Paradise Reclaimed by Halldor Laxness

In a cavern, in a canyon,Excavating for a mine, Dwelt a miner, forty-niner, All day long one could hear this dance-tune on the emigrants' deck of the liner Gideon which was transporting people from the Old World to the New. Each and every one had his own goldmine on the other side of the ocean, and the song adjusted itself to the hope, as always. Young girls in far too heavy coats, some of them from the Carpathian Mountains, strolled hand-in-hand along the decks with the words of the song dancing in their eyes, alight with hope, and the wind in their hair on this morning of eternity. This song was the only one with any meaning for the young country lads, who were probably Gas-cons, in their black pea-jackets and embroidered shirts; or an apprentice from Bavaria with the broad-brimmed hat of his craft and wearing trousers so wide that they looked like a skirt on each leg. This was the tune that was danced to on the deck far into the night, and again on an empty stomach first thing next morning; it was played on harmonicas and mouth-organs, strummed on lutes and mandolins, and ground out on barrel-organs. It carried from the bar, blended with the bitter-sweet aroma of beer and, from the kitchens, mingled with the reek of vegetables and singed fat: Clementine, the romanticism of the age that went to America, with the characteristically melancholy note of the refrain: Oh my darling, Oh my darling,Oh my darling Clementine, Thou art lost and gone forever,Dreadful sorry, Clementine. For the first few days after leaving harbour in Scotland the sea was calm. They all wanted to escape from the overcrowding and stuffiness below decks in steerage, and treat themselves to some inexpensive luxury such as the breath off the sea or the rays of some poorer star like the ones which shone on Steinahlíðar. Families gathered together in groups and sat or squatted on the deck. They removed the newspaper wrappings from their salted ham, home-baked rye-loaves and mandolins. The boys were sent for beer, and now there was feasting of a kind that made the entertainment provided by the emigration agents look pale by comparison. These people sang and talked in languages that no one understood except themselves; and so did the salted hams, pumpernickels and mandolins. Soon they all joined hands and started dancing in a circle. There were also plenty of young people who were going on their own or with a few companions to dig for gold in America. They and their friends gathered together on deck in the evenings under an oil-lamp and displayed whatever accomplishments they might have; some did sword-dances, others made prodigious leaps, clapped their hands and uttered shrieks and yells that outmatched anything to be heard in Iceland. This was all part of the dance. The brother and sister from Steinahlíðar gaped at the men fearfully. Here was the entertainment which had been banned in Iceland two centuries previously by royal decree, under pain of Hell. Here was no question of sparing the shoe-leather by treading lightly on the ground, as children were taught in Iceland; and all the musical instruments which the Danish king found sinful were here on show. The brother and sister from Steinahlíðar were the only young people in the world who knew no other entertainment than going to church, not even going round in a circle. They stood apart from the crowd and held hands and for a long time they did not understand what was going on. What was the meaning of it? Was this the correct way to behave? Look at that one doing a somersault in the air and landing on his feet! Was this perhaps a new way of going to Communion? "It pierces the marrow of my bones," said the boy, when the din of the bagpipes and drums was at its most frantic.

"I am almost glad that mother is ill, so that she does not have to see and hear all this," said the girl. "I am sure she would never recover from it. Goodness me, I'm going to run away and hide!"