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?”
“That we land and do as Biarne suggests without delay.”
“And what if these villains come down in such overwhelming numbers—as they now can easily do—that they shall carry all before them and drive us into the lake?” asked Thorward.
“Why, man,” cried Biarne, with a touch of ire, “if I did not know thee well I would say that thou wert timid.”
“Knowing me well; then, as ye say,” returned Thorward, “and reserving the matter of timidity for future discussion, what reply have ye to make to my question?”
“That we must make up our minds to be drowned, like Freydissa’s cat,” replied Biarne.
“Nay, not quite that,” said Leif, with a smile; “we can at least have the comfort of leaving our bones on the land to mingle with those of as many savages as we can slay.”
“The thought of that would prove a great comfort to the women, no doubt, when they were carried off by the savages,” returned Thorward, with a touch of sarcasm in his tone.
“I see what you mean,” said Karlsefin; “that we should have the Snake ready to fall back on if we chance to be beaten; but, to say truth, the idea of being beaten by such miserable savages never entered my head.”
“The consideration of your head’s thickness, then,” said Thorward, “would be an additional element of comfort, no doubt, to the women in case of things going against us.”
At this Karlsefin laughed, and asked Thorward what he would advise.
“My advice is,” said he, “that we not only get the Snake ready for a long voyage, but that we haul round my ship also,—which by good fortune is here just now—and get her ready. There is no need to put our goods and chattels on board, for if things went ill with us we could no doubt keep the savages at bay long enough to accomplish that by means of placing Biarne at the post of danger with orders to die rather than give in; but I would leave the women and children on board at any rate to keep them out of harm’s way—”
“And it is my advice,” cried Freydissa, coming up at the moment, “that ye set about it at once without more talk, else the women and children will have to set you the example.”
There was a general laugh at the tone and manner in which this was said, and the four chiefs left the poop to carry out their plans. Meanwhile an immense concourse of natives assembled on the neighbouring heights, and for a long time carried on a discussion, which, to judge from the violence of their gesticulations, must have been pretty hot. At last their meeting came to an abrupt close, and a large band was seen to separate from the rest and move down towards the hamlet.
Before they reached it the Norsemen had manned the defences and awaited them.
“They come on a peaceful errand, I think,” said Karlsefin, who stood at the principal opening. “At least it seems to me that they carry no arms. What say you, Hake? Your eyes are sharp.”
“They are unarmed,” replied Hake.
This was found to be the case; and when they had approached to within a long bow-shot of the defences, all doubt as to their intention was removed by their holding up their hands and making other peaceful demonstrations.
Judging it wise to meet such advances promptly and without suspicion, Karlsefin at once selected a number of his stoutest men, and causing them to lay aside their arms, issued forth to meet the savages. There was, as on a former occasion, a great deal of gesticulation and talking with the eyes, the upshot of which was, that the brown men and the white men vowed eternal friendship, and agreed to inaugurate the happy commencement thereof with a feast—a sort of picnic on a grand scale—in which food was to be supplied by both parties, arms were to be left at home on both sides, and the scene of operations was to be a plot of open ground near to, but outside, the hamlet.
It is easy to record all this briefly, but it must not therefore be supposed that it was easy of arrangement, on the part of the high contracting parties, whose tongues were unavoidably useless in the consultation.
Krake proved himself to be the most eloquent speaker in sign-language, and the manner in which he made his meaning intelligible to the savages was worthy of philosophic study. It is, however, quite beyond the powers of description; a great deal of it consisting not only of signs which might indeed be described, but of sounds—guttural and otherwise—which could not be spelt. We are constrained, therefore, to leave it to the reader’s imagination.
At the feast an immense quantity of venison and salmon was consumed, as you may easily believe, and a great number of speeches were made by both parties—the men of each side approving and applauding their own speakers, and listening to those of the other side with as much solemnity of attention as if they understood every word.
There were two points of great interest connected with this feast, which we must not omit to mention. One was, the unexpected arrival, in the middle of it, of the old chief, Whitepow, in a canoe, with Utway and a few of his principal men, and his grandson Powlet. These were hailed by both parties with great delight, because they formed an additional bond of union between them.
It had been arranged by Karlsefin, for the sake of security, that the savages and Norsemen should not intermingle, but that they should sit in two distinct groups opposite to each other. Whitepow, however, ignorant of, or indifferent to such arrangements, passed over at once to the Norsemen on his arrival, and went through the ceremony, which he had so recently acquired, of shaking hands all round. Powlet also followed his example, and so did Utway. They then sat down, and the latter did good service in the cause of peace by making an enthusiastic speech, which the Norsemen could see, from his pantomimic motions, related to his own good treatment at their hands in time past.
Powlet also unwittingly aided in the same good cause, by running up to Olaf and bestowing on him a variety of attentions, which were all expressive of good-will and joy at meeting with him again. He also shouted the name of Snorro several times with great energy, but Olaf could only reply by shaking his head and pointing towards the hamlet where Snorro and the women had been left under a strong and trusty guard.
The other point of interest to which we have alluded was, that a number of the savages became particularly earnest and eager, when the eating was concluded, in their endeavours to impress something on their new friends, which they could not for a long time be made to understand even by the most graphic and energetic signs.
“I fear, Krake, that you have eaten too much, or by some other means have spoilt your powers of interpretation,” said Leif with a laugh, as the puzzled interpreter shook his head for the fifth time at an energetic young savage with a red spot on his chin, and a blue stripe on his nose, who had been gesticulating—we might almost say agonising—before him for some time.
“’Tis beyond my powers entirely,” said Krake. “Try it again, Bluenose,” he added, turning once more to the savage with resolute intensity of concentration; “drive about your limbs and looks a little harder. I’ll make ye out if it’s in the power of man.”
Thus adjured, the young savage opened his mouth wide, pointed with his finger down his throat, then up at the sky, spread both hands abroad in a vague manner, and exclaimed “ho!” as though to say, “that’s plain enough, surely!”
“Oh, for shame! Is it eaten too much ye have? Is that what ye want to say?”
That was evidently not what he wanted to say, for the poor savage looked round with quite a disconsolate aspect.
“Come hither, Powlet,” cried Biarne; “you’re a smart boy; see if you can make the matter somewhat plainer.”
Powlet at all events understood his name, and Biarne’s beckoning finger, for he rose and went to him. Biarne confronted him with the young savage, and told the two to talk with each other by means of signs, which consisted in his touching the lips of both and thrusting their heads together.
The young savage smiled intelligently and spoke to Powlet, who thereupon turned to Biarne, and, rolling his eyes for a few seconds, uttered a low wail.
“Sure it isn’t pains you’re troubled with?” asked Krake, in a voice of pity.
“I do believe it must be that they refer to some one whom we have wounded during the fight,” suggested Leif, “and that they think we have him concealed in the hamlet.”
“It seems to me,” said Thorward, “that if they were troubled about a wounded or missing comrade, they would have asked for him sooner.”
“That is true,” replied Leif. “I wish we knew what it is they would communicate, for they appear to be very anxious about it.”
As he spoke, a tall savage, with an unusually grave countenance, stalked from among his fellows, thrust Powlet and the young man whom Krake had styled Bluenose aside, and seated himself on the ground in imitation of the free-and-easy manner of the Norsemen. Suddenly his face lighted up. He clapped both hands to his chest and breathed hard, then raised his hands aloft, looked enthusiastically up at the sky, rolled his eyes in a fearful manner, opened his mouth wide, and gave utterance to a series of indescribable howls. Checking himself in the midst of one of these, he suddenly resumed his grave aspect, looked straight at Krake, and said “Ho!”
That he thought he had hit the mark, and conveyed the meaning of himself and his friends precisely, was made evident by the other savages, who nodded their heads emphatically, and exclaimed “Ho!” with earnestness.
“H’m! ’tis easy to say ‘Ho!’” replied Krake, more perplexed than ever, “and if ‘Ho’ would be a satisfactory answer, I’d give ye as much as ye liked of that; but I can’t make head or tail of what it is ye would be at.”
“Stay,” exclaimed Hake, stepping quickly forward, “I think I know what they want.”
Saying this, he looked earnestly at the grave savage, and ran over one or two notes of a song.
No words in any language could convey such a powerful meaning as did the beam of intelligence and delight which overspread the faces of these sons of the wilderness. The “ho! ho! hos!” and noddings were repeated with such energy, that Krake advised them to “stop that, lest their heads should come off altogether!”
“I thought so,” said Hake, turning away from them; “they want you to give them a song, Krake.”
“They shall have that, and welcome,” cried the jovial Norseman, striking up the “Danish Kings” at once, with all the fire of his nature.
The natives sat in rapt solemnity, and when the Norsemen joined laughingly in the chorus, they allowed a faint smile to play for a moment on their faces, and murmured their satisfaction to each other when the song was done. But it was evident that they wanted something more, for they did not seem quite satisfied until one of their number rose, and going up to Hake touched his lips with his finger.
“Ha! I thought so!” exclaimed Krake in contempt. “It’s bad taste ye have to want a song from him after hearing me! But what else could we expect from ye?”
Hake willingly complied with their wish, and it then became evident that the savages had gained their point at last, for they listened with half-closed eyes, and more than half-opened mouths, while he was singing, and heaved a deep sigh when he had finished.
Thus pleasantly was the feast concluded, and thus they sealed their friendship.
But there was something still more satisfactory in store for the Norsemen, for it was soon afterwards discovered that the savages possessed a large quantity of beautiful furs, with which, of course, they were willing to part for the merest trifle, in the shape of a shred of brilliant cloth or an ornamental bauble.
This was not only fortunate, as affording an opportunity for the Norsemen to procure full and valuable cargoes for both their ships, but as creating a busy and interesting occupation, which would prevent the natives from growing weary of inaction, and, perhaps, falling into those forms of mischief which proverbially lie ready to idle hands.
“It seems to me, friends,” said Leif one evening, shortly after the feast just described, while he was seated in the chief hall, polishing his iron headpiece, and occasionally watching the active hands of Gudrid and Thora as they busied themselves about domestic affairs, while Bertha sat beside him dandling Snorro on her knee,—“It seems to me that we have got together such a rich cargo that the sooner we send our ships to Greenland the better. They can then return with fresh supplies of such things as are needed in good time. For myself, I will go with the ships, and overlook the loading of them in Greenland.”
“Oh! may I go with you?” exclaimed Bertha, looking up suddenly with much eagerness.
Hake, who was seated at the lower end of the hall, busily engaged in making a bow, paused abruptly in his work, but did not raise his head.
“I have no objection, if Freydissa has none,” answered Leif.
“Freydissa will be only too glad to get rid of her,” replied that amiable woman, who was engaged in the manufacture of a leathern tunic for Snorro; “she is tired of milk-and-water.”
“And yet milk-and-water is more likely to agree with you than anything resembling beer,” said Biarne, with a laugh.
“I should be sorry to leave Vinland,” returned Bertha, “but I am very very anxious to see my dear father again. Besides—I can return hither.”
Hake’s hand was suddenly released, and resumed its occupation.
“If you go, Leif,” asked Karlsefin, “will you return and spend the winter with us?”
“I will not promise that,” replied Leif with a smile.
There was silence for some minutes, which was broken at length by a very small voice saying:—
“’Norro go to G’eenland too?”
Poor Snorro was as regardless of the S in his own name as he was of the l in Olaf’s!
“’Norro may go, if Gudrid will allow him,” answered Leif, patting the child’s curly pate.
“And O’af too?” added Snorro.
“Of course I must go if Snorrie goes,” cried Olaf who had just entered the hall. “We could not live separate—could we, Snorrie?” He caught up the child and placed him on his back in his wonted fashion. “Just think,” he continued, “what would it do in Greenland without O’af to give it rides and take it out for long walks?”
“Ay, and go lost with it in the woods,” added Biarne.
Olaf blushed, but replied promptly— “That would be impossible, Biarne, for there are no woods in Greenland.”
“If Snorro goes so must I,” said Thora. “He could not get on without his nurse.”
“Methinks we had better all go together to Greenland,” said Astrid, who was busy preparing supper.
“Not bad advice,” observed Biarne, somewhat seriously.
“Do you mean what you say?” asked Karlsefin.
“I half mean it,” replied Biarne.
There was a pause here. Karlsefin then said— “It seems to me, friends, that our minds are all jumping together. I have thought for a long time of leaving Vinland, for it is plain to me that as we stand just now we cannot make much headway. Many of our men are longing to get back to their families, some to their sweethearts, and some to their native land; while, from what you have said, it would seem that none of us are very anxious to remain.”
“Do not speak for all,” said Thorward.
“Well, dost thou wish to stay?”
“It may be that I do. At any rate, we have had much trouble in coming hither and settling ourselves, and it would be a pity to lose all our labours unless we can’t help it. There may be others of my way of thinking in the colony. It is my advice that before we discuss such a matter we had better call a Thing, (an assembly for discussion) and do it in an orderly way.”
“By all means,” said Karlsefin, “let us discuss the matter for decision in a Thing; yet our discussing here for amusement is not disorderly.”
After a little more conversation it was finally arranged that a Thing, or general assembly of the people, should be called on the following day, to discuss and decide on the propriety of forsaking Vinland and returning home.
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