The Norsemen in the West

Accordingly, in pursuance of this resolve, Karlsefin went down to the island on Little River with a large party of men, and set to work. Biarne undertook to superintend what may be termed the engineering operations, and Thorward, who was a handy fellow, directed the mechanical details.

First of all, Biarne fixed on the spot at the top of the island where a dam was to be thrown across the right branch of the stream—that being the channel which was to be run dry—and planned the direction in which it was to be placed and the form it was to take. Then strong stakes were driven into the bed of the river all across the head of that branch. While this was being done Thorward marked off some tall straight trees in the forest, and set men to cut them down, while Karlsefin directed, and with his own hands aided, a party appointed to collect large piles of earth, sand, stones, mud, and branches, on the river’s bank.

Although the men were numerous and active, the work was so extensive that it was sunset before all the stakes were driven, the first of the heavy logs laid down in the bed of the stream, and the rest of the material collected in readiness on the banks. Having completed these preparations they returned to the huts and made arrangements for a grand effort on the following day.

Early in the morning nearly the whole body of the people set off to Little River, leaving the settlement in charge of one or two men who chanced at that time to be sick. Of course Olaf was with them, armed with a huge iron hook fastened to the end of a stout pole. All the women also went, being quite as anxious as the men to witness the sport.

The island reached, Karlsefin divided his party into two bands. The smaller body, numbering about twenty-five, were stationed in the water at the lower end of the channel, at equal distances from each other, so as to extend from the tail of the island to the right bank of the stream. These carried strong poles about seven feet long, and were placed there to frighten back any fish that might attempt to rush down the river. The rest of the men went in a body to the dam, and there awaited orders.

When all was ready Karlsefin said to them— “My lads, if we would act well we must act together. Here is the plan on which you are to proceed. On getting the word from Biarne to begin, you will all set to work to dam up the water, right across from this bank to the head of the island. You see that we have already done the work in part, so that it only requires to be completed, and to have the centre gap stopped up. That will be the difficult point, for the great rush of water will be there, and you will have to do it quickly—to heave in the logs and stones and rubbish, not forgetting the branches and the turf, which will keep all together—as if your very lives depended on your speed. A certain number of you, who shall be told off presently, will do your best at the same time to deepen the channel of the other branch of the stream. When this is done you will have a little breathing space, for doubtless the water will take a little time to run off. You will take advantage of this time to get your hooks and poles and landing-nets in readiness. For the rest your own sense will guide you.—Now, Biarne, tell off the men and go to work.”

Reader, you should have seen the countenance of little Olaf Ericsson when all this was being said and done! Many a time had he seen nets hauled and fish taken, and often had he dreamt of netting whales and other sea-monsters, but never before had he imagined such a thing as laying the bed of a river dry; and his exuberant fancy depicted to him scenes which it is not possible to describe. His visage glowed, and his large blue eyes glared with excitement, while his little bosom heaved and his heart beat high with expectation.

This condition of course increased tenfold when he saw the men cast off more or less of their upper garments and spring to the work with the energy of lunatics. In his own small way he carried logs and branches and mud and stones till he was as dirty and dishevelled as the best of them; and when Gudrid looked horrified at him, and said that it would be next to impossible to clean him, he burst into such a fit of laughter that he lost his balance, fell head over heels into the river, which was only knee-deep at the place, and came out more than half-washed in a moment!

“You see it won’t be so difficult as you think,” he cried, laughing and gasping when he emerged; “another plunge like that would make me quite clean, aunty.”

“Ho! Olaf, were you after a salmon?” cried Swend, as he passed with a large log on his shoulder.

“Not I, Swend; it was a whale I was after.”

“You don’t say that, boy?” cried Krake, in a tone of admiration. “Was he a big one?”

“Oh! frightful—so big that—that—I couldn’t see him all.”

“Couldn’t see him at all? Ah, then, he was a big one, sure. The things we can’t see at all are always the most wonderful.”

“Foolish boy,” said Gudrid; “come, I will wring the water out of your clothes.”

“’Tis hardly worth while, aunty,” said Olaf, coming on shore; “I’ll be as wet, as ever in a few minutes.”

The careful Gudrid nevertheless wrung as much water out of his dripping garments as was possible without taking them off. By the time this was done the dam had been completed, and the men stood on the banks of the river wiping off and wringing out the superabundant mud and water from their clothes, besides getting ready hooks, nets, and staves. Some of the nets were several fathoms in length. Others were small bags fastened to wooden rings at the end of long poles.

Presently a shout was heard from the men at the lower end of the pool, and they were seen to use their staves smartly several times, as some of the fish, alarmed no doubt at the strange doings above, endeavoured to shoot down the river. Ere long the stony ground on which these men stood became a rippling shallow, and, soon afterwards, a neck of land connecting the lower end of the island with the shore. They therefore abandoned it and rejoined their comrades higher up. The fish were now imprisoned in a pool, retreat having been effectually cut off above and below, and the whole river diverted into the bed of its left branch.

As the water lowered it became obvious that the pool thus isolated was absolutely swarming with salmon, for they could be seen darting hither and thither in shoals, making for the deeper parts of the pool, and jostling one another under stones. Gradually little islets began to appear as the water continued to sink, and then the fish seemed to be seized with a panic. They shot like silver arrows from bank to bank—up the pool and down again, as if enjoying a piscatorial country dance, or, in blind flight, rushed clear out upon the pebbly islets, in half dozens at a time, where they leaped, slid, twirled, and bounded frantically, in what bore some resemblance to a piscatorial reel. Then, slipping into the water again, and recovering their fins and tails, they shot away to encounter similar misfortune elsewhere, or to thrust their noses under stones, and—entertaining the same delusive notions that are said to characterise the ostrich—imagine that they were not seen!

By degrees the islets enlarged until they joined here and there, and, finally, the state of things being inverted, the bed of the stream became a series of little ponds, which were absolutely boiling with fish—not unlike, as Krake remarked, to the boiling springs of Iceland, only that those boiled with heat instead of with living fish.

And now commenced a scene such as, unquestionably, had not been witnessed there since Vinland was created. The Norsemen were half mad with excitement. The women ran up and down the banks clapping their hands and shouting with delight, while Freydissa, unable to contain herself, cast appearances to the dogs, leaped among the men, and joined in the fray.

“The big pool first; this way, lads!” shouted Karlsefin, as he seized the end of a long net and dragged it towards the pool in question.

Twenty willing hands assisted. The net encircled the pool and was thrust in; men with poles forced one side of it down to the bottom, and the two ends were hauled upon might and main. At the same moment, other men went with hand nets to smaller pools, and, scooping up the fish, sent them writhing and struggling through the air towards the bank, where Gudrid, Thora, Astrid, Gunhild, Sigrid, and even timid Bertha, sought in vain to restrain their struggles and prevent them from wriggling back into the almost dry bed of the stream.

“Haul away with heart, men!” shouted Biarne, who was at one end of the large net.

Already the stout ropes were strained to the uttermost—at last the net came out bursting with salmon; more hands were hailed; it was run over the pebbles, up the bank, and onwards to a flat open spot, where, with a shout, it was emptied on the greensward.

Talk of silver bars! The simile is wretched. No simile is of any avail here. The brightest and freshest silver bars ever cast might shine as much as these salmon did, but they could not glitter so, for they could not wriggle and spring and tumble. They could not show that delicate pink which enhanced the silvery sheen so wondrously. They could not exhibit that vigorous life which told of firm flakes—suggestive of glorious meals for many a day to come. Pooh! even their intrinsic value could not suggest anything in this case,—for all the silver bars that ever were coined on earth could not have purchased the appetites which made the mouths of these Norsemen to water, as they gazed in admiration on that vast hecatomb of splendid salmon! They absolutely danced round the fish—it might almost be said they danced with them—in triumphant glee!

“Come, come,” cried Karlsefin loudly; “to work! to work! Ye may dance after that is done. Here, sweep this pool also.”

With a cheer the men ran down the bank, and little Olaf followed, having already used his hook with such effect that he had pulled six large fish out of various holes and added them to the general pile.

“Take care, Olaf, that you don’t fall in and get drowned,” cried Biarne as he ran past.

“Hurrah!” shouted Olaf, with a flourish of his weapon, which made the narrowest possible miss of cleeking Tyrker by the nose.

“Have a care!” roared the Turk.

“You’ve much need to say that,” replied Olaf, with a laugh, for Tyrker at that moment set his heel upon a salmon, fell, and rolled heavily down the bank. But Tyrker was tough. He rose with a growl and a grin and ran on to join his comrades.

A second pool was netted, and with the like result. As the net was being dragged forth, Olaf saw that several fish had escaped. He struck in his hook at random, for the pools, being by that time a thick compound of mud and water, could not be seen into.

“Oh! I’ve got him!” he shouted, struggling with the handle of his hook, which jerked so violently that the sturdy little fellow was almost thrown to the ground.

“Hold on!” cried Thorward, running to his aid.

“Why, Olaf, what’s this? Have a care. Not too fast. There. Hallo!—an eel.”

And so it was—an enormous eel, that went twirling round the pole in wondrous fashion until it freed itself, and, after twisting round the limbs of Olaf and Thorward, who in vain sought to hold it fast, made off over the wet stones as if they were its native element, and slid into another large pool, where it disappeared.

“Never mind, Olaf,” cried Thorward, with a laugh, “you’ll catch hold of it again. Hook away at it, lad. Don’t give.”

A tremendous shriek arose from the women on the bank at this juncture.

“Oh! look! look at Freydissa!” cried Gunhild, pointing wildly to the river bed.

And there Freydissa stood—up to the arm-pits in mud and salmon!

Whether she had fallen in or been pushed in no one could tell, but unquestionably she was in, having gone in, too, head-foremost, so that, although she had struggled right-end up she reappeared coated with mud to an extent that might have suggested a sculptor’s clay model—had sculptors been known to the Norsemen of those days.

There was an irresistible roar of laughter at first, and then loud expressions of condolence and sympathy, while a dozen strong, but wet and dirty, hands were stretched forth to the rescue.

“Here, lay hold of my hand, poor thing,” cried Krake; “there, now, don’t cry; it would only be wasting tears, with so much water on your face already.”

If anything could have made Freydissa cry it would have been that remark, for it implied that she was inclined to weep, while nothing was further from her thoughts at that time.

She did, however, grasp Krake’s hand, but instead of aiding herself by it to get out of the hole, she gave it such a vigorous and hearty pull that Krake went souse into the mud beside her. Before he could recover himself Freydissa had put her knee on his body, and, using him as a foot-rest, thrust him deeper down as she stepped out.

The delight with which this was hailed is beyond description, and many a year passed after that before men grew tired of twitting Krake about the pleasant mud-bath that had been given him by Freydissa on the occasion of the celebrated take of salmon at Little River in Vinland.

Chapter Twelve.

Sage Converse Between Hake And Bertha—Biarne Is Outwitted—A Monster is Slain, and Savages Appear on the Scene

Not long after this an event occurred which produced great excitement in the new settlement; namely, the appearance of natives in the woods. It occurred under the following circumstances.

One morning Karlsefin gave orders for one of the exploring parties to be got ready to go out immediately. Karlsefin’s plan from the beginning had been to class his men in two divisions. One half stayed at home to work, the other half searched the land,—always taking care, however, not to travel so far but that they could return home in the evening. They were careful also not to wander far from each other. Sometimes Karlsefin went with the exploring party, at other times stayed at home to superintend the work there, while Biarne or Thorward filled his place. On the occasion in question Biarne was in charge.

Soon after the party had started, Hake, who was one of them, observed a female figure disappear round a copse near the shores of the lake. At that part they were about to strike off into the thick woods, so Hake went up to Biarne and asked leave to go along by the borders of the lake, saying that he could overtake the party again before they had reached the Willow Glen, a well-known rendezvous of the hunters and explorers of the colony.

“Go as thou wilt, Hake,” replied Biarne; “only see to it that ye overtake us before noon, as I intend to go on a totally new path to-day.”

The youth left with a light step, and, on overtaking the female, found, as he had expected, that it was Bertha.

“You wander far from home to-day,” he said, with a deferential salutation, for Hake’s bondage had not robbed him of his breeding.

“I love to wander,” answered Bertha, blushing.

Poor Bertha, she could not help blushing. It was her unfortunate nature to do so. When her feelings were touched—ever so little—she blushed, and then she blushed because she had blushed, and blushed again to think herself so silly!

“I fear it may be somewhat dangerous to wander far,” said Hake, stopping, for Bertha had stopped and seated herself on the stump of a fallen tree.

“Dangerous! Why so?”

“Why, because Skraelingers may find us out any day, and if they should come upon you unawares so far from home they might carry you off, and no one would be aware that you were gone until too late to pursue.”

“I never thought of that,” returned Bertha, with a slightly troubled look. “Well, I shall be more careful in future. But how come you to be wandering here alone, Hake? did I not hear your name called this morning among those appointed to go forth and search out what is good and beautiful and useful in the land?”

“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.