THE BEGINNING OF GRIMSBY TOWN.
Easily we went ashore when the tide fell, across the spits of sand that
ran between the mud banks, and we climbed the low sandhill range that
hid the land from us, and saw the place where we should bide. And it
might have been worse; for all the level country between us and the
hills was fat, green meadow and marsh, on which were many cattle and
sheep feeding. Here and there were groves of great trees, hemmed in
with the quickset fences that are as good as stockades for defence
round the farmsteads of the English folk, and on other patches of
rising ground were the huts of thralls or herdsmen, and across the wide
meadows glittered and flashed streams and meres, above which the
wildfowl that the storm had driven inland wheeled in clouds. All the
lower hills seemed to be wooded thickly, and the alder copses that
would shelter boar and deer and maybe wolves stretched in some places
thence across the marsh. Pleasant and homely seemed all this after long
looking at the restless sea.
Then said my father, “Now am I no longer Grim the merchant, and that
pride of mine is at an end. But here is a place where Grim the fisher
may do well enough, if I am any judge of shore and sea. Here have we
haven for the boats, and yonder swim the fish, and inland are the towns
that need them. Nor have we seen a sign of a fisher so far as we have
come.”
Now we had been seen as soon as we stood on the sandhills; and before
long the herdsman and thralls began to gather to us, keeping aloof
somewhat at first, as if fearing my father’s arms. But when we spoke
with them we could learn nothing, for they were Welsh marshmen who knew
but little of the tongue of their English masters. Serfs they were now
in these old fastnesses of theirs to the English folk of the
Lindiswaras, who had won their land and called it after their own name,
Lindsey.
But before long there rode from one of the farmsteads an Englishman of
some rank, who had been sent for, as it would seem, and he came with
half a dozen armed housecarls behind him to see what was going on. Him
we could understand well enough, for there is not so much difference
between our tongue and that of the English; and when he learned our
plight he was very kindly. His name was Witlaf Stalling, and he was the
great man of these parts, being lord over many a mile of the marsh and
upland, and dwelling at his own place, Stallingborough, some five miles
to the north and inland hence.
Now it had been in this man’s power to seize us and all we had as his
own, seeing that we were cast on his shore; but he treated us as guests
rather, bidding us shelter in one of his near farmsteads as long as we
would, and telling my father to come and speak with him when we had
saved what we could from the wreck. He bade the thralls help at that
also, so that we had fallen in with a friend, and our troubles were
less for his kindness.
We saved what cargo we had left during the next few days, while we
dwelt at the farm. Then at the height of the spring tides the ship
broke up, for a second gale came before the sea that the last had
raised was gone. And then I went with my father to speak with Witlaf
the thane at Stallingborough, that we might ask his leave to make our
home on the little haven, and there become fishers once more.
That he granted readily, asking many questions about our troubles, for
he wondered that one who had owned so good a ship seemed so content to
become a mere fisher in a strange land, without thought of making his
way home. But all that my father told him was that he had had to fly
from the new king of our land, and that he had been a fisher before, so
that there was no hardship in the change.
“Friend Grim,” said Witlaf when he had heard this, “you are a brave
man, as it seems to me, and well may you prosper here, as once before.
I will not stand in your way. Now, if you will hold it from me on
condition of service in any time of war, to be rendered by yourself and
your sons and any men you may hire, I will grant you what land you will
along the coast, so that none may question you in anything. Not that
the land is worth aught to any but a fisher who needs a place for boats
and nets; but if you prosper, others will come to the place, and you
shall be master.”
One could hardly have sought so much as that, and heartily did we thank
the kindly thane, gladly taking the fore shore as he wished. But he
said that he thought the gain was on his side, seeing what men he had
won.
“Now we must call the place by a name, for it has none,” he said,
laughing. “Grim’s Stead, maybe?”
“Call the place a town at once,” answered my father, laughing also.
“Grimsby has a good sound to a homeless man.”
So Grimsby the place has been from that day forward, and, as I suppose,
will be now to the end of time. But for a while there was only the one
house that we built of the timbers and planks of our ship by the side
of the haven—a good house enough for a fisher and his family, but not
what one would look for from the name.
By the time that was built Havelok was himself again, though he had
been near to his death. Soon he waxed strong and rosy in the sea winds,
and out-went Withelm both in stature and strength. But it seemed that
of all that had happened he remembered naught, either of the storm, or
of his mother’s death, or of the time of Hodulf. My mother thought that
the sickness had taken away his memory, and that it might come back in
time. But from the day we came to the house on the shore he was content
to call Grim and Leva father and mother, and ourselves were his
brothers, even as he will hold us even now. Yet my father would never
take him with us to the fishing, as was right, seeing who he was and
what might lie before him. Nor did he ever ask to go, as we had asked
since we were able to climb into the boat as she lay on the shore; and
we who knew not who he was, and almost forgot how he came to us, ceased
to wonder at this after a while; and it seemed right that he should be
the home-stayer, as if there must needs be one in every household.
Nevertheless he was always the foremost in all our sports, loving the
weapon play best of all, so that it was no softness that kept him from
the sea. I hold that the old saw that says, “What is bred in the bone
cometh out in the flesh,” is true, and never truer than in the ways of
Havelok.
For it is not to be thought that because my father went back perforce
to the fisher’s calling he forgot that the son of Gunnar Kirkeban
should be brought up always in such wise that when the time came he
should be ready to go to the slayer of his father, sword in hand, and
knowing how to use it. Therefore both Havelok and we were trained
always in the craft of the warrior.
Witlaf the thane was right when he said that men would draw to the
place if we prospered, and it was not so long before the name that had
been a jest at first was so no longer. Truly we had hard times at
first, for our one ship’s boat was all unfitted for the fishing; but
the Humber teemed with fish, and there were stake nets to be set that
need no boat. None seemed to care for taking the fish but ourselves,
for the English folk had no knowledge of the riches to be won from the
sea, and the eels of the river were the best that they ever saw. So
they were very ready to buy, and soon the name of Grim the fisher was
known far and wide in Lindsey, for my father made great baskets of the
willows of the marsh, and carried his burden of fish through the land,
alone at first, until we were able to help him, while Arngeir and we
minded the nets.
Only two of our men stayed here with us, being fishers and old comrades
of my father. The rest he bade find their way home to Denmark to their
wives and children, from the Northumbrian coast, or else take service
with the king, Ethelwald, who ruled in East Anglia, beyond the Wash,
who, being a Dane by descent from the Jutes who took part with Angles
and Saxons in winning this new land, was glad to have Danish men for
his housecarls. Some went to him, and were well received there, as we
knew long afterwards.
The man who had been washed overboard and hauled back at risk of his
neck was one of these. His name was Mord, and he would have stayed with
us; but my father thought it hard that he should not have some better
chance than we could give him here, for it was not easy to live at
first. Somewhat of the same kind he said to Arngeir, for he had heard
of this king when he had been in the king’s new haven in the Wash some
time ago. But Arngeir would by no means leave the uncle who had been as
a father to him.
Now when we marked out the land that Witlaf gave us, there was a good
omen. My father set the four blue altar stones at each corner of the
land as the boundaries, saying that thus they would hallow all the
place, rather than make an altar again of them here where there was no
grove to shelter them, or, indeed, any other spot that was not open,
where a holy place might be. And when we measured the distances between
them a second time they were greater than at first, which betokens the
best of luck to him whose house is to be there. I suppose that they
will bide in these places now while Grimsby is a town, for, as every
one knows, it is unlucky to move a boundary stone.
Soon my father found a man who had some skill in the shipwright’s
craft, and brought him to our place from Saltfleet. Then we built as
good a boat as one could wish, and, not long after that, another. But
my father was careful that none of the Lindsey folk whom he had known
should think that this fisher was the Grim whom they had once traded
with, lest word should go to Hodulf in any way.
Now we soon hired men to help us, and the fishing throve apace. We
carried the fish even to the great city of Lincoln, where Alsi the
Lindsey king had his court, though it was thirty miles away. For we had
men in the villages on the road who took the great baskets on from one
to another, and always Grim and one of us were there on the market day,
and men said that never had the town and court seen such fish as Grim’s
before. Soon, therefore, he was rich, for a fisher; and that was heard
of by other fishers from far off, and they drew to Grimsby, so that the
town spread, and Witlaf the good thane said that it was a lucky day
which drove us to his shore, for he waxed rich with dues that they were
willing to pay. We built boats and let them out to these men, so that
one might truly say that all the fishery was Grim’s.
Then a trading ship put in, hearing of the new haven, and that was a
great day for us. But her coming made my father anxious, since Hodulf
was likely to seek for news of Grim the merchant from any who had been
to England; and hearing at last of him, he would perhaps be down on us,
Vikingwise, with fire and sword. But after that traders came and went,
and we heard naught of him except we asked for news; for he left us in
peace, if he knew that his enemy lived yet. Men said that he was not
much loved in Denmark.
So the town grew, and well did we prosper, so that there is naught to
be said of any more trouble, which is what my story seems to be made up
of so far. Yet we had come well through all at last; and that, I
suppose, is what makes the tale of any man worth hearing.
Twelve years went all well thus, and in those years Havelok came to
manhood, though not yet to his full strength. What that would be in a
few more summers none could tell, for he was already almost a giant in
build and power, so that he could lift and carry at once the four great
fish baskets, which we bore one at a time when full of fish, easily,
and it was he who could get a stranded boat afloat when we could hardly
move her between us, though all three of us were strong as we grew up.
Very handsome was Havelok also, and, like many very strong men, very
quiet. And all loved him, from the children who played along the
water’s edge to the oldest dame in the town; for he had a good word for
all, and there was not one in the place whom he had not helped at one
time or another. More than one there was who owed him life—either his
own, or that of a child saved from the water.
Most of all Havelok loved my father; and once, when he was about
eighteen, he took it into his head that he was burdensome to him by
reason of his great growth. So nothing would satisfy him but that he
must go with us to the fishing, though it was against Grim’s will
somewhat. But he could make no hand at it, seeing that he could pull
any two of us round if he took an oar, and being as likely as not to
break that moreover. Nor could he bear the quiet of the long waiting at
the drift nets, when hour after hour of the night goes by in silence
before the herring shoal comes in a river of blue and silver and the
buoys sink with its weight; rather would he be at the weapon play with
the sons of Witlaf, our friend, who loved him.
But though the fishing was not for him, after a while he would not be
idle, saying, when my father tried to persuade him to trouble not at
all about our work, that it was no shame for a man to work, but,
rather, that he should not do so. So one day he went to the old Welsh
basket maker who served us, and bade him make a great basket after his
own pattern, the like of which the old man had never so much as thought
of.
“Indeed, master,” he said, when it was done, “you will never be able to
carry so great a load of fish as that will hold.”
“Let us see,” quoth Havelok, laughing; and with that he put him gently
into it, and lifted him into the air, and on to his mighty shoulder,
carrying him easily, and setting him down in safety.
The basket maker was cross at first, but none was able to be angry with
Havelok long, and he too began to smile.
“It is ‘curan’ that you are, master,” he said; “not even Arthur himself
could have done that.”
“Many times have I heard your folk call me that. I would learn what it
means,” said Havelok.
But the old man could hardly find the English word for the name, which
means “a wonder,” and nothing more. Nevertheless the marsh folk were
wont to call their friend “Hablok Curan” in their talk, for a wonder he
was to all who knew him.
So he came home with his great basket, and said, “Here sit I by the
fire, eating more than my share, and helping to win it not at all. Now
will I make amends, for I will go the fisher’s rounds through the
marshlands with my basket, and I think that I shall do well.”
Now my father tried to prevent him doing this, because, as I know now,
it was not work for a king’s son. But Havelok would not be denied.
“Fat and idle am I, and my muscles need hardening,” he said. “Let me
go, father, for I was restless at home.”
So from that time he went out into the marshland far and wide, and the
people grew to know and love him well. Always he came back with his
fish sold, and gave money and full account to my father, and mostly the
account would end thus:
“Four fish also there were more, but the burden was heavy, and so I
even gave them to a certain old dame.”
And my mother would say, “It is likely that the burden was lighter for
her blessing.”
And, truly, if the love of poor folk did help, Havelok’s burden weighed
naught, great though it was.
Yet we thought little of the blessings of the Welsh folk of the marsh
in those days, for they blessed not in the names of the Asir, being
sons of the British Christians of long ago, and many, as I think,
Christians yet. Witlaf and all the English folk were Odin’s men, as we
were, having a temple at the place called Thor’s Way, among the hills.
But we had naught to do with the faith of the thralls, which was not
our business. Only Withelm was curious in the matter, and was wont to
ask them thereof at times, though at first they feared to tell him
anything, seeing how the Saxons and English had treated the Christian
folk at their first coming. But that was forgotten now, by the English
at least, and times were quiet for these poor folk. There was a wise
man, too, of their faith, who lived in the wild hills not far from the
city, and they were wont to go to him for advice if they needed it.
They said also that the king of Lindsey had once been a Christian, for
he was Welsh by birth on his mother’s side, and had been so brought up.
It is certain that his sister Orwenna, who married Ethelwald of East
Anglia, was one, but I have seen Alsi the king at the feasts of the
Asir at Thor’s Way when Yuletide was kept, so it is not so certain
about him. He had many Welsh nobles about him at the court, kinsmen of
his mother mostly, so that it did not seem strange, though there is not
much love lost between the English and the folk whom they conquered, as
one might suppose.
Now, as I have said, none but Withelm thought twice about these things;
but in the end the love of the marsh folk was a thing that was needed,
and that Withelm had learned somewhat of their faith was the greatest
help that could be, as will be seen.