The Icelandic Canadian - 01.12.1979, Síða 21

THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
19
than the grasslands of the upland valleys and
the cultivated hay-plots of her native land.
Hundreds of guillmots soared in protest
from their craggy heights as the ship
threaded its way down a channel between
two islands that rose a thousand feet on
either side. The ship turned sharply left into
a very narrow inlet where it came upon a
tiny fishing village.
“Someone is coming aboard,” Johanna
exclaimed.
She heard the man speak in perfect Ice-
landic.
“Everything will be brighter in America,
Lovisa dear,” he smiled, and Johanna
listened in surprise to the woman’s low
reply. She could understand the tongue so
similar to Icelandic, but in a strange dialect
that sounded to Johanna as though the
woman had some strange speech defect.
The ship headed back and past the longest
island where another village clustered along
the shore.
“That must be their capital, Torshavn,”
Jonas said.
Then the steamer sped directly across the
ocean. Two days later the coast of Scotland
appeared in view to the southwest.
Presently the ship approached a town.
Johanna with the other emigrants from the
island on the rim of the Arctic stared in
amazement at the large buildings, and tall
smoke stacks of industry such as they had
never seen before.
By evening they had reached the wider
estuary of a river, its banks scarcely discern-
ible in the dusk. Later Johanna, standing
beside her husband, looked up into the dark
blue heavens where stars twinkled as bril-
liantly as they did in Iceland’s winter.
“And this is early June. In five days we
have left Iceland’s bright summer night,”
Johanna said.
It was now becoming so dark that land
was no longer visible. They were fast
approaching an unbelievable city. Johanna
saw she was not alone in her awed staring at
the rows of lights; all colours, white, and
red, and green.
“This is Glasgow,” Baldvin Baldvins-
son announced. “Here we leave our tramp
steamer to board the Britannica which is
scheduled to leave for Canada in two days.”
From the outset the Britannica plowed
through heavy seas. As the days wore on,
Johanna thought wearily that leagues of
seemingly endless ocean still lay between
them and America.
Time dragged dismally. The little girls
became restless, and Sigurhlif toddled about
pale and quiet. In the afternoons while the
child slept Johanna sought the deck. There
she sat beside her husband, knitting and
taking stock of her fellow passengers.
“Sigrid looks worn out. There are blue
circles under her eyes. Poor woman! God
pity her! Her time is near. She may give
birth at sea,” she observed to Jonas.
“Ingrid and Helga, too, droop wearily.”
Heavy seas and high headwinds con-
tinued to retard their voyage. Already ten
days had passed since the Britannica left
Scotland. Each weary day the tired, and
often seasick, emigrants stood on deck
gazing ahead in the hope of seeing land.
One day Johanna observed the men lean-
ing tensely over the deckrail for a better
view of a gleam they saw on the tossing
billows. The gleam became a white streak,
appearing to drift slowly towards the ship.
A hush fell upon the watchers, disturbed
only by the faint bleating of sheep in the
hold beneath. Everyone fixed their eyes
upon the approaching object in abated
anxiety.
“What is it, Jonas? A ship?” The man
was slow to answer. Finally he said: “No.
An iceberg.”
“In June?”
“Yes”.
Mr. Baldvinsson spoke up quietly.
“Summer is the time for icebergs in the
North Atlantic,” he said.
“When warm weather comes they begin