--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Nephi Anderson collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 5 number: 5 published: 1902-03 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Nephi Anderson, "The Castle Builder. VI, VII," *Improvement Era* 5, no. 5 (March 1902): 351–363.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera0505unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera0505unse start_page: 351 end_page: 363 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1902-03) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera0505unse publication_year: 1902 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1902, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # The Castle Builder. VI, VII THE CASTLE BUILDER. » «, BY NEPHI ANDERSON, AUTHOR OP ADDED UPON," MARCUS KING, MORMON," ETC. PART FIRST. VI. LIFE OF THE NORWEGIAN FISHERMAN. During the following months, Harald served his apprentice- ship to the calling of a fisherman. The fall fishing was good, and Uncle Erik was on the sea most of his time. Harald was with him, as they sailed from fjord to fjord, following the fish in their movements. During these trips, Harald received a share in the catch, the proceeds of which gave him more money than he had ever had before. Two weeks prior to Christmas, he sent the most of it to his grandmother, telling her to use it for her comfort — not by any means to save it, as he was going to earn more. Preparations for the trip to Lofoten, now occupied most of the time of the inhabitants of Nordland. Harald entered enthusi- astically into the work. His uncle was a line fisher, and his great- est anxiety was to secure the required amount of small herring for bait. For this purpose, they sailed in the wind, and rowed during still weather in and out of every corner, following every indication of herring. It was nearly time to start for Lofoten be- fore they had secured enough. On shore, there was life also. Lines and nets must be re- paired; the boats overhauled; chests, ropes, sails, oars, and the hundred and one other needed articles must be looked after. Hired help had to be engaged. The women folks were kept just 352 IMPROVEMENT ERA. as busy. The house was alive with their clatter, their gossip, their laughter, their singing, as they worked. Stacks of fladbrod must be baked; loaves of black ryebread, and cakes of wheat-flour were to be baked in the brick oven; the men's clothing must be patched and mended; great, thick stockings and mittens, knit. The girls worked until perspiration stood upon their rosy faces; the mother oversees, and prepares and packs. The grandmother, if there be one, sits in the corner, out of the way, and knits. The Christmas holidays were celebrated in the usual Nordland manner, and then, about the middle of January, all were ready for Lofoten. Just before starting, Harald received a package from grandmother, containing a pair of thick stockings and a pair of woolen mittens. The mittens for the Lofoten fisherman's use, should have two thumbs, so that when one side becomes wet, it can be slipped off the hand, and turned around to the dry side; but, of course, grandmother knew nothing about such a contrivance. They were warm and serviceable, even if they had but one thumb each. With the package came a letter, and within the letter was another letter written very neatly on a piece of smoother, white, birch-bark. . It read as follows: Vangen, January 10, 18 — Friend Harald' Einersen: Grandmother often comes to see me. She is well, as we all are. Nordland must be a strange country, and the fishing at Lofoten very in- teresting. Will you not write and tell me all about your trip to tho islands? Respectfully, Thora Bernhard. Harald certainly would. He provided himself with writing material, and from Lofoten sent a long letter to Thora. This is the communication: Kastpjord, Lofoten, January 30, 18 — Friend Thora Bernhard: Many thanks for your birch-bark letter. As the day is too stormy to fish, I will begin my answer to you, telling you about my trip hither, and what I have done so far. We left Sandstad, on January 20. A large crowd of fishers gathered at Uncle Erik's place preparatory THE CASTLE BUILDER. 353 to starting. There were forty-two men in our company. We had to wait two days for a favorable wind, but it came on the morning of the 20th. Then, after a hurried meal, goodbyes were said, and we jumped into the boats. The partings were quite sad in some cases, because, no one knows what might happen before the fishers' return, and some may never come back at all. We had a favorable wind, most of the distance. One day, the breeze failed us altogether, and then you should have seen us all at the oars. The whole fleet took part in the race. I never worked so hard in my life, but our boat was not in the lead when the wind caught us again. The weather was pleasant, so everybody said, though I don't call snow storms and hurricanes pleasant weather, especially when one is in an open boat on the sea. The days are very short now, and we could not travel very far each day; though, sometimes when the moon shone bright, we kept on our way all night. My, how sleepy I became! We have in our boat Uncle Erik, Cousin Johan, a hired man, Jens by name, and myself. Some of the boats have four and a half men, and others have five — boys are counted as half-men — Uncle Erik does not count me that way, however. On dark and stormy nights, we managed to anchor at some port where we could get shelter on land. One night, we were part of a com- pany consisting of nearly one hundred men packed into a warehouse, much like herrings in a barrel. Most of us were wet when we landed, but the night was so cold that our clothing was frozen stiff in the morning — Grandmother's warm stockings came in handy. Cousin John is a good fellow. He is not so rough and wild as many of the other fishermen. He assists me to understand this strange life, and the best way to overcome difficulties. I must tell you that I have visited at his home a number of times. He has a wife, my cousin Maria, and two children. They have such a cosy home. When we arrived at this place, the houses which have been built here for the accommodation of the fishermen during the fishing season, were nearly snowed under; but, in a short time, we had paths shoveled and we moved into them. The first thing we did was to build a good fire in the stove, and open door and window that the dampness might be driven out. Then we had a cooked supper, after which we scrubbed the floor with snow. We have done very little fishing. The weather is quite rough, and, as the cod have not arrived in great numbers yet, we are not doing much. February 7th. Since writing last, we have done some fishing, and I will tell you 354 IMPROVEMENT ERA. about it. This station has now some three hundred boats, and over a thousand men. The fish have come in great numbers, and you might imagine what a stir there is. There are many government regulations regarding the fishing, by which each fisher is to have an equal chance. One of these rules is that no boat must leave the harbor for the fishing grounds until the signal is given, which is done by the hoisting of a flag. But then you should see us! It is hardly daylight yet, but away we go, rowing as if for life. There are racing, challenging, laughing, singing, and, sometimes, swearing. The sea gulls fly in circles over the fleet, uttering their harsh cries. Daylight comes, and we are at length on the banks, or fishing grounds, which are at present quite a distance out. Then we set our lines. Each line contains about three thousand baited hooks. Two of us are at the oars, while one lets out the lines. When these are all set properly, we go to work hauling in the lines, which were set the day before. Two men haul in, one stands with a short, bent, steel spike fastened into a handle, and with it helps each big, shining cod into the boat. Another man counts the fish, and stores them in their proper place. Sometimes our lines get tangled with others, then we have a great time to pick out our fish from those of our neigh- bor's. This work requires all the daylight we have. If the wind is favorable, we can get to shore again about six o'clock; but, if we have to row, it sometimes takes us until nine or ten; but our day's work is not over yet. The fish must be disposed of, and our lines made ready for the next day. Some sell their fish, some hang them to dry, and sell only the livers, the eggs and the heads. It is often midnight before we get something to eat and then go to bed. Thus we labor day after day. We could not endure it long, were it not for the stormy days that occur two or three times a week, when we all remain on land to rest. We then sleep half the day, visit our neighbors, gossip, read the newspapers, sing songs, provide ourselves with food — and — and write long letters to young ladies at home. February 20th. Another stormy day. Uncle is sleeping, Johan is very much inter- ested in politics, and is reading Bjornson's latest article, and Jens is off visiting. . I am writing — isn't that news for you? In reading over what I last wrote, I see that it is about the life on the sea. You might also be interested in life on the shore. Our house is located about a stone's throw from the water. To get into our living room, you would have to go into the entre and through an aisle, barrels of all kinds being stacked up on each side, with fish ines hanging from the roof. Once inside, you would see the rusty stove THE CASTLE BUILDER. 355 near one wall; while against two others, the bunks or beds are built. By the window stands the table, and under it are three empty butter kegs — the fourth I am sitting on. That is about all the furniture. When we get home at night, the first thing we do is to rid ourselves of our heavy fisher-boots, and put on our warm, dry, wooden shoes. Then we tumble into the bunks and rest a bit until supper is cooked. We always have fresh fish for supper. For dessert we have fish molje. With all your knowledge of cookery, you will not know what that is. At first I could not eat it, but now — well, I must describe it to you. You may wish to try it. Fill a kettle about half full of broken fladbrod. Pour over it hot fish soup, and let it stand until the bread is well soaked. .'Then pour most of the soup off, and stir the whole until it becomes something like mush. Then stir in the fat from a number of cod livers. Sweeten it with syrup, and make it tart with vinegar. Don't forget to stir all the time. Note: If any of the above mentioned ingredients are missing, don't try to eat it. Johanhas awakened Uncle Erik by his reading aloud; and, as there is now a warm political discussion — Uncle believes in the party of the Right and Johan belongs to the Left — I shall have to quit writing for today. February 28th. Sunday. What a blessing to rest! We have had a hard week. The fish move about from place to place around the islands, and the fishers try to follow. So last week we had big fishing, and great crowds of men It makes a wonderful stir when thousands of men congregate in such a small place as this. ****** Cousin Johan came in as I began writing today, and wished me to go to church with him. I have just come back, and I don't know how well I shall be able to write, because something occurred in the church which has affected me strangely. We have meetings here every Sun- day, and sometimes, on stormy days. I usually go. Johan scarcely ever goes. The preacher, today, was the well-known Pastor Bange. The house was crowded with fishermen. The pastor gave us the usual talk about the grace of God saving us all, if we but believe in Christ, and how we can do nothing of ourselves, in regard to our salvation. It was all very pleasant, I thought. After the sermon, privilege was given persons present to bear testimony, and in a moment, Cousin Johan was on his feet. The church was still as death — most of those present knew of Johan's unbelief, and his poor standing as a Christian. "I should like you to explain, dear pastor," began Johan in his quiet 356 IMPROVEMENT ERA. unhesitating way, "the Apostle James' expression that 'faith without works is dead;' also what is meant by the scriptural saying that all men shall be judged 'according to their works,' and that God 'will render to every man according to his deeds.' For my part, I agree with the Apos- tle. By God's grace the Kastf jord may be full of cod, but what profit- eth it, if we do not gather them in; yes, take advantage of God's grace by long, hard work on our part." Seating himself, a subdued hum swept through the room. Then the pastor arose again; I thought he was a little pale, but he smiled and was very calm. I scarcely heard what he said, he spoke so low, and I was myself so astonished at Cousin Johan; but I caught something about infant baptism, confirmation, and the sacrament being the works needed — the means whereby the grace of God is delivered to us. I'll admit, I was somewhat disappointed in the answer. It has all muddled me, and I hardly know what to think about it. Perhaps you can explain it to me. You stood at the head of your class, you remember, while I was only fourth. March 3rd. The fishing has become poor here, and we are to move to Vagsund; so I will close this letter, and mail it today. Kind regards to grand- mother, all other friends, and to yourself, from Your friend, Harald Einersen. VII. harald's thrilling adventure on the sea. Vagsund lay under the steep wall of one of Lofoten's outer- most islands. The fishing station itself was quite well protected, but the fishing grounds were some miles out from land directly in the sweep of the fierce Arctic storms which came rushing up the open Westf jord. Erik Svensen and his company found good fish- ing at Vagsund, although the weather was often so rough that they could not put to sea. It became colder, too. Fierce snow- storms often caught the home-coming boats, and sometimes made it difficult to land. But fish they must, if possible; and the Nord- land fisherman cares little for the state of the weather, if there is fish to be caught. However, at Lofoten, the government has instituted a strict supervision; and, on stormy days, the flag is not raised; that means, "Stay on land — no fishing today." During these lay-on-land days, Harald and Johan had many THE CASTLE BUILDER. 357 chats together. Harald found something attractive in his cousin. He enjoyed listening to the latter's talk, which always seemed so sensible, and straight-forward, for he had some ideas on politics and government in general which the young man thought were indeed fine. Johan did not often "talk fish," as did the other men, nor did he usually join in the common gossip of [the crowd. He had attended school only very little. He had not even been con- firmed, which made him quite a heathen, in the eyes of many who knew it. It was told of him that the winter before, Pastor Bange had gone privately to him and offered to confirm him if he would come to the school of the priest and learn the catechism; but Johan Bernsen did not attend the school; and whether or not he learned the catechism, he was not confirmed. Johan, however, was a great reader, and he made good use of the library furnished the Lofoten fishermen. One stormy day in March, Johan lay in his bunk reading aloud, while Harald mended lines. Uncle Erik and Jens were out. Suddenly Johan closed his book with a bang, took his pipe from the shelf, relit it, but said nothing for a time. "Well?" enquired Harald. "Harald," he asked "you are not going to be a fisherman all your life?" "I don't know. I may be." "Don't you do it." "Why?" "This fishing business is a dog's life. It's slavery of the worst kind. What advancement can one make? I never saw a fisherman yet that did not have to work like a slave for a bare living. You've got to get out of this. Make a little to begin with, and then become a merchant, a fish buyer or something. If I could only obtain credit at Bergen for a year, I would come out on top — but say, Harald, why don't you go to school?" "Why, I've been to school; was confirmed nearly four years ago." "Tut, you were confirmed! I know. That means you have completed your education! Nonsense, you had just begun. I wish I were in possession of your chances, you wouldn't see me catch- ing cod all my life." 358 IMPROVEMENT ERA. "What would you do?" "First, I would go to the high school at Tromso, and then to the University at Christiania." Johan arose to a sitting posi- tion, placed his pipe back on the shelf, and picked up the book again. "This is a history, a history of Norway. I know it quite well now, but I would learn all there is to learn about that subject. Then I would study the law — one must know something about that — and then, I might have to teach school a while, but not long. I would get into Stortinget* somehow. I tell you my boy, this country of ours has a glorious future. We are not go- ing to be lorded over by a king much longer. We're going to be a republic, Harald, a free republic like the states in America. We are Norsemen, and we are going to be free in name as well as in fact. 0, it makes my blood boil when I think of how we — sons of the Vikings of old, who made all Europe tremble — of how we sit quietly under the rule of a Frenchman! Of a Frenchman, think of it! We might tolerate one of Harald Haarfagre's descendants, but a Frenchman — !" Harald let the lines lay in a tangle while he listened. Johan jumped from the bunk, walked back and forth, and then he laughed quietly as if to himself. "I don't often break out like that, though I feel like it many times. I am visionary, perhaps, but I can't help being as God has made me." Johan went to his clothes box under his bunk, took out a Bible, pulled a butter keg from under the table and sat down. "When I get worked up like that, I always read my Bible. That quiets me again." "I thought you didn't believe in the Bible much," said Harald. "Believe in it! Of course, I do. I believe in it more than Pastor Bange does. Let me read to you some of Christ's Sermon on the Mount. I think that is so grand." The fisherman read, in his rich, deep-toned voice, while the young man listened. Certainly some deeper meanings were brought out even by the way it was read. After a half hour's reading, Johan closed the book and began talking again. * The Norwegian law-making body. THE CASTLE BUILDER. 359 "So, you do not think I am religious," he said, much more quietly than when his theme was political, "but I claim to be quite religious. I believe in God, I believe in Jesus Christ, I believe in the doctrine, which he taught, but I do not believe much of the stuff that is preached now-a-days. It seems to me that the religion of the preachers — and they are pretty much all alike — is so unreal, so unreasonable, so out of harmony with everything else in life that I can't comprehend it. My notion of religion is that it should be a divine essence that permeates all things — yet that does not define it. It should be something we could not put on and off, as the priest does his surplice. It should not be apart from nature, from science or from any known truth, but should harmonize with them all. It should be something that every man could mix with his daily life. It should smile from the flower; sing from the brook; shine from the stars in heaven; encompass the whole human family, past, present, and future; be the safety anchor in every storm; the Father- whisper to the son, and it should answer some of my soul's innermost questions on the mystery of my be- ing." Stamping the snow from his feet, Jens came in and announced that the storm had nearly ceased, that there were prospects of fishing on the morrow. That night Harald could hardly sleep. Johan's talk had disturbed him, had seemingly stirred some deep feeling within him. His thoughts were very much in a muddle, and he was glad when at length the gray dawn appeared. But the storm was not over, though it lulled towards noon. Some of the fishermen were fretful, showing anxiety about their lines and nets. The flag was hoisted after dinner, but not many went out. Some said that the flagman had made a mistake, as the storm was not yet over. Johan, Harald, and Jens went out to take in yesterday's lines. Uncle Erik would not go; not that he feared the sea, but he was not well. The wind blew from the land, and they were not long in reaching their lines which were well out in the open fjord; but the storm had driven them so that they had become entangled with others. They were, however, full of fish and must be hauled. The men worked hard that whole afternoon. The sky cleared, but the wind blew, strong and cold. The waves rolled high, their 360 IMPROVEMENT ERA. white crests frequently breaking into the boat. The cold increased as night came on, yet the men silently and earnestly continued their labors. The stars were out when the boat was ready to return. The wind blew more fiercely than ever from the land, and it became steadily colder. The boat had become coated with ice, both inside and along the top railing. It was, therefore, heavy, and clumsily and slowly moved along its zig-zag course. When the men had finished their work, they were tired and sat down to rest. In a few minutes, their clothing was frozen stiff, and icicles hung from hair and beard. The spray seemed to freeze on their faces. Still the cold increased. The boat became heavier with ice. Night came on. The sky was a deep blue, studded with diamond stars. The sea, of the same color, was nearly hidden under its covering of white-caps. "We must not sit still," said Harald, "we will die in this cold. Here, let me steer, while you work at the oars." Johan did not answer. Harald reached for the oars, but found them frozen fast to the boat! He, however, chopped two of them loose and gave one to each of the others. "No," said Johan, "you and Jens use them. I will steer." "But you'll freeze to death, Johan, sitting still. Let me steer a while." So Harald took his turn at the tiller, while Johan and Jens worked at the oars. It was nearly impossible to do anything with them, so heavy and clumsy were they with encrusted ice. In twenty minutes, both oars had been lost in the sea, and Johan went back to the tiller. Both Johan and Jens produced brandy flasks from their pockets. The bottle which Jens had was nearly empty, as he had taken drinks from it during the afternoon, but that which Johan handed to Harald was nearly full. "Drink," said Johan, "drink and get warm!" Harald had never yet tasted strong drink, and he hesitated remembering his father's words, as he took the flask; but there could be no harm in taking a little now, if it would help keep him warm — and the marrow seemed to be freezing in his bones. But Johan needed it more than he. Johan must sit by the tiller. He THE CASTLE BUILDER. 361 could move about. Harald put the flask to his lips and took a small sip. The liquor made a stinging sensation in his mouth. "Johan, you must have the rest. I can move about and keep warm. Jens, man, get up; don't lie there, you'll freeze to death!" Jens had fallen into the boat, and lay in a stupor. Harald tried to shake him into action, but it was useless. He then lifted him bodily, and tried to have him move about, but the instant Harald let go his hold, Jens would lie down again. "Shift the sail," said Johan, "we must tack." The ropes were like bars of iron, and it was nearly impossible to do anything with them; but it was movement, anyway, and in movement lay his only hope. The lights from the fishermen's houses could be seen, twink- ling now and then above the heaving sea. The distant roar of the waves, dashing themselves into spray against the rocks could be heard. The boat crept slowly on. It would take an hour yet to reach the shore. Harald felt drowsiness stealing over him. He knew what that meant. Perhaps he could get another swallow of brandy; Jens lay still, and Harald searched for his flask. He found it clenched in the dying man's hand, but it was empty. Harald had no desire to try to arouse Jens. He moved up to the tiller where Johan sat. "Have you any brandy left, Johan, I'm terribly cold?" Johan did not answer. Harald shook his cousin fiercely. "Get up," he shouted, "get up, and move. Oh, Johan, wake up, don't sit there and die ! Remember Maria and the children." But the steerman sat immovable. Harald heard only a moan escape his lips. The boat was now in danger of running onto the rocks. Once more, it must tack; into the harbor this time. Harald shifted the sail and shouted to Johan to turn the rudder; but Johan sat immovable, still. Harald hurried with all speed possible, to the tiller, and gave it a turn. The boat slowly changed, striking out on its new course. Harald made an effort to take Johan's hand from the tiller, but it seemed frozen to it, so that he wrenched with all his might to get it loose. Then Johan fell forward on his face. Harald turned him over, but could do no more. 362 IMPROVEMENT ERA. As the boat drew nearer to the high mountain wall, the wind slightly moderated, but this would not help the freezing fisher- men, as it would take so much longer to reach land. Harald headed his boat for the lights. He was extremely tired, and a rest seemed so good. Oh, how cold it was! His mitts were like iron gloves. Johan and Jens lay in the boat as if asleep, and Harald felt anxious to join them. How could he endure it, until he could reach the shore. The schoolmaster, down at Opdal, had told them, one day, what were the sensations of freezing to death. Harald now re- membered it clearly. A panorama went before his eyes. There were Opdal's beloved hills and vales, green in summer beauty. He heard the sweet music of the sheep's bell; he scented the wild odor of the pine woods. There was grandmother, sitting by the stove, spinning, and humming as she spun. Father's sharp ax made the chips fly. The children shouted in their play. Little Hulda, little sister Hulda, climbed again upon his shoulders, and dug her tiny fingers into his curls, to hold on when her horse went fast. And then, down at Vangen, he saw a white-painted house, and a girl- digging in the garden. She smiled at him, and, going to the flower-beds which were located under the glass frames, she picked the largest red rose on the bush, and gave it to him. He put it in his pocket, his inside pocket, right here Harald made a movement, as if to put his hand into an inner pocket of his jacket; but his fingers were stiff with cold. But the exertion awoke him to his senses again, and he realized that the withered flower was safe in the pocket of his best coat on shore. The night grew dark and cold again, but the lights on the shore seemed much nearer. He must not give up. One more effort, just one more, for her sake — for her who had given him the rose. Ten minutes later, a boat from the shore met him, and Harald had a faint- recollection of being lifted out and rolled into a blanket. Then he knew no more, until he awoke, the next day in his Uncle Erik's bunk-house on the shore. ********* The church at Vagsund was filled to overflowing with fisher- men, come to pay their last tokens of respect to their three dead comrades, Johan Bernsen, Jens Monson, and Ivar Soroe. The last THE CASTLE BUILDER. 363 ' named was brought in dead by another relief boat on that fateful afternoon of the storm. The three black caskets lay side by side before -the altar. Pastor Bange officiated. A silent gloom within was enhanced by the storm which howled without. On the front seat sat Erik Svensen, and Harald Einersen, with a number of other fishermen, relatives or dear friends of the dead. Harald's face was pale and thin, as if he had been ill for a month. At the close of the services, comrades bore the caskets to the little graveyard, at the foot of a steep crag. Paths had been shoveled to the graves, upon which the long procession moved through the driving snow. The three coffins were lowered, and then the pastor, taking a small spade-like implement, tossed three times a little earth on the coffin of Jens Monson, repeating the usual formula of "Dust thou art, to dust thou shalt return; and of the dust thou shalt come forth." Then the same ceremony was performed over the grave of Ivar Soroe. Here the pastor stopped. He then breathed a short prayer, covered his head, raised his umbrella, and walked away from the graves between the long lines of men standing on each side of the path. The silence was so perfect that the hard breathings of some of the men could be heard, and the lapping of the sea against the beach below. The men who were to fill the graves stood still, not knowing what to do. Then Harald Einersen darted from the edge of Johan Bernsen's grave, ran along the path, and stopped in front of the retreating priest. He blocked the passage, and, holding up his open hand said: "Give my cousin Christian burial!" "I can not give him Christian burial — he is not a Christian!" "You lie, Pastor Bange; give my cousin Christian burial! I knew Johan Bernsen — I know he is a Christian, a better Christian than you ever can be. Give him decent burial !" The priest tried to pass, but Harald blocked the way. His pale face was paler yet, while his eyes fairly shone from their hollow depths. "Men," said Harald to his comrades around him, "was my cousin a Christian?" "Yes;" shouted one close by.