Chapter Five.

Chapter Five.Freydissa Shows Her Temper and a Whale Checks it—Poetical and Other Touches.The expedition which now set out for Vinland was on a much larger scale than any of the expeditions which had preceded it. Biarne and Leif had acted the part of discoverers only—not colonisers—and although previous parties had passed several winters in Vinland, they had not intended to take up a permanent abode there—as was plain from the fact that they brought neither women nor flocks nor herds with them. Karlsefin, on the contrary, went forth fully equipped for colonisation.His ship, as we have said, was a large one, with a decked poop and forecastle, fitted to brave the most tempestuous weather—at least as well fitted to do so as were the ships of Columbus—and capable of accommodating more than a hundred people. He took sixty men with him and five women, besides his own wife and Thorward’s. Thorward himself, and Biarne, accompanied the expedition, and also Olaf—to his inexpressible joy, but Leif preferred to remain at home, and promised to take good care of Thorward’s ship, which was left behind. Astrid was one of the five women who went with this expedition; the other four were Gunhild, Thora, Sigrid, and Bertha. Gunhild and Sigrid were wives to two of Biarne’s men. Thora was handmaiden to Gudrid; Bertha handmaid to Freydissa. Of all the women Bertha was the sweetest and most beautiful, and she was also very modest and good-tempered, which was a fortunate circumstance, because her mistress Freydissa had temper enough, as Biarne used to remark, for a dozen women. Biarne was fond of teasing Freydissa; but she liked Biarne, and sometimes took his pleasantries well—sometimes ill.It was intended that, when the colony was fairly established, the ship should be sent back to Greenland to fetch more of the men’s wives and children.A number of cattle, horses, and sheep were also carried on this occasion to Vinland. These were stowed in the waist or middle of the vessel, between the benches where the rowers sat when at work. The rowers did not labour much at sea, as the vessel was at most times able to advance under sail. During calms, however, and when going into creeks, or on landing—also in doubling capes when the wind was not suitable—the oars were of the greatest value. Karlsefin and the principal people slept under the high poop. A number of the men slept under the forecastle, and the rest lay in the waist near the cattle—sheltered from the weather by tents or awnings which were called tilts.It may perhaps surprise some readers to learn that men could venture in such vessels to cross the northern seas from Norway to Iceland, and thence to Greenland; but it is not so surprising when we consider the small size of the vessels in which Columbus afterwards crossed the Atlantic in safety, and when we reflect that those Norsemen had been long accustomed, in such vessels, to traverse the ocean around the coasts of Europe in all directions—round the shores of Britain, up the Baltic, away to the Faroe Islands, and up the Mediterranean even as far as the Black Sea. In short, the Norsemen of old were magnificent seamen, and there can be no question that much of the ultimate success of Britain on the sea is due, not only to our insular position, but also to the insufficiently appreciated fact that the blood of the hardy and adventurous vikings of Norway still flows in our veins.It was a splendid spring morning when Karlsefin hoisted his white-and-blue sail, and dropped down Ericsfiord with a favouring breeze, while Leif and his people stood on the stone jetty at Brattalid, and waved hats and shawls to their departing friends.For Olaf, Thora, and Bertha it was a first voyage, and as the vessel gradually left the land behind, the latter stood at the stern gazing wistfully towards the shore, while tears flowed from her pretty blue eyes and chased each other over her fair round face—for Bertha left an old father behind her in Greenland.“Don’t cry, Bertha,” said Olaf, putting his fat little hand softly into that of the young girl.“Oh! I shall perhapsneversee him again,” cried Bertha, with another burst of tears.“Yes, you will,” said Olaf, cheerily. “You know that when we get comfortably settled in Vinland we shall send the ship back for your father, and mine too, and for everybody in Ericsfiord and Heriulfness. Why, we’re going to forsake Greenland altogether and never go back to it any more. Oh! I amsoglad.”“I wish, IwishI had never come,” said Bertha, with a renewed flow of tears, for Olaf’s consolations were thrown away on her.It chanced that Freydissa came at that moment upon the poop, where Karlsefin stood at the helm, and Gudrid with some others were still gazing at the distant shore.Freydissa was one of those women who appear to have been born women by mistake—who are always chafing at their unfortunate fate, and endeavouring to emulate—even to overwhelm—men; in which latter effort they are too frequently successful. She was a tall elegant woman of about thirty years of age, with a decidedly handsome face, though somewhat sharp of feature. She possessed a powerful will, a shrill voice and a vigorous frame, and was afflicted with a short, violent temper. She was decidedly a masculine woman. We know not which is the more disagreeable of the two—a masculine woman or an effeminate man.But perhaps the most prominent feature in her character was her volubility when enraged,—the copiousness of her vocabulary and the tremendous force with which she shot forth her ideas and abuse in short abrupt sentences.Now, if there was one thing more than another that roused the ire of Freydissa, it was the exhibition of feminine weakness in the shape of tears. She appeared to think that the credit of her sex in reference to firmness and self-command was compromised by such weakness. She herself never wept by any chance, and she was always enraged when she saw any other woman relieve her feelings in that way. When, therefore, she came on deck and found her own handmaid with her pretty little face swelled, or, as she expressed it, “begrutten,” and heard her express a wish that she had never left home, she lost command of herself—a loss that she always found it easy to come by—and, seizing Bertha by the shoulder, ordered her down into the cabin instantly.Bertha sobbingly obeyed, and Freydissa followed. “Don’t be hard on her, poor soul,” murmured Thorward.Foolish fellow! How difficult it is for man—ancient or modern—to learn when to hold his tongue! That suggestion would have fixed Freydissa’s determination if it had not been fixed before, and poor Bertha would certainly have received “a hearing,” or a “blowing-up,” or a “setting down,” such as she had not enjoyed since the date of Freydissa’s marriage, had it not been for the fortunate circumstance that a whale took it into its great thick head to come up, just then, and spout magnificently quite close to the vessel.The sight was received with a shout by the men, a shriller shout by the women, and a screech of surprise and delight by little Olaf, who would certainly have gone over the side in his eagerness, had not Biarne caught him by the skirts of his tunic.This incident happily diverted the course of Freydissa’s thoughts. Curiosity overcame indignation, and Bertha was reprieved for the time being. Both mistress and maid hastened to the side of the ship; the anger of the one evaporated and the tears of the other dried up when they saw the whale rise not more than a hundred yards from the ship. It continued to do this for a considerable time, sometimes appearing on one side, sometimes on the other; now at the stern, anon at the bow. In short it seemed as if the whale had taken the ship for a companion, and were anxious to make its acquaintance. At last it went down and remained under water so long that the voyagers began to think it had left them, when Olaf suddenly gave a shriek of delight and surprise:— “Oh! Oh! OH!” he exclaimed, looking and pointing straight down into the water, “here is the whale—right under the ship!”And sure enough there it was, swimming slowly under the vessel, not two fathoms below the keel—its immense bulk being impressively visible, owing to the position of the observers, and its round eyes staring as if in astonishment at the strange creature above. (The author has seen a whale in precisely similar circumstances in a Norwegian fiord.) It expressed this astonishment, or whatever feeling it might be, by coming up suddenly to the surface, thrusting its big blunt head, like the bow of a boat, out of the sea, and spouting forth a column of water and spray with a deep snort or snore—to the great admiration of the whole ship’s crew, for, although most of the men were familiar enough with whales, alive and dead, they had never, in all probability, seen one in such circumstances before.Four or five times did the whale dive under the vessel in this fashion, and then it sheered off with a contemptuous flourish of its tail, as if disgusted with the stolid unsociable character of the ship, which seen from a submarine point of view must have looked uncommonly like a whale, and quite as big!This episode, occurring so early in the voyage, and trifling though it was, tended to create in the minds of all—especially of the women and the younger people—a feeling of interest in the ocean, and an expectation of coming adventure, which, though not well defined, was slightly exciting and agreeable. Bertha, in particular, was very grateful to that whale, for it had not only diverted her thoughts a little from home-leaving and given her something new to think and talk about, but it had saved her from Freydissa and a severe scold.The first night at sea was fine, with bright moonlight, and a soft wind on the quarter that carried them pleasantly over the rippling sea, and everything was so tranquil and captivating that no one felt inclined to go to rest. Karlsefin sat beside the helm, guiding the ship and telling sagas to the group of friends who stood, sat, or reclined on the deck and against the bulwarks of the high poop. He repeated long pieces of poetry, descriptive of the battles and adventures of their viking forefathers, and also gave them occasional pieces of his own composing, in reference to surrounding circumstances and the enterprise in which they were then embarked,—for Karlsefin was himself a skald or poet, although he pretended not to great attainments in that way.From where they sat the party on the poop could see that the men on the high forecastle were similarly engaged, for they had gathered together in a group, and their heads were laid together as if listening intently to one of their number who sat in the centre of the circle. Below, in the waist of the ship, some humorous character appeared to be holding his mates enchained, for long periods of comparative silence—in which could be heard the monotonous tones of a single voice mingled with occasional soft lowing from the cattle—were suddenly broken by bursts of uproarious laughter, which, however, quickly subsided again, leaving prominent the occasional lowing and the prolonged monotone. Everything in and around the ship, that night, breathed of harmony and peace—though there was little knowledge among them of Him who is the Prince of Peace. We say “little” knowledge, because Christianity had only just begun to dawn among the Norsemen at that time, and there were some on board of that discovery-ship who were tinged with the first rays of that sweet light which, in the person of the Son of God, was sent to lighten the world and to shine more and more unto the perfect day.“Now,” said Karlsefin, at the conclusion of one of his stories, “that is the saga of Halfdan the Black—at least it is part of his saga; but, friends, it seems to me that we must begin a saga of our own, for it is evident that if we are successful in this venture we shall have something to relate when we return to Greenland, and we must all learn to tell our saga in the same words, for that is the only way in whichtruthcan be handed down to future generations, seeing that when men are careless in learning the truth they are apt to distort it so that honest men are led into telling lies unwittingly. They say that the nations of the south have invented a process whereby with a sharp-pointed tool they fashion marks on skins to represent words, so that once put down in this way a saga never changes. Would that we Norsemen understood that process!” said Karlsefin meditatively.“It seems to me,” said Biarne, who reclined on the deck, leaning against the weather-bulwarks and running his fingers playfully through Olaf’s fair curls, “It seems to me that it were better to bestow the craft of the skald on the record of our voyage, for then the measure and the rhyme would chain men to the words, and so to the truth—that is, supposing they get truth to start with! Come, Karlsefin, begin our voyage for us.”All present seemed to agree to that proposal, and urged Karlsefin to begin at once.The skipper—for such indeed was his position in the ship—though a modest man, was by no means bashful, therefore, after looking round upon the moonlit sea for a few minutes, he began as follows:—“When western waves were all unknown,And western fields were all unsown,When Iceland was the outmost boundThat roving viking-keels had found—Gunbiorn then—Ulf Kraka’s son—Still farther west was forced to runBy furious gales, and there saw landStretching abroad on either hand.Eric of Iceland, called the Red,Heard of the news and straightway said—‘This western land I’ll go and see;Three summers hence look out for me.’He went; he landed; stayed awhile,And wintered first on ‘Eric’s Isle;’Then searched the coast both far and wide,Then back to Iceland o’er the tide.‘A wondrous land is this,’ said he,And called it Greenland of the sea.Twenty and five great ships sailed westTo claim this gem on Ocean’s breast.With man and woman, horn and hoof,And bigging for the homestead roof.Some turnèd back—in heart but mice—Some sank amid the Northern ice.Half reached the land, in much distress,At Ericsfiord and Heriulfness.Next, Biarne—Heriulf’s doughty son—Sought to trace out the aged one. (His father.)From Norway sailed, but missed his mark;Passed snow-topped Greenland in the dark;And came then to a new-found land—But did not touch the tempting strand;For winter winds oppressed him soreAnd kept him from his father’s shore.Then Leif, the son of Eric, roseAnd straightway off to Biarne goes,Buys up his ship, takes all his men,Fares forth to seek that land again.Leif found the land; discovered more,And spent a winter on the shore;Cut trees and grain to load the ship,And pay them for the lengthened trip.Named ‘Hella-land’ and ‘Markland’ too,And saw an island sweet with dew!And grapes in great abundance found,So named it Vinland all around.But after that forsook the shore,And north again for Greenland bore.And now—we cross the moonlit seasTo search this land of grapes and treesBiarne, Thorward, Karlsefin—Go forth this better land to win,With men and cattle not a few,And household gear and weapons too;And, best of all, with women dear,To comfort, counsel, check, and cheer.Thus far we’ve made a prosp’rous way,God speed us onward every day!”They all agreed that this was a true account of the discovery of Vinland and of their own expedition as far as it had gone, though Gudrid said it was short, and Freydissa was of opinion that there was very little in it.“But hold!” exclaimed Biarne, suddenly raising himself on his elbows; “Karlsefin, you are but a sorry skald after all.”“How so?” asked the skipper.“Why, because you have made no mention of the chief part of our voyage.”“And pray what may that be?”“Stay, I too am a skald; I will tell you.”Biarne, whose poetical powers were not of the highest type, here stretched forth his hand and said:—“When Biarne, Thorward, Karlsefin,This famous voyage did begin,They stood upon the deck one night,And there beheld a moving sight.It made the very men grow pale,Their shudder almost rent the sail!For lo! they saw a mighty whale!It drew a shriek from Olaf brave,Then plunged beneath the briny wave,And, while the women loudly shouted,Up came its blundering nose and spouted.Then underneath our keel it went,And glared with savage fury pent,And round about the ship it swum,Striking each man and woman dumb.Stay—one there was who found a tongueAnd still retained her strength of lung.Freydissa, beauteous matron bold,Resolved to give that whale a scold!But little cared that monster fishTo gratify Freydissa’s wish;He shook his tail, that naughty whale,And flourished it like any flail,And, ho! for Vinland he made sail!”“Now, friends, was not that a great omission on the part of Karlsefin?”“If the whale had brought his flail down on your pate it would have served you right, Biarne,” said Freydissa, flushing, yet smiling in spite of herself.“I think it is capital,” cried Olaf, clapping his hands—“quite as good as the other poem.”Some agreed with Olaf, and some thought that it was not quite in keeping with Karlsefin’s composition, but, after much debate, it was finally ruled that it should be added thereto as part and parcel of the great Vinland poem. Hence it appears in this chronicle, and forms an interesting instance of the way in which men, for the sake of humorous effect, mingle little pieces of fiction with veritable history.By the time this important matter was settled it was getting so late that even the most enthusiastic admirer among them of moonlight on a calm sea became irresistibly desirous of going to sleep. They therefore broke up for the night; the women retired to their cabin, and none were left on deck except the steersman and the watch. Long before this the saga-tellers on the forecastle had retired; the monotone and the soft lowing of the cattle had ceased; man and beast had sought and found repose, and nothing was heard save the ripple of the water on the ship’s sides as she glided slowly but steadily over the sleeping sea.

The expedition which now set out for Vinland was on a much larger scale than any of the expeditions which had preceded it. Biarne and Leif had acted the part of discoverers only—not colonisers—and although previous parties had passed several winters in Vinland, they had not intended to take up a permanent abode there—as was plain from the fact that they brought neither women nor flocks nor herds with them. Karlsefin, on the contrary, went forth fully equipped for colonisation.

His ship, as we have said, was a large one, with a decked poop and forecastle, fitted to brave the most tempestuous weather—at least as well fitted to do so as were the ships of Columbus—and capable of accommodating more than a hundred people. He took sixty men with him and five women, besides his own wife and Thorward’s. Thorward himself, and Biarne, accompanied the expedition, and also Olaf—to his inexpressible joy, but Leif preferred to remain at home, and promised to take good care of Thorward’s ship, which was left behind. Astrid was one of the five women who went with this expedition; the other four were Gunhild, Thora, Sigrid, and Bertha. Gunhild and Sigrid were wives to two of Biarne’s men. Thora was handmaiden to Gudrid; Bertha handmaid to Freydissa. Of all the women Bertha was the sweetest and most beautiful, and she was also very modest and good-tempered, which was a fortunate circumstance, because her mistress Freydissa had temper enough, as Biarne used to remark, for a dozen women. Biarne was fond of teasing Freydissa; but she liked Biarne, and sometimes took his pleasantries well—sometimes ill.

It was intended that, when the colony was fairly established, the ship should be sent back to Greenland to fetch more of the men’s wives and children.

A number of cattle, horses, and sheep were also carried on this occasion to Vinland. These were stowed in the waist or middle of the vessel, between the benches where the rowers sat when at work. The rowers did not labour much at sea, as the vessel was at most times able to advance under sail. During calms, however, and when going into creeks, or on landing—also in doubling capes when the wind was not suitable—the oars were of the greatest value. Karlsefin and the principal people slept under the high poop. A number of the men slept under the forecastle, and the rest lay in the waist near the cattle—sheltered from the weather by tents or awnings which were called tilts.

It may perhaps surprise some readers to learn that men could venture in such vessels to cross the northern seas from Norway to Iceland, and thence to Greenland; but it is not so surprising when we consider the small size of the vessels in which Columbus afterwards crossed the Atlantic in safety, and when we reflect that those Norsemen had been long accustomed, in such vessels, to traverse the ocean around the coasts of Europe in all directions—round the shores of Britain, up the Baltic, away to the Faroe Islands, and up the Mediterranean even as far as the Black Sea. In short, the Norsemen of old were magnificent seamen, and there can be no question that much of the ultimate success of Britain on the sea is due, not only to our insular position, but also to the insufficiently appreciated fact that the blood of the hardy and adventurous vikings of Norway still flows in our veins.

It was a splendid spring morning when Karlsefin hoisted his white-and-blue sail, and dropped down Ericsfiord with a favouring breeze, while Leif and his people stood on the stone jetty at Brattalid, and waved hats and shawls to their departing friends.

For Olaf, Thora, and Bertha it was a first voyage, and as the vessel gradually left the land behind, the latter stood at the stern gazing wistfully towards the shore, while tears flowed from her pretty blue eyes and chased each other over her fair round face—for Bertha left an old father behind her in Greenland.

“Don’t cry, Bertha,” said Olaf, putting his fat little hand softly into that of the young girl.

“Oh! I shall perhapsneversee him again,” cried Bertha, with another burst of tears.

“Yes, you will,” said Olaf, cheerily. “You know that when we get comfortably settled in Vinland we shall send the ship back for your father, and mine too, and for everybody in Ericsfiord and Heriulfness. Why, we’re going to forsake Greenland altogether and never go back to it any more. Oh! I amsoglad.”

“I wish, IwishI had never come,” said Bertha, with a renewed flow of tears, for Olaf’s consolations were thrown away on her.

It chanced that Freydissa came at that moment upon the poop, where Karlsefin stood at the helm, and Gudrid with some others were still gazing at the distant shore.

Freydissa was one of those women who appear to have been born women by mistake—who are always chafing at their unfortunate fate, and endeavouring to emulate—even to overwhelm—men; in which latter effort they are too frequently successful. She was a tall elegant woman of about thirty years of age, with a decidedly handsome face, though somewhat sharp of feature. She possessed a powerful will, a shrill voice and a vigorous frame, and was afflicted with a short, violent temper. She was decidedly a masculine woman. We know not which is the more disagreeable of the two—a masculine woman or an effeminate man.

But perhaps the most prominent feature in her character was her volubility when enraged,—the copiousness of her vocabulary and the tremendous force with which she shot forth her ideas and abuse in short abrupt sentences.

Now, if there was one thing more than another that roused the ire of Freydissa, it was the exhibition of feminine weakness in the shape of tears. She appeared to think that the credit of her sex in reference to firmness and self-command was compromised by such weakness. She herself never wept by any chance, and she was always enraged when she saw any other woman relieve her feelings in that way. When, therefore, she came on deck and found her own handmaid with her pretty little face swelled, or, as she expressed it, “begrutten,” and heard her express a wish that she had never left home, she lost command of herself—a loss that she always found it easy to come by—and, seizing Bertha by the shoulder, ordered her down into the cabin instantly.

Bertha sobbingly obeyed, and Freydissa followed. “Don’t be hard on her, poor soul,” murmured Thorward.

Foolish fellow! How difficult it is for man—ancient or modern—to learn when to hold his tongue! That suggestion would have fixed Freydissa’s determination if it had not been fixed before, and poor Bertha would certainly have received “a hearing,” or a “blowing-up,” or a “setting down,” such as she had not enjoyed since the date of Freydissa’s marriage, had it not been for the fortunate circumstance that a whale took it into its great thick head to come up, just then, and spout magnificently quite close to the vessel.

The sight was received with a shout by the men, a shriller shout by the women, and a screech of surprise and delight by little Olaf, who would certainly have gone over the side in his eagerness, had not Biarne caught him by the skirts of his tunic.

This incident happily diverted the course of Freydissa’s thoughts. Curiosity overcame indignation, and Bertha was reprieved for the time being. Both mistress and maid hastened to the side of the ship; the anger of the one evaporated and the tears of the other dried up when they saw the whale rise not more than a hundred yards from the ship. It continued to do this for a considerable time, sometimes appearing on one side, sometimes on the other; now at the stern, anon at the bow. In short it seemed as if the whale had taken the ship for a companion, and were anxious to make its acquaintance. At last it went down and remained under water so long that the voyagers began to think it had left them, when Olaf suddenly gave a shriek of delight and surprise:— “Oh! Oh! OH!” he exclaimed, looking and pointing straight down into the water, “here is the whale—right under the ship!”

And sure enough there it was, swimming slowly under the vessel, not two fathoms below the keel—its immense bulk being impressively visible, owing to the position of the observers, and its round eyes staring as if in astonishment at the strange creature above. (The author has seen a whale in precisely similar circumstances in a Norwegian fiord.) It expressed this astonishment, or whatever feeling it might be, by coming up suddenly to the surface, thrusting its big blunt head, like the bow of a boat, out of the sea, and spouting forth a column of water and spray with a deep snort or snore—to the great admiration of the whole ship’s crew, for, although most of the men were familiar enough with whales, alive and dead, they had never, in all probability, seen one in such circumstances before.

Four or five times did the whale dive under the vessel in this fashion, and then it sheered off with a contemptuous flourish of its tail, as if disgusted with the stolid unsociable character of the ship, which seen from a submarine point of view must have looked uncommonly like a whale, and quite as big!

This episode, occurring so early in the voyage, and trifling though it was, tended to create in the minds of all—especially of the women and the younger people—a feeling of interest in the ocean, and an expectation of coming adventure, which, though not well defined, was slightly exciting and agreeable. Bertha, in particular, was very grateful to that whale, for it had not only diverted her thoughts a little from home-leaving and given her something new to think and talk about, but it had saved her from Freydissa and a severe scold.

The first night at sea was fine, with bright moonlight, and a soft wind on the quarter that carried them pleasantly over the rippling sea, and everything was so tranquil and captivating that no one felt inclined to go to rest. Karlsefin sat beside the helm, guiding the ship and telling sagas to the group of friends who stood, sat, or reclined on the deck and against the bulwarks of the high poop. He repeated long pieces of poetry, descriptive of the battles and adventures of their viking forefathers, and also gave them occasional pieces of his own composing, in reference to surrounding circumstances and the enterprise in which they were then embarked,—for Karlsefin was himself a skald or poet, although he pretended not to great attainments in that way.

From where they sat the party on the poop could see that the men on the high forecastle were similarly engaged, for they had gathered together in a group, and their heads were laid together as if listening intently to one of their number who sat in the centre of the circle. Below, in the waist of the ship, some humorous character appeared to be holding his mates enchained, for long periods of comparative silence—in which could be heard the monotonous tones of a single voice mingled with occasional soft lowing from the cattle—were suddenly broken by bursts of uproarious laughter, which, however, quickly subsided again, leaving prominent the occasional lowing and the prolonged monotone. Everything in and around the ship, that night, breathed of harmony and peace—though there was little knowledge among them of Him who is the Prince of Peace. We say “little” knowledge, because Christianity had only just begun to dawn among the Norsemen at that time, and there were some on board of that discovery-ship who were tinged with the first rays of that sweet light which, in the person of the Son of God, was sent to lighten the world and to shine more and more unto the perfect day.

“Now,” said Karlsefin, at the conclusion of one of his stories, “that is the saga of Halfdan the Black—at least it is part of his saga; but, friends, it seems to me that we must begin a saga of our own, for it is evident that if we are successful in this venture we shall have something to relate when we return to Greenland, and we must all learn to tell our saga in the same words, for that is the only way in whichtruthcan be handed down to future generations, seeing that when men are careless in learning the truth they are apt to distort it so that honest men are led into telling lies unwittingly. They say that the nations of the south have invented a process whereby with a sharp-pointed tool they fashion marks on skins to represent words, so that once put down in this way a saga never changes. Would that we Norsemen understood that process!” said Karlsefin meditatively.

“It seems to me,” said Biarne, who reclined on the deck, leaning against the weather-bulwarks and running his fingers playfully through Olaf’s fair curls, “It seems to me that it were better to bestow the craft of the skald on the record of our voyage, for then the measure and the rhyme would chain men to the words, and so to the truth—that is, supposing they get truth to start with! Come, Karlsefin, begin our voyage for us.”

All present seemed to agree to that proposal, and urged Karlsefin to begin at once.

The skipper—for such indeed was his position in the ship—though a modest man, was by no means bashful, therefore, after looking round upon the moonlit sea for a few minutes, he began as follows:—

“When western waves were all unknown,And western fields were all unsown,When Iceland was the outmost boundThat roving viking-keels had found—Gunbiorn then—Ulf Kraka’s son—Still farther west was forced to runBy furious gales, and there saw landStretching abroad on either hand.Eric of Iceland, called the Red,Heard of the news and straightway said—‘This western land I’ll go and see;Three summers hence look out for me.’He went; he landed; stayed awhile,And wintered first on ‘Eric’s Isle;’Then searched the coast both far and wide,Then back to Iceland o’er the tide.‘A wondrous land is this,’ said he,And called it Greenland of the sea.Twenty and five great ships sailed westTo claim this gem on Ocean’s breast.With man and woman, horn and hoof,And bigging for the homestead roof.Some turnèd back—in heart but mice—Some sank amid the Northern ice.Half reached the land, in much distress,At Ericsfiord and Heriulfness.Next, Biarne—Heriulf’s doughty son—Sought to trace out the aged one. (His father.)From Norway sailed, but missed his mark;Passed snow-topped Greenland in the dark;And came then to a new-found land—But did not touch the tempting strand;For winter winds oppressed him soreAnd kept him from his father’s shore.Then Leif, the son of Eric, roseAnd straightway off to Biarne goes,Buys up his ship, takes all his men,Fares forth to seek that land again.Leif found the land; discovered more,And spent a winter on the shore;Cut trees and grain to load the ship,And pay them for the lengthened trip.Named ‘Hella-land’ and ‘Markland’ too,And saw an island sweet with dew!And grapes in great abundance found,So named it Vinland all around.But after that forsook the shore,And north again for Greenland bore.And now—we cross the moonlit seasTo search this land of grapes and treesBiarne, Thorward, Karlsefin—Go forth this better land to win,With men and cattle not a few,And household gear and weapons too;And, best of all, with women dear,To comfort, counsel, check, and cheer.Thus far we’ve made a prosp’rous way,God speed us onward every day!”

They all agreed that this was a true account of the discovery of Vinland and of their own expedition as far as it had gone, though Gudrid said it was short, and Freydissa was of opinion that there was very little in it.

“But hold!” exclaimed Biarne, suddenly raising himself on his elbows; “Karlsefin, you are but a sorry skald after all.”

“How so?” asked the skipper.

“Why, because you have made no mention of the chief part of our voyage.”

“And pray what may that be?”

“Stay, I too am a skald; I will tell you.”

Biarne, whose poetical powers were not of the highest type, here stretched forth his hand and said:—

“When Biarne, Thorward, Karlsefin,This famous voyage did begin,They stood upon the deck one night,And there beheld a moving sight.It made the very men grow pale,Their shudder almost rent the sail!For lo! they saw a mighty whale!It drew a shriek from Olaf brave,Then plunged beneath the briny wave,And, while the women loudly shouted,Up came its blundering nose and spouted.Then underneath our keel it went,And glared with savage fury pent,And round about the ship it swum,Striking each man and woman dumb.Stay—one there was who found a tongueAnd still retained her strength of lung.Freydissa, beauteous matron bold,Resolved to give that whale a scold!But little cared that monster fishTo gratify Freydissa’s wish;He shook his tail, that naughty whale,And flourished it like any flail,And, ho! for Vinland he made sail!”

“Now, friends, was not that a great omission on the part of Karlsefin?”

“If the whale had brought his flail down on your pate it would have served you right, Biarne,” said Freydissa, flushing, yet smiling in spite of herself.

“I think it is capital,” cried Olaf, clapping his hands—“quite as good as the other poem.”

Some agreed with Olaf, and some thought that it was not quite in keeping with Karlsefin’s composition, but, after much debate, it was finally ruled that it should be added thereto as part and parcel of the great Vinland poem. Hence it appears in this chronicle, and forms an interesting instance of the way in which men, for the sake of humorous effect, mingle little pieces of fiction with veritable history.

By the time this important matter was settled it was getting so late that even the most enthusiastic admirer among them of moonlight on a calm sea became irresistibly desirous of going to sleep. They therefore broke up for the night; the women retired to their cabin, and none were left on deck except the steersman and the watch. Long before this the saga-tellers on the forecastle had retired; the monotone and the soft lowing of the cattle had ceased; man and beast had sought and found repose, and nothing was heard save the ripple of the water on the ship’s sides as she glided slowly but steadily over the sleeping sea.

Chapter Six.Changes in Wind and Weather Produce Changes in Temper and Feeling—Land Discovered, and Freydissa Becomes Inquisitive.There are few things that impress one more at sea than the rapidity of the transitions which frequently take place in the aspect and the condition of vessel, sea, and sky. At one time all may be profoundly tranquil on board; then, perhaps, the necessity for going “about ship” arises, and all is bustle; ropes rattle, blocks clatter and chirp, yards creak, and seamen’s feet stamp on the deck, while their voices aid their hands in the hauling of ropes; and soon all is quiet as before. Or, perhaps, the transition is effected by a squall, and it becomes more thorough and lasting. One moment everything in nature is hushed under the influence of what is appropriately enough termed a “dead calm.” In a few seconds a cloud-bank appears on the horizon and one or two cats-paws are seen shooting over the water. A few minutes more and the sky is clouded, the glassy sea is ruffled, the pleasant light sinks into a dull leaden grey, the wind whistles over the ocean, and we are—as far as feeling is concerned—transported into another, but by no means a better, world.Thus it was with our adventurers. The beautiful night merged into a “dirty” morning, the calm into a breeze so stiff as to be almost a gale, and when Olaf came out of the cabin, holding tight to the weather-bulwarks to prevent himself from being thrown into the lee-scuppers, his inexperienced heart sank within him at the dreary prospect of the grey sky and the black heaving sea.But young Olaf came of a hardy seafaring race. He kept his feelings to himself; and staggered toward Karlsefin, who still stood at his post. Olaf thought he had been there all night, but the truth was that he had been relieved by Biarne, had taken a short nap, and returned to the helm.Karlsefin was now clad in a rough-weather suit. He wore a pair of untanned sealskin boots and a cap of the same material, that bore a strong resemblance in shape and colour to the sou’-westers of the present day, and his rough heavy coat, closed up to the chin, was in texture and form not unlike to the pilot-cloth jackets of modern seamen—only it had tags and loops instead of buttons and button-holes. With his legs wide apart, he stood at the tiller, round which there was a single turn of a rope from the weather-bulwarks to steady it and himself. The boy was clad in miniature costume of much the same cut and kind, and proud was he to stagger about the deck with his little legs ridiculously wide apart, in imitation of Thorward and Biarne, both of whom were there, and had, he observed, a tendency to straddle.“Come hither, Olaf; and learn a little seamanship,” said Karlsefin, with a good-humoured smile.Olaf said he would be glad to do that, and made a run towards the tiller, but a heavy plunge of the ship caused him to sheer off in quite a different direction, and another lurch would have sent him head-foremost against the lee-bulwarks had not Biarne, with a laugh, caught him by the nape of the neck and set him against Karlsefin’s left leg, to which he clung with remarkable tenacity.“Ay, hold on tight to that, boy,” said the leg’s owner, “and you’ll be safe. A few days will put you on your sea-legs, lad, and then you won’t want to hold on.”“Always hold your head up, Olaf, when you move about aboard ship in rough weather,” said Biarne, pausing a minute in his perambulation of the deck to give the advice, “and look overboard, or up, or away at the horizon—anywhere except at your feet. You can’t see how the ship’s going to roll, you know, if you keep looking down at the deck.”Olaf acted on this advice at once, and then began to question Karlsefin in regard to many nautical matters which it is not necessary to set down here, while Biarne and Thorward leaned on the bulwarks and looked somewhat anxiously to windward.Already two reefs of the huge sail had been taken in, and Biarne now suggested that it would be wise to take in another.“Let it be done,” said Karlsefin.Thorward ordered the men to reef; and the head of the ship was brought up to the wind so as to empty the sail while this was being done.Before it was quite accomplished some of the women had assembled on the poop.“This is not pleasant weather,” observed Gudrid, as she stood holding on to her husband.“We must not expect to have it all plain sailing in these seas,” replied Karlsefin; “but the dark days will make the bright ones seem all the brighter.”Gudrid smiled languidly at this, but made no reply.Freydissa, who scorned to receive help from man, had vigorously laid hold of the bulwarks and gradually worked her way aft. She appeared to be very much out of sorts—as indeed all the women were. There was a greenish colour about the parts of their cheeks that ought to have been rosy, and a whitey blue or frosted appearance at the points of their noses, which damaged the beauty of the prettiest among them. Freydissa became positively plain—and she knew it, which did not improve her temper. Astrid, though fair and exceedingly pretty by nature, had become alarmingly white; and Thora, who was dark, had become painfully yellow. Poor Bertha, too, had a washed-out appearance, though nothing in the way of lost colour or otherwise could in the least detract from the innocent sweetness of her countenance. She did not absolutely weep, but, being cold, sick, and in a state of utter wretchedness, she had fallen into a condition of chronic whimpering, which exceedingly exasperated Freydissa. Bertha was one of those girls who are regarded bysomeof their own sex with a species of mild contempt, but who are nevertheless looked upon with much tenderness by men, which perhaps makes up to them for this to some extent. Gudrid was the least affected among them all by that dire malady, which appears to have been as virulent in the tenth as it is in the nineteenth century, and must have come in with the Flood, if not before it.“Why don’t you go below,” said Freydissa testily, “instead of shivering up here?”“I get so sick below,” answered Bertha, endeavouring to brighten up, “that I thought it better to try what fresh air would do for me.”“H’m! it doesn’t appear to do much for you,” retorted Freydissa.As she spoke a little spray broke over the side of the ship and fell on the deck near them. Karlsefin had great difficulty in preventing this, for a short cross-sea was running, and it was only by dint of extremely good and careful steering that he kept the poop-deck dry. In a few minutes a little more spray flew inboard, and some of it striking Bertha on the head ran down her shoulders. Karlsefin was much grieved at this, but Freydissa laughed heartily.Instead of making Bertha worse, however, the shock had the effect of doing her a little good, and she laughed in a half-pitiful way as she ran down below to dry herself.“It serves you right,” cried Freydissa as she passed; “I wish you had got more of it.”Now Karlsefin was a man whose temper was not easily affected, and he seldom or never took offence at anything done or said to himself; but the unkindness of Freydissa’s speech to poor Bertha nettled him greatly.“Get behind me, Gudrid,” he said quickly.Gudrid obeyed, wondering at the stern order, and Karlsefin gave a push to the tiller with his leg. Next moment a heavy sea struck the side of the ship, burst over the bulwarks, completely overwhelmed Freydissa, and swept the deck fore and aft—wetting every one more or less except Gudrid, who had been almost completely sheltered behind her husband. A sail which had been spread over the waist of the ship prevented much damage being done to the men, and of course all the water that fell on the forecastle and poop ran out at the scupper-holes.This unexpected shower-bath at once cleared the poop of the women. Fortunately Thora and Astrid had been standing to leeward of Biarne and Thorward, and had received comparatively little of the shower, but Freydissa went below with streaming hair and garments,—as Biarne remarked,—like an elderly mermaid!“You must have been asleep when that happened,” said Thorward to Karlsefin in surprise.“He must have been sleeping, then, with his eyes open,” said Biarne, with an amused look.Karlsefin gazed sternly towards the ship’s head, and appeared to be attending with great care to the helm, but there was a slight twinkle in his eye as he said— “Well, itwasmy intention to wash the decks a little, but more spray came inboard than I counted on. ’Tis as dangerous to play with water, sometimes, as with fire.”“There is truth in that,” said Biarne, laughing; “and I fear that this time water will be found to have kindled fire, for when Freydissa went below she looked like the smoking mountain of Iceland—as if there was something hot inside and about to boil up.”Karlsefin smiled, but made no reply, for the gale was increasing every moment, and the management of the ship soon required the earnest attention of all the seamen on board.Fortunately it was a short-lived gale. When it had passed away and the sea had returned to something like its former quiescent state, and the sun had burst through and dissipated the grey clouds, our female voyagers returned to the deck and to their wonted condition of health.Soon after that they came in sight of land.“Now, Biarne,” said Karlsefin, after the look-out on the forecastle had shouted “Land ho!” “come, give me your opinion of this new land that we have made.—Do you mind the helm, Thorward, while we go to the ship’s head.”The two went forward, and on the forecastle they found Olaf; flushed with excitement, and looking as if something had annoyed him.“Ho, Olaf! you’re not sorry to see land, are you?” said Biarne.“Sorry! no, not I; but I’m sorry to be cheated of my due.”“How so, boy?”“Why,Idiscovered the land first, and that fellow there,” pointing to the man on look-out, “shouted before me.”“But why did you not shout beforehim?” asked Karlsefin, as he and Biarne surveyed the distant land with keen interest.“Just because he took me unawares,” replied the boy indignantly. “When I saw it I did not wish to be hasty. It might have turned out to be a cloud, or a fog-bank, and I might have given a false alarm; so I pointed it out to him, and asked what he thought; but instead of answering me he gaped with his ugly mouth and shouted ‘Land ho!’ I could have kicked him.”“Nay, Olaf; that is not well said,” observed Karlsefin, very gravely; “if youcouldhave kicked him youwouldhave kicked him. Why did you not do it?”“Because he is too big for me,” answered the boy promptly.“So, then, thy courage is only sufficient to make thee kick those who are small enough,” returned Karlsefin, with a frown. “Perhaps if you were as big as he you would be afraid to kick him.”“That would not I,” retorted Olaf.“It is easy for you to say that, boy, when you know that hewouldnot strike you now, and that there is small chance of your meeting again after you have grown up to prove the truth of what you say. It is mere boasting, Olaf; and, mark me, you will never be a brave man if you begin by being a boastful boy. A truly brave and modest man—for modesty and bravery are wont to consort together—never says he will strike until he sees it to be right to do so. Sometimes he does not even go the length of speaking at all, but, in any case, having made up his mind to strike, he strikes at once, without more ado, let the consequences be what they will. But in my opinion it is best not to strike at all. Do you know, Olaf; my boy, some of the bravest men I ever knew have never struck a blow since they came to manhood, excepting, of course, when compelled to do so in battle; andthenthey struck such blows as made shields and helmets fly, and strewed the plain with their foes.”“Did these men never boast when they were boys?” asked Olaf; with a troubled air.Karlsefin relaxed into a smile as he said, “Only when they were very little boys, and very foolish; but they soon came to see how contemptible it is to threaten and not perform; so they gave up threatening, and when performance came to be necessary they found that threats were needless. Now, Olaf, I want you to be a bold, brave man, and I must lull you through the foolish boasting period as quickly as possible, therefore I tell you these things. Think on them, my boy.”Olaf was evidently much relieved by the concluding remarks. While Karlsefin was speaking he had felt ashamed of himself; because he was filled with admiration of the magnificent skipper, and wanted to stand well in his opinion. It was therefore no small comfort to find that his boasting had been set down to his foolishness, and that there was good reason to hope he might ultimately grow out of it.But Olaf had much more of the true metal in him than he himself was aware of. Without saying a word about it, he resolved not to wait for the result of this slow process of growth, but to jump, vault, or fly out of the boastful period of life, by hook or by crook, and that without delay. And he succeeded! Not all at once, of course. He had many a slip; but he persevered, and finally got out of it much sooner than would have been the case if he had not taken any trouble to think about the matter, or totry.Meanwhile, however, he looked somewhat crestfallen. This being observed by the look-out, that worthy was prompted to say— “I’m sure, Olaf; you are welcome to kick me if that will comfort you, but there is no occasion to do so, because I claim not the honour of firstseeingthe land—and if I had known the state of your mind I would willingly have let you give the hail.”“You may have been first to discover it at this time, Olaf;” said Biarne, turning round after he had made up his mind about it, “and no doubt you were, since the look-out admits it; nevertheless this is the land that I discovered twenty years ago. But we shall make it out more certainly in an hour or two if this breeze holds.”The breeze did hold, and soon they were close under the land.“Now am I quite certain of it,” said Biarne, as he stood on the poop, surrounded by all his friends, who gazed eagerly at the shore, to which they had approached so close that the rocks and bushes were distinctly visible; “that is the very same land which I saw before.”“What, Vinland?” asked Freydissa.“Nay, not Vinland. Are you so eager to get at the grapes that ye think the first land we meet is Vinland?”“A truce to your jesting, Biarne; what land is it?”“It is the land I sawlastwhen leaving this coast in search of Greenland, so that it seems not unnatural to find itfirston coming back to it. Leif; on his voyage, went on shore here. He named it Helloland, which, methinks, was a fitting name, for it is, as you see, a naked land of rocks.”“Now, then,” said Karlsefin, “lower the sail, heave out the anchor, and let two men cast loose the little boat. Some of us will land and see what we shall see; for it must not be said of us, Biarne, as it was unfairly said of you, that we took no interest in these new regions.”The little boat was got ready. The Scottish brothers, Hake and Heika, were appointed to row. Karlsefin, Biarne, Thorward, Gudrid, Freydissa, and Olaf embarked and proceeded to the shore.This land, on which the party soon stood, was not of an inviting aspect. It was sterile, naked, and very rocky, as Biarne had described it, and not a blade of grass was to be seen. There was a range of high snow-capped mountains in the interior, and all the way from the coast up to these mountains the land was covered with snow. In truth, a more forbidding spot could not easily have been found, even in Greenland.“It seems to me,” said Freydissa, “that your new land is but a sorry place—worse than that we have left. I wonder at your landing here. It is plain that men see with flushed eyes when they look upon their own discoveries. Cold comfort is all we shall get in this place. I counsel that we return on board immediately.”“You are too hasty, sister,” said Gudrid.“Oh! of course, always too hasty,” retorted Freydissa sharply.“And somewhat too bitter,” growled Thorward, with a frown.Thorward was not an ill-natured man, but his wife’s sharp temper tried him a good deal.“Your interrupting me before you heard all I had to sayprovesyou to be too hasty, sister,” said Gudrid, with a playful laugh. “I was about to add that it seems we have come here rather early in the spring. Who knows but the land may wear a prettier dress when the mantle of winter is gone? Even Greenland looks green and bright in summer.”“Not in those places where the snow liesallthe summer,” objected Olaf.“That’s right, Olaf;” said Biarne; “stick up for your sweet aunt. She often takes a stick up for you, lad, and deserves your gratitude.—But come, let’s scatter and survey the land, for, be it good or bad, we must know what it is, and carry with us some report such as Karlsefin may weave into his rhymes.”“This land would be more suitable for your rhymes, Biarne, than for mine,” said Karlsefin, as they started off together, “because it is most dismal.”After that the whole party scattered. The three leaders ascended the nearest heights in different directions, and Gudrid with Olaf went searching among the rocks and pools to ascertain what sort of creatures were to be found there, while Freydissa sat down and sulked upon a rock. She soon grew tired of sulking, however, and, looking about her, observed the brothers, who had been left in charge of the boat, standing as if engaged in earnest conversation.She had not before this paid much attention to these brothers, and was somewhat struck with their appearance, for, as we have said before, they were good specimens of men. Hake, the younger of the two, had close-curling auburn hair, and bright blue eyes. His features were not exactly handsome, but the expression of his countenance was so winning that people were irresistibly attracted by it. The elder brother, Heika, was very like him, but not so attractive in his appearance. Both were fully six feet high, and though thin, as has been said, their limbs were beautifully moulded, and they possessed much greater strength than most people gave them credit for. In aspect, thought, and conversation, they were naturally grave, and very earnest; nevertheless, they could be easily roused to mirth.Going up to them, Freydissa said— “Ye seem to have earnest talk together.”“We have,” answered Heika. “Our talk is about home.”“I am told that your home is in the Scottish land,” said Freydissa.“It is,” answered Hake, with a kindling eye.“How come you to be so far from home?” asked Freydissa.“We were taken prisoners two years ago by vikings from Norway, when visiting our father in a village near the Forth fiord.”“How did that happen? Come, tell me the story; but, first, who is your father?”“He is an earl of Scotland,” said Heika.“Ha! and I suppose ye think a Scottish earl is better than a Norse king?”Heika smiled as he replied, “I have never thought of making a comparison between them.”“Well—how were you taken?”“We were, as I have said, on a visit to our father, who dwelt sometimes in a small village on the shores of the Forth, for the sake of bathing in the sea—for he is sickly. One night, while we slept, a Norse long-ship came to land. Those who should have been watching slumbered. The Norsemen surrounded my father’s house without awaking anyone, and, entering by a window which had not been securely fastened, overpowered Hake and me before we knew where we were. We struggled hard, but what could two unarmed men do among fifty? The noise we made, however, roused the village and prevented the vikings from discovering our father’s room, which was on the upper floor. They had to fight their way back to the ship, and lost many men on the road, but they succeeded in carrying us two on board, bound with cords. They took us over the sea to Norway. There we became slaves to King Olaf Tryggvisson, by whom, as you know, we were sent to Leif Ericsson.”“No doubt ye think,” said Freydissa, “that if you had not been caught sleeping ye would have given the Norsemen some trouble to secure you.”They both laughed at this.“We have had some thoughts of that kind,” said Hake brightly, “but truly we did give them some trouble even as it was.”“I knew it,” cried the dame rather sharply; “the conceit of you men goes beyond all bounds! Ye always boast of what valiant deeds youwouldhave doneifsomething or other had been in your favour.”“We made no boast,” replied Heika gravely.“If you did not speak it, ye thought it, I doubt not.—But, tell me, is your land as good a land as Norway?”“We love it better,” replied Heika.“Butisit better?” asked Freydissa.“We would rather dwell in it than in Norway,” said Hake.“We hope not. But we would prefer to be in our own land,” replied the elder brother, sadly, “for there is no place like home.”At this point Karlsefin and the rest of the party came back to the shore and put an end to the conversation. Returning on board they drew up the anchor, hoisted sail, and again put out to sea.

There are few things that impress one more at sea than the rapidity of the transitions which frequently take place in the aspect and the condition of vessel, sea, and sky. At one time all may be profoundly tranquil on board; then, perhaps, the necessity for going “about ship” arises, and all is bustle; ropes rattle, blocks clatter and chirp, yards creak, and seamen’s feet stamp on the deck, while their voices aid their hands in the hauling of ropes; and soon all is quiet as before. Or, perhaps, the transition is effected by a squall, and it becomes more thorough and lasting. One moment everything in nature is hushed under the influence of what is appropriately enough termed a “dead calm.” In a few seconds a cloud-bank appears on the horizon and one or two cats-paws are seen shooting over the water. A few minutes more and the sky is clouded, the glassy sea is ruffled, the pleasant light sinks into a dull leaden grey, the wind whistles over the ocean, and we are—as far as feeling is concerned—transported into another, but by no means a better, world.

Thus it was with our adventurers. The beautiful night merged into a “dirty” morning, the calm into a breeze so stiff as to be almost a gale, and when Olaf came out of the cabin, holding tight to the weather-bulwarks to prevent himself from being thrown into the lee-scuppers, his inexperienced heart sank within him at the dreary prospect of the grey sky and the black heaving sea.

But young Olaf came of a hardy seafaring race. He kept his feelings to himself; and staggered toward Karlsefin, who still stood at his post. Olaf thought he had been there all night, but the truth was that he had been relieved by Biarne, had taken a short nap, and returned to the helm.

Karlsefin was now clad in a rough-weather suit. He wore a pair of untanned sealskin boots and a cap of the same material, that bore a strong resemblance in shape and colour to the sou’-westers of the present day, and his rough heavy coat, closed up to the chin, was in texture and form not unlike to the pilot-cloth jackets of modern seamen—only it had tags and loops instead of buttons and button-holes. With his legs wide apart, he stood at the tiller, round which there was a single turn of a rope from the weather-bulwarks to steady it and himself. The boy was clad in miniature costume of much the same cut and kind, and proud was he to stagger about the deck with his little legs ridiculously wide apart, in imitation of Thorward and Biarne, both of whom were there, and had, he observed, a tendency to straddle.

“Come hither, Olaf; and learn a little seamanship,” said Karlsefin, with a good-humoured smile.

Olaf said he would be glad to do that, and made a run towards the tiller, but a heavy plunge of the ship caused him to sheer off in quite a different direction, and another lurch would have sent him head-foremost against the lee-bulwarks had not Biarne, with a laugh, caught him by the nape of the neck and set him against Karlsefin’s left leg, to which he clung with remarkable tenacity.

“Ay, hold on tight to that, boy,” said the leg’s owner, “and you’ll be safe. A few days will put you on your sea-legs, lad, and then you won’t want to hold on.”

“Always hold your head up, Olaf, when you move about aboard ship in rough weather,” said Biarne, pausing a minute in his perambulation of the deck to give the advice, “and look overboard, or up, or away at the horizon—anywhere except at your feet. You can’t see how the ship’s going to roll, you know, if you keep looking down at the deck.”

Olaf acted on this advice at once, and then began to question Karlsefin in regard to many nautical matters which it is not necessary to set down here, while Biarne and Thorward leaned on the bulwarks and looked somewhat anxiously to windward.

Already two reefs of the huge sail had been taken in, and Biarne now suggested that it would be wise to take in another.

“Let it be done,” said Karlsefin.

Thorward ordered the men to reef; and the head of the ship was brought up to the wind so as to empty the sail while this was being done.

Before it was quite accomplished some of the women had assembled on the poop.

“This is not pleasant weather,” observed Gudrid, as she stood holding on to her husband.

“We must not expect to have it all plain sailing in these seas,” replied Karlsefin; “but the dark days will make the bright ones seem all the brighter.”

Gudrid smiled languidly at this, but made no reply.

Freydissa, who scorned to receive help from man, had vigorously laid hold of the bulwarks and gradually worked her way aft. She appeared to be very much out of sorts—as indeed all the women were. There was a greenish colour about the parts of their cheeks that ought to have been rosy, and a whitey blue or frosted appearance at the points of their noses, which damaged the beauty of the prettiest among them. Freydissa became positively plain—and she knew it, which did not improve her temper. Astrid, though fair and exceedingly pretty by nature, had become alarmingly white; and Thora, who was dark, had become painfully yellow. Poor Bertha, too, had a washed-out appearance, though nothing in the way of lost colour or otherwise could in the least detract from the innocent sweetness of her countenance. She did not absolutely weep, but, being cold, sick, and in a state of utter wretchedness, she had fallen into a condition of chronic whimpering, which exceedingly exasperated Freydissa. Bertha was one of those girls who are regarded bysomeof their own sex with a species of mild contempt, but who are nevertheless looked upon with much tenderness by men, which perhaps makes up to them for this to some extent. Gudrid was the least affected among them all by that dire malady, which appears to have been as virulent in the tenth as it is in the nineteenth century, and must have come in with the Flood, if not before it.

“Why don’t you go below,” said Freydissa testily, “instead of shivering up here?”

“I get so sick below,” answered Bertha, endeavouring to brighten up, “that I thought it better to try what fresh air would do for me.”

“H’m! it doesn’t appear to do much for you,” retorted Freydissa.

As she spoke a little spray broke over the side of the ship and fell on the deck near them. Karlsefin had great difficulty in preventing this, for a short cross-sea was running, and it was only by dint of extremely good and careful steering that he kept the poop-deck dry. In a few minutes a little more spray flew inboard, and some of it striking Bertha on the head ran down her shoulders. Karlsefin was much grieved at this, but Freydissa laughed heartily.

Instead of making Bertha worse, however, the shock had the effect of doing her a little good, and she laughed in a half-pitiful way as she ran down below to dry herself.

“It serves you right,” cried Freydissa as she passed; “I wish you had got more of it.”

Now Karlsefin was a man whose temper was not easily affected, and he seldom or never took offence at anything done or said to himself; but the unkindness of Freydissa’s speech to poor Bertha nettled him greatly.

“Get behind me, Gudrid,” he said quickly.

Gudrid obeyed, wondering at the stern order, and Karlsefin gave a push to the tiller with his leg. Next moment a heavy sea struck the side of the ship, burst over the bulwarks, completely overwhelmed Freydissa, and swept the deck fore and aft—wetting every one more or less except Gudrid, who had been almost completely sheltered behind her husband. A sail which had been spread over the waist of the ship prevented much damage being done to the men, and of course all the water that fell on the forecastle and poop ran out at the scupper-holes.

This unexpected shower-bath at once cleared the poop of the women. Fortunately Thora and Astrid had been standing to leeward of Biarne and Thorward, and had received comparatively little of the shower, but Freydissa went below with streaming hair and garments,—as Biarne remarked,—like an elderly mermaid!

“You must have been asleep when that happened,” said Thorward to Karlsefin in surprise.

“He must have been sleeping, then, with his eyes open,” said Biarne, with an amused look.

Karlsefin gazed sternly towards the ship’s head, and appeared to be attending with great care to the helm, but there was a slight twinkle in his eye as he said— “Well, itwasmy intention to wash the decks a little, but more spray came inboard than I counted on. ’Tis as dangerous to play with water, sometimes, as with fire.”

“There is truth in that,” said Biarne, laughing; “and I fear that this time water will be found to have kindled fire, for when Freydissa went below she looked like the smoking mountain of Iceland—as if there was something hot inside and about to boil up.”

Karlsefin smiled, but made no reply, for the gale was increasing every moment, and the management of the ship soon required the earnest attention of all the seamen on board.

Fortunately it was a short-lived gale. When it had passed away and the sea had returned to something like its former quiescent state, and the sun had burst through and dissipated the grey clouds, our female voyagers returned to the deck and to their wonted condition of health.

Soon after that they came in sight of land.

“Now, Biarne,” said Karlsefin, after the look-out on the forecastle had shouted “Land ho!” “come, give me your opinion of this new land that we have made.—Do you mind the helm, Thorward, while we go to the ship’s head.”

The two went forward, and on the forecastle they found Olaf; flushed with excitement, and looking as if something had annoyed him.

“Ho, Olaf! you’re not sorry to see land, are you?” said Biarne.

“Sorry! no, not I; but I’m sorry to be cheated of my due.”

“How so, boy?”

“Why,Idiscovered the land first, and that fellow there,” pointing to the man on look-out, “shouted before me.”

“But why did you not shout beforehim?” asked Karlsefin, as he and Biarne surveyed the distant land with keen interest.

“Just because he took me unawares,” replied the boy indignantly. “When I saw it I did not wish to be hasty. It might have turned out to be a cloud, or a fog-bank, and I might have given a false alarm; so I pointed it out to him, and asked what he thought; but instead of answering me he gaped with his ugly mouth and shouted ‘Land ho!’ I could have kicked him.”

“Nay, Olaf; that is not well said,” observed Karlsefin, very gravely; “if youcouldhave kicked him youwouldhave kicked him. Why did you not do it?”

“Because he is too big for me,” answered the boy promptly.

“So, then, thy courage is only sufficient to make thee kick those who are small enough,” returned Karlsefin, with a frown. “Perhaps if you were as big as he you would be afraid to kick him.”

“That would not I,” retorted Olaf.

“It is easy for you to say that, boy, when you know that hewouldnot strike you now, and that there is small chance of your meeting again after you have grown up to prove the truth of what you say. It is mere boasting, Olaf; and, mark me, you will never be a brave man if you begin by being a boastful boy. A truly brave and modest man—for modesty and bravery are wont to consort together—never says he will strike until he sees it to be right to do so. Sometimes he does not even go the length of speaking at all, but, in any case, having made up his mind to strike, he strikes at once, without more ado, let the consequences be what they will. But in my opinion it is best not to strike at all. Do you know, Olaf; my boy, some of the bravest men I ever knew have never struck a blow since they came to manhood, excepting, of course, when compelled to do so in battle; andthenthey struck such blows as made shields and helmets fly, and strewed the plain with their foes.”

“Did these men never boast when they were boys?” asked Olaf; with a troubled air.

Karlsefin relaxed into a smile as he said, “Only when they were very little boys, and very foolish; but they soon came to see how contemptible it is to threaten and not perform; so they gave up threatening, and when performance came to be necessary they found that threats were needless. Now, Olaf, I want you to be a bold, brave man, and I must lull you through the foolish boasting period as quickly as possible, therefore I tell you these things. Think on them, my boy.”

Olaf was evidently much relieved by the concluding remarks. While Karlsefin was speaking he had felt ashamed of himself; because he was filled with admiration of the magnificent skipper, and wanted to stand well in his opinion. It was therefore no small comfort to find that his boasting had been set down to his foolishness, and that there was good reason to hope he might ultimately grow out of it.

But Olaf had much more of the true metal in him than he himself was aware of. Without saying a word about it, he resolved not to wait for the result of this slow process of growth, but to jump, vault, or fly out of the boastful period of life, by hook or by crook, and that without delay. And he succeeded! Not all at once, of course. He had many a slip; but he persevered, and finally got out of it much sooner than would have been the case if he had not taken any trouble to think about the matter, or totry.

Meanwhile, however, he looked somewhat crestfallen. This being observed by the look-out, that worthy was prompted to say— “I’m sure, Olaf; you are welcome to kick me if that will comfort you, but there is no occasion to do so, because I claim not the honour of firstseeingthe land—and if I had known the state of your mind I would willingly have let you give the hail.”

“You may have been first to discover it at this time, Olaf;” said Biarne, turning round after he had made up his mind about it, “and no doubt you were, since the look-out admits it; nevertheless this is the land that I discovered twenty years ago. But we shall make it out more certainly in an hour or two if this breeze holds.”

The breeze did hold, and soon they were close under the land.

“Now am I quite certain of it,” said Biarne, as he stood on the poop, surrounded by all his friends, who gazed eagerly at the shore, to which they had approached so close that the rocks and bushes were distinctly visible; “that is the very same land which I saw before.”

“What, Vinland?” asked Freydissa.

“Nay, not Vinland. Are you so eager to get at the grapes that ye think the first land we meet is Vinland?”

“A truce to your jesting, Biarne; what land is it?”

“It is the land I sawlastwhen leaving this coast in search of Greenland, so that it seems not unnatural to find itfirston coming back to it. Leif; on his voyage, went on shore here. He named it Helloland, which, methinks, was a fitting name, for it is, as you see, a naked land of rocks.”

“Now, then,” said Karlsefin, “lower the sail, heave out the anchor, and let two men cast loose the little boat. Some of us will land and see what we shall see; for it must not be said of us, Biarne, as it was unfairly said of you, that we took no interest in these new regions.”

The little boat was got ready. The Scottish brothers, Hake and Heika, were appointed to row. Karlsefin, Biarne, Thorward, Gudrid, Freydissa, and Olaf embarked and proceeded to the shore.

This land, on which the party soon stood, was not of an inviting aspect. It was sterile, naked, and very rocky, as Biarne had described it, and not a blade of grass was to be seen. There was a range of high snow-capped mountains in the interior, and all the way from the coast up to these mountains the land was covered with snow. In truth, a more forbidding spot could not easily have been found, even in Greenland.

“It seems to me,” said Freydissa, “that your new land is but a sorry place—worse than that we have left. I wonder at your landing here. It is plain that men see with flushed eyes when they look upon their own discoveries. Cold comfort is all we shall get in this place. I counsel that we return on board immediately.”

“You are too hasty, sister,” said Gudrid.

“Oh! of course, always too hasty,” retorted Freydissa sharply.

“And somewhat too bitter,” growled Thorward, with a frown.

Thorward was not an ill-natured man, but his wife’s sharp temper tried him a good deal.

“Your interrupting me before you heard all I had to sayprovesyou to be too hasty, sister,” said Gudrid, with a playful laugh. “I was about to add that it seems we have come here rather early in the spring. Who knows but the land may wear a prettier dress when the mantle of winter is gone? Even Greenland looks green and bright in summer.”

“Not in those places where the snow liesallthe summer,” objected Olaf.

“That’s right, Olaf;” said Biarne; “stick up for your sweet aunt. She often takes a stick up for you, lad, and deserves your gratitude.—But come, let’s scatter and survey the land, for, be it good or bad, we must know what it is, and carry with us some report such as Karlsefin may weave into his rhymes.”

“This land would be more suitable for your rhymes, Biarne, than for mine,” said Karlsefin, as they started off together, “because it is most dismal.”

After that the whole party scattered. The three leaders ascended the nearest heights in different directions, and Gudrid with Olaf went searching among the rocks and pools to ascertain what sort of creatures were to be found there, while Freydissa sat down and sulked upon a rock. She soon grew tired of sulking, however, and, looking about her, observed the brothers, who had been left in charge of the boat, standing as if engaged in earnest conversation.

She had not before this paid much attention to these brothers, and was somewhat struck with their appearance, for, as we have said before, they were good specimens of men. Hake, the younger of the two, had close-curling auburn hair, and bright blue eyes. His features were not exactly handsome, but the expression of his countenance was so winning that people were irresistibly attracted by it. The elder brother, Heika, was very like him, but not so attractive in his appearance. Both were fully six feet high, and though thin, as has been said, their limbs were beautifully moulded, and they possessed much greater strength than most people gave them credit for. In aspect, thought, and conversation, they were naturally grave, and very earnest; nevertheless, they could be easily roused to mirth.

Going up to them, Freydissa said— “Ye seem to have earnest talk together.”

“We have,” answered Heika. “Our talk is about home.”

“I am told that your home is in the Scottish land,” said Freydissa.

“It is,” answered Hake, with a kindling eye.

“How come you to be so far from home?” asked Freydissa.

“We were taken prisoners two years ago by vikings from Norway, when visiting our father in a village near the Forth fiord.”

“How did that happen? Come, tell me the story; but, first, who is your father?”

“He is an earl of Scotland,” said Heika.

“Ha! and I suppose ye think a Scottish earl is better than a Norse king?”

Heika smiled as he replied, “I have never thought of making a comparison between them.”

“Well—how were you taken?”

“We were, as I have said, on a visit to our father, who dwelt sometimes in a small village on the shores of the Forth, for the sake of bathing in the sea—for he is sickly. One night, while we slept, a Norse long-ship came to land. Those who should have been watching slumbered. The Norsemen surrounded my father’s house without awaking anyone, and, entering by a window which had not been securely fastened, overpowered Hake and me before we knew where we were. We struggled hard, but what could two unarmed men do among fifty? The noise we made, however, roused the village and prevented the vikings from discovering our father’s room, which was on the upper floor. They had to fight their way back to the ship, and lost many men on the road, but they succeeded in carrying us two on board, bound with cords. They took us over the sea to Norway. There we became slaves to King Olaf Tryggvisson, by whom, as you know, we were sent to Leif Ericsson.”

“No doubt ye think,” said Freydissa, “that if you had not been caught sleeping ye would have given the Norsemen some trouble to secure you.”

They both laughed at this.

“We have had some thoughts of that kind,” said Hake brightly, “but truly we did give them some trouble even as it was.”

“I knew it,” cried the dame rather sharply; “the conceit of you men goes beyond all bounds! Ye always boast of what valiant deeds youwouldhave doneifsomething or other had been in your favour.”

“We made no boast,” replied Heika gravely.

“If you did not speak it, ye thought it, I doubt not.—But, tell me, is your land as good a land as Norway?”

“We love it better,” replied Heika.

“Butisit better?” asked Freydissa.

“We would rather dwell in it than in Norway,” said Hake.

“We hope not. But we would prefer to be in our own land,” replied the elder brother, sadly, “for there is no place like home.”

At this point Karlsefin and the rest of the party came back to the shore and put an end to the conversation. Returning on board they drew up the anchor, hoisted sail, and again put out to sea.

Chapter Seven.Songs and Sagas—Vinland at Last!In days of old, just as in modern times, tars, when at sea, were wont to assemble on the “fo’c’sle,” or forecastle, and spin yarns—as we have seen—when the weather was fine and their work was done.One sunny afternoon, on the forecastle of Karlsefin’s ship—which, by the way, was called “The Snake,” and had a snake’s head and neck for a figure-head—there was assembled a group of seamen, among whom were Tyrker the Turk, one of Thorward’s men named Swend, who was very stout and heavy, and one of Karlsefin’s men called Krake, who was a wild jocular man with a peculiar twang in his speech, the result of having been long a prisoner in Ireland. We mention these men particularly, because it was they who took the chief part in conversations and in story-telling. The two Scots were also there, but they were very quiet, and talked little; nevertheless, they were interested and attentive listeners. Olaf was there also, all eyes and ears,—for Olaf drank in stories, and songs, and jests, as the sea-sand drinks water—so said Tyrker; but Krake immediately contradicted him, saying that when the sea-sand was full of water it drank no more, as was plain from the fact that it did not drink up the sea, whereas Olaf went on drinking and wasneversatisfied.“Come, sing us a song, Krake,” cried Tyrker, giving the former a slap on the shoulder; “let us hear how the Danish kings were served by the Irish boys.”“Not I,” said Krake, firmly. “I’ve told ye two stories already. It’s Hake’s turn now to give us a song, or what else he pleases.”“But you’ll sing it after Hake has sung, won’t you, Krake?” pleaded several of the men.“I’ll not say ‘No’ to that.”Hake, who possessed a soft and deep bass voice of very fine quality, at once acceded to the request for a song. Crossing his arms on his chest, and looking, as if in meditation, towards the eastern horizon, he sang, to one of his national airs, “The Land across the Sea.”The deep pathos of Hake’s voice, more than the words, melted these hardy Norsemen almost to tears, and for a few minutes effectually put to flight the spirit of fun that had prevailed.“That’s your own composin’, I’ll be bound,” said Krake, “an’ sure it’s not bad. It’s Scotland you mean, no doubt, by the land across the sea. Ah! I’ve heard much of that land. The natives are very fond of it, they say. It must be a fine country. I’ve heard Irishmen, who have been there, say that if it wasn’t for Ireland they’d think it the finest country in the world.”“No doubt,” answered Hake with a laugh, “and I dare say Swend, there, would think it the finest country in the world after Norway.”“Ha! Gamle Norge,” (Old Norway) said Swend with enthusiasm, “there is no country likethatunder the sun.”“Except Greenland,” said Olaf, stoutly.“Or Iceland,” observed Biarne, who had joined the group. “Where can you show such mountains—spouting fire, and smoke, and melted stones,—or such boiling fountains, ten feet thick and a hundred feet high, as we have in Iceland?”“That’s true,” observed Krake, who was an Icelander.“Oh!” exclaimed Tyrker, with a peculiar twist of his ugly countenance, “Turkey is the land that beats all others completely.”At this there was a general laugh.“Why, how can that be?” cried Swend, who was inclined to take up the question rather hotly. “What have you to boast of in Turkey?”“Eh! What have wenot, is the question. What shall I say? Ha! we havegrapesthere; and we do makesucha drink of them—Oh!—”Here Tyrker screwed his face and figure into what was meant for a condition of ecstasy.“’Twere well that they had no grapes there, Tyrker,” said Biarne, “for if all be true that Karlsefin tells us of that drink, they would be better without it.”“I wish I had it!” remarked Tyrker, pathetically.“Well, it is said that we shall find grapes in Vinland,” observed Swend, “and as we are told there is everything else there that man can desire, our new country will beat all the others put together,—so hurrah for Vinland!”The cheer was given with right good-will, and then Tyrker reminded Krake of his promise to sing a song. Krake, whose jovial spirits made him always ready for anything, at once struck up to a rattling ditty:—The Danish Kings.One night when one o’ the Irish KingsWas sleeping in his bed,Six Danish Kings—so Sigvat sings—Came an’ cut off his head.The Irish boys they heard the noise,And flocked unto the shore;They caught the kings, and put out their eyes,And left them in their gore.Chorus—Oh! this is the way we served the kings,An’ spoiled their pleasure, the dirty things,When they came to harry and flap their wingsUpon the Irish shore-ore,Upon the Irish shore.Next year the Danes took terrible painsTo wipe that stain away;They came with a fleet, their foes to meet,Across the stormy say.Each Irish carl great stones did hurlIn such a mighty rain,The Danes went down, with a horrible stoun,An’ never came up again!Oh! this is the way, etcetera.The men were still laughing and applauding Krake’s song when Olaf, who chanced to look over the bow of the vessel, started up and shouted “Land, ho!” in a shrill voice, that rang through the whole ship.Instantly, the poop and forecastle were crowded, and there, on the starboard bow, they saw a faint blue line of hills far away on the horizon. Olaf got full credit for having discovered the land first on this occasion; and for some time everything else was forgotten in speculations as to what this new land would turn out to be; but the wind, which had been getting lighter every hour that day, died away almost to a calm, so that, as there was no prospect of reaching the land for some hours, the men gradually fell back to their old places and occupation.“Now, then, Krake,” said Tyrker, “tell us the story about that king you were talking of the other day; which was it? Harald—”“Ay, King Harald,” said Krake, “and how he came to get the name of Greyskin. Well, you must know that it’s not many years ago since my father, Sigurd, was a trader between Iceland and Norway. He went to other places too, sometimes—and once to Ireland, on which occasion it was that I was taken prisoner and kept so long in the country, that I became an Irishman. But after escaping and getting home I managed to change back into an Icelander, as ye may see! Well, in my father’s younger days, before I was born—which was a pity! for he needed help sorely at that time, and I would have been just the man to turn myself handy to any sort of work; however, it wasn’tmyfault,—in his younger days, my father one summer went over from Iceland to Norway,—his ship loaded till she could hardly float, with skins and peltry, chiefly grey wolves. It’s my opinion that the reason she didn’t go down was that they had packed her so tight there was no room for the water to get in and sink her. Anyway, over the sea she went and got safe to Norway.“At that time King Harald, one of the sons of Eric, reigned in Norway, after the death of King Hakon the Good. He and my father were great friends, but they had not met for some time; and not since Harald had come to his dignity. My father sailed to Hardanger, intending to dispose of his pelts there if he could. Now, King Harald generally had his seat in Hordaland and Bogaland, and some of his brothers were usually with him; but it chanced that year that they went to Hardanger, so my father and the king met, and had great doings, drinking beer and talking about old times when they were boys together.“My father then went to the place where the greatest number of people were met in the fiord, but nobody would buy any of his skins. He couldn’t understand this at all, and was very much annoyed at it, and at night when he was at supper with the king he tells him about it. The king was in a funny humour that night. He had dashed his beard with beer to a great extent, and laughed heartily sometimes without my father being able to see what was the joke. But my father was a knowing man. He knew well enough that people are sometimes given to hearty laughter without troubling themselves much about the joke—especially when they are beery,—so he laughed too, out of friendliness, and was very sociable.“When my father went away the king promised to pay him a visit on board of his ship next day, which he did, sure enough; and my father took care to let it be known that he was coming, so there was no lack of the principal people thereabouts. They had all come down together, by the merest chance, to the place where the ship lay, just to enjoy the fresh air—being fresher there that day than at most other places on the fiord, no doubt!“King Harald came with a fully-manned boat, and a number of followers. He was very condescending and full of fun, as he had been the night before. When he was going away he looked at the skins, and said to my father, ‘Wilt thou give me a present of one of these wolf-skins?’“‘Willingly,’ says my father, ‘and as many more as you please.’“On this, the king wrapped himself up in a wolf-skin and went back to his boat and rowed away. Immediately after, all the boats in his suite came alongside and looked at the wolf-skins with great admiration, and every man bought just such another wolf-skin as the king had got. In a few days so many people came to buy skins, that not half of them could be served with what they wanted, and the upshot was that my father’s vessel was cleared out down to the keel, and thereafter the king went, as you know, by the name of Harald Greyskin.“But here we are, comrades,” continued Krake, rising, “drawing near to the land,—I’ll have a look at it.”The country off which they soon cast anchor was flat and overgrown with wood; and the strand far around consisted of white sand, and was very low towards the sea. Biarne said that it was the country to which Leif had given the name of Markland, because it was well-wooded; they therefore went ashore in the small boat, but finding nothing in particular to attract their interest, they soon returned on board and again put to sea with an onshore wind from the north-east. (Some antiquaries appear to be of opinion that Helloland must have been Newfoundland, and Markland some part of Nova Scotia.)For two days they continued their voyage with the same wind, and then made land for the third time and found it to be an island. It was blowing hard at the time, and Biarne advised that they should take shelter there and wait for good weather. This they did, and, as before, a few of them landed to explore the country, but there was not much to take note of. Little Olaf, who was one of the explorers, observed dew on the grass, and, remembering that Leif had said that the dew on one of the islands which he met with wassweet, he shook some into the hollow of his hand and tasted it, but looked disappointed.“Are you thirsty, Olaf?” asked Karlsefin, who, with Biarne, walked beside him.“No, but I wondered if the dew would be sweet. My father said it was, on one of the islands he came to.”“Foolish boy,” said Biarne, laughing; “Leif did but speak in a figure. He was very hot and tired at the time, and found the dew sweet to his thirsty spirit as well as refreshing to his tongue.”“Thus you see, Olaf,” observed Karlsefin, with a sly look at Biarne, “whenever you chance to observe your father getting angry, and hear him say that his beer is sour, you are not to suppose that it is really sour, but must understand that it is only sour to his cross spirit as well as disagreeable to his tongue.”Olaf received this with a loud laugh, for, though he was puzzled for a moment by Biarne’s explanation, he saw through the jest at once.“Well, Biarne,” returned Olaf; “whether the dew was sweet to my father’s tongue or to his spirit I cannot tell, but I remember that when he told us about the sweet dew, he said it was near to the island where he found it that the country he called Vinland lay. So, if this be the sweet-dew island, Vinland cannot be far off.”“The boy is sharp beyond his years,” said Karlsefin, stopping abruptly and looking at Biarne; “what thinkest thou of that?”“I think,” replied the other, “that Olaf will be a great discoverer some day, for it seems to me not unlikely that he may be right.”“Come, we shall soon see,” said Karlsefin, turning round and hastening back to the boat.Biarne either had not seen this particular spot on his former visit to these shores, which is quite probable, or he may have forgotten it, for he did not recognise it as he had done the first land they made; but before they left Ericsfiord, Leif had given them a very minute and careful description of the appearance of the coast of Vinland, especially of that part of it where he had made good his landing and set up his booths, so that the explorers might be in a position to judge correctly when they should approach it. Nevertheless, as every one knows, regions, even when well defined, may wear very different aspects when seen by different people, for the first time, from different points of view. So it was on this occasion. The voyagers had hit the island a short distance further south than the spot where Leif came upon it, and did not recognise it in the least. Indeed they had begun to doubt whether it really was an island at all. But now that Olaf had awakened their suspicions, they hastened eagerly on board the “Snake,” and sailed round the coast until they came into a sound which lay between the Island and a cape that jutted out northward from the land.“’Tis Vinland!” cried Biarne in an excited tone.“Don’t be too sure of that,” said Thorward, as a sudden burst of sunshine lit up land and sea.“I cannot be too sure,” cried Biarne, pointing to the land. “See, there is the ness that Leif spoke of going out northwards from the land; there is the island; here, between it and the ness, is the sound, and yonder, doubtless, is the mouth of the river which comes out of the lake where the son of Eric built his booths. Ho! Vinland! hurrah!” he shouted, enthusiastically waving his cap above his head.The men were not slow to echo his cheer, and they gave it forth not a whit less heartily.“’Tis a noble land to look upon,” said Gudrid, who with the other females of the party had been for some time gazing silently and wistfully towards it.“Perchance it may be agreatland some day,” observed Karlsefin.“Who knows?” murmured Thorward in a contemplative tone.“Ay, who knows?” echoed Biarne; “time and luck can work wonders.”“God’s blessing can work wonders,” said Karlsefin, impressively; “may He grant it to us while we sojourn here!”With that he gave orders to prepare to let go the anchor, but the sound, over which they were gliding slowly before a light wind, was very shallow, and he had scarcely ceased speaking when the ship struck with considerable violence, and remained fast upon the sand.

In days of old, just as in modern times, tars, when at sea, were wont to assemble on the “fo’c’sle,” or forecastle, and spin yarns—as we have seen—when the weather was fine and their work was done.

One sunny afternoon, on the forecastle of Karlsefin’s ship—which, by the way, was called “The Snake,” and had a snake’s head and neck for a figure-head—there was assembled a group of seamen, among whom were Tyrker the Turk, one of Thorward’s men named Swend, who was very stout and heavy, and one of Karlsefin’s men called Krake, who was a wild jocular man with a peculiar twang in his speech, the result of having been long a prisoner in Ireland. We mention these men particularly, because it was they who took the chief part in conversations and in story-telling. The two Scots were also there, but they were very quiet, and talked little; nevertheless, they were interested and attentive listeners. Olaf was there also, all eyes and ears,—for Olaf drank in stories, and songs, and jests, as the sea-sand drinks water—so said Tyrker; but Krake immediately contradicted him, saying that when the sea-sand was full of water it drank no more, as was plain from the fact that it did not drink up the sea, whereas Olaf went on drinking and wasneversatisfied.

“Come, sing us a song, Krake,” cried Tyrker, giving the former a slap on the shoulder; “let us hear how the Danish kings were served by the Irish boys.”

“Not I,” said Krake, firmly. “I’ve told ye two stories already. It’s Hake’s turn now to give us a song, or what else he pleases.”

“But you’ll sing it after Hake has sung, won’t you, Krake?” pleaded several of the men.

“I’ll not say ‘No’ to that.”

Hake, who possessed a soft and deep bass voice of very fine quality, at once acceded to the request for a song. Crossing his arms on his chest, and looking, as if in meditation, towards the eastern horizon, he sang, to one of his national airs, “The Land across the Sea.”

The deep pathos of Hake’s voice, more than the words, melted these hardy Norsemen almost to tears, and for a few minutes effectually put to flight the spirit of fun that had prevailed.

“That’s your own composin’, I’ll be bound,” said Krake, “an’ sure it’s not bad. It’s Scotland you mean, no doubt, by the land across the sea. Ah! I’ve heard much of that land. The natives are very fond of it, they say. It must be a fine country. I’ve heard Irishmen, who have been there, say that if it wasn’t for Ireland they’d think it the finest country in the world.”

“No doubt,” answered Hake with a laugh, “and I dare say Swend, there, would think it the finest country in the world after Norway.”

“Ha! Gamle Norge,” (Old Norway) said Swend with enthusiasm, “there is no country likethatunder the sun.”

“Except Greenland,” said Olaf, stoutly.

“Or Iceland,” observed Biarne, who had joined the group. “Where can you show such mountains—spouting fire, and smoke, and melted stones,—or such boiling fountains, ten feet thick and a hundred feet high, as we have in Iceland?”

“That’s true,” observed Krake, who was an Icelander.

“Oh!” exclaimed Tyrker, with a peculiar twist of his ugly countenance, “Turkey is the land that beats all others completely.”

At this there was a general laugh.

“Why, how can that be?” cried Swend, who was inclined to take up the question rather hotly. “What have you to boast of in Turkey?”

“Eh! What have wenot, is the question. What shall I say? Ha! we havegrapesthere; and we do makesucha drink of them—Oh!—”

Here Tyrker screwed his face and figure into what was meant for a condition of ecstasy.

“’Twere well that they had no grapes there, Tyrker,” said Biarne, “for if all be true that Karlsefin tells us of that drink, they would be better without it.”

“I wish I had it!” remarked Tyrker, pathetically.

“Well, it is said that we shall find grapes in Vinland,” observed Swend, “and as we are told there is everything else there that man can desire, our new country will beat all the others put together,—so hurrah for Vinland!”

The cheer was given with right good-will, and then Tyrker reminded Krake of his promise to sing a song. Krake, whose jovial spirits made him always ready for anything, at once struck up to a rattling ditty:—

The Danish Kings.One night when one o’ the Irish KingsWas sleeping in his bed,Six Danish Kings—so Sigvat sings—Came an’ cut off his head.The Irish boys they heard the noise,And flocked unto the shore;They caught the kings, and put out their eyes,And left them in their gore.Chorus—Oh! this is the way we served the kings,An’ spoiled their pleasure, the dirty things,When they came to harry and flap their wingsUpon the Irish shore-ore,Upon the Irish shore.Next year the Danes took terrible painsTo wipe that stain away;They came with a fleet, their foes to meet,Across the stormy say.Each Irish carl great stones did hurlIn such a mighty rain,The Danes went down, with a horrible stoun,An’ never came up again!Oh! this is the way, etcetera.

The men were still laughing and applauding Krake’s song when Olaf, who chanced to look over the bow of the vessel, started up and shouted “Land, ho!” in a shrill voice, that rang through the whole ship.

Instantly, the poop and forecastle were crowded, and there, on the starboard bow, they saw a faint blue line of hills far away on the horizon. Olaf got full credit for having discovered the land first on this occasion; and for some time everything else was forgotten in speculations as to what this new land would turn out to be; but the wind, which had been getting lighter every hour that day, died away almost to a calm, so that, as there was no prospect of reaching the land for some hours, the men gradually fell back to their old places and occupation.

“Now, then, Krake,” said Tyrker, “tell us the story about that king you were talking of the other day; which was it? Harald—”

“Ay, King Harald,” said Krake, “and how he came to get the name of Greyskin. Well, you must know that it’s not many years ago since my father, Sigurd, was a trader between Iceland and Norway. He went to other places too, sometimes—and once to Ireland, on which occasion it was that I was taken prisoner and kept so long in the country, that I became an Irishman. But after escaping and getting home I managed to change back into an Icelander, as ye may see! Well, in my father’s younger days, before I was born—which was a pity! for he needed help sorely at that time, and I would have been just the man to turn myself handy to any sort of work; however, it wasn’tmyfault,—in his younger days, my father one summer went over from Iceland to Norway,—his ship loaded till she could hardly float, with skins and peltry, chiefly grey wolves. It’s my opinion that the reason she didn’t go down was that they had packed her so tight there was no room for the water to get in and sink her. Anyway, over the sea she went and got safe to Norway.

“At that time King Harald, one of the sons of Eric, reigned in Norway, after the death of King Hakon the Good. He and my father were great friends, but they had not met for some time; and not since Harald had come to his dignity. My father sailed to Hardanger, intending to dispose of his pelts there if he could. Now, King Harald generally had his seat in Hordaland and Bogaland, and some of his brothers were usually with him; but it chanced that year that they went to Hardanger, so my father and the king met, and had great doings, drinking beer and talking about old times when they were boys together.

“My father then went to the place where the greatest number of people were met in the fiord, but nobody would buy any of his skins. He couldn’t understand this at all, and was very much annoyed at it, and at night when he was at supper with the king he tells him about it. The king was in a funny humour that night. He had dashed his beard with beer to a great extent, and laughed heartily sometimes without my father being able to see what was the joke. But my father was a knowing man. He knew well enough that people are sometimes given to hearty laughter without troubling themselves much about the joke—especially when they are beery,—so he laughed too, out of friendliness, and was very sociable.

“When my father went away the king promised to pay him a visit on board of his ship next day, which he did, sure enough; and my father took care to let it be known that he was coming, so there was no lack of the principal people thereabouts. They had all come down together, by the merest chance, to the place where the ship lay, just to enjoy the fresh air—being fresher there that day than at most other places on the fiord, no doubt!

“King Harald came with a fully-manned boat, and a number of followers. He was very condescending and full of fun, as he had been the night before. When he was going away he looked at the skins, and said to my father, ‘Wilt thou give me a present of one of these wolf-skins?’

“‘Willingly,’ says my father, ‘and as many more as you please.’

“On this, the king wrapped himself up in a wolf-skin and went back to his boat and rowed away. Immediately after, all the boats in his suite came alongside and looked at the wolf-skins with great admiration, and every man bought just such another wolf-skin as the king had got. In a few days so many people came to buy skins, that not half of them could be served with what they wanted, and the upshot was that my father’s vessel was cleared out down to the keel, and thereafter the king went, as you know, by the name of Harald Greyskin.

“But here we are, comrades,” continued Krake, rising, “drawing near to the land,—I’ll have a look at it.”

The country off which they soon cast anchor was flat and overgrown with wood; and the strand far around consisted of white sand, and was very low towards the sea. Biarne said that it was the country to which Leif had given the name of Markland, because it was well-wooded; they therefore went ashore in the small boat, but finding nothing in particular to attract their interest, they soon returned on board and again put to sea with an onshore wind from the north-east. (Some antiquaries appear to be of opinion that Helloland must have been Newfoundland, and Markland some part of Nova Scotia.)

For two days they continued their voyage with the same wind, and then made land for the third time and found it to be an island. It was blowing hard at the time, and Biarne advised that they should take shelter there and wait for good weather. This they did, and, as before, a few of them landed to explore the country, but there was not much to take note of. Little Olaf, who was one of the explorers, observed dew on the grass, and, remembering that Leif had said that the dew on one of the islands which he met with wassweet, he shook some into the hollow of his hand and tasted it, but looked disappointed.

“Are you thirsty, Olaf?” asked Karlsefin, who, with Biarne, walked beside him.

“No, but I wondered if the dew would be sweet. My father said it was, on one of the islands he came to.”

“Foolish boy,” said Biarne, laughing; “Leif did but speak in a figure. He was very hot and tired at the time, and found the dew sweet to his thirsty spirit as well as refreshing to his tongue.”

“Thus you see, Olaf,” observed Karlsefin, with a sly look at Biarne, “whenever you chance to observe your father getting angry, and hear him say that his beer is sour, you are not to suppose that it is really sour, but must understand that it is only sour to his cross spirit as well as disagreeable to his tongue.”

Olaf received this with a loud laugh, for, though he was puzzled for a moment by Biarne’s explanation, he saw through the jest at once.

“Well, Biarne,” returned Olaf; “whether the dew was sweet to my father’s tongue or to his spirit I cannot tell, but I remember that when he told us about the sweet dew, he said it was near to the island where he found it that the country he called Vinland lay. So, if this be the sweet-dew island, Vinland cannot be far off.”

“The boy is sharp beyond his years,” said Karlsefin, stopping abruptly and looking at Biarne; “what thinkest thou of that?”

“I think,” replied the other, “that Olaf will be a great discoverer some day, for it seems to me not unlikely that he may be right.”

“Come, we shall soon see,” said Karlsefin, turning round and hastening back to the boat.

Biarne either had not seen this particular spot on his former visit to these shores, which is quite probable, or he may have forgotten it, for he did not recognise it as he had done the first land they made; but before they left Ericsfiord, Leif had given them a very minute and careful description of the appearance of the coast of Vinland, especially of that part of it where he had made good his landing and set up his booths, so that the explorers might be in a position to judge correctly when they should approach it. Nevertheless, as every one knows, regions, even when well defined, may wear very different aspects when seen by different people, for the first time, from different points of view. So it was on this occasion. The voyagers had hit the island a short distance further south than the spot where Leif came upon it, and did not recognise it in the least. Indeed they had begun to doubt whether it really was an island at all. But now that Olaf had awakened their suspicions, they hastened eagerly on board the “Snake,” and sailed round the coast until they came into a sound which lay between the Island and a cape that jutted out northward from the land.

“’Tis Vinland!” cried Biarne in an excited tone.

“Don’t be too sure of that,” said Thorward, as a sudden burst of sunshine lit up land and sea.

“I cannot be too sure,” cried Biarne, pointing to the land. “See, there is the ness that Leif spoke of going out northwards from the land; there is the island; here, between it and the ness, is the sound, and yonder, doubtless, is the mouth of the river which comes out of the lake where the son of Eric built his booths. Ho! Vinland! hurrah!” he shouted, enthusiastically waving his cap above his head.

The men were not slow to echo his cheer, and they gave it forth not a whit less heartily.

“’Tis a noble land to look upon,” said Gudrid, who with the other females of the party had been for some time gazing silently and wistfully towards it.

“Perchance it may be agreatland some day,” observed Karlsefin.

“Who knows?” murmured Thorward in a contemplative tone.

“Ay, who knows?” echoed Biarne; “time and luck can work wonders.”

“God’s blessing can work wonders,” said Karlsefin, impressively; “may He grant it to us while we sojourn here!”

With that he gave orders to prepare to let go the anchor, but the sound, over which they were gliding slowly before a light wind, was very shallow, and he had scarcely ceased speaking when the ship struck with considerable violence, and remained fast upon the sand.

Back to Index Next