"Most true, Bertha, and I have gone forth, and not gone far, and yet have found something both good and beautiful and useful in the land."

"And pray what may that be?" asked the maiden, with a look of surprise.

Hake did not answer, but the expression of his eyes was more eloquent than speech.

"Nay, then," said Bertha, looking hastily away, and again blushing—as a matter of course! "I am no reader of riddles; and I hate riddles—they perplex me so. Besides, I never could find them out. But, Hake, has your party gone yet?"

"Yes, some time ago."

"And are you left behind?"

"No, I have leave to go by the margin of the lake."

"Then if you put off time talking with me you will not find it easy to overtake them; but I forgot: I suppose you count it an easy matter to overtake ordinary men?"

"I shall not find it difficult," replied the youth briefly; and then, perceiving that Bertha felt uneasy—apparently at the tenor of the conversation—he quietly changed it by remarking that he preferred to walk by the lake for several reasons, one of which was that it reminded him of Scotland.

"Ah, you profess to love Scotland very much," said Bertha archly, "but your brother evidently loves it more than you do."

"With good reason, too," replied Hake, "for it has given him a bride, and it had no such favours for me."

"Indeed! what is her name?" asked the maiden, with much interest.

"Emma."

"Poor Emma," sighed Bertha; "but I hope that Heika will be freed one day and return to his native land to wed Emma. Perchance by that time Scotland may smile upon you too, and give you cause to love it better."

"I love it well already," said Hake, with enthusiasm, "yet am I content to stay here."

"For shame, Hake! you do not deserve to be a Scot if you mean what you say."

"I mean what I say, yet do I deserve to be a Scot."

"Come, tell me, then, what this Scotland of yours is like. I suppose you deem it more beautiful than Iceland?"

The youth smiled. "It is not more wonderful than Iceland. I can say that with truth—but it is passing fair to look upon. It is a land of mountain and flood, of heath-clad braes and grassy knowes. Its mountain peaks rise bare and rugged to the skies, where lordly eagles soar. Its brawling burns in their infancy dash down these rugged steeps, but as they grow older flow on through many a hazel dell, where thrush and blackbird fill the woods with melody—through many flowering pastures, where cattle browse and lambkins skip on the sunny braes. Wild-fowl breed on its reedy lochs, and moor-fowl dwell on its heather hills. Its waters teem with the spotted trout and the royal salmon. Temperate breezes fan its cheeks, and beauty, in form and colour, revels everywhere. Its sons are lovers of their native land, and its daughters are wondrous fair."

"And yet it would seem," said Bertha, "that not one is fair enough for you?"

"Nay, Bertha, thy speech is hardly fair. The heart cannot command its affection," said Hake, with a smile, "but I regret it not."

"And where does Emma dwell?" asked Bertha.

"Beside my father, near the shores of Forth, not far from a noted town and castle that stand on the summit of a rocky ridge. It is named after Edwin, a Northumbrian king. A sweet romantic spot—my own dear native town. Beside it stands a mountain, which, those who have travelled in far southern lands tell us, bears some resemblance to a couching lion. But I never saw a lion, and know not what truth there is in that."

"You almost make me wish to see that land," said Bertha, with a sigh.

"I would you might see it and that it were my fortune to show it to you."

"That is not likely," said Bertha, with a little laugh.

"I know not. The most unlikely things happen, and often those that seem most likely do not come to pass. What more unlikely than that Karlsefin should forsake the religion of his fathers? Yet Karlsefin is now a Christian."

"Do you know, Hake, much about the nature of this new religion that has come amongst us, and made so many people change?" asked Bertha, with sudden earnestness.

"To say truth I don't know much about it. Only this do I know, that Karlsefin says the foundation of it is God and man united in Jesus Christ, and that the guiding principle of it is love. If so, it must be a sweet religion, and, as far as Karlsefin is concerned, it seems both good and true; but there are some of its professors whom I know whose guiding star is self—not love—which goes rather against it, methinks."

"You do not reason well, Hake; that is against the professors, not against the religion."

"True; but this religion is said to change those who profess it—what if they are not changed?"

"Why, then, they are false professors," said Bertha, with a smile.

"It may be so; I know not. But if you would have further light on the point, Karlsefin will gladly give it you."

"Well, I will go find him and inquire," said Bertha, rising; "I have kept you too long already from your comrades.—Farewell."

"Farewell, Bertha," replied the youth, gazing after her as she tripped lightly away and disappeared behind a thicket. Then, turning into the woods, he went off at his utmost speed in the direction of the Willow Glen.

"Just in time, Hake," said Biarne, as the Scot approached; "we are about to start off westward to-day, and go as far inland as we can before dark. I have long had a desire to search out the land in that direction. From the distance of these blue ridges, the size of our lake and river, and other signs, I am of opinion that this is a great land— not an island."

"It may be so," replied Hake, looking round on the vast and beautiful landscape; "I should like well to traverse it. If a thrall may be permitted to remark, I would say that a spirited chief would explore somewhat farther than a day's march from home."

"Perchance a spirited chief might see fit to have his homestead put well in order before undertaking explorations for his amusement," replied Biarne, who was not much pleased with Hake's speech.

The Scot made no answer, and after that the party advanced to the westward, sometimes clearing their way through dense thickets, sometimes walking under the branching canopy of large trees, and frequently coming to more open places, in many of which there were little ponds swarming with wild-fowl.

Towards the afternoon they came to a rocky ridge which was crowned with trees. On the other side of it was a deep gorge, near the end of which some large animal was observed sitting on its haunches.

"Hist! a brown bear!" whispered Biarne.

The bear looked up and growled, for it had heard the approach of the party. Nevertheless it appeared to be in a sluggish as well as a sulky humour, for it gave no indication of any intention either to attack or run away, but sat still on its haunches swaying its huge head and shoulders to and fro, and glowering—as Krake said—horribly.

"A fierce monster truly!" observed Hake, fitting an arrow to his bow.

Biarne laid his hand on Hake's arm.

"Hast seen such a brute before?" he inquired.

"Not I," replied Hake.

"Wouldst like to see how the Skraelingers of Greenland treat the white bears of their land, when so few as only two men chance to meet one in this fashion?"

"I should like it well."

"Good—I will show you; but first I must explain the manner of it. When two Skraelingers see a bear they go up to him with spears. On approaching him they separate. One settles that he is to kill him, the other agrees to distract his attention. He who is to kill approaches on the side next the heart. His comrade goes up and pricks the bear on the other side. The bear turns full on him who wounds, exposes his heart-side, and is instantly thrust through by him who is to kill. Dost understand?"

"Perfectly," replied Hake.

"Perhaps you would like to join me in such an adventure, though of course there is some danger," said Biarne, who was very anxious to punish Hake for his late advice by giving him a good fright.

Hake smiled in a grim fashion, and taking a short spear from one of his comrades, looked at Biarne, pointed to the bear, and said:

"Come!"

They advanced together, Biarne also carrying a short spear, while their comrades stood on the ridge and looked on with much interest.

When Bruin saw the two men approach, he got up and showed himself to be an uncommonly large bear indeed, insomuch that Biarne glanced at Hake with some anxiety, and asked if he felt sure of himself, and wasn't frightened.

Hake laughed lightly, but made no other reply.

"Well, then, have a care, and see that ye be prompt in action. I will go to the left side and kill, being used to such work. Do you separate from me here and give him the prick on the right side. Don't get flurried. We must approach and act together. He seems inclined to meet us half-way, and must not be trifled with; and, harkee, prick him well, for methinks his hide will prove a tough one."

Hake nodded, and separated from his companion. Seeing this the bear stopped. It had been advancing with a rapidly increasing step, growling all the way, and with an extremely savage aspect, but this movement of the enemy perplexed it. Looking first on one side, and then on the other, it remained in a state of uncertainty as to which of the two it should attack. The enemy took advantage of this—both men ran in upon it. As they did so the bear rose on its hind-legs, still glancing savagely from one side to the other, and in this position appearing a larger monster than it had seemed before.

"Give it him sharply!" cried Biarne, delaying his death-thrust till the proper time.

Hake stepped close up to the bear, and plunged his spear into its side with such vigorous good-will that it went straight through its heart, and came out at the other side just under the shoulder.

With a tremendous roar it fell and writhed on the ground in a dying state, while a loud cheer burst from the men on the ridge.

"Why did ye that?" cried Biarne fiercely, stepping up to Hake as though he would strike him. "Was it not arranged that I should kill him?"

"The Fates arranged it otherwise," answered the Scot. "I felt afraid that my fears might weaken my arm. To make sure, I gave him a good thrust. Besides, did you not tell me that his hide was tough, and advise me to prick him well?"

Hake looked so innocent, and spoke so gently, that Biarne, who was a good-natured fellow, laughed in spite of himself as he said—

"Truly thou didst prick him to some purpose. Well, I do not grudge thee the honour, and unquestionably it was deftly done.—Here, two of you, stay behind and skin this fellow. Cut off the best parts of the meat also. Bears of this kind are not bad for food, I dare say. We will go on a little farther, and return to you in a short time."

Saying this Biarne resumed his march, followed by the rest of the men.

They had not gone far, however, when one of the party uttered a sudden exclamation, and pointed to footprints on a soft part of the ground.

"Perhaps the bear's footprints," said one.

"Too small and narrow for that," remarked another.

"We shall trace them till we come to soft ground and make certain," said Biarne.

They did so, and after walking a hundred yards or so came to a sandy piece, where the footprints were so clearly defined that there remained no doubt they were those of a man. That the marks had not been made by any wandering member of their own band, was evident also from the form of the sole of the shoe, as indicated by the prints.

"Now must we be ready to meet with men who may be foes, although I hope they shall turn out to be friends," said Biarne. "Come, Hake, there may be need for haste, therefore do you hie back before us and inform Karlsefin what we have seen. We will follow as swiftly as may be, and fetch your bear along with us."

Hake started off at a smart run without a word of reply, and never paused a moment until he reached the hamlet, which he found in a considerable state of confusion and excitement.

"What now?" demanded Karlsefin as Hake came forward.

"Strange footprints have been seen, and—"

"Strange footprints!" exclaimed Karlsefin. "Why, man, strange men have been seen by us, so I have stranger news to tell than thou. Biarne is returning, of course?"

"He is, with all the men, as fast as he can."

"That's well. Now, Hake, get your weapons ready and help the men to make preparations for the reception of the strangers. I go to set the ship in order."

Hake found, on inquiry, that one of a wood-cutting party having strayed a little way beyond his fellows, but not far from the hamlet, had come suddenly on a native who was crouching behind a rock and gazing intently at the woodcutters. He was at the moment fitting an arrow to the string of a short bow which he carried, and was so absorbed that he did not at first observe the Norseman. The instant he saw him, however, he sprang up and discharged an arrow, which the other avoided. The savage immediately turned to fly, but the Norseman sprang after him and struck him to the ground. At the same instant a dozen or more savages rushed from the woods to the rescue, and the Norseman immediately ran back to his comrades. More savages appeared, and the Norsemen, seeing that they were greatly outnumbered, retreated to the hamlet. They were not followed by the savages, but there could be no doubt that now the colony had been discovered they were certain to receive a visit from them. Whether that visit was likely to be amicable or otherwise remained to be seen.

Meanwhile Karlsefin and his men did their best to put the place in a state of defence. A breastwork of large trees, which had been long ago thrown all round the hamlet, was repaired and strengthened before dark, and sentinels were posted around in all directions, so that when Biarne arrived, somewhat late at night, he was amused as well as gratified to find that unseen though well-known voices challenged him several times as he drew near home, and that, finally, a rude but effectual barrier stopped him altogether, until a friend from within conducted him to the proper entrance.

Thus the night passed away without anything transpiring, and at last the longed-for dawn appeared.



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

A GREAT BUT COMPARATIVELY BLOODLESS FIGHT, WHICH ENDS PECULIARLY, AND WITH SINGULAR RESULTS.

When the sun rose above the trees next day, Karlsefin began to think that the natives had left the place, for there was no sign of them anywhere, and he was about to issue from behind his defences and go out to reconnoitre, when a man came running from the ship shouting "Skraelingers!"

It is probable that by that term he meant savages generally, because the men who had been seen bore very little resemblance to the hairy savages of Greenland. They were taller, though not stouter, and clothed in well-dressed skins of animals, with many bright colours about them. But whatever they were, the sensation they created among the Norsemen was considerable, for it was found, on going to the margin of the lake, that they were now approaching in canoes by water. This at once accounted for the delay in their appearance.

That their intentions were hostile was plain from the fact that the canoes came on abreast of each other in regular order, while the men shouted fiercely and brandished their weapons. There could not have been fewer than three or four hundred of them.

Karlsefin saw at once that his only chance of saving the ship was to go on board of it and fight on the water.

"Get on board all of you," he cried to those who stood beside him. "Away, Biarne, Thorward, call in the outposts and have them on board without delay. Here, Swend, Heika, Tyrker, station the men as they arrive. Get up the war-screens round the sides of the ship; and, harkee, give orders that the men use their weapons as little as possible, and spare life. I shall want you on the poop, Hake. See that no one throws down the gangway or loosens the ropes till the order is given. I will see to the women.—Away!"

Each man ran with speed to obey, for the case was urgent.

Karlsefin found the women, with Olaf, assembled in the large house waiting for orders.

"Come," he cried; "not a moment to be lost. Give me your hand, Gudrid."

He seized it as he spoke, and hurried down to the ship, where the men were already trooping on board as fast as they could. The women were soon put under cover out of the reach of missiles, and in a few minutes more all were on board. Of course the cattle, and live stock generally, being scattered about the hamlet, were left to their fate. Then the ropes were cast loose, the gangway was thrown down, the ship was pushed out into the bay, and the anchor let go.

All this had barely been accomplished when the canoes came sweeping round the nearest point of land and made straight for the ship, with the foam curling at their bows.

Then Karlsefin's voice rose loud and clear as he issued his final commands.

"My lads," he cried, "remember my orders about using your weapons as little as possible. Be careful to throw only the smaller stones. Kill no one if you can avoid it, but give as many of them the toothache as you can. We must be friends with these people if we are to live in peace here, and that won't be possible if we kill many of them."

The men answered with a great shout, mingled with some laughter, which latter was such a strange sound to hear on the eve of an engagement, that the savages stopped short for a moment. But soon they came on again with redoubled impetuosity.

No sooner were they within range than the Norsemen rose up in a body and hurled a shower of stones at them. They were evidently not prepared for such artillery, for they again stepped short, but after a brief pause once more advanced. Three times did they receive a shower of stones before getting alongside. These hurt many, but disabled none, for, according to orders, no heavy stones were used. When within a few yards of the ship the canoes surrounded her and lay still while the savages began to discharge arrows in abundance. The Norsemen kept well behind the shields, which formed a screen round the ship, and replied with stones, only a few of the best marksmen using arrows, when they saw a chance to wound without killing any of the foe.

Karlsefin stood exposed on the high poop with Hake and Heika beside him. All three wore iron helmets, and the leader protected himself with his shield. Heika devoted his attention to warding off missiles from his brother, who, having to use his bow, could not manage a shield.

Presently the savages made a grand assault. But the moment they came to close quarters they found that they had to cope with a formidable foe, for the Norsemen, using only bludgeons, knocked them down whenever they came within reach, and one or two of the boldest among them who succeeded in clambering up the sides were seized by the legs and arms and hurled back into the lake as if they had been mere puppets.

Thus beaten off they continued the arrow shower, and some of the Norsemen were wounded.

All this time Karlsefin stood close to the helm, looking sharply about him, and whenever he saw a savage who was bolder and stouter than his fellows, he made Hake send an arrow through his right hand. In this way most of the best men among them were sent off howling with pain, and for the time disabled. Suddenly a very tall active savage succeeded in clambering up by the rudder unobserved, and leaping on the poop, stood behind Karlsefin with uplifted club. Karlsefin, without turning quite round, gave him a back-handed slap under the left ear and sent him flying overboard. He fell into a canoe in his descent and sank it.

At this juncture a number of the canoes were detached from the fight, and Karlsefin observed, with much anxiety, that the savages were going to ransack the houses.

"Would that I were on shore with twenty of my best men!" he said bitterly. "Send a shaft, Hake, at yonder fellow who leads. It is out of range, I fear, but—ha! well hit!" he exclaimed, on seeing an arrow from Hake's prompt hand strike the man full in the back. The savage fell, and his comrades crowded round him.

By that time others of the canoes had put ashore, and their owners ran up to the crowd who surrounded the fallen leader.

At this moment an incident occurred which put a most unexpected termination to the fight.

For a considerable time Olaf's huge pet, Blackie, had viewed the fight with calm indifference from the heart of a thicket close by, in which he chanced to be cooling himself at the time. Now, it happened that one of the many arrows which were discharged by the savages on the offshore side of the ship glanced from a neighbouring tree and hit the bull on the flank. Associating the pain resulting therefrom with the group of savages before him, Blackie at once elevated his tail, lowered his head, and, with a bellow that would have shamed a thousand trumpets, charged furiously down upon the foe.

Horror-struck is but a feeble word to indicate the feelings of that foe! Although, no doubt, some of them might have heard of, perhaps seen, the ponderous and comparatively quiet bison of the Western prairies, none of them had ever imagined anything so awful as a little black bull with tremendous horns, blood-red nostrils, flashing eyes, and cat-like activity. One awe-struck look they gave it, and then fled howling into the woods. The sounds were so startling that those of the enemy still round the ship were panic-stricken and made off by water as fast as their fellows had escaped by land, leaving the Norsemen victorious!

"Hurrah for Blackie!" shouted Olaf, who was wild with excitement and delight.

The cheer thus claimed was given with intense enthusiasm, and then the ship was rowed back to the shore.

Here a great prize was found, in the shape of twenty canoes, which had been left by the party that had fled to the woods. These were carried carefully up to the hamlet and placed in security. On the way up another prize was found, which afterwards turned out to be of the utmost importance. This was the wounded savage, who had been forsaken by his friends when the bull charged, and who only escaped from the horns of that infuriated animal by lying quite motionless beside a log which fortunately chanced to be near him.

"Take care, Krake; lift him gently," said Biarne, as he came up and found that worthy turning the poor savage over as if he had been already a dead carcase. "Let me see; the arrow does not seem to have gone far in. He'll recover, perhaps. Come, Hake and Swend, lift his shoulders, and run, Olaf, tell Astrid or one of the other women to—ha! Bertha, well met. Here is a subject for your care. You are a good nurse, I'm told."

"I try to be," replied Bertha.

"She who tries to be is sure to be," returned Biarne; "nursing, like fighting, is an art, and must be acquired; though, to say truth, some folk seem born to learn more rapidly than others, whether as regards nursing or fighting. Have the poor fellow into the house, and do your best for him, Bertha."

While this was being said the native was lying on his back, looking very stern, but pale. It is probable that the poor wretch expected to be taken off summarily to have his eyes punched out, or to be roasted alive,—for the natives of Vinland, no doubt, expected from their foes, in those days, the same treatment that they accorded to them—although the Saga says nothing to that effect. When, therefore, he was put into a comfortable bed, had his wound dressed, and an agreeable though strange drink given to him by the fair hands of Bertha, the expression of his countenance seemed to imply that he believed himself to have passed from earth and got into the happy hunting-grounds of his fathers. If so, the increasing pain of his wound must have perplexed him not a little. However, it is due to him to say that he bore his surprises and pains with the uncomplaining resignation of a Stoic.

Karlsefin employed the remainder of that day in strengthening his defences and connecting them in such a way with that part of the shore where his vessel lay, that there would be no possibility of surrounding him in the event of future hostilities.

This accomplished, he organised his men into three bands, which were to be commanded respectively by Biarne, Thorward, and himself. These were appointed to particular localities and duties in the little fortress— for it was now almost entitled to such an appellation. When night drew on, sentinels were posted as before. But there was no alarm during the night. The savages appeared to have had enough of fighting for that time, and next morning's sun arose, as it was wont to do, on a peaceful scene.

"Do you think they will attack us again?" asked Gudrid as she sat at breakfast.

"I think not," replied her husband. "They cannot but know that we are troublesome fellows to deal with, even when taken unawares."

"I hope they won't go off without giving us a chance to show that we desire to be friendly," observed Thorward.

"No fear of that," said Biarne; "we have got one of their chiefs—at least I think he is so, for he looks like one—and that is as good as a string tied to their great toe."

"By the way, how is the chief, Bertha?" asked Karlsefin.

"Much better this morning. He slept well, and is even now sitting up on his bed. He looked so well, indeed, that I took the precaution to fasten the door on the outside when I left him just now."

"Ha! Didst fasten the window, wench?" cried Thorward, starting up and hastening from the room.

"Truly, no," remarked the girl, with a somewhat confused look; "I never thought of the window."

Thorward returned a minute later with a peculiar smile.

"He's all safe," said he; "I peeped through a small shot-hole in the parchment, and saw him sitting there meditating as deeply as if he hoped to meditate himself out of his prison."

"Not a difficult thing to do that," said Karlsefin. "I suspect that most prisoners manage to free themselves in that way pretty often! But who comes here in such hot haste? Why, Swend, what's i' the wind now?"

"The Skraelingers are coming," said he. "They come unarmed, and only ten of them."

"Oho! good," exclaimed Karlsefin, rising. "Come, methinks I see my way out of this difficulty. Fetch me nine of our smartest men, Biarne. I will go forth with them unarmed, to meet those messengers of peace. You and Thorward will keep the defences, to be ready for any emergency. Let the Scottish brothers be among the nine."

When the selected men had assembled, their leader took them aside and conferred with them for a few minutes, after which he led them towards that part of the defences nearest the woods, when they saw the ten natives approaching holding up their empty hands and making other demonstrations of a peaceful nature. Far away on the heights in the background the whole army of savages could be seen watching the proceedings of their messengers.

When these latter had come within about a hundred yards of the hamlet, they selected a low grassy knoll in an open spot, in full view of both parties. Here they sat down in a row and made signs to the Norsemen to approach.

"Now, lads, we will accept their invitation," said Karlsefin; "follow me."

With that he passed through the opening in the defences, holding up his hands as he went to show that he was unarmed, his followers doing the same. Karlsefin went up to the native who appeared to be the chief of the band, and, with a bland smile, took his hand gently and shook it.

If the savage did not understand the shake of the hand, he evidently understood the smile, for he returned it and sat down again. Karlsefin and his men did the same, and for a few moments the two rows of men sat looking benignantly at one another in silence. The savage chief then spoke. Of course Karlsefin shook his head and touched his ear, brow, and lips, by way of intimating that he heard, but could neither understand nor reply. He then spoke Norse, with similar results. After that the savage leader rose up, touched his back, and fell down as if badly wounded. Upon this one of his comrades rose, pointed to the hamlet, lifted the wounded man in his arms, carried him behind his companions, and laid him down exclaiming "Utway!" whereupon another savage took a small bundle of beautiful furs from the ground, and laid them at the feet of Karlsefin with much humility.

"Sure he wants to buy back the wounded chief with these furs," said Krake, who found it difficult to conceal his amusement at all this dumb show.

"No doubt of it, and I suppose Utway is his name," replied Karlsefin; "but my object is to get them inside the defences, in order to show them that when we have them in our power we will treat them well. If I let their chief go for these furs nothing will have been gained."

Karlsefin now did his best, by means of signs and encouraging looks, to induce the ten natives to enter the hamlet, but no persuasion would induce them to do this. They held stoutly to their original proposition, and kept constantly pointing to the bundle of furs and going through the pantomime with the wounded man. At last Karlsefin appeared to agree to their proposal.

"Now, Heika and Hake," said he, "nothing remains to be done but to try the plan I have described to you. Up, and bring the wounded chief hither without delay."

The two men obeyed, and in a few minutes were seen re-issuing from the fortress bearing a litter between them, on which lay the wounded chief with a blanket thrown over him, only his head being visible. Carrying him towards the row of natives, the brothers laid the burden at their feet as they sat still on the ground looking on with great interest. Karlsefin removed the blanket, and revealed the chief bound hand and foot. Something covered by another blanket lay at his side. Karlsefin took hold of this. As he did so the Norsemen rose. The blanket was cast off, and ten naked swords were revealed, which were instantly grasped by ten stalwart arms, and flashed with the speed of light over the ten native heads!

Taken thus by surprise they remained seated, and, supposing that to move would be the signal for instant death, they were perfectly motionless, though the colour of their countenances revealed to some extent the state of their feelings.

A terrific yell from the distant heights told that the deed had been noticed and understood. It was answered by a shout from the Norsemen as they issued from their fortress, secured their prisoners, and carried them within the defences. In a few minutes thereafter not a man was to be seen on the heights, and the region became as silent and apparently as deserted as it had been before the advent of the savages.

"Now then, Biarne, get the things ready. Is the kettle boiling?" said Karlsefin.

"All is prepared," answered Biarne.

"'Tis well. We must carry out our plan as quickly as may be," rejoined Karlsefin. "We may be sure that these fellows have only retired behind the heights to hold a council of war, and, in their present humour, it won't be long before they come on to make an effort to retaliate upon us for our supposed treachery."

The ten men were conveyed to the largest house in the hamlet, and there ranged in a row against the wall. They looked very grave, but were firm and stern. Evidently they imagined that death by torture was to be their doom, and had braced themselves up to die like brave men in the presence of their foes.

Karlsefin hastened to relieve them from this state of mind as quickly as possible. He placed before them ten plates of splendid boiled salmon. They regarded this proceeding with some surprise, but shook their heads and refused to eat. Doubtless their appetites were not good at the time!

"Fetch the wounded chief hither," said Karlsefin, "and tell Bertha that she is wanted."

When the wounded man was carried in and seated opposite to his comrades, a box being placed for him to lean against, Karlsefin said to Bertha—"Now, lass, do thy best to induce the chief to show his friends how to eat. He has had some experience of you, and will doubtless understand."

With a winning smile that would have compelled any susceptible man to eat or drink, or do anything else that he was bid whether inclined or not, Bertha put a plate of salmon before the chief and made signs to him to eat. He smiled in return, and began at once. Then Bertha patted him on the shoulder, pointed to the ten prisoners, and made signs again. The chief smiled intelligently, and spoke to his companions. He evidently said more than was necessary to order them to eat, for their faces brightened perceptibly, and they commenced dinner in these peculiar circumstances without delay.

It was clear that their appetites had not been much impaired by alarm, for the salmon disappeared in a twinkling. Then Karlsefin ordered ten plates of fried venison to be placed before them, which was done, and they applied themselves to the consumption of this with equal relish. Having concluded the repast, each man received a can of warm water and milk, highly sweetened with sugar. At first they took a doubtful sip of this, and looked at each other in surprise. It was a new sensation! One of them smacked his lips; the rest said "Waugh!" nodded their heads, and drained their cans to the bottom at a single draught; after which, observing that there was some sediment left, they scraped it out with their fingers and sucked them.

"So far that is satisfactory," said Karlsefin, with a smile. "Now, Biarne—the gifts."

A wooden tray was now brought, on which lay a variety of silver brooches, rings, and other baubles. These were distributed to the prisoners. Last of all, each received a yard of bright-coloured cloth, and then they were ordered by signs to rise.

They obeyed with alacrity, and were led out of the house, at the door of which they found a litter similar to the one which they had seen before. It was simply a blanket fastened to two long poles, and rolled round them so as to form a couch of about a yard in width. On this the wounded chief was laid, and two of the natives were ordered to grasp the ends of the poles and raise him. They did so, and were conducted by the Norsemen in single file out into the forest. Here, to their intense surprise, Karlsefin shook hands with them all very kindly, and then, going back with his men to the fortress, left them to return to their kindred!

Karlsefin remarked quietly to Biarne, as he went along, that one of the precepts of the new religion, which he had remembered well, because it seemed to him so very wise, was, that men should always try to "overcome evil with good."

Thus was established a warm friendship between the natives of Vinland and the Norsemen; a friendship which might have lasted for ever—to the great modification, no doubt, of American history—had not unfortunate circumstances intervened to break it up. As it was, it lasted for a considerable time.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

THE FIRST AMERICAN FUR TRADERS—STRANGE DEVICES—ANXIOUS TIMES AND PLEASANT DISCOVERIES.

The business of the colony progressed admirably after this. A large house was erected, with a central hall and numerous sleeping-rooms or closets off it, where all the chief people dwelt together, and a number of the men messed daily. Grass was found in abundance, and a large quantity of this was cut and stacked for winter use, although there was good reason to believe that the winter would be so mild that the cattle might be left out to forage for themselves. Salmon were also caught in great numbers, not only in Little River but in the main stream, and in the lake at their very doors. What they did not consume was dried, smoked, and stored. Besides this, a large quantity of fine timber was felled, squared, cut into lengths, and made suitable for exportation. Eggs were found on the islands offshore, and feathers collected, so that early in the summer they had more than enough wherewith to load the ship. Among other discoveries they found grain growing wild. The Saga-writers have called it wheat, but it is open to question whether it was not wild rice, of which large quantities grow in the uninhabited parts of America at the present time. They also found a beautiful kind of wood, called massurwood, of which samples were sent to Greenland and Norway; but what this wood really was we cannot tell.

Meanwhile an extensive traffic in valuable furs was commenced with the natives, who were more than satisfied with the scraps of bright cloth, beads, and other trifling ornaments they received in exchange for them. Some of the natives wanted to purchase weapons with their furs, but Karlsefin would not allow this. At first the Norsemen gave their cloth and other wares in exchange with liberal hand, cutting the bright cloth into stripes of three or four inches in breadth; but they soon found that at this rate their supplies would become exhausted too early in the year. They therefore reduced their prices, and began to give stripes of cloth only two inches in width, and at last reduced the measure to one inch, for furs that had previously fetched four. But the unsophisticated natives were quite content with the change, and appeared to enjoy nothing so much as to twist these stripes of cloth into their long black hair.

One day Karlsefin said to Gudrid that he had a new plan in his head.

"What is that?" said she.

"I think that our goods are going away too fast, so I mean to try if these Skraelingers will give their furs for dairy produce. We have a good deal of that, and can spare some."

"I don't know how Astrid will like that," she said, laughing. "You know she has charge of the dairy, and is very proud of it."

"That is well, Gudrid, for Astrid will be all the more pleased to have her produce turned to such good account. Milk is pleasant to the throat, and cream delights the tongue. Methinks these fellows will be tempted by it."

"Would they not like beer better?"

"Beer!" cried Karlsefin, with a shout of laughter. "You should have seen the faces they made, and the way they spat it out, the only time they were asked to taste it. Biarne was very keen to let them try it, and I did not object, for I partly expected some such result. No, no, a man must learn to like beer. Nature teaches him to like milk. But go, tell Astrid to fill twenty cans with milk, and twenty small cups with good cream. Let her also set out twenty cakes, with a pat of fresh butter and a lump of cheese on each. Let her spread all on the table in the great hall, and see that she does it speedily. I will go and fetch the company to this feast."

He left the room as he spoke, and in less than an hour his orders had been executed. When he entered the hall a short time afterwards, followed by twenty natives, he found everything prepared according to his directions.

That he was correct in his expectation was clearly proved ere many minutes had passed, for the twenty natives raised their forty eyes, and looked on each other with rapturous delight when they tasted the good things. They finished them in a twinkling, and then wished for more; but it is only justice to their good-breeding and self-restraint to add that they did not ask for more! From that day nothing would please them but that they should have dairy produce for their furs.

Some time after this Karlsefin was walking, one afternoon, on the shores of the lake with Thorward. He suddenly asked him how he should like to take a trip to Greenland.

"I should like it well," replied Thorward.

"Then if you will go in charge of the Snake I should be pleased," said the other, "for we have collected more than enough of merchandise to fill her, and if you set sail at once you will have time to bring back a cargo of such things as we need before autumn comes to an end."

"I will go," said Thorward, "to-morrow, if you choose."

"Nay, not quite so fast. The ship is only half loaded yet; but in a day or two she will be ready. There are two things I am anxious you should manage. One is to persuade Leif Ericsson to come and visit us,—if he will not come to stay with us. The other is to tempt as many married men as you can to come over and join us—especially those men who chance to have a good many daughters, for we would be the better of a few more busy little hands, fair faces, and silvery tones in this beautiful Vinland of ours."

"I will do what I can," replied Thorward, "and I would advise that Olaf should go with me, that his glowing descriptions may tempt his father to come."

"Nay; that would spoil all," objected Karlsefin, "for, having had a sight of his son he would be content to let him come back alone. No, no; we will keep Olaf here as a bait to tempt him. But go now and make your arrangements, for you set sail as soon as the ship is ready."

Not long after that the Snake left her anchorage with a full cargo, rowed down the river, hoisted sail, and bore away for Greenland.

While she was gone an event of deep and absorbing interest occurred in Vinland.

One fine morning in autumn the heart of the entire hamlet was moved by the sound of a new voice! It was not a musical voice—rather squawky, indeed, than otherwise—and it was a feeble voice, that told of utter helplessness. In short, a son had been born to Karlsefin and Gudrid, and they called him Snorro. We record it with regret—for it went a long way to prove that, in regard to sweet sounds, Karlsefin and his wife were destitute of taste. It is our business, however, to record facts rather than to carp at them, therefore we let Snorro pass without further comment.

The little body that was attached to the little voice, although far from beautiful at first, was an object of intense affection to the parents, and of regard, almost amounting to veneration, to the rugged men by whom it was surrounded. Bertha declared enthusiastically that it was "perfectly lovely," although it was obvious to all unprejudiced eyes that it resembled nothing so much as a piece of wrinkled beef of bad colour! Astrid declared that it had "such a wise look," despite the evident fact that its expression was little short of idiotical! Karlsefin said nothing, but he smiled a good deal, and chucked it under the place where its chin ought to have been with his great forefinger in a timid way.

But when Snorro was deemed sufficiently far advanced in life to be handed out for public exhibition, then it was that the greatest number of falsehoods were uttered, with the quietest deliberation, although, to say truth, the greater number of the men said nothing, but contented themselves with taking the infant in their big rough hands as delicately as if they thought it was a bubble, and feared that it might burst and leave nothing to be handed back to Thora, who acted the part of nurse. Others merely ventured to look at it silently with their hairy lips parted and their huge eyes gazing in blank admiration.

Perhaps Krake made the most original remark in reference to the newcomer. "Ah," said he quite seriously, touching its cheek as softly as though he half feared it would bite, "only to think that myself was like that once!"

This was received with a shout of laughter, so loud that little Snorro was startled.

"Ah, then," cried Krake, with a look of great alarm, "what is it going to do?"

This question was occasioned by the sudden change on the infant's countenance, which became, if possible, redder than before, and puckered up into such a complicated series of wrinkles that all semblance to humanity was well-nigh lost. Suddenly a hole opened on the surface and a feeble squall came forth!

"Oh, you wicked men!" cried Thora, snatching the infant indignantly from them and hurrying back into the house.

"'Tis a sweet child," observed Swend tenderly, as he and his comrades sauntered away.

"You must have a good opinion of yourself, Krake," said Tyrker, "to fancy that you were once like it."

"So I have," replied Krake. "It's what my father had before me. It lies in the family, you see, and with good reason too, for we were the best of company, not to mention fighting. It was always said that we were uncommonly fine infants, though a trifle big and noisy for the peace of our neighbourhood—quite like Turks in that way, I believe!"

"I doubt it not, Krake," said Biarne, who came up in time to hear the concluding remark; "and since you are such a noisy fellow I am going to send you on an expedition in search of these vines, that seem to me to have rooted themselves out of the land and fled, from mere spite, since Leif named it Vinland. There is but one quarter that I can think of now which has not yet been explored; you may take a party of men, and let Tyrker go too; as he discovered them on his first visit, the stupid fellow ought to have re-discovered them long before now. You can discuss by the way the little matter you have in hand,—only see that you don't fall out about it."

Thus instructed, Krake organised a party, and set off to search for the celebrated vines, which, as Biarne said, had not up to that time been found.

That day they searched far and wide without success. Then they sat down to rest and eat. While thus engaged, Krake and Tyrker returned to the subject of the reported noisiness of Turks, and the former became so caustic in his jests that the irascible little Tyrker lost temper, much to the amusement of his comrades.

After refreshing themselves, the explorers again set out and came to a part of the country which was broken up and beautifully diversified by rocky eminences crowned with trees, and shady hollows carpeted with wild-flowers. It was difficult here to decide as to which of the innumerable valleys or hollows they should traverse; they therefore sat down again for a little to consult, but the consultation soon became a discussion, and Krake, whose spirit of fun had got the better of him, gradually edged the talk round until it came again, quite in a natural way, to the Turks. At last Tyrker became so angry that he started up, declared he would follow the party no longer, plunged into a thicket and disappeared.

He was followed by a shout of laughter, and then the others, rising, resumed their search, not doubting that their irate companion would ere long rejoin them.

But Tyrker did not join them, and when evening drew on apace they became anxious, gave up the search for vines, and went about looking for him. At last it became too dark for them to continue the search, and they were obliged to return home without their comrade.

On leaving them Tyrker had no definite idea what he meant to do or where he meant to go. He just walked straight before him in high dudgeon, taking no notice of the route by which he journeyed, or the flight of time. At length he awoke from his absent condition of mind and looked up. A vast amphitheatre of wooded hills surrounded him, and there, in the heart of a secluded dell, under a clump of trees, were the long sought and much-desired vines!

For some time Tyrker stood gazing at them in silent admiration and delight. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. Yes; there could be no question as to their reality. There hung the rich purple clusters such as he had seen on his first visit to Vinland, and such as he had been wont to see in his own land in days long gone by. He pinched himself, pulled his hair, punched his eyeballs, but no—all that failed to awaken him; from which circumstance he naturally came to the conclusion that he was awake already. He then uttered a wild, probably a Turkish, cheer, and rushed upon the spoil.

Filling both hands with the fruit he crammed his mouth full. Then he raised his eyes upwards in ecstasy and did it again. He repeated it! After which he paused to sigh, and leaped up to cheer and sat down again to—guzzle! Pardon the word, good reader, it is appropriate, for there is no disguising the fact that Tyrker was a tremendous glutton, and did not care a fig—or a grape—for appearances.

After eating for a long time he was satisfied and sat down to rest. By that time the shades of evening were falling. They proved to be soporific, for he gradually reclined backwards on the green turf and fell asleep, surrounded by and partially covered with grapes, like a drunken and disorderly Bacchus.

Now Tyrker was a man in robust health; full of energy and high spirits. Sleep therefore was to him a process which, once begun, continued till morning. Even the puckered little Snorro did not rest more soundly in his kneading-trough crib than did Tyrker on the greensward under his vinous canopy.

When next he opened his eyes, groaned, rolled over, sat up, and yawned, the sun was beginning to peep above the eastern sea.

"Ho!" exclaimed Tyrker. "I have forgot myself." To refresh his memory he scratched his head and shook it; then he raised his eyes, saw the grapes, leaped up and burst into a fit of joyous laughter.

Thereafter he again sat down and breakfasted, after which he filled his cap, his wallet, his various pockets, the breast of his coat—every available compartment, in fact, outside as well as in—with grapes, and hastened homeward at his utmost speed in order to communicate the joyful news to his comrades.

Now the disappearance of Tyrker had caused no small amount of anxiety to his friends at the hamlet, especially to Karlsefin, who was very fond of him, and who feared that his strength might have given way, or that he had fallen into the hands of savages or under the paws of bears. He sat up the greater part of the night watching and hoping for his return, and when the first grey light of dawn appeared he called up a number of the men, and, dividing them into several bands, organised a systematic search.

Placing himself at the head of one band he went off in the direction in which, from Krake's account of what had taken place, it seemed most probable that Tyrker might be found. They advanced so rapidly that when the sun rose they had got to within a mile or so of the spot where Krake and his party had given up their search on the previous evening. Thus it came to pass that before the red sun had ascended the eastern sky by much more than his own height, Karlsefin and Tyrker met face to face in a narrow gorge.

They stopped and gazed at each other for a few moments in silence, Karlsefin in astonishment as well—and no wonder, for the figure that stood before him was a passing strange one. To behold Tyrker thus dishevelled and besmeared was surprising enough, but to see him with grapes and vine-leaves stuffed all about him and twined all round him was absolutely astounding. His behaviour was little less so, for, clapping his hands to his sides, he shut his eyes, opened his big mouth, and burst into an uproarious fit of laughter.

The men who came up at that moment did so also for laughter is catching.

"Why, Tyrker, where have you been?" demanded Karlsefin.

"Grapes!" shouted Tyrker, and laughed again.

"Are these grapes?" asked Karlsefin, regarding the fruit with much interest.

"Ay, grapes! vines! Vinland! hurrah!"

"But are you sure?"

Instead of answering, Tyrker laughed again and began to talk, as he always did when greatly moved, in Turkish. Altogether he was so much excited that Krake said he was certainly drunk.

"Drunk!" exclaimed Tyrker, again using the Norse language; "no, that is not possible. A man could not get drunk on grapes if he were to eat a ship-load of them. I am only joyful—happy, happy as I can be. It seems as if my young days had returned again with these grapes. I am drunk with old thoughts and memories. I am back again in Turkey!"

"Ye couldn't be in a worse place if all accounts be true," said Krake, with a grin. "Come, don't keep all the grapes to yourself; let us taste them."

"Ay, let us taste them," said Karlsefin, advancing and plucking a bunch from Tyrker's shoulders.

The others did the same, tasted them, and pronounced the fruit excellent.

"Now, lads, we will make the strong drink from the grapes," said Tyrker. "I don't know quite how to do it, but we will soon find out."

"That you certainly shall not if I can prevent it," said Karlsefin firmly.

Tyrker looked a little surprised, and asked why not.

"Because if the effect of eating grapes is so powerful, drinking the strong drink of the grape must be dangerous. Why do you wish to make it?"

"Why? because—because—it does make one so happy."

"You told us just now," returned Karlsefin, "that you were as happy as you could be, did you not? You cannot be happier than that—therefore, according to your own showing, Tyrker, there is no need of strong drink."

"That's for you," whispered Krake to Tyrker, with a wink, as he poked him in the side. "Go to sleep upon that advice, man, and it'll do ye good—if it don't do ye harm!"

"Ease him of part of his load, boys, and we shall go back the way we came as fast as may be."

Each man relieved Tyrker of several bunches of grapes, so that in a few minutes he resumed his own ordinary appearance. They then retraced their steps, and soon afterwards presented to the women the first grapes of Vinland. Karlsefin carried a chosen bunch to Gudrid, who, after thanking him heartily, stuffed a grape into the hole in Snorro's puckered visage and nearly choked him. Thus narrowly did the first Yankee (for such one of his own countrymen has claimed him to be) escape being killed by the first-fruits of his native land!



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

GREENLAND AGAIN—FLATFACE TURNS UP, ALSO THORWARD, WHO BECOMES ELOQUENT AND SECURES RECRUITS FOR VINLAND.

Who has not heard of that solitary step which lies between the sublime and the ridiculous? The very question may seem ridiculous. And who has not, at one period or another of life, been led to make comparisons to that step? Why then should we hesitate to confess that the step in question has been suggested by the brevity of that other step which lies between the beautiful and the plain, the luxuriant and the barren, the fruitful and the sterile—which step we now call upon the reader to take, by accompanying us from Vinland's shady groves to Greenland's rocky shores.

Leif Ericsson is there, standing on the end of the wharf at Brattalid— bold, stalwart, and upright, as he was when, some years before, he opened up the way to Vinland. Flatface the Skraelinger is there too— stout, hairy, and as suggestive of a frying-pan as he was when, on murderous deeds intent, not very long before, he had led his hairy friends on tiptoe to the confines of Brattalid, and was made almost to leap out of his oily skin with terror.

But his terror by this time was gone. He and the Norsemen had been reconciled, very much to the advantage of both, and his tribe was, just then, encamped on the other side of the ridge.

Leif had learned a little of the Skraelinger tongue; Flatface had acquired a little less of the Norse language—and a pretty mess they made of it between them! As we are under the necessity of rendering both into English, we beg the reader's forbearance and consideration.

"So you are going off on a sealing expedition, are you?" said Leif, turning from the contemplation of the horizon, and regarding the Skraelinger with a comical smile.

"Yis, yo, ha, hooroo!" said Flatface, waving his arms violently to add force to his reply.

"And when do you go?" asked Leif.

"W'en? E go skrumch en cracker smorrow."

"Just so," replied Leif, "only I can't quite make that cracker out unless you mean to-morrow."

"Yis, yo, ha!" exclaimed the hairy man. "Kite right, kite right, smorrow, yis, to-morrow."

"You're a wonderful man," remarked Leif, with a smile. "You'll speak Norse like a Norseman if you live long enough."

"Eh!" exclaimed the Skraelinger, with a perplexed look.

"When are you to be back?" asked Leif.

Flatface immediately pointed to the moon, which, although it was broad daylight at the time, showed a remarkably white face in the blue sky, and, doubling his fist, hit himself four blows on the bridge of his nose, or rather on the spot where the bridge of that feature should have been, but where, as it happened, there was only a hollow in the frying-pan, with a little blob below it.

"Ha, four months. Very good. It will be a good riddance; for, to say truth, I'm tired of you and your noisy relations."

Leif said this more as a soliloquy than a remark, for he had no intention of hurting the feelings of the poor savage, who, he was aware, could not understand him. Turning again to him, he said—"You know the kitchen, Flatface?" Flatface said nothing, but rolled his eyes, nodded violently, and rubbed that region which is chiefly concerned with food.

"Go," said Leif, "tell Anders to give you food—food—food!"

At each mention of the word Flatface retreated a step and nodded. When Leif stopped he turned about, and with an exclamation of delight, trundled off to the kitchen like a good-natured polar bear.

For full half an hour after that Leif walked up and down the wharf with his eyes cast down; evidently he was brooding over something. Presently Anders came towards him.

Anders was a burly middle-aged Norseman, with a happy-looking countenance; he was also cook, steward, valet, and general factotum to Leif.

"Well, Anders, hast had a visit from Flatface?" asked Leif.

"Ay—he is in the kitchen now."

"Hast fed him?"

"Ay, gorged him," replied Anders, with a grin.

"Good," said Leif, laughing; "he goes off to-morrow, it seems, for four months, which I'm right glad to hear, for we have had him and his kindred long enough beside us for this time. I am sorry on account of the Christian teachers, however, because they were making some progress with the language, and this will throw them back."

Leif here referred to men who had recently been sent to Greenland by King Olaf Tryggvisson of Norway, with the design of planting Christianity there, and some of whom appeared to be very anxious to acquire the language of the natives. Leif himself had kept somewhat aloof from these teachers of the new faith. He had indeed suffered himself to be baptized, when on a visit to Norway, in order to please the King; but he was a very reserved man, and no one knew exactly what opinions he held in regard to religion. Of course he had been originally trained in the Odin-worship of his forefathers, but he was a remarkably shrewd man, and people said that he did not hold by it very strongly. No one ever ventured to ask him what he held until the teachers above mentioned came. When they tried to find out his opinions he quietly, and with much urbanity, asked to be informed as to some of the details of that which they had come to teach, and so managed the conversation that, without hurting their feelings, he sent them away from him as wise as they came. But although Leif was silent he was very observant, and people said that he noted what was going on keenly—which was indeed the case.

"I know not what the teachers think," said Anders, with a careless air, "but it is my opinion that they won't make much of the Skraelingers, and the Skraelingers are not worth making much of."

"There thou art wrong, Anders," said Leif, with much gravity; "does not Flatface love his wife and children as much as you love yours?"

"I suppose he does."

"Is not his flesh and blood the same as thine, his body as well knit together as thine, and as well suited to its purposes?"

"Doubtless it is, though somewhat uglier."

"Does he not support his family as well as thou dost, and labour more severely than thou for that purpose? Is he not a better hunter, too, and a faster walker, and fully as much thought of and prized by his kindred?"

"All that may be very true," replied Anders carelessly.

"Then," pursued Leif, "if the Skraelingers be apparently as good as thou art, how can ye say that they are not worth making much of?"

"Truly, on the same ground that I say that I myself am not worth making much of. I neither know nor care anything about the matter. Only this am I sure of, that the Skraelingers do not serve you, master, as well as I do."

"Anders, thou art incorrigible!" said Leif, smiling; "but I admit the truth of your last remark; so now, if ye will come up to the house and do for me, to some extent, what ye have just done to Flatface, ye will add greatly to the service of which thou hast spoken."

"I follow, master," said Anders; "but would it not be well, first, to wait and see which of our people are returning to us, for, if I mistake not, yonder is a boat's sail coming round the ness."

"A boat's sail!" exclaimed Leif eagerly, as he gazed at the sail in question; "why, man, if your eyes were as good as those of Flatface, ye would have seen that yonder sail belongs to a ship. My own eyes have been turned inward the last half hour, else must I have observed it sooner."

"It seems to me but a boat," said Anders.

"I tell thee it is a ship!" cried Leif; "ay, and if my eyes do not deceive, it is the ship of Karlsefin. Go, call out the people quickly, and see that they come armed. There is no saying who may be in possession of the ship now."

Anders hastened away, and Leif, after gazing at the approaching vessel a little longer, walked up to the house, where some of his house-carls were hastily arming, and where he received from the hands of an old female servant his sword, helmet, and shield.

The people of Brattalid were soon all assembled on the shore, anxiously awaiting the arrival of the ship, and an active boy was sent round to Heriulfness, to convey the news to the people there—for in Greenland the arrival of a ship was of rare occurrence in those days.

As the ship drew near, all doubt as to her being Karlsefin's vessel was removed, and, when she came close to land, great was the anxiety of the people to make out the faces that appeared above the bulwarks.

"That is Karlsefin," said one. "I know his form of face well."

"No, it is Biarne," cried another. "Karlsefin is taller by half a foot."

"'Tis Thorward," said a third. "I'd know his face among a thousand."

"There seem to be no women with them," observed Anders, who stood at the end of the wharf near his master.

"Does any one see Olaf?" asked Leif.

"No—no," replied several voices.

When the ship was near enough Leif shouted—"Is Olaf on board?"

"No!" replied Thorward, in a stentorian voice.

Leif's countenance fell.

"Is all well in Vinland?" he shouted.

"All is well," was the reply.

Leif's countenance brightened, and in a few minutes he was shaking Thorward heartily by the hand.

"Why did ye not bring my son?" said Leif, somewhat reproachfully, as they went up to the house together.

"We thought it best to try to induce you to go to him rather than bring him to you," answered Thorward, smiling. "You must come back with me, Leif. You cannot conceive what a splendid country it is. It far surpasses Iceland and Norway. As to Greenland, it should not be named in the same breath."

Leif made no reply at that time, but seemed to ponder the proposal.

"Now we shall feast, Thorward," said Leif, as he entered the hall. "Ho! lay the tables, good woman.—Come, Anders, see that ye load it well. Have all the house-carls gathered; I will go fetch in our neighbours, and we shall hear what Thorward has to say of this Vinland that we have heard so much about of late."

Leif's instructions were promptly and energetically carried out. The tables were spread with all the delicacies of the season that Greenland had to boast of, which consisted chiefly of fish and wild-fowl, with seal's flesh instead of beef, for nearly all the cattle had been carried off by the emigrants, as we have seen, and the few that were left behind had died for want of proper food. The banquet was largely improved by Thorward, who loaded the table with smoked salmon. After the dishes had been removed and the tankards of beer sent round, Thorward began to relate his story to greedy ears.

He was very graphic in his descriptions, and possessed the power of detailing even commonplace conversations in such a way that they became interesting. He had a great deal of quiet humour, too, which frequently convulsed his hearers with laughter. In short, he gave such a fascinating account of the new land, that when the people retired to rest that night, there was scarcely a man, woman, or child among them who did not long to emigrate without delay. This was just what Thorward desired.

Next day he unloaded the ship, and the sight of her cargo fully confirmed many parts of his story. The upshot of it was that Leif agreed to go and spend the winter in Vinland, and a considerable number of married men made up their minds to emigrate with their wives and families.

Having discharged cargo and taken in a large supply of such goods as were most needed at the new colony, Thorward prepared for sea. Leif placed Anders in charge of his establishment, and, about grey dawn of a beautiful morning, the Snake once again shook out her square sail to the breeze and set sail for Vinland.



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

JOYFUL MEETINGS AND HEARTY GREETINGS.

Need we attempt to describe the joy of our friends in Vinland, when, one afternoon towards the end of autumn, they saw their old ship sweep into the lake under oars and sail, and cast anchor in the bay? We think not.

The reader must possess but a small power of fancy who cannot, without the aid of description, call up vividly the gladsome faces of men and women when they saw the familiar vessel appear, and beheld the bulwarks crowded with well-known faces. Besides, words cannot paint Olaf's sparkling eyes, and the scream of delight when he recognised his father standing in sedate gravity on the poop.

Suffice it to say that the joy culminated at night, as human joys not unfrequently do, in a feast, at which, as a matter of course, the whole story of the arrival and settlement in Vinland was told over again to the newcomers, as if it had never been told before. But there was this advantage in the telling, that instead of all being told by Thorward, each man gave his own version of his own doings, or, at all events, delegated the telling to a friend who was likely to do him justice. Sometimes one or another undertook that friendly act, without having it laid upon him. Thus, Krake undertook to relate the discovery of the grapes by Tyrker, and Tyrker retaliated by giving an account of the accident in connexion with a mud-hole that had happened to Krake. This brought out Biarne, who went into a still more minute account of that event with reference to its bearing on Freydissa, and that gentle woman revenged herself by giving an account of the manner in which Hake had robbed Biarne of the honour of killing a brown bear, the mention of which ferocious animal naturally suggested to Olaf the brave deed of his dear pet the black bull, to a narrative of which he craved and obtained attention. From the black bull to the baby was an easy and natural transition—more so perhaps than may appear at first sight—for the bull suggested the cows, and the cows the milk, which last naturally led to thoughts of the great consumer thereof.

It is right to say here, however, that the baby was among the first objects presented to Leif and his friends after their arrival; and great was the interest with which they viewed this first-born of the American land. The wrinkles, by the way, were gone by that time. They had been filled up so completely that the place where they once were resembled a fair and smooth round ball of fresh butter, with two bright blue holes in it, a knob below them, and a ripe cherry underneath that.

Snorro happened to be particularly amiable when first presented to his new friends. Of course he had not at that time reached the crowing or smiling age. His goodness as yet was negative. He did not squall; he did not screw up his face into inconceivable formations; he did not grow alarmingly red in the face; he did not insist on having milk, seeing that he had already had as much as he could possibly hold—no, he did none of these things, but lay in Gudrid's arms, the very embodiment of stolid and expressionless indifference to all earthly things—those who loved him best included.

But this state of "goodness" did not last long. He soon began to display what may be styled the old-Adamic part of his nature, and induced Leif, after much long-suffering, to suggest that "that would do," and that "he had better be taken away!"

The effervescence of the colony caused by this infusion of new elements ere long settled down. The immigrants took part in the general labour and duties. Timber-cutting, grape-gathering, hay-making, fishing, hunting, exploring, eating, drinking, and sleeping, went on with unabated vigour, and thus, gradually, autumn merged into winter.

But winter did not bring in its train the total change that these Norsemen had been accustomed to in their more northern homes. The season was to them comparatively mild. True, there was a good deal of snow, and it frequently gave to the branches of the trees that silvery coating which, in sunshine, converts the winter forest into the very realms of fairyland; but the snow did not lie deep on the ground, or prevent the cattle from remaining out and finding food all the winter. There was ice, also, on the lake, thick enough to admit of walking on it, and sledging with ponies, but not thick enough to prevent them cutting easily through it, and fishing with lines and hooks, made of bone and baited with bits of fat, with which they caught enormous trout, little short of salmon in size, and quite as good for food.

Daring the winter there was plenty of occupation for every one in the colony. For one thing, it cost a large number of the best men constant and hard labour merely to supply the colonists with firewood and food. Then the felling of timber for export was carried on during winter as easily as in summer, and the trapping of wild animals for their furs was a prolific branch of industry. Sometimes the men changed their work for the sake of variety. The hunters occasionally took to fishing, the fishers to timber felling and squaring, the timber-cutters to trapping; the trappers undertook the work of the firewood-cutters, and these latter relieved the men who performed the duties of furniture-making, repairing, general home-work and guarding the settlement. Thus the work went on, and circled round.

Of course all this implied a vast deal of tear and wear. Buttons had not at that time been invented, but tags could burst off as well as buttons, and loops were not warranted to last for ever, any more than button-holes. Socks were unknown to those hardy pioneers, but soft leather shoes, not unlike mocassins, and boots resembling those of the Esquimaux of the present day, were constantly wearing out, and needed to be replaced or repaired; hence the women of the colony had their hands full, for, besides these renovating duties which devolved on them, they had also the housekeeping—a duty in itself calling for an amount of constant labour, anxiety, and attention which that ridiculous creature man never can or will understand or appreciate—at least so the women say, but, being a man, we incline to differ from them as to that!

Then, when each day's work was over, the men returned to their several abodes tired and hungry. Arrangements had been made that so many men should dwell and mess together, and the women were so appointed that each mess was properly looked after. Thus the men found cheerful fires, clean hearths, spread tables, smoking viands, and a pleasant welcome on their return home; and, after supper, were wont to spend the evenings in recounting their day's experiences, telling sagas, singing songs, or discussing general principles—a species of discussion, by the way, which must certainly have originated in Eden after the Fall!

In Karlsefin's large hall the largest number of men and women were nightly assembled, and there the time was spent much in the same way, but with this difference, that the heads of the settlement were naturally appealed to in disputed matters, and conversation frequently merged into something like orations from Leif and Biarne Karlsefin and Thorward, all of whom were far-travelled, well-informed, and capable of sustaining the interest of their audiences for a prolonged period.

In those days the art of writing was unknown among the Norsemen, and it was their custom to fix the history of their great achievements, as well as much of their more domestic doings, in their memories by means of song and story. Men gifted with powers of composition in prose and verse undertook to enshrine deeds and incidents in appropriate language at the time of their occurrence, and these scalds or poets, and saga-men or chroniclers, although they might perhaps have coloured their narratives and poems slightly, were not likely to have falsified them, because they were at first related and sung in the presence of actors and eye-witnesses, to attempt imposition on whom would have been useless as well as ridiculous. Hence those old songs and sagas had their foundation in truth. After they were once launched into the memories of men, the form of words, doubtless, tended to protect them to some extent from adulteration, and even when all allowance is made for man's well-known tendency to invent and exaggerate, it still remains likely that all the truth would be retained, although surrounded more or less with fiction. To distinguish the true from the false in such cases is not so difficult a process as one at first sight might suppose. Men with penetrating minds and retentive memories, who are trained to such work, are swift to detect the chaff amongst the wheat, and although in their winnowing operations they may frequently blow away a few grains of wheat, they seldom or never accept any of the chaff as good grain.

We urge all this upon the reader, because the narratives and poems which were composed and related by Karlsefin and his friends that winter, doubtless contained those truths which were not taken out of the traditionary state, collected and committed to writing by the Icelandic saga-writers, until about one hundred years afterwards, at the end of the eleventh or beginning of the twelfth century.

On these winter evenings, too, Karlsefin sometimes broached the subject of the new religion, which had been so recently introduced into Greenland. He told them that he had not received much instruction in it, so that he could not presume to explain it all to them, but added that he had become acquainted with the name and some of the precepts of Jesus Christ, and these last, he said, seemed to him so good and so true that he now believed in Him who taught them, and would not exchange that belief for all the riches of this world, "for," said he, "the world we dwell in is passing away—that to which we go shall never pass away." His chief delight in the new religion was that Jesus Christ was described as a Saviour from sin, and he thought that to be delivered from wicked thoughts in the heart and wicked deeds of the body was the surest road to perfect happiness.

The Norsemen listened to all this with profound interest, for none of them were so much wedded to their old religion as to feel any jealousy of the new; but although they thought much about it, they spoke little, for all were aware that the two religions could not go together—the acceptance of the one implied the rejection of the other.

Frequently during the winter Karlsefin and Leif had earnest conversations about the prospects of the infant colony.

"Leif," said Karlsefin, one day, "my mind is troubled."

"That is bad," replied Leif; "what troubles it?"

"The thoughts that crowd upon me in regard to this settlement."

"I marvel not at that," returned Leif, stopping and looking across the lake, on the margin of which they were walking; "your charge is a heavy one, calling for earnest thought and careful management. But what is the particular view that gives you uneasiness?"

"Why, the fact that it does not stand on a foundation which is likely to be permanent. A house may not be very large, but if its foundation be good it will stand. If, however, its foundation be bad, then the bigger and grander it is, so much the worse for the house."

"That is true. Go on."

"Well, it seems to me that the foundation of our settlement is not good. It is true that some of us have our wives here, and there is, besides, a sprinkling of young girls, who are being courted by some of the men; nevertheless it remains a stubborn truth that far the greater part of the men are those who came out with Thorward and me, and have left either wives or sweethearts in Norway and in Iceland. Now these may be pleased to remain here for a time, but it cannot be expected that they will sit down contentedly and make it their home."

"There is truth in what you say, Karlsefin. Have any of your men spoken on that subject?"

"No, none as yet; but I have not failed to note that some of them are not so cheerful and hearty as they used to be."

"What is to prevent you making a voyage to Iceland and Norway next spring," said Leif, "and bringing out the wives and families, and, if you can, the sweethearts of these men?"

Karlsefin laughed heartily at this suggestion. "Why, Leif," he said, "has your sojourn on the barren coast of Greenland so wrought on your good sense, or your feelings, that you should suppose thirty or forty families will agree at once to leave home and kindred to sail for and settle in a new land of the West that they have barely,—perhaps never— heard of; and think you that sweethearts have so few lovers at home that they will jump at those who are farthest away from them? It is one thing to take time and trouble to collect men and households that are willing to emigrate; it is another thing altogether to induce households to follow men who have already emigrated."

"Nay, but I would counsel you to take the men home along with you, so that they might use their persuasions," returned Leif; "but, as you say, it is not a likely course to take, even in that way. What, then, do you think, is wisest to be done?"

"I cannot yet reply to that, Leif. I see no course open."

"Tell me, Karlsefin, how is it with yourself?" asked Leif, looking earnestly at his friend. "Are you content to dwell here?"

Karlsefin did not reply for a few seconds.

"Well, to tell you the truth," he said at length, "I do not relish the notion of calling Vinland home. The sea is my home. I have dwelt on it the greater part of my life. I love its free breezes and surging waves. The very smell of its salt spray brings pleasant memories to my soul. I cannot brook the solid earth. While I walk I feel as if I were glued to it, and when I lie down I am too still. It is like death. On the sea, whether I stand, or walk, or lie, I am ever bounding on. Yes; the sea is my native home, and when old age constrains me to forsake it, and take to the land, my home must be in Iceland."

"Truly if that be your state of mind," said Leif, laughing, "there is little hope of your finally coming to an anchor here."

"But," continued Karlsefin, less energetically, "it would not be right in me to forsake those whom I have led hither. I am bound to remain by and aid them as long as they are willing to stay—at least until they do not require my services."

"That is well spoken, friend," said Leif. "Thou art indeed so bound. Now, what I would counsel is this, that you should spend another year, or perhaps two more years, in Vinland, and at the end of that time it will be pretty plain either that the colony is going to flourish and can do without you, or that it is advisable to forsake it and return home. Meanwhile I would advise that you give the land a fair trial. Put a good face on it; keep the men busy—for that is the way to keep them cheerful and contented, always being careful not to overwork them— provide amusements for their leisure hours if possible, and keep them from thinking too much of absent wives and sweethearts—if you can."

"If I can," repeated Karlsefin, with a smile; "ay, but I don't think I can. However, your advice seems good, so I will adopt it; and as I shall be able to follow it out all the better with your aid, I hope that you will spend next winter with us."

"I agree to that," said Leif; "but I must first visit Greenland in spring, and then return to you. And now, tell me what you think of the two thralls King Olaf sent me."

Karlsefin's brow clouded a little as he replied that they were excellent men in all respects—cheerful, willing, and brave.

"So should I have expected of men sent to me by the King," said Leif, "but I have noticed that the elder is very sad. Does he pine for his native land, think ye?"

"Doubtless he does," answered Karlsefin; "but I am tempted to think that he, like some others among us, pines for an absent sweetheart."

"Not unlikely, not unlikely," observed Leif, looking gravely at the ground. "And the younger lad, Hake, what of him? He, I think, seems well enough pleased to remain, if one may judge from his manner and countenance."

"There is reason for that," returned Karlsefin, with a recurrence of the troubled expression. "The truth is that Hake is in love with Bertha."

"The thrall?" exclaimed Leif.

"Ay, and he has gone the length of speaking to her of love; I know it, for I heard him."

"What! does Karlsefin condescend to turn eavesdropper?" said Leif, looking at his friend in surprise.

"Not so, but I chanced to come within earshot at the close of an interview they had, and heard a few words in spite of myself. It was in summer. I was walking through the woods, and suddenly heard voices near me in the heart of a copse through which I must needs pass. Thinking nothing about it I advanced and saw Hake and Bertha partially concealed by the bushes. Suddenly Hake cried passionately, 'I cannot help it, Bertha. I must tell you that I love you if I should die for it;' to which Bertha replied, 'It is useless, Hake; neither Leif nor Karlsefin will consent, and I shall never oppose their will.' Then Hake said, 'You are right, Bertha, right—forgive me—.' At this point I felt ashamed of standing still, and turned back lest I should overhear more."

"He is a thrall—a thrall," murmured Leif sternly, as if musing.

"And yet he is a Scottish earl's son," said Karlsefin. "It does seem a hard case to be a thrall. I wonder if the new religion teaches anything regarding thraldom."

Leif looked up quickly into his friend's face, but Karlsefin had turned his head aside as if in meditation, and no further allusion was made to that subject by either of them.

"Do you think that Bertha returns Hake's love?" asked Leif, after a few minutes.

"There can be no doubt of that," said Karlsefin, laughing; "the colour of her cheek, the glance of her eye, and the tones of her voice, are all tell-tale. But since the day I have mentioned they have evidently held more aloof from each other."