The Norsemen in the West

“Go back, Hake, and tell the men to come quietly hither in a compact body, leaving their bows and spears behind them, only carrying each man his sword and shield. Let a strong guard stay with the weapons and the children, and see that Biarne and Thorward also remain with them. Quietly place the children in a canoe, and do you and Heika stand ready to man it.”

“That has already been done,” said Hake.

“By whose orders?” demanded Karlsefin.

“At my suggestion,” replied Hake.

“Thou art a wise man, Hake. I thank thee. Go; I need not explain that two canoes at least would require to accompany you, so as to repel attack by water, and, if it be necessary, to flee, while we guard the retreat.”

“That has already been arranged,” said Hake.

“Good, good. Then, whatever betide us, the dear children are like to be safe. Get you gone, Hake; and, harkee, if we should not return, be sure thou bear my love to Gudrid.—Away.”

Hake bowed in silence and retired. In a few minutes the greater part of the Norsemen stood before the old chief, and, by Karlsefin’s command, every man who chanced to have any trifling ornament of any kind about him took it off and presented it to the savages.

Whitepow, in return, ordered a package of furs to be brought, and presented each man with a beautiful sable. Karlsefin then made Utway explain that he had seen much valuable cloth and many ornaments in the Norsemen’s camp, and that these would be given in exchange for such furs,—a piece of news which seemed to gratify the savages, for they possessed an immense number of furs, which were comparatively of little value to them.

Thus amicable relations were established; but when Whitepow invited the Norsemen to accompany him to his village and feast, Karlsefin intimated that he intended to sup and pass the night on the spit of sand, and that in the early morning he would return to his home, whither he hoped the savages would soon follow him with their furs. That, meanwhile, a small number might accompany him, if they chose, to view his habitation and take back a report. This was agreed to, and thus happily the conferences ended.

That night the Norsemen held high carousal on the spit of sand, partly because they were rejoiced at the successful issue of the expedition as far as it had gone, and partly because they wished to display a free-and-easy spirit to the savages. They drew a line at the narrowest part of the neck of land, and there posted armed sentinels, who resolutely refused to let any one pass. On the outward edge of the spit, other sentinels were placed, who checked all tendency to approach by water, and who—in one or two instances, when some obstinate natives attempted to force a landing—overturned the canoes and left the occupants to swim ashore the best way they could.

The only exception to this rule was made in favour of Utway and Whitepow, with the grandson of the latter, little Powlet. These three came down to the spit after the Norsemen had kindled a magnificent bonfire of dry logs, round which they sat and ate their supper, told sagas, sang songs, cracked jokes, and drank to absent friends in cans of pure water, with an amount of dash, fervour, and uproarious laughter that evidently raised quite a new idea in the savage minds, and filled them with amazement unutterable, but not inexpressible, for their glaring eyes, and lengthened jaws, and open mouths were the material embodiment of surprise. In fact, the entire population sat on the surrounding banks and heights nearly the whole night, with their hands and chins resting on their knees, listening and gazing in silent admiration at the proceedings of the Norsemen, as a vast audience might witness the entertainments of an amphitheatre.

The utmost hospitality was of course extended by the Norsemen to their three visitors, who partook of the food set before them with much relish. Fortunately some of the men who had been left to guard the arms still possessed a few trinkets and pieces of bright cloth, so that Karlsefin was again enabled to gratify his new friends with a few more presents.

“Snorro,” said Karlsefin, who sat beside Whitepow in front of the fire with the child on his knee, “are you glad to see your father again?”

“Iss,” said Snorro, responding slightly to the tender embrace which he received.

We are afraid that truth requires us to state, that Snorro had not quite reached the age of reciprocal attachment—at least in regard to men. Of course we do not pretend to know anything about the mysterious feelings which he was reported to entertain towards his mother and nurse! All we can say is, that up to this point in his history the affections of that first-born of Vinland appeared to centre chiefly in his stomach—who fed him best he loved most! It is but simple justice to add, however, that Olaf was, in Snorro’s eye, an exception to the rule. We really believe that if Olaf had starved and beaten him during the first half of a day, by way of experiment, Snorro would have clung to him and loved him throughout the other half!

“Come hither, Olaf, take this bit of cloth in your hand, and present it to that little boy,” said Karlsefin, pointing to Powlet. “He seems fond of Snorro, and deserves something.”

“Fond of him!” exclaimed Olaf, laughing, as he presented the cloth according to orders, and then returned to Snorro’s side. “You should have seen the way he made Snorro laugh one day by painting my face.”

Here Olaf went into a minute account of the operation referred to, and told it with so much humour that the Norsemen threw back their wild heads and shook their shaggy beards in fits of uproarious laughter, which awakened the echoes of the opposite cliffs, and caused the natives to think, no doubt, that the very rocks were merry.

After this Krake told a story and sang a rollicking song, and of course Hake was made to sing, which he readily did, giving them one of his native airs with such deep pathos, that the very savages—unused though they were to music—could not refrain from venting a murmur of admiration, which rose on the night air like a mysterious throb from the hearts of the dark concourse.

Immediately after Hake’s song the old chief and his friends took their leave. The sentinels were now changed and doubled, the fire was extinguished, each Norseman lay down with his hand on his sword-hilt, and his shield above him, and the vast multitude of savages melted away to their respective places of repose.

Chapter Twenty Four.

The Burning on the Fortress—A Threatened Fight Ends in a Feast, Which Leads to Friendship—Happy Reunion and Proposed Desertion

Next morning, according to arrangement, the Norsemen were up and away by daybreak; but they did not start off alone. A much larger fleet than they had bargained for accompanied them. Karlsefin, however, made no objection, partly because objection would have been unavailing, and partly because the natives were so genuinely well-disposed towards him, that he felt assured there was no reason to distrust them or to fear their numbers.

Little did Karlsefin think, as they proceeded happily and leisurely down the stream at that time, the urgent need there was for haste, or the dire extremity to which his friends at Leifsgaard had been reduced. Knowing, of course, nothing about this, they descended by easy stages and encamped in good time at night, in order to have their fires lighted and food cooked before daylight had quite disappeared, so that they might have the more time to sit chatting by the light of the camp-fires and enjoying the fine summer weather.

On the other hand, had Leif only known how soon his friends were to return, he might have held the fortress longer than he did, by continuing his desperate sallies to check the raising of the pile that was meant to burn him out; but not being aware of this, and finding that the necessity for constant vigilance and frequent sallies was wearing out his men, he resolved to abandon the castle to its fate and take to the ship.

Watching his opportunity, he had everything portable collected, and, during the darkest hour of a dark night, quietly issued from the little fortress, descended to the beach, and got on board the Snake, with all the women and men, without the savages being aware of the movement.

Once on board, he fortified the vessel as well as he could, and hung the shields round the bulwarks.

Curiously enough, the savages had fixed on that very night for setting fire to their pile of timber, which by that time towered to a height that made it almost equal to the fortress it was about to consume. At grey dawn the torch was applied to it. At the very same hour Karlsefin and his men, accompanied by their savage friends, launched their canoes and left the encampment of the previous night.

The leader of the fleet had purposely encamped when not very far from the settlement, preferring, with such a large and unexpected party, rather to arrive in the morning than at night.

Great then was the surprise of the Norsemen when, soon after starting, they saw a dense cloud of smoke rising in the far distance, and deep was their anxiety when they observed that this cloud not only spread abroad and increased in density, but appeared to float exactly over the place where the settlement lay.

“Give way, lads! push on! There is something wrong at the gaard,” shouted Karlsefin when he became thoroughly alive to the fact.

There was little necessity for urging the men. Each man became an impulsive volcano and drove his paddle into the water with such force and fury that the canoes almost leaped out of the river as well as over it.

Meanwhile the sun rose in splendour, and with it rose the mighty flames of the bonfire, which soon caught the neighbouring trees and licked them up as if they had been stubble. Such intense heat could not be long withstood. The wooden fortress was soon in flames, and then arose a yell of triumph from the savages, which sent dismay to the hearts of those who were approaching, and overawed the little band that still lay undiscovered on board the Snake.

But when it was ascertained that there was no one in the fortress, a cry of fury followed the shout of triumph, and the whole band, at once suspecting that their enemies had taken to their vessel, rushed down to the shores of the lake.

There they found the Norsemen ready to receive them; but they found more than they had expected, for, just then, Karlsefin and his men swept round the point above the bay with a tremendous cheer, and were followed by a continuous stream of the canoes of their savage friends whom they had outstripped in the mad race.

Karlsefin did not wait to ascertain how affairs stood. Enough for him that the village seemed to be in flames. Observing, as he passed, that his comrades and the women were safe on board the Snake, he ran the canoes high and dry on the beach and leaped ashore. Drawing quickly up into a compact line, the Norsemen rushed with wild shout upon the foe. The natives did not await the onset. Surprise alone had kept them waiting there as long as they did. With one consent, and a hideous yell, they turned and fled like autumn leaves before the wind.

Returning to the friendly savages, who had looked on at all this in some surprise and with no little concern, Karlsefin looked very sternly at them, pointed to the woods into which his enemies had vanished, shook his fist, and otherwise attempted by signs to indicate his displeasure, and to advise the instant interference of the friendly savages in the way of bringing about peaceful relations.

The natives were intelligent enough and prompt in action. A party of them at once started off to the woods, while Karlsefin went on board the Snake, where he found Leif and his friends right glad to meet him, and the women, in a state of the wildest delight, almost devouring Olaf and Snorro, who had been sent direct to the vessel when the men landed to attack the savages.

“’Tis good for the eyes to see thy sweet face, Gudrid,” he said, giving his wife a hearty kiss, “and I am quite sure that Snorro agrees with me in that.”

“He does, he does,” cried Gudrid, hugging the child, who clung round her neck with a tenacity that he had never before exhibited, having learned, no doubt, that “absence makes the heart grow fonder.”

“Oh! I am so happy, and so thankful. My sweet bairn! Where did you find him? How did you rescue him? I felt sure you would do it. How did he look when he saw you? and—”

“Hold, Gudrid,” cried Karlsefin, laughing, “joy has upset thy judgment. I can answer but one question at a time.”

Gudrid made no reply; indeed she did not seem to expect an answer to her queries, for she had turned again to Snorro and Olaf, whom she overwhelmed with embraces, endearing epithets, and questions, in all which she was ably assisted by Bertha, Astrid, and Thora. Even Freydissa became soft for once; kissed Olaf and Snorro several times in a passionate manner, and was unusually gracious to Thorward.

“Ye came in the nick of time,” said Leif, as he and his friends retired to the poop for a brief consultation.

“So it would seem,” said Biarne, “but it was more by good fortune than good planning, for I left you weak-handed; and if good luck had not brought us here just at the time we did, methinks there would have been heavy hearts among us.”

“A higher Power than good luck brought us hither in time,” said Karlsefin.

“That is true,” said Leif, with a nod and an earnest look at his friend.

“I doubt it not,” returned Biarne, “and the same Power doubtless led me to start off with a reinforcement in time to help you in the hour of need, Karlsefin. But it is my advice now that we go ashore and put the huts in a state of defence as quickly as may be.”

“That is just my opinion,” replied Karlsefin, “for it may be that the friendly natives will find it easier to be converted into foes than to turn our enemies into friends. What is your advice, Leif?”