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“...the most extended churchyard in the world...”

In The Emigrants, Captain Christian Lorentz soberly reflects on burials at sea:

These peasants often feared death at sea, because of the final resting place - they wanted to be put in consecrated ground, and the ocean was not consecrated. But they were caught in deep superstition: the water where so many good seamen had found their graves ought to be a good enough resting place for the wretched land-rats.

Perhaps the wife Inga-Lena Andersdotter had died, too, in fear of the unconsecrated burial place of the ocean. Her forty years she had lived on solid ground, bending over the earth in her potato furrows and barley fields, poking in pens and manure piles, tramping between byre and barn. Yet she would find rest in the sea, in the most extended churchyard in the world, where nothing marked the graves. She would not be registered anywhere - she was an emigrant who failed to reach her destination, a wanderer in the world.

I've finished The Emigrants, and just started the second volume, Unto a Good Land. After a rough ten-week sea voyage, the emigrants have arrived in New York, as a way station to the Midwest. (That "wretched land-rats" term is pretty harsh, and maybe an error of translation - the opening pages of the second volume show that the Captain actually cares for his passengers, and really goes out of his way to help them.)

July 2, 2019 in Books | Permalink