In highly uncertain times, when hunger, illness, injury and death can strike at any moment, it is a very human trait to appeal to a higher power. Lutheran Reverend Jón Steingrímsson was not unusual in this regard when, in the beginning of June 1783, he began to see clear signs of what would become one of the greatest natural disasters to ever strike Iceland, the catastrophic consequences of which would impact millions of people across the globe.
As the head priest and church provost or chief dignitary of West Skaftafell county, based in the town of Kirkjubærklaustur in Southeast Iceland, Jón had noted in his diary that beginning on the June 1, residents of the mountain side district not far to the north reported a week of near constant tremors interrupted occasionally by powerful earthquakes. Mild earthquakes were not unfamiliar to Icelanders and were not necessarily understood as bad omens but were rarely experienced with such frequency or intensity.
Jón had lived through a calamitous century, as was made clear by the death and destruction wrought by the 1727 eruption at Öræfajökull (Waste-Land Glacier) and the 1755 Mount Katla eruption. The latter may also have triggered the earthquake and accompanying tsunami and fires that destroyed Portugal’s capital of Lisbon and killed 12,000 people. More recently, Mount Hekla had erupted in 1766-1768, covering the surrounding area with over a square kilometre of lava. As violent as these eruptions had been, most had occurred in relatively unpopulated areas and as a result few lives were lost. Still, they were unpleasant reminders of Icelanders’ precarious existence.
Before becoming a priest, Jón was recognised as a hardworking and moderately successful farmer and fisherman. However, he was thought by some to be judgemental, argumentative, and arrogant, leaving his previous position as the local priest in Mýrdalur with few friends. “… I had to suffer a lot from evil and envious men; because the more God blessed me and stood by me in everything, the more they slandered me and did everything to harm me, so it may well be said that I had to deal with the worst and most foolish men who existed there at that time.” Notwithstanding his haughty character, his proven diligence won him accolades in 1777 from the colonial government and Jón Steingrímsson was awarded a medal of merit by the Danish Crown. He was also awarded Danish citizenship and the respectable position of provost and head priest of the Skaftafell region. Many locals praised him for his dual role as a competent man of medicine, known for travelling long distances by foot in order to attend to the sick and infirm and often charging nothing for his services. By his own reckoning he used his medical skills to help over 2,000 inhabitants over a period of 17 years.
By any measure, 1783 was a remarkable year. A young Ludwig van Beethoven published his first work while W.A. Mozart's Great Mass in C Minor debuted. In France, the Montgolfier brothers publicly demonstrated their hot air balloon, and the United States and Great Britain signed a peace treaty which formally ended the American Revolutionary War.
At the time, the church took its role as moral leadership of the nation seriously. As he commented in his diary, Jón felt that in recent years his community had been plagued by all manner of sin. He complained that there was too much drinking; that the local people had become lazy, less pious, and even picky about their food. He preached passionately to his parishioners to avoid what he saw as indifference to the illegality and immorality that surrounded them, which could only lead to a bad conclusion, whether in this life or the in the hereafter: “…when He had seen that a fear of God and justice had managed to go awry, …(our) righteous God would visit upon the people punishment through Fire-Earth, and other destruction…”
On the morning of June 8, Jón and his fellow clergymen were preparing for Whit Sunday celebrations. It had been a particularly mild spring and the day was warm and clear. That morning news reached Jón’s ears that would likely have been dismissed as fantasy had he not experienced the eruption of Mount Katla some three decades earlier. Bjárni Pálsson, the Physician General and Jón’s close friend, had barely escaped Katla’s smog with his life, which blinded his horses and nearly smothered him.
Reports told of lightning, exceedingly rare in Iceland, that had struck a sheep stall and killed all the livestock in an instant. Rumours claimed that villagers far to the north were forced to abandon their homes as an amorphous grey mass slowly enveloped their farmsteads, while cascades of dark red, yellow, and black had been seen deeper in the highlands and powder that fell, like burnt coal ash. Apart from the earth tremors, the only clear sign of foreboding in the town where Jón and his family lived was a black sandy fog which was seen to be rising to the north. Although the day of festivities and divine service had begun with gentle skies and beautiful weather, as Jón wrote, “joy quickly turned into grief.”
Under the bright summer sun, the ominous sable haze spread rapidly over the county, suddenly rendering the houses of the riverside district dim as if in the middle of winter. Earthquakes and tremors intensified. In a matter of hours, a fine soot covered the villages like a dark snow, deep enough to leave ashen footprints behind the fleeing villagers. The next day, as the opaque mist grew ever higher and completely covered the district, water from the once mighty Skaftá river diminished to a fraction of its normal output. The following days brought razor sharp hailstones and dark rain showers as black as ink. Brown spots and holes appeared on leaves and houses while any uncovered skin was left raw and painful. Newly shorn sheep sought shelter in vain in the treeless landscape as their hides were scorched. On the third day of the eruption, Jón reported, “The weather was thick with bitter haze, which caused almost unbearable burning in the eyes and bare skin where it fell, and dizziness in the head.”
Since the Middle Ages, Iceland had been beset by a series of rampant virulent diseases, wide-spread crushing poverty, and various natural disasters. The Danish Crown had imposed a strict trade monopoly since 1602 which unfairly exploited the country and stunted economic growth, effectively keeping a substantial portion of the population in perpetual poverty. A smallpox epidemic hit Iceland in 1707 that wiped out at least a quarter of the population and crippling leprosy was common throughout the eighteenth century. To make matters worse, the climate during this period was significantly cooler than the present day, such that Iceland’s creeping glaciers were consuming ever more precious pastureland while ocean ice regularly surrounded the country for months on end preventing vital coastal fishing and leaving large portions of the population on the verge of starvation.
Despite the high volume of obscure precipitation, the river’s flow decreased to little more than a stream. It was not until June 12 that the origin of these frightening omens became obvious to inhabitants of the Skaftá district, which was home to 17 farmsteads and some 700 people. On that day, surging noisily with hissing, popping, and crackling sounds, a colossal flow of lava inexorably filled the now-dry Skaftá riverbed, setting the once lush grasses and shrubbery on its banks ablaze. Before long, the burgeoning lava overflowed the river banks and quickly engulfed the surrounding flatland. Whenever the river of fire would pass over a pond or mire, steam would shoot upward accompanied by loud bangs that sounded like dozens of cannons firing simultaneously.
For the next three weeks the lava continued to spread along the lowest points of the land. The steaming pile of lava was so broad that it could be seen over the whole county, to the west on the moors in Gullbringa county. “The sun, when it could be seen, appeared as a red ball of fire, the moon as red as blood.” When the initial lava flow finally abated in July, Jón made his way northward on foot to get a better idea of the natural disaster that was destroying his community and to rescue farmers, preserve the church valuables, and tend to the sick. Along the way he encountered many refugees and even a few who attempted to remain despite the hell-like conditions. Jón records that his district had dwindled from 613 residents to 93 through either death or relocation. He recorded his canny observations in what has become an invaluable resource to volcanologists and historians alike. The once beautiful and fertile Fljótshverfi area was “now laid waste,” which caused Jón tremendous sadness. Churches and farms and all their material wealth, fell to fire, water, or were abandoned.
On November 2, 1783, Jón held a church service at Kálfafell, a hamlet in southeast Iceland near the Vatnajökull glacier, for the people who still remained. “…so great were the showers of ash and sand which blew down from every ridge that we could just make out the farm and church, even though they stand on high ground. This could be called the day of swirling sands and tribulations. The area from the source of the fires to the edge of the new lava was one continuous sea of flame. The fires cast my shadow as if I were walking in bright moonlight. Furthermore, trustworthy men reported that the fires reached so high into the air that at that time there was almost as much light as a good day’s journey away. But no description can equal the sight.”
A young woman named Ragnheiður Böðvarsdóttir lived with her husband, their child and her husband’s parents on a farm just south of the Skaftá river. Earthquakes preceding the Laki eruption caused their houses to collapse, destroying their food supplies. As the eruption continued, their land was covered in a layer of ash and black sand. All their livestock, including six milking cows, 50 sheep and seven horses died of hunger and disease. With little to forage for food, their child and the parents-in-law soon died of hunger. Their farm plot was covered with so much ash and sand that after a few weeks it was no longer visible. Her husband, weakened by hunger, finally succumbed to disease and Ragnheiður was left alone and helpless. After days of travel southward on foot, weakened by disease and hunger, she survived, but was left landless and impoverished. Few of the survivors were able to return to their land, which was either covered by piles of sand and ash or steaming layers of lava.
When the lava steadily encroaching flows threatened to destroy the last remaining land around Kirkjubæjarklaustur on July 20, 1783, Jón and his parishioners were forced to abandon their heavily damaged or destroyed homes and farms, taking final refuge in a nearby church. In one of the most powerful and moving speeches in Icelandic history, Jón delivered the famous ‘fire’ sermon in which he urged his congregation to pray for God’s help in their time of desperation, imploring them to accept their fate by turning to God, to trust in His providence even in the face of disaster and death. As they faced the crisis before them, Jón emphasised the importance of forgiveness, mercy, and love. He reminded them that they were all sinners, but if they turned to God with repentance and profound faith, the Lord would be forgiving and merciful. Miraculously for Jón and the congregation, the lava stopped short of the church, confirming for the faithful that their prayers had indeed been heard and that God, despite his apparent wrath, was surely merciful.
The fires of Skaftá river
Known as the Skaftáreldar (fires of Skaftá), the catastrophic Laki eruption centred around ten fissures and 140 craters. The 27 km [17 mi] Laki fissure is part of the Grímsvötn volcanic system located under the west side of Europe’s largest glacier, Vatnajökull.
Generally considered to be one of the largest and most catastrophic volcanic eruptions in recorded history, over a period of eight months Laki produced tremendous amounts of lava, ash, and poisonous gases that spread throughout Iceland, Europe, and the world. As far away as Britain, thousands of heads of cattle died from Laki’s gas poisoning. Locally, dozens of megatonnes of highly toxic hydrogen fluoride and hydrogen chloride gases laid crops and vegetation to waste, leading to widespread famine.
In late June 1783 Jón reported there was so much ash, black sand, and sulphuric rain in the area that the “snouts, nostrils, and feet of livestock […] turned bright yellow and raw.” Livestock and crops were nearly totally obliterated in Jón’s county: “skin rotted off the spines of horses, cattle and sheep; the poison swelling their heads, jaws, and joints while rotting their insides and shrinking their bones.” To make matters worse, the dead and dying livestock were rendered inedible; the meat of which was “foul-smelling, bitter, and full of poison, so that many people died as a result of eating it.” Within days, Jón’s neighbours showed signs of starvation. Their gums became swollen and cracked. Irregular heartbeats, dysentery, diarrhoea and hair loss were among the most common symptoms, which Jón suspected were caused by the consumption of contaminated water and food as well as inhalation of the toxic air. The ash and toxic gases ended up killing some 50% of the livestock and nearly 25% of Iceland’s population, including Þórunn, Jón’s beloved wife of 31 years. Jón’s parishioners died in such large numbers that multiple victims were often buried in a single grave.
Despite dwindling resources and weakening health, Jón housed patients at his farm or travelled long distances in poor conditions to administer aid. His friend Bjarni Pálsson (later the Physician General of Iceland) generously donated medicines and loaned tools to Jón. He travelled several times west to the Governor’s seat at Bessastaðir in order to get any help for his community, which all too often came late or not at all.
At its height, the Laki eruption produced 8,000 m3 of lava per second; the volcanic lava fountain reaching up to 1,400 metres [4,600 ft] in altitude. As much 40 billion tonnes of basaltic lava spewed out of Laki. In all, over 600 km2 of Iceland’s southeast were covered by lava, enough to cover greater London in lava one metre thick. In addition, 120 megatonnes of sulphur dioxide and 350 megatonnes of carbon dioxide were pushed into the upper atmosphere, reaching altitudes of 15 km [9 mi] and spreading with the jet stream across the northern hemisphere. Apparently, the eruption occurred as ten distinct pulses of activity, each starting with a brief explosive phase followed by a longer period of lava flows. The intense volcanic heat melted billions of litres of nearby glacier, flooding downstream rivers and destroying dozens of farms and villages throughout the county and beyond.
For years after the eruption, the sulphur dioxide and ash released into the atmosphere caused worldwide cooling. It led to a cold summer across Europe and even as far as North America, where frost and snowfall were reported in all months of the summer. Observers in various European countries noticed the dim haze through the summer of 1783, but few surmised the cause. American Ambassador to France Benjamin Franklin came closest when he speculated that the mist and the subsequent harsh winter was possibly due to an eruption of Iceland’s Mount Hekla. The catastrophic effects of the eruption on weather patterns were observed across the world, including throughout Asia and Africa. The annual monsoons along the equator failed and the subsequent drought resulted in millions starving from Egypt, through South Asia, and to Japan.
Who was Jón Steingrímsson?
In the autumn of 1728, Jón Steingrímsson was born on a simple farm in Skagafjörður, in the north of Iceland. He described his parents as decent, god-fearing, and pious folk. In his free time, the imaginative country boy would pretend to be a priest, building a church and chapel from the rocks and tussocks in the fields. With all the farm work that needed doing, he and his brother did not get the opportunity to go to school and there was little time for play. When Jón was ten, his father died, leaving his mother and his brother with little choice but to work even harder to put food on the table.
One Sunday, Jón impudently defied his mother and skipped the Sunday service. While making his escape on horseback, he fell from the saddle and severely broke his leg, leaving him with a bloody compound fracture. The neighbourhood barber, who also served as the local medical authority, was called in to set Jón’s leg; a terribly painful procedure which was performed without anaesthetics. For young Jón, this was a lesson which, in his impressionable young mind, clearly demonstrated God’s wrath at those sinners who would fail to fear and respect Him.
Jón Steingrímsson is remembered as a brave and compassionate leader who helped his community through one of the most difficult times in their history. A parishioner wrote about Reverend Jón’s preaching: "I attended the church, which was all shaking and trembling from the threats that came from above. But then I was undaunted, and I thought about all those who were in the church; that we were kind and ready to receive what God wanted. God was then warmly and truly invoked..."
One summer, visiting priests tested the children in Skagafjörður. They were taken aback by the formidable intelligence of the precocious, fifteen-year-old Jón. He was offered a scholarship to the ancient and venerated Hólaskóli, one of Iceland’s foremost institutes of learning since its founding in 1106. Jón poured all his time into reading and before long was top of his class. Because of his intelligence, diligence, and reliability, he was sent across the country on numerous errands, which he greatly enjoyed. Travelling on horseback and by ship, he went as far south as the Westman Islands to purchase fish for the Hólar community.
Graduating in 1750 at the age of 21, Jón became apprenticed to a priest at Reynistaður in his home county of Skagafjörður. The priest died suddenly and somewhat mysteriously only a few years later. Around this time, Jón found himself romantically involved with his master’s widow, Þórunn Hannesdóttir Scheving, who was ten years his senior. Unfortunately for the lovers, she became pregnant before they could be married and their liaison was revealed. The scandal was far worse than either of them could have imagined. Rumours circulated that Jón was somehow involved in his master’s death, and he was summarily fired from his position as deacon. Despite his protestations, Jón was formally accused of murder and forced to leave the priesthood in disgrace. Fortunately, Þórunn, now heavy with child, was from a wealthy family and held the title to a farm in Mýrdalur in South Iceland. To avoid the malicious gossip, the couple quickly made their way south along with Þórunn’s three children, where their daughter Sigríður was born.
When judgement on the murder charges was passed that summer at Þingvellir, Jón Steingrímsson and Þórunn Scheving were greatly relieved to be found innocent and were completely exonerated. The family lived near the southern town of Hella for several years, until Jón was finally ordained a priest at the age of 33. Apparently, enough time had passed for Jón to be forgiven for his indiscretion. Serving as priest for the next 17 years, he proudly kept his role as a farmer and fisherman. In addition, his passion for learning made him a competent informal doctor. Jón became so well known for his skills as a healer that he was called in to treat patients all over West Skaftafell county and neighbouring Rangárvellir county. The Danish Crown recognised Jón’s merit: “[…] with a good insight into theology, combined with solid knowledge of herbal studies and the art of medicine […] he succeeds wisely in applying this knowledge in his region, where it is greatly needed[…] Not only in his own parish, but also in the adjacent regions on both sides, and he willingly goes to everyone, even the poorest, and gives them wise advice, when it is desired; for this purpose he often goes on difficult journeys at his own expense and with his own horses; for this he does not even allow himself to be paid, but besides that he gives means to the poor without charge…”
