Reminiscences: The Story of an EmigrantMattson, Hans
History
Reminiscences: The Story of an Emigrant
Mattson, Hans
India -- Description and travel; Mattson, Hans, 1832-1893; Swedish Americans -- Biography
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.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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