The Norsemen in the West Part 23

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 amus.e.m.e.nts 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 pa.s.s. Thinking nothing about it I advanced and saw Hake and Bertha partially concealed by the bushes. Suddenly Hake cried pa.s.sionately, `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."

"That is well," said Leif, somewhat sternly. "Bertha is free-born. She shall not wed a thrall if he were the son of fifty Scottish earls."

This speech was altogether so unlike what might have been expected from one of Leif's kind and gentle nature that Karlsefin looked at him in some astonishment and seemed about to speak, but Leif kept his frowning eyes steadily on the ground, and the two friends walked the remainder of the road to the hamlet in perfect silence.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

TREATS OF THE FRIENDSHIP AND ADVENTURES OF OLAF AND SNORRO, AND OF SUNDRY SURPRISING INCIDENTS.

We must now pa.s.s over a considerable period of time, and carry our story forward to the spring of the third year after the settlement of the Nors.e.m.e.n in Vinland.

During that interval matters had progressed much in the same way as we have already described, only that the natives had become a little more exacting in their demands while engaged in barter, and were, on the whole, rather more pugnacious and less easily pleased. There had been a threatening of hostilities once or twice, but, owing to Karlsefin's pacific policy, no open rupture had taken place.

During that interval, too, Leif had made two trips to Greenland and back; a considerable amount of merchandise had been sent home; a few more colonists had arrived, and a few of the original ones had left; Thorward's ship had been also brought to Vinland; and last, but not least, Snorro had grown into a most magnificent baby!

Things were in this felicitous condition when, early one beautiful spring morning, Snorro resolved to have a ramble. Snorro was by that time barely able to walk, and he did it after a peculiar fashion of his own. He had also begun to make a few desperate efforts to talk; but even Gudrid was forced to admit that, in regard to both walking and talking, there was great room for improvement.

Now, it must be told that little Olaf was particularly fond of Snorro, and, if one might judge from appearances, Snorro reciprocated the attachment. Whenever Snorro happened to be missed, it was generally understood that Olaf had him. If any one chanced to ask the question, "Where is Snorro?" the almost invariable reply was, "Ask Olaf." In the event of Olaf _not_ having him, it was quite unnecessary for any one to ask where he was, because the manner in which he raged about the hamlet shouting, howling, absolutely yelling, for "O'af!" was a sufficient indication of his whereabouts.

It was customary for Olaf not only to tend and nurse Snorro, in a general way, when at home, but to take him out for little walks and rides in the forest--himself being the horse. At first these delightful expeditions were very short, but as Snorro's legs developed, and his mother became more accustomed to his absences, they were considerably extended. Nevertheless a limit was marked out, beyond which Olaf was forbidden to take him, and experience had proved that Olaf was a trustworthy boy. It must be remembered here, that although he had grown apace during these two years, Olaf was himself but a small boy, with the cl.u.s.tering golden curls and the red chubby cheeks with which he had left Greenland.

As we have said, then, Snorro resolved to have a walk one fine spring morning of the year one thousand and ten--or thereabouts. In the furtherance of his design he staggered across the hall, where Gudrid had left him for those fatal "few minutes" during which children of all ages and climes have invariably availed themselves of their opportunity!

Coming to a serious impediment in the shape of the door-step, he paused, plucked up heart, and tumbled over it into the road. Gathering himself up, he staggered onward through the village shouting his usual cry,--"O'af! O'af! O'AF! O-o-o!" with his wonted vigour.

But "O'af" was deaf to the touching appeal. He chanced to have gone away that morning with Biarne and Hake to visit a bear-trap. A little black bear had been found in it crushed and dead beneath the heavy tree that formed the _drop_ of the trap. This bear had been slung on a pole between the two men, and the party were returning home in triumph at the time that Snorro set up his cry, but they were not quite within earshot.

Finding that his cries were not attended to, Snorro staggered out of the village into the forest a short way, and there, standing in the middle of the path, began again,--"O'af! O'af! O'AF! O-o-o!"

Still there was no reply; therefore Snorro, stirred by the blood which had descended to him through a long line of ill.u.s.trious and warlike sea-kings, lost his temper, stamped his feet, and screeched with pa.s.sion.

Nothing resulting, he changed his mood, shouted "O'af!" once more, in heartrending accents, and--with his eyes half-shut and mouth wide open, his arms and hands helplessly pendent, his legs astraddle, and his whole aspect what is expressively styled in the Norse tongue begrutten--howled in abject despair!

In this condition he was found by the bear party not many minutes later, and in another moment he was sobbing out his heart and sorrows into the sympathetic bosom of his dearly-loved friend.

"What is it, Snorrie? What's the matter?" inquired Olaf tenderly.

"Hik!--Me--hup!--O!--want--hif!--wak," replied the sobbing child.

"It wants to walk, does it? So it shall, my bold little man. There, dry its eyes and get on my back, hup!--now, away we go! I'll be back soon," he said to Biarne, who stood laughing at them. "Be sure that you keep the claws of the bear for me.--Now, Snorrie, off and away! hurrah!"

"Hoo'ah!" echoed Snorro, as, holding tight with both his fat arms round Olaf's neck, he was borne away into the wilderness.

Olaf's usual mode of proceeding was as follows:

First he dashed along the track of the woodcutters for about half a mile. It was a good broad track, which at first had been cleared by the axe, and afterwards well beaten by the constant pa.s.sage of men and horses with heavy loads of timber. Then he stopped and set Snorro on his legs, and, going down on his knees before him, laughed in his face.

You may be sure that Snorro returned the laugh with right good-will.

"Whereaway next, Snorrie?"

"Away! a-way!" shouted the child, throwing up his arms, losing his balance, and falling plump--in sedentary fashion.

"Ay, anywhere you please; that means, no doubt, up to the sun or moon, if possible! But come, it must walk a bit now. Give me its hand, old man."

Snorro was obedient to Olaf--and, reader, that was an amazing triumph of love, for to no one else, not even to his mother, did he accord obedience. He quietly took his guide's hand, trotted along by his side, and listened wonderingly while he chatted of trees, and flowers, and birds, and squirrels, and wild beasts, just as if he understood every word that Olaf said.