Lögberg-Heimskringla - 04.06.1970, Blaðsíða 7

LÖGBERG-HEIMSKRINGLA, FIMMTUDAGINN 4. JÚNÍ 1970
7
Sandy Bar
river and the land was now
his. They angued back and
forth and fimally the Iceland-
ers reluctantly admitted that
they could not say with any
certainty just how far up the
river this reserve extended.
Was the land Olafur’s or was
it John Ramsay’s? There was
only one way to find out.
Olafur, Johannes, and Frid-
rik set out by boat to Gimli.
The following day they sailed
to the Red River where they
met a boat bringing more set-
tlers from Icelamd, and as
luck would have it, Sigtrygg-
ur Jonasson, their leader, was
aboard, also the Indian agent
en route to Norway House.
Both assured Olafur that the
land was legally his. The men
returned to the river with
their findings. The Indian
Ramsay listened to the words
of the interpreter and tumed
silently away, his heart bitter.
Always it was the Indian who
had to retreat b e f o r e the
white man. Olafur saw the
dejection Ramsay was too
proud to voice, and on im-
pulse, he held out his hand.
“Stay, John Ramsay,” he said
with a smile. “There is room
for us both at Ósi.” Ramsay
looked searchingly at Olafur.
The words he did not under-
stand, but the gesture was
unmistakable. He took the
proffered hand, an answer-
ing smile lighting up his face.
He would not soon forget the
other’s generosity.
And he did not forget as
long as he lived, and he was
destimed to live to become an
old man.
John Ramsay became the
s t a u n c h friend, ally and
teacher of the Icelanders
whom he adopted as his
brothers. He was an excellent
hunter, a trapper without
equal, and many a choice
quarter of venison found its
way to his neighbour’s bare
table. He taught them many
skilis that helped them im-
prove their lot — how to
wind-proof a cabin, how to
build sound boats, fashion
bows and arrows, how to stalk
afid hunt game, snare smaller
animals and how to fish under
ice. He saw their poverty and
his compassionate heart re-
sjx>nded. When their larder
was low, he invited them to
his teepee for a feast. Betsey
spread a snowy-white cloth
on the ground and set it with
good china plates, cups and
saucers, knives and forks. Ev
erything w a s meticulously
clean. The guests ate lightly
for they had learned from ex-
perience that they were ex-
pected to accept at least three
servings of everything. Before
winter set in Ramsay moved
his family to Sandy Bar
where he had built a warm
cabin that boasted a wooden
floor.
At Sandy Bar hved several
other Indian families and
about a dozen Icelandic fami-
lies crowded together in their
hastily-built crude shacks. In
September, smallpox broke
out in the Hudson’s Bay cabin
that now housed some nine-
teen p e r s o n s . The disease
spread like wild-fire from one
end of the settlement to the
other but nowhere was it as
deadly as at Sandy Bar. It
came to the cabin of John
Ramsay and he buried his
dearly beloved Betsey and his
two small sons before Sep-
tember was over. Only his
daughter Mary survived, her
face pitted and pock-marked,
disfigured for life. Guttormur
J. Guttormsson of Riverton
saw Mary when he was a
boy and he said she had been
so hideous to look at that
small children fled screaming
at sight of her. Twelve Indians
who died within a few hours
of each other, were buried in
a common grave, their bodies
lashed to sleds, piled high
with earth. The mound could
be seen for many years.
Ramsay fled from his cabin
and took Mary back to the
Icelandic river. He had a well-
trained dog team and a can-
vas carriole which he put at
the disposal of the doctors
who had come to administer
to the sick. Up and down the
settlement he drove his dogs
all winter bringing the doctor
to every cabin, carrying food
to the starving, coffins for
their dead. Magnus Stefans-
son accompanied them as in-
terpreter and the suffering
they witnessed was such that
Magnus could never bear to
write about it.
Magnus also left this ac-
coimt: ‘During the smallpox
winter, John Ramsay took Dr.
Baldwin and myself across
Lake Winnipeg to the Indian
settlement of Sandy River.
We came upon a village of
teepees and huts, with one
big warehouse full of furs.
We went into every home
amd found all 200 residents
dead from smallpox. We set
fire to everything and bumed
the village and its unfortun-
ate inhabitants to the ground.
On the homeward journey we
encountered a blinding bliz-
zard, the worst I have ever
experienced in my life. We
were stopped at a wide crack
and here Ramsay said we
must stay to live or to die as
the fates decreed. We bundled
the doctor in a rabbit rope
in the sled, where he dozed
fitfully, but Ramsay and I
were on the prowl all night,
keeping watch. When the
storm abated, we set off
again and reached the safety
of a farmhouse in Big Island
after many hours of travel.”
The w i n t e r passed and
spring came back to New Ice-
land. Ramsay built a cabin
on the east bank of the Ice-
landic river and lived here
with his little daughter. The
infected cabins at Sandy Bar
were burned to the ground,
including the cabin of John
Ramsay. He travelled to
Stone Fort on the Red River
to order a white marble tomb-
stone which he placed at the
head of Betsey’s grave and
erected a wooden picket fence
around it for protection. The
stone bore this inscription.
In
Memory of
BETSEY
Beloved wife of
John Ramsay,
who died
September, 1876,
Aged 35 years.
It was the first tombstone in
New Iceland, and it was to
become the only known grave
of a smallpox victim. The
other 101 graves have long
since disappeared.
Jon Guttormsson, (the fath-
er of the well-known and
dearly loved poet from River
ton, Guttormur J. Guttorms-
son) moved to Lundi with his
family and settled on the east
side of the river. Here lived
John Ramsay with his
daughter Mary. This is Gutt-
ormur’s own account of John
Ramsay, whom he knew in-
timately as a boy:
“When my father arrived at
Limdi, he had no shelther for
his family, but the Indian
John Ramsay offered him the
use of his comfortable cabin,
while he and Mary settled
in a teepee, on the opposite
side of the river. This gener-
osity on the part of the In-
dian Ramsay, resulted in a
close friendship which was to
last as long as my father
lived. It is well-known that
John Ramsay was helpful and
k i n d to the impoverished
Icelandic settlers with whom
he chose to live. His compas-
sion for their p'light revealed
itself in many ways. He
shared with them the fruits
of his hunt for he was an ex-
cellent trapper and hunter,
his family better fed and
better clothed than anyone in
the settlement.
Often he held a feast for
his neighbours. They would
seat themselves on a Hudson’s
Bay blanket and were served
moose meat, raisins and syrup
and tea, in generous measure.
He was the idol of the young
and I well remember how
many of us y o u n g boys
dreamed of growing up to be
just like John Ramsay. He
was an exceptionally hand-
some man who bore himself
proudly erect. He was taller
than average, well built, fleet
of foot, agile in movements,
possessed of a cheerful happy
disposition given to ready
laughter. He often visited our
home and lived with us for
weeks at a time. He was bet-
ter dressed than any other In
dian we had seen and certain-
ly better dressed than the
poverty - stricken Icelanders.
Often he wore a red plaid
shirt and snow-white trousers
made of the finest woolen
material purchased from the
company. (Not at all like the
white canvas pants the hope-
ful y o u n g settlers donned
when they went a-courting).
Around his waist was a
wide multi-coloured sash (an
Assumption belt, most likely)
with fringed ends. He often
wore a red band across his
forehead. His hair was thick
and black, his face tanned,
heavy black brows over twin-
kling, kindly brown eyes. His
forehead was high, his nose
acquiline, his lips rather thin.
He wore a small moustache
and a tuft of a goatee on his
clefted chin.
I consider him one of the
handsomest men I have ever
seen.”
One spring, some ten years
after Betsey‘s death, Ramsay
arrived at Vidivöllum by
canoe, accompanied by a shy
young woman he introduced
as his wife, she held an infant
in her arms, Ramsay’s son.
The Guttormsson family re-
joiced with their friend in his
new found happiness. He had
been lonely too many years.
But when Ramsay returned
to Lundi in the fall, he came
alone. His wife and infant son
had died during the summ’er.
Ramsay was close to fifty
when he married for the third
time, the teen-age daughter
of a friend of his, a girl named
Julia Darcy. He was old
enough to be her father. They
moved north to Matheson Is-
land where they were to live
for many years. In his old
age, Ramsay worried about
the little tombstone, on Bet-
sey’s grave at Sandy Bar.
Fishermen reported that the
fence was broken down leav-
ing the little marble slab ex-
posed and vulnerable. Before
he had had an opportunity to
have it fixed, he died, an old
man and was buried in the
graveyard at Matheson Is-
land, far from his beloved
Betsey. But he lived on in the
minds and hearts of the Ice-
landic settlers whom he had
befriended and they passed
on the memory of John Ram -
say to their children and their
children’s children. They were
all i n d e b t e d to this man
whose kind acts were legion.
The century ended. New
settlers arrived to open new
districts — Geysir, Arborg,
Vidir.
In 1910, a young man
named Trausti Vigfusson took
a homestead in Geysir and
built himself a cabin. Shortly
after his cabin was completed
he had a strange dream. He
seemed to be standing near
his cabin when a tall, hand-
some Indian strode out of the
forest and held up his hand
in greeting. “Long ago I hunt-
ed moose on your land”, he
said. “I am John Ramsay.”
Trausti put out his hand. “I
have heard of you. You help-
ed the settlers who first lived
here. Your name is still re-
membered and h o n o r e d
among us.” The Indian bowed
his head in acknowledgement.
“I have come to ask my broth-
er a boon. I want you to bjuilt
me a fence.” “A fence?“
T r a u s t i asked, mystified.
“Where?” “At Sandy Bar”,
the Indian said softly. “Many
moons ago I lived at Sandy
Bar with my people until the
Big Death came and took my
Indians with their canoe