LOCAL TALES FROM THE EAST FJORDS OF ICELAND

This week, we continue with the series of excerpts from Enslaved: The Story of the Barbary Corsair Raid on East Iceland in 1627, the book my Icelandic colleague, Karl Smári Hreinsson, and I recently published.

Instead of presenting further details about the corsair attack, this week we look at some of the local tales about the raid that are still being recounted in the East Fjords .

The corsair raid in the East Fjords in that summer of 1627 struck like a bolt of lightning. The local inhabitants were no more prepared for such an assault than they were for aliens from another star system to drop down from the skies, and the event left a deep, collective imprint. So much so that today, nearly four hundred years later, people in the East Fjords still tell stories about it.

The provenance of these stories is obscure, and it is impossible to judge how accurate the details they recount might be. As is the case with most oral traditions, they likely contain a core of truth, but there is also an element of elaboration.

Take, for example, the tale of Reverend Einar Sigurðsson of Heydalir, a farmstead located on the northeast slope of Breiðdalur.

The corsairs coursed through Breiðdalur searching for loot and captives, but according to the Icelandic documents, they failed to find the chapel at Heydalir farmstead because they “mistook it for a rock formation.” This is nothing implausible about this, for Icelandic buildings of the time were constructed largely of sod. The corsairs, having had no experience of such architecture, might easily have mistaken the organic shape of a sod chapel in the distance for just another hump in the landscape.

The local tale about Reverend Einar, however, presents a different explanation for why the corsairs failed to find the chapel.

At the time of the corsair raid, according to the story, Reverend Einar was old and blind but still hale. He was an important and influential man in the district, not only the pastor of Heydalir farmstead and the surrounding area but also a poet of great renown.

There is a venerable tradition in the medieval Icelandic sagas of poets—skálds—who were far more than mere wordsmiths, and whose verses held magical potency. The tale of Reverend Einar follows this tradition. In it, the Reverend asks to be brought outside and shown the direction from which the corsairs would arrive. He then recites a verse of his own making and conjures up a fog that prevents the corsairs from finding the chapel. Another version has him rendering the corsairs blind to the chapel and incapable of finding it.

This sort of tale is suspect, of course, because of its blatant supernatural element, but there is also another element that undercuts its credibility as an accurate record of an actual event: Reverend Einar Sigurðsson died in 1626, a year before the corsair raid.

Oral tales typically contain a complex mix of truth and elaboration, and those dealing with a traumatic event like the corsair raid sometimes include an element of wishful thinking, or even outright fabrication, in an attempt to deal with the trauma of the event and make the memory of it less painful. So the oral tales from the East Fjords cannot be taken as anything like literal truth.

They are still interesting stories, though, and there is always at least a kernel of truth to them (the corsairs, after all, really did fail to find the chapel at Heydalir).

These local tales are of two types: those that are connected with specific places, and those that describe either escape or capture.

Below are two tales connected with particular places.

I was fortunate enough to be able to visit the East Fjords this past summer (pandemic be damned) and got to photograph the sites connected with the events of the corsair raid. So the tales below are accompanied by photos of the sites as they now are. Though nearly four centuries have passed, those sites are not that much different from what they were back then—since they are geological formations rather than human habitation.

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Álfheiðarskúti

There is a small cave located in the hills just above the site of Búlandsnes farm, on the southwest coast of Berufjörður. The cave is situated among steep cliffs that were very difficult to climb.

According to the local tale, when the Algerine corsairs attacked Búlandsnes farmstead, a young servant girl named Álfheiður managed to escape. She fled across the hilly grassland surrounding the farm and scrambled up the face of the cliff.

Some of the corsairs chased after her. As she was young and agile, and a good climber, only one of the corsairs was able to follow her up the cliff. He too was a good climber and caught up with her, reaching out to grab her. She shoved him desperately away and managed to dislodge his hold on the rock so that he fell tumbling to his death. After this, the other corsairs abandoned the chase and moved on in search of easier prey.

Álfheiður stayed up in the cave until the corsairs had left the Djúpivogur area entirely and then climbed down safely. Ever since then, the cave has been known as Álfheiðarskúti (Álfheiður’s cave).

The photograph to the left here is a view looking up the cliffs to Álfheiðarskúti (the dark hole in the rockface, labelled and marked by the arrow, near the very top, just above the highest horizontal band of cliffs). Búlandsnes farm no longer exists, but the cliff face and the cave are still there, still basically as they were when the corsairs arrived—except that in the early seventeenth century there would have been no trees.

Those trees obscure the view of the cliff face somewhat, but you can clearly see that reaching the cave at the top (especially while being pursued by rampaging corsairs) would require considerable athleticism. Presumably, it was at some spot on the band of cliffs just below the cave that Álfheiður shoved the corsair who was following her to his death.

Lúsíuhellir

A short distance into the mountains from Krossgerði farm, on Berufjarðarströnd, there is a small cave. The mouth of the cave is easily discernible halfway up the cliffs that make up the mountain’s face. A steep, grassy slope leads up to the cave mouth.

A local tale has is that there was a young girl at Krossgerði farm, named Lúsía, who managed to escape when the corsairs attacked the farm. Like Álfheiður at Búlandsnes farm, Lúsía ran off, hid herself in the cave, and eluded capture. Ever since, this cave has been known as Lúsíuhellir (Lúsía’s Cave).

The photograph to the left here shows the modern-day outbuildings of Krossgerði farm. You can make out Lúsíuhellir (labelled and marked by the arrow) above the farm buildings. The steep, grassy slope leading up to the cave mouth is plainly visible.

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One of the wonderful things about Iceland is how alive much of its history still is. My co-author Karl Smári Hreinsson and I were given a tour of the East Fjords area by a local named Magnús Siguðsson, who not only knew the geography intimately but also knew all the details of the Algerine corsair raid—especially all the local tales. It’s thanks to him that I was able to take the photographs that accompany this post.

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For some of the local tales from the East Fjords about escape and capture that can be found in Enslaved, see the next post in this blog.

For those who may be interested, the image at the top of this post is of what Djúpivogur (the place the Algerine corsairs first attacked) would likely have looked like in 1627. Back then, it consisted of a Danish trading post (the lone building near the shore), with an accompanying Danish merchant ship moored in the harbor each summer, and little more.

Below are two images of Djúpivogur, the first showing what it looked like in 1627 (a repeat of the image at the top of this post) and the second showing what the place looks like today.