The Icelandic Canadian - 01.06.1995, Síða 43

SPRING /SUMMER 1995
THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
153
had reached land and accompanied Mr.
Berg all the way to Fort Garry and was go-
ing to stay there until spring. Mr. Berg had
never told me anything about that man.
And this seems odd when I think of it now.
I also find it odd that he should trust me
with his secret, rather than the abbot him-
self, or Brother Jean who was the abbey’s
doctor. And then there is something else
that is noteworthy, and that is that Mr. Berg
should not, while he was able, write to
William Trent’s brother and tell him about
the money. That letter could have been put
in the hands of the police in Brooklyn, if
he did not know the man’s address.
I have forgotten most of what Mr. Berg
told Father Ffenri because I did not fix it
in my memory; nor did I think of writing
any of it in my note-book. But I do remem-
ber him saying the ship that sank was the
“Galahad” and the captain’s name was
Jeremias Gale.
It never entered my mind to ask Mr. Berg
his sister’s name or her husband’s name or
where they lived. All I know about his sis-
ter is that she was a married woman in the
north of Iceland and that her brother had
heard nothing from her for many years. He
seemed certain that she was alive when he
wrote to her that winter. And he never ad-
mitted that he feared his letters had gone
astray.
Mr. Berg’s health rapidly deteriorated.
On the 12th of April, he was suffering
greatly at times and tasted nothing but wa-
ter. On the 13th of April, he talked a great
deal in a foreign tongue, likely Icelandic,
and I surmised he was saying prayers and
psalms. I heard him frequently name the
Son of God and from time to time say
“Amen.”
On Tiburtius’ Mass (April 14th), he
died. It was just about sunset and there was
a glorious blush in the west. A golden crown
seemed to hang there for a short time as
the sun was sinking and the beams radiated
from it far up into the sky. Brother Jean
held his right hand during the last mo-
ments and I held a crucifix before him. His
passing was tranquil, — his eyes on the holy
cross to the last.
He was buried in the cemetery at the
abbey. His grave is Number 173 in D-row
on the right side of the footpath leading
into the garden through the south gate.
There is a small granite stone on which
stand the words: ‘Halfdan A. Berg (Sea-
man) — born in Iceland, March 17, 1811
— died April 14, 1870.’
His clothes and other things he had
brought with him to the abbey — includ-
ing his notebook — were sent to the au-
thorities. But I took the last letter he wrote
and never finished. I got it without anyone
else knowing and have kept it since like a
holy relic. I have always expected that some-
one would come from Iceland to ask me
about it. But now a full thirteen years have
passed since this remarkable man died and
no one has come to ask me about him.
From that I conclude that the letter he
wrote here on April 5th, 1870, and sent with
Godson, never reached its destination.
I intend to end this narrative by saying
that I have resolved to continue holding
that letter as Mr. Berg asked me to do. If
no one comes to ask me about it, then it
will be in my charge until I die, which cer-
tainly will be shortly. But after my death,
those who find it along with this statement,
can do with it whatever they think best. I
myself do not know what is in the letter,
but I would guess that it is something about
the treasure on the riverbank in Fort Garry.
I suppose I am mentioned in it because I
see my name there; also, I think it is ad-
dressed to his sister. And I notice that no
name or initials appear at the bottom of
this letter, which is understandable, since
Mr. Berg did not have the strength to fin-
ish it. And last, but not least, I must ask
those who read these lines to forgive me
though I continue to keep the letter. What
else can I do but keep it?
April 19, 1883 — Bernard