Agust Gisli Grimsson Breidfjord
His Story - Part 3
Translated from his handwritten Icelandic by Anna Bjornson
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Agust Gisli Grimsson Breidfjord His Story - Part 3 Translated from his handwritten Icelandic by Anna Bjornson |
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The great change came in 1894 and we left for Canada. In 1894, many of the Icelandic and Danish merchants were owners of a fleet of ships, used as fishing vessels during the summer months. The season lasted about five or six months and was a source of employment for many people, for, thought the pay was small, this job was preferable to the starvation living one could make by depending on one’s luck as a fisherman in a small and dangerous open boat. The year 1893 was a season of small catches which presaged a hard winter of scanty fishing returns in Brimilsvöllum. So I signed on as seaman for the summer on a deck ship owned by a merchant in Stikkisholmi. With his permission, most of our needs for the winter were charged, payment for which would be taken out of the next summer’s salary. Thirty-five kronur a month and any refuge fish that I drew into my net, was the salary agreed upon. Refuge fish included catfish, skate, halibut and other small fish. The captain took two parts of every halibut we caught, which probably was not quite legal, but he wanted his share or more, if he could get away with it. Such is human nature. The Ship Owner claimed all the cod. I don’t think my parents knew about these plans, but being of legal age and doing this just as much for them as myself, I felt that I was within my rights, and they made no objections. My mother did not seem quite happy with these plans for she made me promise that I would drink no liquor. Happily, the Captain told her the next fall, that I had kept my word, asking that I sign on for the next year because of my abstinence. At that time drinking was quite prevalent in Iceland, 1893, was the first and only time we ever had enough to eat in our native land. The next year we went to Canada and it happened this way. My father finally did what he had often talked about doing. He wrote to his brother in North Dakota, USA, as well as to two men of his acquaintance, in New Iceland, Canada. They were Elias Jónsson Kjaernested , who later became my father-in-law, and Jóhann Eliasson Straumfjord, who was a first cousin of my mother’s. Jóhann was well liked in New Iceland and successful in all his undertakings. With the help of his sons, he collected the fare to Winnipeg, which amounted to $32.50. My father wrote in 1893, spring(time) and word came in the fall that the fare to Winnipeg had been paid to the Allan Line, total fare being $97.50 for the three of us. This news made me very happy and filled me with high hopes for my future in America for I felt that opportunities for advancement would be greater in America than in Iceland. I did not think that I would miss the life in Iceland very much for we had no family with whom I was acquainted there. (Instead,) My dear Fatherland, lying wounded after centuries of oppression, would be sorely missed as it has been ever since. My misery was not the fault of the land nor can it be blamed for its people’s almost hopeless struggle for existence. I have always loved my native land as do all who have left their place of birth and upbringing. Yes, I love my native land, its lava, its frost and snow, its fiery Hecla, its waterfalls, its midnight sun, its July sunshine and the joy of youth, I knew there. As I grew older, and saw the hopelessness of my condition, I thought that life could be a nightmare—as the poet Kristján Jónsson says—“All things are not as they seem.” I became pessimistic for everything was so difficult in those days. But now we may thank God and good people that things have changed for the better, and most folks are doing well, working conditions having improved beyond belief. God bless Iceland and its people, give them the will and the wisdom to grow spiritually as well as materially. May they retain a spirit of humility so as not to become too satisfied with and over confident of their own worth as so many nations and individuals do when things go well. May they remember God, who watches the actions of man in his attitude to his fellow man. Now, I wish to turn my thoughts in another direction, specifically to our trip to the New World. We boarded a ship in Stikkisholmi in Breiðafjord, in the latter part of June 1894, the post ship, Thyra, which took us to Scotland, the trip lasting two weeks as the shop stopped in most of the ports along the route, to deliver mail and other goods and to pick up passengers on route to the Western World or seeking employment in Siglufjord in the herring fishing. Having come from Reykjavík, the ship’s direction lay north and east. We stopped at Fratey in Breiðafjord, in Isafjord in Westfjord on Skagastrond, Saudarkrok in Skagafjord, Eyjafjord in Eyjafjordarsýsla, Husavík in Thingeya sýsla, Siglufjord in North Mulasýsla. (Actually, I’m not sure whether it is in North or South Mulasýsla). Here we bade goodbye to Iceland and sailed on to the Faroes. It was in the latter part of the day that we left the last harbor in Iceland. A gale from the northeast blew up making the sea quite choppy. I was on the upper deck, watching the land of my fathers disappear from view, with the highest mountains the last to fade from sight. At times, the waves obscured even this and I felt a great sadness touch my inner feelings, knowing I would never see my native land again. This proved to be true, for I am now eighty-seven years of age, and I must say that I do not expect to return in this life—whatever may happen afterwards. As a matter of fact the passing moment did not concern me much for I was filled with thoughts of what lay ahead. My beloved fatherland has never been forgotten, and I have been sorely angered when mean and stupid windbags have downgraded my country. Those who have grown up in Iceland and are ashamed to acknowledge their ancestry are, I hope, in the minority. I often think of the verses composed by Sigurður Breiðfjord which are part of Numa Rimur and I quote two of them: “Far removed from care and worry I live on this distant strand. Still my heart is ever yearning For my white-capped motherland.
For you, dearest motherland, I have a love both deep and true. There I saw the light of day. There I into manhood grew.” In spite of their more comfortable life in America, most Icelanders feel this way, those of us who were pioneers who are becoming few and far between. Our descendents, born in America and know little about Iceland may feel differently, and we cannot expect them to have the same feelings about Iceland as we old folks do. On our trip around the coast of Iceland, it seemed to me that the most prosperous looking farms were to be found in Eyjafjord and Husavik in Thingeyjarsýsla. I have heard that farming in the south of Iceland was very good but I was unacquainted with that part of the country. And now, I leave my country with its lava and ice, its volcanoes and waterfalls, which I may mention later if I live. My eyesight troubles em while I write and to add to this my vocabulary is poor. I wonder if anyone will enjoy reading this. As I mentioned before, it was twilight when I bade farewell to Iceland. The next day I saw the Faroes, which, though they did not seem to be particularly well suited for farming, had a thriving fishing industry. Fourteen days after we left Stikkisholmi, we arrived in Edinburgh, Scotland, where we took a train to Glasgow and boarded the Allen Line Ship “Darmation.” The trip from Glasgow to Canada lasted fourteen days, almost three days by train to Winnipeg, making our trip from Iceland to our destination, a month long, a trip which now can be made in a few hours. A new world opened before my eyes—so many things to see that I had never seen before. I stared at the huge horses which were harnessed to a wagon. All the worldly goods of the Icelanders, (70) trunks, kofforts, blankets, bags of clothing and many other things were loaded on that wagon and carried in one trip from the ship to the train depot, the horse not even seeming to be aware of this heavy load he pulled. Then there was the train and the depot, the like of which I had never seen, the tall buildings, to say nothing of the ocean liner that brought us to Canada—all of this was strange and overpowering to my bewildered eyes. I thought to myself “Here is work for the asking,” and it proved to be true that there was work for anyone who wished to get ahead. The wages in the Western world were low, it is true, but were much higher than those paid in Iceland. Here was the land of opportunity, where neither I nor anyone in my family have suffered the pangs of starvation, Thanks be to God. I brought up a large family and we suffered illness from time to time, but never hunger, while in Iceland, during the years I remember best, and especially 1882 and 1883, many were almost starving to death. I have told you that our fare had been sent to us (fare from Iceland to Winnipeg). We were fed while on the ship which took us over the Atlantic, but we had to feed ourselves from Iceland to Scotland and from Quebec to Winnipeg. When we arrived in Quebec, our money was exhausted, so on the three day trip to Winnipeg, we had not a cent, even for a glass of milk. My mother had saved some bread which we bought in Scotland and we ate that with water provided on the train. Sigurður Barðarsson, whom my mother’s parents and known slightly in Iceland met us at the station in Winnipeg. He took us to his home where we enjoyed our first meal in the Western World--that good couple Sigurður and Guðrun Davidsdottír, a woman of very good reputation. She was the aunt of my future wife. We arrived in Winnipeg in August, at which time there was little work to be had in that town. So we went to stay with a relative of my mother’s who dwelt on a small island near Mikley, in Lake Winnipeg. My parents stayed there for about a year and a half, working for little more than their keep. Workmen in Canada were poorly paid in those days but, as I said, better than in Iceland. Farmers in New Iceland, paid 50 cents a day and found during the long spring days of 12 to 14 hours and $5.00 and found a month during the winter. The pay in the city was a little better, being $1.25 a day for 10 hours of work—actually slave labor. One had to feed oneself so there was little left after one bought the food, cheap as it was. There was little work to be had in Winnipeg during the winter due to the frost and snow, except for sawing wood, for which job there were many applicants. Fifty cents a cord was the standard pay for awing hardwood, and believe me, sawing hardwood with a handsaw in icy weather in an unsheltered area was no picnic. But we were optimistic that things would improve and they did for we made enough money so that we were never hungry as we had been so many times in Iceland. Most of the people were poor, having come from Iceland with nothing, which made those first years difficult, but opportunities for work were great in the Western World, though the pay was small. Many families moved to the country where they prospered especially if they settled near a lake where the fishing was good. Most of these people had large families with may mouths to feed. Taxes were very low when we first arrived in Canada. When we moved from New Iceland to Shoal Lake district, the taxes were $5.00, which was a school tax. County government was non-existent and road taxes were not necessary since a horse and wagon had no trouble making a way along the trails. We did not pay the pastor for there was no church, though a visiting pastor preached in the local school house from time to time so that the residents of the area would not become completely heathen. The pastor’s only source of income was received from the Lutheran Church and the pay was probably small. The year and a half my parents lived in the home of Jóhann Straumfjord in Engey, I spent here and there. For the remainder of the first summer in Canada, I stayed with Jóhan n and probably the next winter, working for Jóhann’s sons at fishing to pay for my board and room. The catch was small that year and little money was made. Later in the winter, I got a job chopping wood at fifty cents a cord (feeding myself). I was unaccustomed to this kind of labor and able to chop but one cord a day, so there was not much profit for me at that job. (A cord of wood is 8’ c 4’). After that, I worked for a farmer for fifty cents a day and found, 14 hours a day. And still later, I got a job building a bridge on Lake Winnipeg. As I had to feed myself, I was no better off than I was while working for the farmer. The highest pay one received in Winnipeg for such jobs as ditch digging or working on the railroad was $1.25 a day. Such were the wages in Manitoba, at the turn of the century. In the fall or in September, I went to the United States (North Dakota) to try my luck there. Their highest wage was $1.75 and found, during the threshing season. If it could only have lasted longer, it would have been much to my liking. My pay in the fall of 1896 was $25.00 and found and I had never been so well paid in all my life. My next job was with a threshing outfit at $1.75 and found, a day, which pay was lowered to $1.50 a day when the threshing was half done. The men lost their pay due to the thresher’s unwillingness or inability to pay. In those days there was no law that stipulated that the workers to be paid first if there was any money on hand. The farmer received fifty cents a bushel for wheat (60 lbs.) or 25 cents a bushel (32 lbs.) for oats, not much money for all the work that went into farming or for those who worked so hard and willingly for their living and whose only wish was to be able to keep going. The year 1896, in which I worked in North Dakota, I earned $70.00 and I certainly thought I was a great man for I had never earned that much money in that short a time. Unfortunately I lost half my money so that I only realized the sum of $35.00 for all the work I did in the mighty United States. During this period many tramps spent their summers in this area, living mostly on what they could steal from those who dwelt in the neighborhood of the towns. The farmers who hired these men for a day or two, were rewarded by having their eggs and chickens stolen. They would arrive, one by one, on a Saturday evening, when the farmer was greatly in need of a man to stack his wheat. It being Saturday evening, they got four meals for nothing for on Monday morning there was neither hid nor hair of them to be seen. I think they came to the mid-west from the large cities of the Eastern United States. Half of the money for which I had worked so hard, was lost to these thieves and I was lucky to escape without bodily injury, or so I was told by my countrymen, who were more worldly wise than I, unaccustomed as I was to such behavior in my home country, (where our only wealth was our two hands). In the beginning of the winter, I returned to my parents with $35.00 in my pockets and a little more sense in my head. Here, I got a job with an Icelander which entailed fishing under the ice of Lake Winnipeg, the pay being fifty cents a day. The latter part of the winter I lived with my cousin Jóhann, helping him around the farm and building a log cabin for my parents, my mother wishing to set up housekeeping. She had always been an independent woman, though it is hard to be really free when one has nothing. In the spring of 1896, I moved our few belongings from my cousin Jóhann’s house, in Engey, dragging them on a sleigh over the ice. The land which our cousin had chosen for us was covered with brush and rocks, which did not promise well as farm country. He pooh-poohed my fear of floods, saying that he did not think I need have any worries on that score. So into the new house we went in the spring with a herd of two cows, one of which I bought from my cousin with the money I had earned. We had to move before the ice broke and proceeded to finish our two storey 14’ x 18’ house. It was a log cabin with wood flooring and a shingled roof, the cracks between the logs being filled with limestone and sand. We lived well that winter in spite of the rather make-shift carpentry on the house. There was enough grass to nourish the two cows and the fishing grounds were near enough to supply us with fish for our larder but not enough to sell. In the fall I returned to North Dakota for the threshing, coming home with a few dollars in my pocket just before freeze up. During my absence, I learned that Lake Winnipeg had flooded, the water running under the haystacks and the house and having receded before my return home. The prospects for farming on that property seemed very bleak, with floods to be expected every time the lake was free of ice. For those who think that Lake Winnipeg floods only during a rainy year, I wish to point out that the lake is 300 miles long and 200 miles wide at the northern tip with a narrow sound connecting that part about 50 miles from the southern end which widens again. When the southern end of the lake fills up and floods the surrounding land since the narrow sound does not allow the water to flow back into the northern wide end, quickly. It did not seem that a flood on the shores of Lake Winnipeg could be averted and everyone who owned the low-lying land along the shore has long since moved out of the area. There was no use staying on that land any longer for I could not leave my parents to struggle helplessly while I left them to seek the work necessary to our existence. My father was losing his eyesight and my mother was no longer strong enough to work in another’s home. Suddenly it seemed as if something whispering to me that I must change my lifestyle and I determined to find myself on my life’s journey. Some may think that this was a rather ridiculous plan but it seemed that something told me to follow this course, and that I was being told where I should look for a good wife. I had visited her home once, the home of her father, Elias Kjernested. This was two years in the past but her image was ever in my mind. I did not woo her consistently for I felt that I had little to offer so fine a woman, one of such good family. In my youth, one was not encouraged to be overly conceited. Things went well, for I was encouraged in wooing by her parents who felt that good stock was necessary to produce good offspring. (A belief popularly held in those days). I do not mean to boast about my heritage, but my people were generally considered to be well endowed with spiritual and physical prowess equal to that of my wife’s family. Folks, nowadays, make light of the importance of heredity on one’s behavior in the school of life, but the value of a good heritage has been proven many times. I will not dwell on this any longer, suffice it to say that our respective parents were very pleased to further our marriage plans. Much has been given to me by that loving and almighty being, God. Life, health, daily bread—in that God I trust to keep me and my loved ones safe. He has cradled my body and my spirit in his everlasting arms, and he led me to my dear, loving wife. She bore the trials of life with me for thirty-nine years with unending courage in spite of the fact that she suffered from heart trouble on and off, for 30 of those years. It is fitting that I here quote the folling verse, not of my own composing, which vividly pictures the “Good Wife,” as my helpmate most certainly was. Everyone who knew her would most readily confirm this statement. She cared for me and our children in the manner spoken of in this poem: “Who is it that always takes care of my place. Unasked, has always given a smile and warm embrace. Lights the light of gladness and hope in my life And leads my thoughts to Heaven—My darling, loving wife.” My time is getting short, my eyesight is failing and my script is almost illegible, making it necessary that I go over the rest of my story quickly. Few, if any, will read this not so interesting story of my life, the writing of which was begun in my old age. I always was a little slow about starting things, some of which were more important than these incoherent thoughts. I shall not return to the main theme of my life’s story. In the spring of 1898, my parents and I moved to the area where my future father-in-law had homesteaded in Vidurnes, on the border of New Iceland. We said farewell to the property Jóhann Straumfjord had chosen for his cousin, my mother, when she wished to set up housekeeping for herself and her family. As I said before, there was not much hope for a good future on that place, due to the danger of floods, the small amount of fish in that part of the lake and the unsuitability for farming on land which was wooded, swampy and rocky. Bringing in money to take care of my parents was my main concern and this made it necessary to be away from home for long periods of time. I could not leave them along to fend for themselves due to my father’s failing eyesight. I called this place the “end of the world” it being located north west of the most northern area populated by the Icelanders of New Iceland. This part of the country was called Isafold and most of the settlers later moved away. Shortly before Christmas of 1898, I married Margret Eliasdottír Kjernested. The preceding summer, I had taken a homestead of 160 acres near the home of my father-in-law, and there I build a house and barn during the winter of 1899. The 2 storey house was 16’ x 20’ in area and we moved into it in the spring of 1899. My parents lived with us, father being completely blind by this time. We began our married life with little money, four or five cows on poor acreage, swampy and covered with small trees. The land did not usually dry out until September but at least, it was not annually flooded by Lake Winnipeg, being two miles away from it. We dwelt on that land for ten years. Five children were born to us making us a family of nine. I dried out the land by digging ditches to carry off the water and had plenty of hay for our cattle. This area had been heavily homesteaded by Germans and Galicians leaving no land available. I soon saw that we could not make a very good living on a quarter section of land, so we moved to the Foam Lake District which had been newly opened up. I would now like to give an account of our living conditions during the years we homesteaded. Our married life began with happy hearts, full of high hopes. We were healthy and strong and young, I being twenty-nine and she five and a half years younger. Difficult though things were in those days, we were content and unworried as children for we had enough for our simple needs. Man’s nature longs for children and with children comes responsibility, and we do not consider the difficulties that poor people encounter while struggling to provide for our own. We became the parents of nine children, eight of whom are still living at this writing. We lost one three month old baby. Our first born was a beautiful girl, very gifted as all our children are. They are all physically and spiritually healthy as was their physically and spiritually healthy mother. Our second child was a boy, handsome and healthy, who did very well for the first few months. He was born in April 1900, two months before the onset of the hot July weather. Everyone knows how hard the summer heat is on babies, many dying during the summer months, especially in the big cities. The mother who was unable to breast feed, had to rely on cow’s milk which soured quickly and plain water, which is not nourishing for babies. We had been married a little over two years, when a dark shadow fell over our lives. I have never put much credence in dreams, but I have to admit that one of them came true and it concerned my boy. I dreamed that I was on Lake Winnipeg, watching the nets under the ice, where I sometimes placed them during the winter months, when we needed fresh fish for the table. I was tending the nets, when I happened to look toward the hole and say my son approaching it. In horror, I ran hoping to reach him before he reached the hole, but I was too late, for he disappeared before I could reach him. (And on that tragic image, Agust Breidford’s story stopped, as if grief-stricken, he could no longer put pen to paper and complete his tale.-Rob Olason) |