The Norsemen in the West

“Farewell, friends,” said Karlsefin to those who stood on the banks of the little stream. “It may be that we shall never return from this enterprise. You may rest assured that we will either rescue the children or perish in the attempt. Leif and Biarne have agreed to remain in charge of the settlement. They are good men and true, and well able to guide and advise you. Tell Gudrid that my last thoughts shall be of her—if I do not return. But I do not anticipate failure, for the God of the Christians is with us.—Farewell.”

“Farewell,” responded the Norsemen on the bank, waving their hands as the canoes shot out into the stream.

In a few minutes they reached the great river, and, turning upstream, were soon lost to view in the depths of the wide wilderness.

Chapter Nineteen.

New Experiences—Difficulties Encountered and Overcome—Thorward and Tyrker Make a Joint Effort, with Humbling Results

It may be as well to remark here, that the Norsemen were not altogether ignorant of the course of the great river on which they had now embarked. During their sojourn in those regions they had, as we have said, sent out many exploring parties, and were pretty well acquainted with the nature of the country within fifty miles or so in all directions. These expeditions, however, had been conducted chiefly on land; only one of them by water.

That one consisted of a solitary canoe, manned by four men, of whom Heika was steersman, while Hake managed the bow-paddle, these having proved themselves of all the party the most apt to learn the use of the paddle and management of the canoe. During the fight with the savages, recorded in a previous chapter, the brothers had observed that the man who sat in the bow was of quite as much importance in regard to steering as he who sat in the stern; and when they afterwards ascended the river, and found it necessary to shoot hither and thither amongst the surges, cross-currents, and eddies of a rapid, they then discovered that simple steering at one end of their frail bark would not suffice, but that it was necessary to steer, as it were, at both ends. Sometimes, in order to avoid a stone, or a dangerous whirlpool, or a violent shoot, it became necessary to turn the canoe almost on its centre, as on a pivot, or at least within its own length; and in order to accomplish this, the steersman had to dip his paddle as far out to one side as possible, to draw the stern in that direction, while the bowman did the same on the opposite side, and drew the bow the other way—thus causing the light craft to spin round almost instantly. The two guiding men thus acted in unison, and it was only by thoroughly understanding each other, in all conceivable situations, that good and safe steering could be achieved.

The canoes which had been captured from the savages were frail barks in the most literal sense of these words. They were made of the bark of the birch-tree, a substance which, though tough, was very easily split insomuch that a single touch upon a stone was sufficient to cause a bad leak. Hence the utmost care was required in their navigation. But although thus easily damaged they were also easily repaired, the materials for reparation—or even, if necessary, reconstruction—being always at hand in the forest.

Now although Heika and his brother were, as we have said, remarkably expert, it does not follow that those were equally so who managed the other two canoes of the expedition. On the contrary, their experience in canoeing had hitherto been slight. Karlsefin and his bowman Krake were indeed tolerably expert, having practised a good deal with the Scottish brothers, but Thorward turned out to be an uncommonly bad canoe-man; nevertheless, with the self-confidence natural to a good seaman, and one who was expert with the oar, he scouted the idea that anything connected with fresh-water voyaging could prove difficult to him, and resolutely claimed and took his position as one of the steersmen of the expedition. His bowman, Tyrker, as ill luck would have it, turned out to be the worst man of them all in rough water, although he had shown himself sufficiently good on the smooth lake to induce the belief that he might do well enough.

But their various powers in this respect were not at first put to the test, because for a very long way the river was uninterrupted by rapids, and progress was therefore comparatively easy. The scenery through which they passed was rich and varied in the extreme. At one part the river ran between high banks, which were covered to the water’s edge with trees and bushes of different kinds, many of them being exceedingly brilliant in colour. At another part the banks were lower, with level spaces like lawns, and here and there little openings where rivulets joined the river, their beds affording far-reaching glimpses of woodland, in which deer might occasionally be seen gambolling. Elsewhere the river widened occasionally into something like a lake, with wooded islets on its calm surface, while everywhere the water, earth, and air teemed with animal life—fish, flesh, fowl, and insect. It was such a sight of God’s beautiful earth as may still be witnessed by those who, leaving the civilised world behind, plunge into the vast wildernesses that exist to this day in North America.

Beautiful though it was, however, the Norsemen had small leisure and not much capacity to admire it, being pre-occupied and oppressed by anxiety as to the fate of the children. Still, in spite of this, a burst of admiration would escape them ever and anon as they passed rapidly along.

The first night they came to the spot where the natives had encamped the night before, and all hands were very sanguine of overtaking them quickly. They went about the encampment examining everything, stirring up the embers of the fires, which were still hot, and searching for little footprints.

Hake’s unerring bow had supplied the party with fresh venison and some wild-geese. While they sat over the fires that night roasting steaks and enjoying marrow-bones, they discussed their prospects.

“They have got but a short start of us,” said Karlsefin, looking thoughtfully into the fire, before which he reclined on a couch of pine-branches, “and if we push on with vigour, giving ourselves only just sufficient repose to keep up our strength, we shall be sure to overtake them in a day or two.”

“It may be so,” said Thorward, with a doubtful shake of the head; “but you know, brother, that a stern chase is usually a long one.”

Thorward was one of those unfortunate men who get the credit of desiring to throw wet blankets and cold water upon everything, whereas, poor man, his only fault was a tendency to view things critically, so as to avoid the evil consequences of acting on the impulse of an over-sanguine temperament. Thorward was a safe adviser, but was not a pleasant one, to those who regard all objection as opposition, and who don’t like to look difficulties full in the face. However, there is no question that it would have been better for him, sometimes, if he had been gifted with the power of holding his tongue!

His friend Karlsefin, however, fully appreciated and understood him.

“True,” said he, with a quiet smile, “as you say, a stern chase is a long one; nevertheless we are not far astern, and that is what I count on for shortening the chase.”

“That is a just remark,” said Thorward gravely, applying a marrow-bone to his lips, and drinking the semi-liquid fat therefrom as if from a cup; “but I think you might make it (this is most excellent marrow!) a still shorter chase if you would take my advice.—Ho! Krake, hand me another marrow-bone. It seems to me that Vinland deer have a peculiar sweetness, which is not so obvious in those of Norway, though perchance it is hunger which gives the relish; and yet can I truly say that I have been hungered in Norway. However, I care not to investigate reasons too closely while I am engaged in the actual practice of consumption.”

Here he put another marrow-bone to his lips, and sucked out the contents with infinite gusto.

“And what may your advice be?” asked his friend, laughing.

“I’ll wager that Hake could tell you if his mouth were not too full,” replied Thorward, with a smile.

“Say, thou thrall, before refilling that capacious cavern, what had best be done in order to increase our speed?”

Hake checked a piece of wild-fowl on its passage to his mouth, and, after a moment’s consideration, replied that in his opinion lightening the load of the canoe was the best thing to be done.

“And say,” continued Thorward, beginning to (eat) a large drumstick, “how may that be done?”

“By leaving our provisions behind,” answered Hake.

“Ha! did not I say that he could tell you?” growled Thorward between his teeth, which were at that moment conflicting with the sinewy part of the drumstick.

“There is something in that,” remarked Karlsefin.

“Something in it!” exclaimed Thorward, resting for a moment from his labours in order to wash all down with a cataract of water; “why, there is everything in it. Who ever heard of a man running a race with a full stomach—much less winning it? If we would win we must voyage light; besides, what need is there to carry salt salmon and dried flesh with us when the woods are swarming with such as these, and when we have a man in our company who can bring down a magpie on the wing?”

“And that’s true, if anything ever was,” observed Krake, who had been too busy up to that point to do more than listen.

Hake nodded his approval of the sentiment, and Karlsefin said that he quite agreed with it, and would act upon the advice next day.

“Just take a very little salmon,” suggested Tyrker, with a sigh, “for fear this good fortune should perhaps come suddenly to an end.”

There was a general laugh at Tyrker’s caution, and Karlsefin said he was at liberty to fill his own pockets with salmon for his own use, if he chose.

“Sure it would be much better,” cried Krake, “to eat a week’s allowance all at once, and so save time and trouble.”

“If I had your stomach, Krake, I might try that,” retorted Tyrker, “but mine is not big enough.”

“Well, now,” returned Krake, “if you only continue to over-eat for a week or two, as you’re doing just now, you’ll find it big enough—and more!”

“We must sleep to-night, and not talk,” said Karlsefin gravely, for he saw that the dispute was likely to wax hot. “Come, get you all to rest. I will call you two hours hence.”

Every man of the expedition was sound asleep in a few minutes after that, with the exception of their leader, who was to keep the first half-hour watch—Thorward, Heika, and Hake being appointed to relieve him and each other in succession.

The moon was shining brightly when the two hours had elapsed. This was very fortunate, because they expected to arrive at the rapids ere long, and would require light to ascend them. Owing to recent heavy rains, however, the current was so strong that they did not reach the rapids till sunrise. Before starting, they had buried all their provisions in such a way that they might be dug up and used, if necessary, on their return.

“’Tis as well that we have daylight here,” observed Karlsefin, as he, Thorward, and Hake stood on a rocky part of the bank just below the rapids, and surveyed the place before making the attempt.

It might have been observed that Thorward’s face expressed some unusual symptoms of feeling, as he looked up the river, and saw there nothing but a turbulent mass of heaving surges dashing themselves wildly against sharp forbidding rocks, which at one moment were grinning like black teeth amidst the white foam, and the next were overwhelmed by the swelling billows.

“You don’t mean to say we have to go up that maelstrom?” he said, pointing to the river, and looking at Hake.

“I would there were any other road,” answered Hake, smiling, “but truly I know of none. The canoes are light, and might be carried by land to the still water above the rapids, but, as you see, the banks here are sheer up and down without foothold for a crow, and if we try to go round by the woods on either side, we shall have a march of ten miles through such a country that the canoes will be torn to pieces before the journey is completed.”

“Have you and Heika ever ascended that mad stream?” cried Thorward.

“Ay—twice.”

“Without overturning?”

“Yes—without overturning.”

Again Thorward bestowed on the river a long silent gaze, and his countenance wore an expression of blank surprise, which was so amusing that Karlsefin forgot for a moment the anxiety that oppressed him, and burst into a hearty fit of laughter.

“Ye have little to laugh at,” said Thorward gravely. “It is all very well to talk of seamanship—and, truly, if you will give me a good boat with a stout pair of oars, and the roughest sea you ever saw, I will show you what I can do—but who ever heard of a man going afloat in an egg-shell on a monstrous kettle of boiling water?”

“Why, Hake says he has done it,” said Karlsefin.