never followed any advice, he now seriously tried to persuade him: “Don’t seek any farther! Be satisfied with this fair land.”
“I might find some more likely a little farther on.”
“We should be satisfied when the Lord has shown us this.”
Jonas Petter said: “Don’t be a fuss-pot, Karl Oskar! This place is good enough!”
But Karl Oskar turned to Anders Månsson and asked him for more information about the region near the lake with the Indian name. That farmer from Helsingland who inspected the soil, hadn’t he said that the richest farm land in this whole valley was beside that lake? Karl Oskar would like to see for himself if this were actually the truth before he chose his own land. How far from here would it be to the lake?
Anders Månsson didn’t think it was more than two miles from where they now were to Lake Ki-Chi-Saga, but he couldn’t say for sure. The country to the west and southwest had not yet been explored, no one except Indians and an occasional pelt trader had been farther. But streams ran in that direction, and if he followed one of these, he would undoubtedly reach Lake Ki-Chi-Saga.
Karl Oskar looked thoughtfully at the fields in front of him: he did not wish to appear displeased with what he saw, but he had once and for all made up his mind that he would have the best soil in North America, wherever it was to be found. And now it was said that the soil was even better at the other lake. Why be satisfied with the next best if the very best was within reach? Suppose he took a claim here — and then for the rest of his life had to regret not having gone a few miles farther. He couldn’t know until he had seen the other place. He was to settle down for the rest of his life, he wanted to choose carefully, find a place that he liked so well he would never want to leave it. He had traveled many thousands of miles, all the way from Sweden. He had strength left to go a few miles farther.
The farmer from Korpamoen was so stubborn that nothing could change his mind once he got an idea in his head, and Danjel and Jonas Petter could only wish him good luck when he said he would go on farther by himself. They had firmly decided to settle down here as squatters.
“Cut marks in the trees,” said Anders Månsson. “That means you have taken a claim.”
Danjel and Jonas Petter each blazed a maple; then Anders Månsson carved in each blazed tree a ten-inch-high letter, C: this indicated that the land at the lake had been claimed, anyone coming later would see it.
But Karl Oskar picked up his pack again — there were still some hours before sunset, and if it were only a few miles to the lake with the peculiar name, he thought he might get there before dark. He would be back by tomorrow noon, if they cared to wait for him, but if he were delayed they had better return to Taylors Falls without him; he was sure he could find his way back alone.
As he disappeared among the thick tree trunks, Jonas Petter looked after him and said: The old proverb was right — distant fields look greenest. .
— 5—
Karl Oskar Nilsson walked alone through the wilderness. He continued directly southwest, and when the trees did not shade him, the sun shone right in his face, burning him like a flame. Progress became more difficult, he had to use his ax often to get through. He reached a swamp where he sank down to his boot tops, he circled giant trees, seemingly yards around the base, he climbed over fallen trees whose upturned roots towered house tall, he walked around deep black water holes like wells, he tore his way through tangles of ferns and bushes, he fought thorny thickets which clawed his hands and face until they bled. At times he walked on the bottom of the forest ocean with the sky barely visible, at other times — while craning his neck to look up at the tall trees — he was reminded of the church steeple at home, which, as a little boy, he had thought reached into the very heavens.
Karl Oskar mused to himself that probably he was the first white man ever to go through the forest at this place.
The ground had been tramped by hunters and game, by soft moccasins and light cloven hoofs, by the pursued and the pursuer. But now came a man, lumbering along in heavy boots, who was neither Indian nor deer, neither hunter nor hunted. Cautiously he took one step at a time, treading firmly on the unknown ground. He had entered this forest on a new mission, a mission that had brought no one here before: Karl Oskar Nilsson was the first one to enter here with a farmer’s purpose of planting and harvesting.