The Norsemen in the West Part 25

Words cannot describe the condition of poor Olaf's mind, as he was thus forced violently along through the forest, he knew not whither. Fearful thoughts went flashing swiftly through his brain. That the savage would take him and Snorro to his home, wherever that might be, and kill, roast, and eat him, was one of the mildest of these thoughts. He reflected that the hatred of the savage towards him must be very intense, in consequence of his recent treatment of his nose, and that the pain of that feature would infallibly keep his hatred for a long time at the boiling-point; so that, in addition to the roasting and eating referred to, he had every reason to expect in his own case the addition of a little extra torture. Then he thought of the fact, that little Snorro would never more behold his mother, and the torture of mind resulting from this reflection is only comparable to the roasting of the body; but the worst thought of all was, that the dreadful pa.s.s to which he and Snorro had come, was the consequence of his own wilful _disobedience_! The anguish of spirit that filled him, when he reflected on this, was such that it caused him almost to forget the pain caused by savage knuckles in his neck, and savage prospects in the future.

Oh how he longed for a knife! With what fearful gloating did he contemplate the exact spot in the savage groin into which he would have plunged it until the haft should have disappeared! And this, not so much from a feeling of revenge--though that was bad enough--as from an intense desire to rescue Snorro ere it should be too late.

Several times he thought of a final dying effort at a hand-to-hand struggle with his captor, but the power of the grip on the back of his neck induced him to abandon that idea in despair. Then he thought of a sudden wrench and a desperate flight, but as that implied the leaving of Snorro to his fate, he abandoned that idea too in disdain. Suddenly, however, he recurred to it, reflecting that, if he could only manage to make his own escape, he might perhaps find his way back to the settlement, give the alarm, and lead his friends to Snorro's rescue.

The power of this thought was so strong upon him, that he suddenly stooped and gave his active body a twist, which he considered absolutely awful for strength, but, much to his astonishment, did not find himself free. On the contrary, he received such a shake, accompanied by such a kick, that from that moment he felt all hope to be gone.

Thus they proceeded through the woods, and out upon an open s.p.a.ce beyond, and over a variety of ridges, and down into a number of hollows, and again through several forests not unlike the first, until poor Olaf began to wonder whether they had not pa.s.sed the boundaries of the world altogether and got into another region beyond--until his legs, st.u.r.dy though they were, began to give way beneath him--until the noon-day sun shone perpendicularly down through the trees, and felt as if it were burning up his brain. Then they came to a rivulet, on the banks of which were seen several tents of a conical form, made of skins, from the tops of which smoke was issuing.

No sooner did the savage come in sight of these tents than he uttered a low peculiar cry. It was responded to, and immediately a band of half-naked savages, like himself, advanced to meet him.

There was much gesticulation and loud excited talking, and a great deal of pointing to the two captives, with looks expressive of surprise and delight, but not a word could Olaf understand; and the gestures were not definite in their expression.

When Snorro was placed sitting-wise on the ground--nearly half dead with fatigue, alarm, and hunger--he crept towards Olaf, hid his face in his breast, and sobbed. Then did Olaf's conscience wake up afresh and stab him with a degree of vigour that was absolutely awful--for Olaf's conscience was a tender one; and it is a strange, almost paradoxical, fact, that the tenderer a conscience is the more wrathfully does it stab and lacerate the heart of its owner when he has done wrong!

There was, however, no uncertainty as to the disposition of the savages, when, after a thorough inspection of the children, they took them to the tents and set before them some boiled fish and roast venison.

Need we remark that, for the time, Olaf and Snorro forgot their sorrow?

It would scarcely be an exaggeration to say that Snorro was as ravenous as any wolf in Vinland. From the day of his birth that well-cared-for child had, four times a day, received regular nutriment in the form of milk, bread, eggs, and other substances, and never once had he been permitted to experience the _pangs_ of hunger, though the _intimations_ thereof were familiar. No wonder, then, that after an evening, a night, and half a day of abstinence, he looked with a longing gaze on victuals, and, when opportunity offered, devoured them desperately. Olaf, though trained a little in endurance, was scarcely less energetic, for his appet.i.te was keen, and his fast had been unusually prolonged.

When they had eaten as much as they could--to the delight of the natives, excepting, of course, the man with the temporary Roman nose-- they were ordered by signals, which even Snorro understood, to remain still and behave themselves. Thereafter the natives struck their tents, packed up their goods and chattels, embarked in sixteen large canoes, and descended the rivulet a hundred yards or so to the spot where it flowed into a large river. Here they turned the canoes upstream, and silently but swiftly paddled away into the interior of the land.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

ANXIOUS TIMES--A SEARCH ORGANISED AND VIGOROUSLY CARRIED OUT.

It is not easy to conceive the state of alarm that prevailed in the settlement of the Nors.e.m.e.n when it came to be known that little Snorro and Olaf were lost. The terrible fact did not of course break on them all at once.

For some hours after the two adventurers had left home, Dame Gudrid went briskly about her household avocations, humming tunefully one of her native Icelandic airs, and thinking, no doubt, of Snorro. Astrid, a.s.sisted by Bertha, went about the dairy operations, gossiping of small matters in a pleasant way, and, among other things, providing Snorro's allowance of milk. Thora busied herself in the preparation of Snorro's little bed; and Freydissa, whose stern nature was always softened by the sight of the child, constructed, with elaborate care, a little coat for Snorro's body. Thus Snorro's interests were being tenderly cared for until the gradual descent of the sun induced the remark, that "Olaf must surely have taken a longer walk than usual that day."

"I must go and meet them," said Gudrid, becoming for the first time uneasy.

"Let me go with you," said Bertha.

"Come, child," returned Gudrid.

In pa.s.sing the spot where the little bear had been cut up and skinned, they saw Hake standing with Biarne.

"Did you say that Olaf took the track of the woodcutters?" asked Gudrid.

"Ay, that was their road at starting," answered Biarne. "Are they not later than usual?"

"A little. We go to meet them."

"Tell Olaf that I have kept the bear's claws for him," said Biarne.

The two women proceeded a considerable distance along the woodcutters'

track, chatting, as they went, on various subjects, but, not meeting the children, they became alarmed and walked on in silence.

Suddenly Gudrid stopped.

"Bertha," said she, "let us not waste time. If the dear children have strayed a little out of the right road, it is of the utmost importance to send men to search and shout for them before it begins to darken.

Come, we will return."

Being more alarmed than she liked to confess, even to herself, Gudrid at once walked rapidly homewards, and, on approaching the huts, quickened her pace to a run.

"Quick, Swend, Hake, Biarne!" she cried; "the children must have lost their way--haste you to search for them before the sun goes down. Shout as ye go. It will be ill to find them after dark, and if they have to spend the night in the woods, I fear me they will--"

"Don't fear anything, Gudrid," said Biarne kindly. "We will make all haste, and doubtless shall find them rambling in the thickets near at hand.--Go, Hake, find Karlsefin, and tell him that I will begin the search at once with Swend, while he gets together a few men."

Cheered by Biarne's hearty manner, Gudrid was a little comforted, and returned to the house to complete her preparation of Snorro's supper, while Hake gave the alarm to Karlsefin, who, accompanied by Leif and a body of men, at once went off to scour the woods in every direction.

Of course they searched in vain, for their attention was at first directed to the woods near home, in which it was naturally enough supposed that Olaf might have lost his way in returning. Not finding them there, Karlsefin became thoroughly alive to the extreme urgency of the case, and the necessity for a thorough and extended plan of search.

"Come hither, Hake," said he. "This may be a longer business than we thought for. Run back to the huts, call out all the men except the home-guards. Let them come prepared for a night in the woods, each man with a torch, and one meal in his pouch at least--"

"Besides portions for the twenty men already out," suggested Hake.

"Right, right, lad, and tell them to meet me at the Pine Ridge.--Away!

If ever thy legs rivalled the wind, let them do so now."

Hake sprang off at a pace which appeared satisfactory even to the anxious father.

In half an hour Karlsefin was joined at the Pine Ridge by all the available strength of the colony, and there he organised and despatched parties in all directions, appointing the localities they were to traverse, the limits of their search, and the time and place for the next rendezvous. This last was to be on the identical ridge whence poor Olaf had taken his departure into the unknown land. Karlsefin knew well that it was his favourite haunt, and intended to search carefully up to it, never dreaming that the boy would go beyond it after the strict injunctions he had received not to do so, and the promises he had made.

"I'm not so sure as you seem to be that Olaf has not gone beyond the ridge," observed Leif to Karlsefin, after the men had left them.

"Why not?" asked the latter. "He is a most trustworthy boy."

"I know it--who should know it so well as his own father?" returned Leif; "but he is very young. I have known him give way to temptation once or twice before now. He may have done it again."

"I trust not," said Karlsefin; "but come, let us make direct for the ridge, while the others continue the search; we can soon ascertain whether he has wandered beyond it. I know his favourite tree.

Doubtless his footsteps will guide us."

Already it had begun to grow dark, so that when they reached the ridge it was necessary to kindle the torches before anything could be ascertained.

"Here are the footsteps," cried Karlsefin, after a brief search.

Leif, who was searching in another direction, hurried towards his friend, torch in hand.

"See, there is Olaf's footprint on that soft ground," said Karlsefin, moving slowly along, with the torch held low, "but there is no sign of Snorro's little feet. Olaf always carried him--yet--ah! here they are on this patch of sand, look. They had halted here--probably to rest; perhaps to change Snorro's position. I've lost them again--no! here they are, but only Olaf's. He must have lifted the child again, no doubt."

"Look here," cried Leif, who had again strayed a little from his friend.

"Are not these footsteps descending the ridge?"

Karlsefin hastily examined them.

"They are," he cried, "and then they go down towards the wood--ay, _into_ it. Without doubt Olaf has broken his promise; but let us make sure."