Lögberg-Heimskringla - 25.11.1994, Blaðsíða 6

6 • Lögberg-Heimskringla • Föstudagur 25. nóvember 1994

l*y, Con(’<f
Katla did not hear him as she
held the little bundle tight.
“Katla! Katía!” came a rau-
cous cry from the open kitchen
door, and a dishevelled maid
appeared in the doorway, but
disappeared again at the sight of
Torfi. When he had gone, she
came out again and walked
over to Katla.
“What have you got there?”
she whispered. “The child,
Signý’s child?”
From that day there was a
change in Sloppy Katla. She
was no longer grimy with soot
and ashes, but kept herself as
clean as the child she was tend-
ing, though she still emptiéd
the slops and ashes. And Þorb-
jörg wanted for nothing.
Mysterious hands left little gar-
ments beside her, and she
throve, bloomed, and gurgled, a
perfect image of her mother. If
Torfi noticed, he made no com-
ment. His face darkened when-
ever he saw the child, and his
twisted mind was working.
It was a year to the day when
Signý had left Ölfus Lake to
visit her brother Torfi. The year
had rolled slowly over Ölfus
Lake, leaving Grímkell with
more silver in his hair; but his
eyes were as flashing, his car-
riage as erect, and his pride as
stem as ever.
The day Signy left had been
a sunny day with white clouds
floating in a turquoise sky; but
today was sodden with rain,
gray, melancholy rain and with
raw gusts of wind which caught
the downpour and turned it
into scudding gray ghosts, end-
lessly chasing each other over
the bleak landscape.
Early in the morning
Grímkell had been in the temple
to seek counsel with the gods,
for he had known for some time
that Torfi had sent his daughter
Þorbjörg on a pilgrimage of beg-
ging with Sigmundr the Beggar
and that any day they might
arrive at Ölfus Lake.
Sigmundr was travelling
slowly and the long way around,
taking advantage of the extra
comforts the presence of
Grímkell’s child won for him,
his wife, and six-year old son
Helgi.
Whatever love and tender-
ness Grímkell had for his child
was drowned in his fierce hatred
of Torfi; his searing anger at this
latest indignity aimed at hum-
bling him to the dust by forcing
him to accept his daughter from
the hands of the despised beg-
gar.
It was getting near evening.
The heavens had wept all day,
and their weeping was tuming
to sleet, when a drab procession
of human castaways trudged
towards the manor at Ölfus
Lake. On they came, their
coarse, homespun garments
dripping water, and little geysers
gushing up at every heavy' foot-
step.
First in line was Sigmundr,
puffing under the burden of the
beggar’s script, which now held
only six-month-old Þorbjörg.
Following in his wake was
broad-built Herdís Ieading Helgi
by the hand. The three were
unmistakably very tired.
On entering the manor
Sigmundr lowered his burden,
uttering a long, shuddering sigh
of relief, as he sat down on a
bench near the door. Grímkell
was sitting in his high seat, his
sword on his knees.
“Who is the guest?”
Grímkell asked.
“Here is Sigmundr, foster-
father of your beautiful daugh-
ter Þorbjörg,” came the answer
in an insolent, swaggering tone.
Grímkell came slowly
towards Sigmundr, speaking in
a low but nonetheless passion-
ate voice, “Hear the vile beggar!
Never did I set you up as a fos-
ter-father to my child. And
strong is Torfi’s hatred against
me. First he killed the mother,
and now he sends the child
abegging. Take yourself off as
quickly as you can, before I call
my house-carls to give you the
beating of your life.”
A child’s wail from the beg-
gar’s scrip seemed to protest
Grímkell’s order. He tumed a
shade paler, but there was no
softening in his face. Several of
the house-carls sprang up from
the benches at his words, and
came menacingly toward
Sigmundr. He, shivering with
fright and cold, reeled out into
the darkening rain, which was
now tuming fast to sleet, taking
his unfortunate burden with
him. Herdís followed him lead-
ing Helgi, who burst into loud
sobs.
For a while after the dark-
ness swallowed them, Grímkell
stood and stared into the night.
Then he turned slowly, and
walked back to his high seat.
Þórólfr, who was still with him
and always sat at his left, bent
over and spoke to him in a low
tone. Grímkell gave a nod of
assent, after which Þórólfr left
the hall and was gone for a con-
siderable time.
In the meantime, Grímkell
ordered the servants to stir up
the fires and bring in the mead.
Silently they obeyed his com-
mands, but there was little merri-
ment in Grímkell’s manor that
evening, for none dared speak to
the chieftain-priest, who sat in
his high seat as if tumed to stone,
yet proud and unyielding. Thus
had he sat also the night he had
heard of Signý’s death.
Late next day Sigmundr
arrived at Grímsstaðr, where
Little Grímr lived. Gleefully he
boasted of spending the night in
one of Grímkell’s sheep cotes,
where the shepherds had treated
him like an honoured guest.
“I’d like to see the child
you’re carrying in your scrip,”
said Little Grímr.
“The child sleeps now,”
answered Sigmundr. “I’d rather
not disturb her. When she weeps,
she isn’t easily comforted.”
“Few have more cause to
weep,” said Guðríðr, Grímr’s
wife. “Let’s look at the child.”
Unwillingly, Sigmundr lifted
up the scrip, and Guðríðr picked
up the sleeping child. The pale
face was framed in a matted mass
of red-gold hair. Then her eyelids
fluttered and two, blue eyes
looked straight at Guðríðr. A
littíe hand reached up to touch
her face, and she smiled.
“She smiled,” protested
Sigmundr. “Usually she weeps.”
“These are Signý’s eyes,” said
Little Grímr. “She wouldn’t
expect us to let her child beg at
other people’s doors. Þorbjörg
stays here, Sigmundr.”
“I’m most grateful to you,
Littíe Grímr. She was getting to
be a heavy burden,” said
Sigmundr with a sigh.
A week later, Grímkell rode
to Uppsala at the head of a
group of his retainers. Torfi had
news of his coming, and absent-
ed himself from home. But
Grímkell called witnesses to the
fact that he summoned Torfi to
appear at the Alþingi that sum-
mer to answer to charges of
attempted murder and also for
non-payment of Signý’s dowry.
When Little Grímr heard of
Grímkell’s move, he knew there
was trouble ahead. His fear
was more for Grímkell as he
knew Torfi was full of wiles and
unscrupulous as to his methods.
He went to see chieftain-priest
Þorkell of Lightwater Lake,
who was honoured by all men,
and the law-speaker of the
Alþingi and begged him to try to
mediate between Grímkell and
Torfi.
“The two are determined to
destroy each other, and many
innocent people will suffer if
nobody steps in to make them
see reason.” He emphasized his
Continued on page 7
EINAR’S ANECDOTES
s4%ettc 4&VUH4,
This vast polar region cov-
ered in snow and ice has
long sustained our fellow
Eskimos who live off the land
and ice on this bleak frozen
tundra and ice mass. The
unique factor in this world of
ice and snow, are the individu-
als who conquered its severe
and hostile weather and
moulded it to their way of life.
Who were these men that
could face the ravages of the
storms and low temperatures
to make their life bearable
under these severe conditions
of nature?
They were three Icelanders,
one famous and two unknown.
We all know the achievements
of Vilhjálmur Stefánsson the
world renowned Arctic exp-
lorer, who took a leaf out of
the studies he made on Eskimo
life and their way of living. He
roamed the Arctic at will,
through the avails this frozen
expanse offered. A world
famous explorer descended
from settlers who came from
Iceland and made the Arnes
area their home.
“The other two were child-
hood contemporaries who
were not phased by the Arctic
storms and hostile tempera-
tures that have snuffed out
countless lives óf many who
have entered its domain over
the centuries.
Carl was of an age equal to
that of the writer. He m his
youth looked forward to the
spring muskrat season when it
was legal to pursue this fur
bearing animal and sell their
skins which eventually found
their way into women’s fur
coats. They were height of
fashion during that era. He
seemed to enjoy camping in
isolation in a canvas covered
caboose by himself, to slosh
through the marsh north of
Oak Point in hip waders. A
trapping loner seemed to give
him the peace of mind and
solitude he enjoyed.
After personal disappoint-
ments he left for Churchill
where he had spent a summer
with construction crews sever-
al years previously. We met
again during the thirties and
then once again during the
post war years. He met his
demise on the Churchill Pier
through a heart attack just as
the newly elected and appoint-
ed Prime Minister was about
to pay his respects to the
crowd waiting for him on the
Churchill Pier. The ambulance
attendants were placing Carl in
the ambulance. The Prime
Minister’s comments were,
“Isn’t that a shame.”
Carl related to me on his
activities at Churchill. He had
been employed by the Hudson
Bay Co. as a crew member
aboard the supply vessel serv-
ing their Fur Trading Posts
within the coastal trading area
of the Hudson Bay. One fall
their vessel became ice bound
near the arctic entrance to the
Northwest corner of this
mighty salt water bay. They
were compelled to remain
there through the winter.
It was there he met the
Eskimos who hunted the
Arctic Fox and sold the furs to
the Hudson Bay Company.
This whetted his appetite for
more of life he had experienced
as a youth in the marsh just
north of Oak Point. For a num-
ber of winters he scoured the
Arctic Coastal Tundra covered
in snow with an atmosphere of
storms and low temperatures,
characteristic of the Arctic win-
ters.
From the time he left the
trading post until he retumed
he was out of contact with the
world, living in isolation with
his team of dogs within the
Arctic winter away fforn fellow
man. His quarry the Arctic fox
was invariably frozen solid in
the trap he had set. In order to
skin the fox and retrieve the
fur, he was compelled to place
the frozen fox in the sleeping
bag beside him, so that it
would thaw sufficiently to skin
and retrieve the fur pelt.
As he approached middle
age he established a trapline
within the tree line west of
Churchill, the Arctic Tundra
had become too difficult to
contend with. Here he spotted
habitable log abodes along the
trapline a days joumey apart by
dog team.
From childhood on he was
hunter, fisherman, and trapper
who faced nature’s hostility
head on, as a loner content
with the ravages of the Arctic.
Raymond was a Skagfeld
who grew up at Oak Point,
another individual who found
the Arctic Tundra to his liking.
He met the hostility of the
North American Coastline
head-on.
He was assigned by the
Hudson Bay Company North-
em Department to erect build-
ings required to store food and
material goods in demand by
the local Eskimo population.
Here they would unload the
building supplies and other
material required to set up a
trading post.
It was not feasible nor
expected that Raymond would
put together the buildings by
himself but where did he find
the tradesmen? There was no
Union Hall to
go to. He mov-
ed around
until he found
some Eskimos
and gathered
e n o u g h
around him to
help with the
building. He
must have been a Trojan work-
man himself and adept at relat-
ing to the Eskimos who assisted
him after learning how to use
basic carpenter tools.
As the Hudson Bay official
said, “Drop Raymond with
tools and supplies on the
Tundra in isolation, and he
would erect the basic buildings
required to cariy on trade with
the native population. How he
communicated having to leam
their language is a feat in itself,
but teaching the native Eskimo
how to use tools was another
feat in itself.
One day after a funeral of an
old time resident, we were in
conversation when he said, “I’ll
never forget how good you and
Kris were to me”. He was refer-
ring to the time we were kids
playing together and he being
younger followed us. He said,
“You and Kris never left me out
and shared with me your
sleigh, slide and candies when
you had some.” That made my
day.
By Einar
Arnason