The Journey to America - Two Firsthand Accounts from Wisconsin Pioneers

Mrs. T. G. Myhre Recalls the Journey from Hallingdal to Wisconsin

Mrs. T. G. Myhre of Orfordville, Wisconsin, described her late husband's emigration from Hallingdal in 1846:

My late husband, Thor G. Myhre, left Hallingdal on May 16, 1846, together with his brother Erik Kaalsrud, Tollef Rakansby, Halvor Næs, Knud Lostuen, and several others from the district. They traveled overland to Drammen and continued from there to Le Havre, France, where they waited nearly a month before a sailing vessel became available for the voyage to America.

During that time they lived outdoors near the harbor. Their trunks had already been loaded with hundreds of others and could not be opened, even though they contained most of the food they had brought from home. Whatever they needed during the waiting period had to be purchased in the city.

At last the ship arrived, and they began the long Atlantic crossing. After reaching New York, they traveled partly by railroad and partly by canal boat to Milwaukee. From there they continued on foot to Luther Valley in Rock County, Wisconsin, arriving about the middle of September.

Soon after their arrival, cholera spread through the settlement. Many people died, and in some cases entire families were lost. More than once, two people had to be buried in the same grave.

Typhus and what was commonly known as swamp fever also claimed many lives during those early years. The fever was especially common in the low marshlands where newly arrived settlers broke the prairie for cultivation. As the land was gradually drained and improved, however, the disease largely disappeared.

Looking back, it is difficult to imagine the hardships endured by those first settlers. Yet despite disease, isolation, and the constant demands of frontier life, they remained determined to build new homes and communities for their families.

Dr. J. S. Johnson Remembers His Grandfather's Journey

Dr. J. S. Johnson of St. Paul, Minnesota, recorded the following account of his grandfather's emigration from Norway and settlement in Wisconsin.

During the winter before our departure, the women of the household were constantly occupied spinning, weaving, and sewing. They prepared linsey-woolsey, wadmal, linen clothing, dresses, jackets, kerchiefs, stockings, mittens, and every other necessity that might be needed in a country where little could be purchased. Ours was a family of twelve, and the preparations seemed endless.

At the same time, local carpenters were busy building the large wooden chests that would carry our belongings across the Atlantic. Some had flat lids, others were rounded, but all were strengthened with heavy iron bands forged by the village blacksmith. Painted bright red with blue trim, each chest bore the owner's name and destination in America.

There were chests filled with clothing and household goods, another packed with flatbread and lefse, and one containing nearly one hundred pounds of butter. Everything that might be needed during the first months in America had to be brought from home.

When the day of departure finally arrived, wagons were loaded, children climbed aboard, and relatives gathered to bid farewell. We traveled first to Lake Randsfjorden, where our baggage was transferred to rowboats, and then continued overland to Drammen. The youngest children rode on the wagons, while most of the rest of us walked. No one complained about the distance. We were on our way to America, the land that promised a better future.

One of the women in our company, Mari Rud, declared with determination, "I am going to America, even if I have to turn somersaults all the way."

In Drammen we waited more than two weeks before our ship was ready to sail. Hotels were beyond our means, so we lived near the harbor, preparing our meals over open fires and sleeping wherever we could find shelter.

The Atlantic crossing lasted sixteen weeks. Conditions between decks were crowded and uncomfortable, and for months we saw little except the sea and the sky. At last, however, New York appeared before us, and we knew the greatest part of the journey was behind us.

From New York we traveled north on the Hudson River to Troy, where we entered the Erie Canal. Our baggage was loaded onto a canal boat drawn by horses along the towpath. The journey was slow, and many passengers preferred walking along the canal to sitting on their trunks all day.

I remember one amusing incident. As the canal boat approached a bridge, passengers often climbed onto the bridge and stepped back aboard after the boat had passed beneath it. On one occasion, a rather large woman hesitated too long. Unable either to jump or climb back, she found herself hanging from the bridge while the boat drifted slowly away below her. Her cries brought everyone running, and after considerable effort she was finally pulled safely back onto the bridge.

At Buffalo we boarded another steamer bound for Milwaukee. During the voyage my grandfather suffered a serious fall through an open hatchway and was badly injured. When we reached Milwaukee, he had to remain at a hotel while the rest of the family searched for shelter.

We were expected to prepare our own meals, but the hotel staff would not allow us to use the kitchen stove. It seemed that we would have to do without coffee until one of the younger women found a friendly blacksmith nearby. He filled his forge with glowing charcoal and allowed her to boil a coffee pot over the fire. She proudly returned with enough coffee for everyone.

From Milwaukee there was no regular transportation farther west. Eventually we hired an American farmer who agreed to take us by wagon toward Luther Valley. The journey took two days. One evening he stopped at a tavern while we remained beside the wagon, eating flatbread spread with butter that had softened in the late summer heat.

We reached Luther Valley on the following evening. Pastor Claus Lauritz Clausen welcomed us warmly and helped us find temporary shelter in an unfinished log cabin. It had no doors, no windows, only a partial roof and a dirt floor. To keep warm during the cold nights, my grandmother turned one of our large bread chests upside down and built the cooking fire on top of it.

Before long my grandfather purchased a cow and later a pig while looking for land farther west. Once again all our belongings were loaded onto wagons drawn by oxen. One person led the cow, another pulled the reluctant pig with a rope tied to its hind leg, and the rest of the family walked behind.

Late that autumn we finally arrived at the farm near Albany, Wisconsin, where my grandparents spent the remainder of their lives.

Looking back many years later, my grandfather often said that the hardships of the journey had gradually faded from memory, while the opportunities they found in America had remained. The old pioneers endured hardships that are difficult to imagine today, and they deserve to be remembered with gratitude for what they accomplished.