BOOK III

I

Ingolf and Leif equipped themselves in great haste for their journey

to seek the land which Raven-Floke had last visited, and which he

had given the name of Iceland. They wished to be there as early in

the year as possible, in order to be the better able to explore the

distant and unknown island. Therefore there was no time to be lost.

The first thing they did was to acquire a trading vessel, a strong

sea-ship, in exchange for two of their smallest ships, which, in all

probability, they would not want to use again. A trading vessel was

just what they now needed. In the conflict they were proceeding to,

there was no use for small, light battleships. Their new vessel was

certainly neither little nor light. It was a regular ox to look at.

High and broad, clumsy and solid, it lay, and the movements of the

water only made it rock sluggishly. By the side of the long, slim,

low-decked dragon-ships, it was seen to great disadvantage. Leif

laughed at it, called it his rock and his old woman's boat, said that

it had a stomach like an old cow, and expressed his fixed opinion that

it certainly cherished secret designs of going to the bottom at the

first opportunity. But Leif did it great injustice. The vessel was good

enough for its purpose, even if it was a little slow in turning and no

beauty to look at.

It had a half-deck at prow and stern and a small side-deck along the

gunwales. The rest of it was one large hold, in the midst of which

towered a great, solid, strongly supported mast. It was exclusively

built for the purpose of long trade-journeys, and therefore quite

excellently suited for such an expedition in which the chief object

was to convey as much as possible. There were but a few banks of oars

fore and aft; one might as well try to row a rock over the sea. It was

not adapted to be propelled by slender oars. The oars were only there

to turn it and to facilitate going on shore. It was to sail, not to be

rowed. Therefore it was entirely dependent on wind and weather. But,

on the other hand, it took the wind and weather with a composure and

immovability which came near to justifying its nickname of a "rock." It

only had one enemy--lack of wind.

It certainly did not dance on the billows like a dragon-ship. It was

too contemptuous of the unstable element around it, whose humours it

only yielded to when compelled, and then as little as possible. It

entered into no brotherly alliance with the wind. _That_ it took into

its service and allowed to further its object.

Such was the new ship, inspiring confidence in a high degree and

independent, both in form and behaviour--free from all kinds of levity.

Storm and sea were its--certainly often somewhat wayward--servants, but

not its masters.

Hallveig took an eager part in the loading of the vessel and in all

preparations for the journey, and showed Ingolf in numberless little

ways that she had no intention of remaining at home. When Ingolf was

aware of it, it seemed to him that he had all along known that Hallveig

was like that. And yet it gave his happiness an increased fullness

and weight. Without inquiries of any kind, with a silent agreement,

as though it were a matter of course, Hallveig prepared to follow him

always and everywhere, to belong to him and to be near him.

For Helga, who already went about with a hidden foreboding of coming

separation in her mind, the spring suddenly became really spring when

she saw Hallveig's preparations. If Hallveig could travel with them, so

could she. Of herself, Helga would never have hit upon so bold an idea,

though not from want of courage. Her courage and readiness to sacrifice

herself where Leif was concerned were boundless. Her backwardness was

from an inherited fear of causing trouble and being inconvenient, and a

deep anxiety not to displease Leif in any thing great or small.

Helga wept for gladness when it was decided that she should also go

with them. She did not often weep in the sight of others. Her weeping

made Leif quiet and thoughtful. He guessed that he often, for the most

part through thoughtlessness, caused Helga grief which she did not

show. For some time his tenderness towards her knew no bounds, and

Helga was happier than she had been for a long time.

Hallveig and Helga had been at first somewhat shy of each other.

Helga was in her own way independent enough. She certainly had a will,

and knew in every case what she wanted. But Hallveig's whole resolute

way of behaving and acting alarmed her a little. It took her some

time to understand that Hallveig was far from being inconsiderate and

selfish, that, on the contrary, she had a recklessness and warmth in

her devotion which was apparent in each of her words and deeds in such

a decisive way that to superficial observation it might look like want

of consideration and self-will. Yes, in her devotion Hallveig was

certainly reckless. Every one could easily see that she loved Ingolf

and belonged to him with body and soul. The quiet and apparently cold

Hallveig displayed a peculiar latent warmth and energy in all that she

undertook. She did not lavish smiles and caresses; that was not her

nature. No one had heard her speak tenderly or lovingly to Ingolf. But

out of all her actions shone love and tender solicitude. An invisible

fire burned around the apparently cold-natured woman.

When Helga first became convinced that she had at the beginning

mistaken her sister-in-law and done her injustice in her heart, a

specially warm devotion for Hallveig broke forth in her soul. And

from the moment that Hallveig saw that the reserve Helga had hitherto

displayed towards her had been a veil she had covered herself with

in the presence of a stranger, she embraced her also with the latent

warmth of her nature.

Hallveig showed Helga that outside the house also a woman may be a

benefit and do good service. Even when it was a question of loading

a ship for a long journey there were many things a woman could help

and participate in. Hallveig, who was never at ease when Ingolf was

occupied with the ship, from this time always took Helga with her when

she went down to it. She had an amusing way of walking, Helga thought.

She took long, resolute, manly strides, and her legs were obviously

legs under her skirts. Helga found it difficult to follow her when she

was in a hurry, as she almost always unconsciously was.

Hallveig examined even the smallest details that concerned the

loading of the ship, with her husband and Leif, and did so in

a matter-of-course tone which aroused Helga's astonishment and

admiration. In everything she said, Hallveig showed her practical

sense. She did not hesitate either to give help where it was needed.

Her help and advice were gladly welcomed. Her advice was advice and not

child's prattle. It was nearly always followed.

Hallveig had a peculiar rapid way of surveying matters. This was

the best place for this, and for that. She demanded that everything

which might be needed on the voyage should be as easily accessible

as possible. Ingolf and Leif had never given a thought to that. They

only thought of packing things so that they fitted in, took the least

possible room, and were so distributed according to weight and size

that the ship might lie on the water as level as possible. Now Hallveig

showed them that with a little reflection all these objects might be

excellently combined.

Hallveig's and Helga's presence and hearty participation in the

work--for Helga also quickly began to use both eyes and hands--put

Ingolf and Leif in high spirits, which helped them over many

difficulties and trifling annoyances.

The vessel was loaded amid much merriment. Corn in chests, dried fish

in great bundles, butter in small barrels, and boxes of dried flesh

and salt meat, beer and wine in barrels--a whole year's provision of

food and drink--were brought on board and packed carefully in the great

hold. But the vessel's stomach had to find space for much more. Small

compartments had to be made for the animals which were to be taken with

them. A cow and a pair of goats; they could not be entirely without

milk. There was also an ox to be slaughtered, and a bull-calf to be

company for the cow through the winter and grow large and fat and ready

to be slaughtered in the spring. A sow with small pigs was also useful

to have with them, together with some sheep, and a couple of horses

were simply indispensable.

And, at any rate, there was room for a hut for Hallveig and Helga. The

hut was Hallveig's idea. She did not wish only to be with them; she

wished to live on board and to be comfortable. Leif jumped like a boy

with delight when Hallveig put forward her proposal about the hut.

From that day not even the smallest thing seemed to him quite right

till Hallveig had expressed her satisfaction with it. He would rather

have Hallveig's help in counsel and action than that of most men, he

declared decisively. And he was absolutely resolved to teach her to

swing an ax and to hurl a spear. Hallveig did not often laugh, but she

had to laugh sometimes at Leif. There was the same completeness and

power in Hallveig's laughter as in all the rest of her character and

behaviour. When Hallveig laughed, there was something to laugh at. She

could never be imagined laughing at any one or anything she did not

like.

So these spring days passed. Liveliness and activity reigned

everywhere. This journey to a foreign land, which at the beginning

seemed so difficult to carry into effect, so improbable and

unrealizable, became through all these preparations imminent and a

matter of course for all those who took part in it. Here Ingolf now

stood in the smithy and forged scythes to cut grass in a land which

he had never seen and really only heard a tale about. Who was Naddod

the Viking? Who was Gardar Svavarsson? Who was Raven-Floke? Or Thorolf

Smor? Could one be sure they had not imagined that land over there?

Or that others had imagined _them_ and the whole affair? One might be

foolish to believe it, but he was going to get a sight of it. And while

Ingolf forged scythes to cut grass in that legendary land of the west,

and made spades to dig in its soil, that fact became firmly fixed in

his mind. In spite of all doubt, the land lay and actually existed over

there in the sea. And, in fact, it became more than real to him. It lay

there and spoke secretly to his soul; it waited for him almost like a

friend. And thus it seemed at last to have a claim on him, which he

could not disregard. For the land lay there and expected to be taken in

possession, as is the right of every land. Such and similar thoughts

filled Ingolf. And yet he did not guess that while he stood there in

his smithy and forged scythes and prepared implements with which to

till the new land's soil, the land took _him_ in possession by help of

the secret power a land possesses--never again to let him go.

Ingolf and Leif had to prepare themselves to build winter dwellings

and to store hay for their animals, therefore they took implements

with them, without considering what power the earth and implements

together have over a man's soul. They did not guess that only homeless

men wander their free ways, which are no ways, or rather that secret

earth-powers guide all other steps.

Ingolf and Leif provided themselves with fishing-gear and nets for

catching birds. They also took a pair of boats.

When the boat was loaded and everything else was in order for the

journey, Ingolf concluded his preparations with a great sacrificial

feast, at which he made abundant offerings to the gods, in order that

they should grant him and his fellow-travellers good fortune and

happiness on the voyage. Nevertheless, the days went by without the

commencement of the hoped-for sailing weather.

These days of waiting were hard for Leif to bear. He became morose. Any

kind of waiting was the worst thing Leif knew. It made his hasty and

adventurous spirit full of discontent. He cursed the vessel, called it

a wretched old woman's bath, and invented even worse names for it.

Ingolf took the matter quietly. Certainly he had already made his

offerings to the gods, and copiously. But it was a special voyage they

were to make--the gods were to protect them, and on wide and strange

ways. He therefore brought fresh offerings, and also secretly gave

Odin and Njord private gifts, besides vowing yet greater ones if they

would prosper his journey there and back and on the way. This expedient

helped. There came a day with splendid sailing weather--a sunshiny

day full of light and warm wind. Before midday all was ready--the

animals brought on board, the crew in their places (Ingolf and Leif

took only the smallest possible crew with them), and the vessel cleared

for sailing. Under a heavily bellying sail it glided out between the

skerries. Hallveig and Helga stood on the poop by their husbands and

watched the shores glide past on either side. Hallveig was quiet in

mind, and felt only glad at the fine day and the journey. Sea and

land were all the same to her, if only she had Ingolf. Here they were

sailing out to find a new land, to seek a new home. She was ready with

all her soul to remain fixed in the spot on the earth which Ingolf

might choose for them, no matter where it might be.

But with Helga it was otherwise. She was calm and quiet enough, but

her calm was, as so often on other occasions, only outward. The strong

scent of the pines from the spruce- and fir-clad islands they were

sailing by, roused a profound longing in her soul. This was the place

where she was at home. There in the house down there by the shore,

which seen from the fjord here looked so strange. There seemed to be a

sob in Helga's soul. She, the faithful, had only one home. She did not

at all wish to turn or to remain behind, for she stood here by Leif's

side. But she felt as though her heart were being split asunder and her

soul divided. For this place which she now left, to return to it next

spring only for a time, had shared with her happiness and solitude.

There was hardly a stone in the house which she had not patted with

her hand and made her confidant in joy or sorrow. She was bound to the

house and the surroundings of her childhood with ties which could not

be loosed or cut asunder. She knew with certainty that she would always

feel strange and homeless outside Dalsfjord. She reproached herself for

this feeling--for she had Leif--but she could not overcome it. All she

could do was to vow to herself never to betray it. Thus Helga took a

secret with the scent of the pine trees from the islands.

II

Ingolf and Leif sailed by the guidance of the sun and the stars, and

steered directly westward. For the first two days and nights a steady

east wind filled the square sail and carried them steadily forwards.

There were high spirits and much excited expectation on board. Indeed,

it seemed as though the wind had been sent by Odin with the sole

purpose of furthering their journey. But just as they had settled down

in confidence that they were under the god's special protection the

weather began to shift and change. Now it seemed, for the most part, as

if one or another of the divinities had set himself fiercely against

them, or as if Odin had suddenly become busy elsewhere.

The wind took the wrong direction, and seemed uninterruptedly occupied

in settling private accounts with the towering waves of the sea. In

the course of two days and nights it had gone several times round the

horizon and varied through all degrees of strength from a moderate calm

to what Vikings would mildly call a storm. And then all of a sudden

it disappeared. They looked longingly for it--east, west, south, and

north--for though they had cursed its vagaries heartily enough, it

was still preferable to a dead calm. But it was absent, and remained

absent. Unreliable as it had always been, it had gone off to other

regions, and left them alone here in the midst of the sea. There lay

the vessel, pitching lazily, and making no way at all. Where they were

no one knew, and there was nothing to show them. Whither the wind had

carried them, while it was still with them and blew alternately from

all points of the compass, they could not find out. The sun and stars

had only rarely been visible. The spirits of all on board were rapidly

sinking. Matters were not improved when, after several days and nights

of calm, there came gliding a cunning, silent bank of fog and swallowed

them up, blotted them out from the eyes of heaven, swept all sight

of sea and sky out of the world, and left the vessel lying, rocking

lonelily, forgotten by all good powers on a strange sea.

There they lay while the days came and went--grey days which could

only make marks on Ingolf's time-stick. For even though Ingolf was

displeased enough with these days he kept a steady count of them,

marked each of them off on his stick with the little notch that was

their due, and, for the rest, execrated them in silence.

Leif had given up all hope now; morose and aggrieved, he surrendered

himself to the power of chance. He sat most of the days on the gunwale

with his legs dangling outside, singing from sheer despair. Only now

and then he interrupted his song to hurl a violent succession of

sanguinary curses in a penetrating, angry voice into the damp, foggy

air.

With every day that passed, Ingolf became more silent and

introspective. What was the obstacle in their way? Were the gods so

much opposed to this journey that they were absolutely determined to

prevent it?

He did not like being questioned regarding the number of days he had

marked off. The days were quite bad enough without making them more by

talking about them. And at last he flatly refused to answer questions

regarding the number of the days. For long periods he would sit silent

looking at his stick, forgetting to mark the days, with his mind full

of inward longing and powerful exorcisms.

He heard that the crew were talking about drawing lots for a sacrifice.

Ingolf was not narrow-minded. But he remembered the offerings which

before his journey he had made to Odin, as well as the vows he had made

of further offerings if the journey prospered. Odin had often fulfilled

his wishes for less sacrifices than those. He really did not understand

what was the matter with Odin this time.

Hallveig and Helga were the only ones on board who, to some extent,

kept up their spirits. To Hallveig it seemed quite natural; they were

very well off, and the fog and the calm must some time come to an end.

Every morning she awoke with the firm conviction that that day the fog

would lift. Helga, on the other hand, had to pull herself together,

in order not to be infected by the depression of the rest. Yet she

was accustomed to do this, and on this occasion she had, besides,

Hallveig's good-humour to support her. But their good temper seemed

almost to put the crew into a still worse humour. Even Ingolf--not to

speak of Leif--could sometimes be impatient at their unconcern. And

one day, in answer to a cheerful remark of Hallveig's, he very curtly

drew her attention to the fact that the water-casks were seriously

near becoming empty. Hallveig looked at him steadily and a little

astonished. Ingolf had never before seen that look in her eyes. She

went to her hut without saying anything more.

Ingolf looked round for Helga. She stood by the gunwale, playing with

Leif's hair. When Ingolf had thus ascertained that Hallveig was alone

in the hut, he followed her into it. Hallveig was sitting and looking

before her when he came. She did not meet his glance as usual, but

remained sitting and staring into space with a troubled expression on

her serious face. Ingolf stopped before her and laid his hand on her

shoulder. Then Hallveig looked up at him. "It can do no good to give

up," she said seriously; "that will not make things better. Have you

not noticed how the men follow you with their eyes, and are disturbed

by your looks? There is nothing left us, Ingolf, but to take things

as they come. The fog may lift some time. And since it has not rained

for a long time, it may soon rain, so that we can again have the

water-casks filled. And we have also beer and wine on board, so that we

can get along for some time."

"What makes me uneasy," answered Ingolf, "is that we seem to be pursued

by misfortune, and that I don't know at all where we are. It might

almost seem as if the gods had forgotten us, or as if we had fallen

under their displeasure. If the fog and the calm continue, and there is

no rain for some time, it will soon be all over with us. You and Helga

ought never to have been taken with us on this journey. I have also

heard that the crew are beginning to talk among themselves of casting

lots. Perhaps a sacrifice will be necessary."

Hallveig was silent for a long time. At last she sighed deeply and

said: "I have never been able properly to understand how the gods can

desire human sacrifices. Perhaps, however, I would have agreed on this

occasion if I was quite sure that the lot would not fall on you. But

I cannot rely on the gods so absolutely. Let us rather wait awhile,

Ingolf."

Ingolf left her with the firm resolve henceforth to alter his outward

demeanour. He saw that the first and foremost thing was his duty and

obligation to exhibit to the crew a calm and untroubled face, be the

outlook never so hopeless. The first man he met he greeted with a

cheerful remark, and after that day he was altogether more lively and

communicative.

When the crew saw what an alteration had taken place in Ingolf, they

thought in themselves that he must in some way or another have

received a token from the gods. Their desire for a sacrifice and

drawing of lots ceased. Ingolf's altered demeanour inspired them with

hope and courage.

But the days went on, and one day the supply of drinking water ran out.

During the night following the day when the last scoop of water had

been equally divided among all on board, Ingolf did not sleep. And he

could easily see that Hallveig lay awake by his side. But they did not

talk. Ingolf was more and more convinced that the gods had for ever

withdrawn their favour from him. Perhaps it was their intention to let

him miserably perish here at sea. Would they not even grant him to die

on land? Could they not even spare a place for a funeral mound for

him and his? Ingolf reproached himself severely that he had involved

Hallveig in his own and his race's ill-luck.

Towards morning they began at last to talk together in a whisper.

Ingolf opened his whole mind to Hallveig, and confided to her his most

secret thoughts and anxieties. Hallveig said that she had married him

because she intended to share his fortunes whether they were good or

bad. She feared neither life, nor death, nor the displeasure of the

gods, if only she had him.

While they were still lying there and whispering together, Leif stood

suddenly in the doorway and shouted. He had kept watch during the

night, and had good news to tell. The fog was gone and the wind was

gradually rising. He had given orders to hoist the sail, and now only

wished to ask whither they should sail, for he did not know. The sky

was overclouded all the time, and the sun could not be seen. Would

Ingolf come and see if _he_, perhaps, could scent out the right

direction?

Ingolf was on his legs in an instant. All anxiety and trouble was blown

away from his soul by the first puff of wind. He took counsel with

his deepest instincts, and found a direction to sail in. The wind was

rather slack at first, but then it had got out of the habit of blowing.

In the course of the day it freshened to splendid sailing weather.

There were birds on the water; they must be near some land. Towards

evening they caught a glimpse of a dark streak ahead, which showed

distinctly against the fog-banks on the horizon. There rose a shout

on board: "Land in sight!" Then Helga wept. No one was astonished at

it. Some of the men also felt a flutter at their hearts this time on

sighting land again. But Hallveig stood quiet and undisturbed, staring

at the dark streak ahead. What sort of land was it? Were they already

there? That night no one thought of seeking sleep or rest.

Early in the morning they were among some precipitous green islands

which were divided by narrow straits with strong currents. From the

vessel they could here and there catch sight of smoke from houses and

huts. This, then, was an inhabited land, and not the one they sought.

One of the old men on board had been here before, and was able to

inform them that these were the Faroe Isles. That reassured Ingolf; it

meant they had not come out of their course. There was great joy on

board. Here they could go on shore, feel firm ground under their feet,

and provide themselves with water. There were some among the crew who

ventured to hint that the voyage had lasted long enough, but a look

from Ingolf was enough to reduce them to silence. All depression and

doubt had been swept out of his mind along with the fog.

The brothers now had all tubs, buckets, together with the empty barrels

and casks which were on board, filled with water from a spring on the

coast. When that had been seen to, they were so fortunate as to get

good weather with a stiff breeze. It was again possible to sail by

the sun and stars, straight to the west. They left the Faroe Isles

astern and made for the open sea. The weather remained fine, with a

light breeze blowing. The wind was certainly somewhat capricious both

as regards force and direction. But it blew all the time, and that

was what was needed. Only seldom could the vessel hold on a straight

course; they were obliged to tack, and so the way became somewhat

uncertain. Still they made progress.

On the seventh day after leaving the Faroes they at last sighted land.

A large and wide-stretching land, crowned by white glaciers behind

blue mountains, and land with broad, open fjords and bright streams

which wound down green mountain-sides, rose from the sea before their

wondering eyes.

This must be the land they sought. Here then it lay, solitary and

uninhabited, far away in the uttermost part of the sea. It lay silent

and patient, expecting them.

The land greeted them with sunshine and summer and blue mountains.

Majestic it lay there, with skyward towering promontories and broad

mouths of fjords which, like open arms, offered them a royal welcome.

No other land had ever received them with such a festal and solemn

greeting as this gave them.

A strange silence spread on board the vessel. It was early in the

morning that they sailed into a fjord full of swans. The blue surface

of the fjord was completely covered with these white birds, which, with

proudly lifted necks and in great flocks, swam to one side as the ship

glided on. Many other birds swam among them--variegated eider-ducks and

handsome water-fowl. But one did not notice them because of the white

swans. Hallveig named the fjord Svanefjord.

The brothers had chosen this fjord because it was protected by a little

group of islands which might make it more secure as a winter haven than

the open fjords. They tacked a little to and fro, using a corner of

their sail, and surveyed the land. Bare mountains rose on either hand.

On the north was a strip of fertile land along the fjord; on the east

side the waves broke freely at the base of the mountain. The land at

the end of the fjord seemed fertile and inviting, but they could not

find a landing-place which suited them.

Ingolf proposed that they should inspect a little more closely the

nearest fjord south of the one they were in. He had seen from the ship

that there lay a broad fjord sheltered by a small, low group of islands.

They tacked past a promontory and entered the other fjord. It was

both broader and deeper than the one they had just come from, but was

likewise full of swans! Hallveig laughed with gladness when she saw it.

This fjord also must be called "Svanefjord," she declared. They might

be called North and South. She did not know there were so many swans to

be found in the world. "Birds love this land," she said to herself.

Helga stood by her side. She compelled herself to smile and share

Hallveig's gladness, but her heart was full of pain, for the beautiful

land she saw here and which Hallveig already seemed to love, could

never be _hers_. She saw the swans, the mountains, and the green dales.

But in her heart there was no room for anything but a quiet, slightly

strange emotion. The scent of the pines from the islands at home was

too keen in her memory. Ingolf and Leif stood silent and in a solemn

mood, side by side; they looked at the land and did not say a word.

They had stood thus a long time when Ingolf turned to his brother and

said quietly: "What do you think of the land, Leif?"

"It is a big land and seems a good one," answered Leif, in a low voice.

"If only most of it was not barren mountain," said Ingolf, but his

voice lacked the reservation which his words expressed.

"I think we might soon feel at home among these mountains," said Leif.

"It does not look unfriendly," Ingolf admitted.

In his inmost heart he was deeply moved. The strength and sternness of

the mountains filled his mind with a peculiar excitement. Among these

mountains the green dales and fertile stretches of land, which he

caught a glimpse of at the end of the fjord, assumed a doubly home-like

aspect.

Suddenly Leif awoke from his long reflection and silent contemplation.

Abruptly and unexpectedly, as always, a resolve had been born in his

mind, and aroused him. "It is all the same to me what sort of a land

it is--I shall settle here," he declared in an excited tone. "Since I

have come, I think it would disappoint the land if I left it again. And

I will not disappoint this land, which lies here so ready to receive

me--so much is certain."

Ingolf was silent. Leif had given expression to his own thoughts. He

felt so convinced at this moment that here it was his lot to settle and

remain. But this feeling was followed in his mind by a peculiar anxiety

which almost made him sorry. Was it a good land--a land where one

could peacefully build and settle, and where his family could flourish

in happiness and prosperity? Not himself alone, but his children and

children's children should dwell here, if he determined to settle

himself in the place.

The brothers chose a landing-place on the north side of the fjord, and

steered thither. It was with strange feelings that they set foot on

this new land, which from time immemorial had lain here behind the sea

and the distance, alone with its birds. On sea and land, everywhere the

birds swarmed. The questioning whistle of the golden plover and the

rippling quaver of the curlew were the first sounds that greeted them

as they trod the stones of the shore.

Ingolf and Leif immediately set the crew to work to bring the animals

on land and to unload the vessel. They themselves proceeded to pitch

their tents, after having selected a spot with thick green grass, well

protected from wind and weather by a projection of rock, and close to

the brink of a small, clear stream. The kitchen utensils were brought

up, and a fire kindled. The shore was covered with driftwood, so that

there was plenty of fuel. Pots containing salted flesh were hung up; at

last they got hot meat again. They could not remember that any meat had

tasted so good as this hot salt flesh after the dried fish, preserved

flesh, and hard and finally mouldy bread they had had on the sea

voyage. They baked bread, too, and ate it warm from the embers. It was

splendid to have soft bread between their teeth again.

Round them the animals dispersed, grazing eagerly over the fertile

pastures. It was a pleasure to see the satisfaction with which they

swallowed the green grass. Towards evening the vessel was so far

unloaded that it could be brought ashore and rolled on logs over the

ground. They had chosen a little cleft in the rocks for it to lie in

shelter during the winter.

By the evening, when the men had crept into their skin bags and had

lain down to sleep, Ingolf and Leif, Hallveig and Helga, still sat

round the remains of the fire, but did not think of sleep. They sat

silent, close to one another, and did not talk. The night was bright

and still, and dew was falling. The fire gleamed palely in the night.

Red ember-snakes writhed at the bottom of it. The fjord spread a

shining surface, dotted white with sleeping swans. There was a peace

and stillness over the land which filled their minds with a peculiar

awe and sense of expectation.

III

The summer they spent in South Svanefjord was, for the brothers

and their wives, an unbroken succession of beautiful days. There

was a peculiar atmosphere of peace and prosperity about the lonely

settlement, where the fire burnt day and night under the cliff behind

the tents, while on a rising ground close at hand their winter dwelling

rose slowly from the ground. It was a house sixty feet in length,

thirty in breadth, which the brothers were having built--a house with

thick turf walls for a protection against the cold of winter, and

adapted to be partitioned according to their needs when they had first

roofed it in.

While their men worked at the dwelling and gathered in hay as winter

fodder for the cattle, Ingolf and Leif let the days come and go. And

whether they were sunny days or the fog hung in grey, soft, gliding

belts down to the middle of the mountain-sides, all the days had a

peculiar solemn solitariness and charm about them.

The land they had come to was after Leif's heart. It made quite a

different impression on him to any other land he had visited. The

sense of power that brooded over it, and the almost palpable solitude,

swallowed up the unrest of his mind and gave him peace. The mountains'

strongly marked and infinitely varied shapes, a little copse hidden

among grey cliffs, close up to a glacier, the heavily pouring rivers in

deep ravines, the fjords where the swans swam among other fowls like

royal dragon-ships among peaceful freighters, a seal bathing in the

sun on a rock by the fjord, not wise enough to be afraid of men, the

countless birds' nests with the snugly hidden, different-coloured eggs

one came across everywhere, and then the soft, downy young ones hopping

about between little hillocks--all filled his soul with a sense of

wonder and calm hitherto unknown.

Ingolf and Leif made little excursions on their horses in the

neighbourhood. They soon ascertained that the fjords north of the

Svanefjords were very poor in pasture-land; the mountains descended

for the most part steeply to the sea, while the land, on the other

hand, seemed to become better the farther southward they went. When

they had made that discovery they equipped themselves for a journey

of some days in order to examine the land south of the Svanefjords

more closely. Over a low, stony stretch of tableland they came to

another inlocked fjord which was much broader than even the broad South

Svanefjord. The greater part of the upland of this fjord was, however,

covered with gravel and clay. Quite outside by the sea was a stretch of

luxuriant meadow, and here and there stood rock-islets amid the sand,

round which there were large green pastures. Farther up, right under

the mountains, there was also pasture-land, and there they found the

largest and most luxuriant wood they had yet seen. They came to a river

with many rapidly flowing courses which streamed with clay-coloured,

turbid water over a sandy and unsafe bottom. But they had caught sight

of some sharp mountain-peaks far to the south-west, and since it could

scarcely be difficult to cross the ravines between them, they resolved

to proceed thither and see what was to be found on the other side. It

was generally the case with this land, that one was not satisfied till

one had seen what there was on the other side of all the mountains

which came in view. They passed with some difficulty the dangerous

river-current, and rode farther along high, steep mountain declivities

striped with many-coloured gravel.

They found a ravine between the mountain-peaks, and when they had

reached the other side of the mountains, there opened on them, while

they rode along the edge of the steep descents which led down to

the lowland, a view, the like of which they had never seen. A fjord

dotted with small green islands, wide-stretching meadows and pastures

intersected by gleaming watercourses, a wide bluish ring of mountains

which locked in the luxuriant region with a mighty curve, and behind

all this in the south and west, glaciers--an immense, slightly arched

stretch of sparkling snow with white offshoots to all ravines.

It was on a clear, sunny day at noon that they stood there and surveyed

this region, which arrested their minds with a sense of solemn wonder

and irresistible fascination such as no view had ever done before. In

his rapture, Leif laid his hand upon Ingolf's shoulder and pressed

it; he had tears in his eyes, and his large mouth quivered. They had

dismounted from their horses and stood silent for a long time. And when

they mounted again to examine the district further, they rode on in

silence. From that hour they were Icelanders; the land was theirs, and

they belonged to it. In silence the compact was finally and irrevocably

solemnized.

When they came back from their trip, Hallveig and Helga had an

important and, as they themselves thought, serious piece of news to

tell them. They had one day climbed up the green ascent above the

encampment, quite up to the base of the cliffs, in order to get a

wider view over the fjord and the district. And just as they sat and

contemplated the low group of islands and a little island beyond it,

they saw smoke rising from the island. It had been a perfectly calm

and clear day; there could be no doubt that they had seen correctly.

They had not said anything to the men, and they now only wished to

ask Ingolf and Leif to be careful, and not to go about any more

alone. Ingolf and Leif immediately put the larger of the two boats

in the water, called some of their men, and bade them take their

weapons with them. They wished to find out what kind of people they

had for neighbours. It was in vain that Hallveig and Helga begged and

prayed them not to insist on going out, and least of all in a little

rowing-boat. The brothers were too resolved on finding out more about

the smoke from the island. In answer to their wives they objected

that the ship was too unwieldy, and was, moreover, not a ship of war.

There was scarcely any chance of fighting; if there were people on

the island, they were probably some peaceful, starving, shipwrecked

men, whose vessel had been driven to sea and lost. For the rest, they

promised to be careful, but they were resolved to go out to the island

that day.

So they rowed out thither. Even when they had got quite close to it,

they could see no sign that it was inhabited. They rowed round it, and

still saw no inhabitants or buildings. They determined to land, and

chose a creek on the south side of the island. As soon as they had

landed, they saw a wretched little boat, in which they would hardly

have trusted themselves to cross a fjord, hidden among the rocks. They

went farther up on the island, and found a hut well concealed in a

hollow.

As they approached, a man came forth in a splendid cloak and

head-dress, with a staff in his hands, and followed by some lean shapes

black with dirt, and meanly clad. They came out from the hut, but

remained standing before the door, without going towards them. They had

seen this kind of people before, and immediately perceived that they

had what were called Irish monks before them.

Both Leif and Ingolf, as well as several of their men, knew some Irish,

and therefore went nearer in order to hear a little why these people

dwelt here on a desert island.

The monks, one of whom carried a cup of water, evidently did not wish

them to come too near them or their dwelling. The sworn brothers

remained standing at some distance and questioned them. The monks

answered their questions reluctantly, but they gathered from them that

they had lived here for several years, that they had long since heard

reports of this land, and that other monks before them had journeyed

to seek it out. They had not seen any of them, but the land was wide,

and they had remained here on the island where they had first landed.

This information Ingolf at last extracted from the monks, with many

questions answered, for the most part, in monosyllables.

When the brothers could not think of anything more to ask them, and

were going down to their boat again, the man with the head-dress,

cloak, and staff stopped them with a question. "Why had they come

hither?"

Ingolf told them that they had come here to look at the land, and

intended to settle here.

His words aroused a movement and disturbance among the monks, and their

leader gave him to understand plainly that the land was sanctified

and reserved by God for Christian men; no heathen had ever settled

here, nor ever could. Every kind of misfortune would strike them if

they migrated hither, unless they first let themselves be baptized and

went over to the Christian faith. Ingolf answered them quietly that

they must grant him that it would ill become him to be less faithful

to his gods than they were to theirs. The monk answered that heathen

did not trust in gods but in idols. Ingolf answered that the Ases had

hitherto protected him and his family. Then bidding them farewell, he

went off, followed by Leif and his men. They saw the monks sprinkling

with water the places where they had trod. Then Ingolf smiled and Leif

laughed aloud. The monks sprinkled even the waves which had licked the

heathen's boat.

When Ingolf and Leif returned, they were able to quiet Hallveig and

Helga with the news that they were peaceful and harmless people who

inhabited the little island. Their only weapon was a little water in

a cup! After that they called the island "Monks' Island." When the

autumn came with cold and sleet the sworn brothers already sat warm in

their turf-house. Before the dwelling Ingolf had caused to be built a

smaller edifice, where he set up small, roughly carved wooden images of

Odin and Thor. And when the time for the autumn sacrificial feast was

come, he offered them an ox (they must share the offering as best they

could), and had a little feast.

Leif held aloof from all things of that sort. During the twenty-four

hours of the feast, he went out catching birds by day and slept quietly

in his bed by night. In his lonely wanderings the brown leaves of the

autumn rustled round his feet and spoke to him. Leif did not think much

about catching birds. He enjoyed being alone with the mountains and

the blue sky. Wherever he met a family of grouse who held faithfully

together he let them go. He only aimed at solitary birds, caught them

round the neck with a practised fling of his light line, and drew them

to himself with one sweep through the air.

Ingolf's sacrificial feast and all his devotion to the gods was a

continually recurring trial to Leif's brotherly feeling. He could not

reconcile himself to Ingolf's constant and devoted adherence to the

worship of these ugly wooden idols. Time after time he was obliged, in

order to control his rising displeasure, to remind himself that Ingolf

never interfered in his beliefs and thoughts concerning the gods, and

therefore had a right to expect the same from him. But in his heart

Leif scorned and despised Ingolf's gods, and it was inevitable that

some of this violent antipathy should sometimes glance on his brother.

Singularly enough, on the other hand, Leif did not take it at all ill

that Helga held fast to her own and her fathers' faith, without its

being clear to him that he possessed in that, as it were, a proof of

her steadfastness. He did not at all wish that Helga should forsake her

gods to follow him in his want of faith and contempt for them. The day

that she did so would have given a severe blow to Leif's happiness. So

and no otherwise was his nature.

The winter came with hard frost but without much snow. The weather

for ski-ing, which Ingolf and Leif were waiting for in order to show

Hallveig and Helga a little of the country south of the Svanefjords,

did not come. Their disappointment was, however, mitigated by the fact

that their sheep and goats could, contrary to expectation, go out and

get their food the whole of the winter, with the exception of a few

stormy days. The brothers came to the conclusion that it was a land

where relatively few people might possess many sheep. They also noticed

that sheep and goats both in winter and summer went up to the mountains

and did not remain below in the luxuriant pastures. It was evident that

the grass they grazed among the stones upon the apparently barren

mountains must be of peculiar strength, for the sheep's bodies remained

stout and their wool white.

The goats had found some holes in the mountain near the house. There

they remained at night, took refuge there in bad weather, and were

comfortable.

In spite of the short days and long nights and the great solitude the

winter proved by no means long. Neither the brothers nor Hallveig

nor Helga felt the solitude oppressive; it brought them into closer

intimacy with each other in a way that no summer days could have done.

They sat round the fire, busy with their little occupations, and

talked cheerfully and confidentially together. Ingolf and Leif carved

wood, Hallveig and Helga spun yarn and dyed it in different shades of

heather-colour, made mittens and handkerchiefs, or artistically woven

bands of it.

In the middle of the winter Hallveig gave birth to a boy, whom Ingolf

sprinkled with his own hand with water and named Thorsten after Thor,

and in remembrance of his former friend, Haasten, from whom fate had

so painfully severed him. When Hallveig had given birth to her boy,

Helga became extremely solitary in soul. She never could find any

sign that she was with child. When no one could see her, she wept

bitter tears about it, but gave no outward sign. Outwardly she was

uniformly cheerful and bright, and showed to each and all an untroubled

demeanour. It was something she kept to herself, like the scent of

the pines from the islands. Spring came, with mildness in the air and

vernal winds. As soon as it could be managed, the ship was launched,

loaded, and made fit for sea. The sworn brothers needed as much as

possible of the summer to make preparations for their migration here

the next spring, to exchange those of their movable goods and the

live-stock which they could not take with them for useful wares, and in

general to arrange their affairs in Norway before they left the country

for good. All of them, except Helga, left the new land, though they had

only been there a year, with regret. The land had been a good friend

to them, and they were loth to bid it farewell even for a short time.

When they sailed away from it, it lay there so quiet and silent, gazing

after them, as it were. Before they departed, the migratory birds had

all come back. The land lay bathed in sunshine, with cheerful bird-life

on the fjord and on the shore.

Leif, the restless, was no more eager for journeys. He would rather

have remained where he was, and not have travelled to Norway at all.

But even Leif had to grant that the plan was impracticable. The

provisions for the journey, which they had brought with them, were

rapidly decreasing, and, moreover, it would be difficult for Ingolf

when he came back to find just the same spot in the land, dependent as

he was on weather and sea. Besides, Leif saw clearly that Helga, though

she had unhesitatingly acquiesced in his wild proposal, preferred that

they should travel with the others. Helga was willing to sacrifice

everything for Leif, even the scent of the pines from the islands at

home. But when she gave her brave assent to remain, her self-command

failed her a little, and her lips quivered slightly. The whole winter

she had looked forward with joy to the moment when she should sail

between the islands to Dalsfjord. Like a secret treasure, she had

concealed the consciousness that _that_ was in store for her, in her

steadfast heart. That remained there till Leif started with the others.

But when he sailed away from the land, the old unrest was again awake

in his soul.

IV

The brothers were favoured by a good wind as they crossed the sea to

Norway. Only ten days after they had sailed out between the skerries

outside the Svanefjords, the vessel lay before Ingolf's house in

Dalsfjord.

When they disembarked, it was only Helga who felt as though she had

come home. Ingolf and Leif had already separated themselves in their

hearts from their birthplace, and Hallveig, whose home was wherever

Ingolf was, had never been intimately acquainted with this district.

Leif had already on the return journey expressed his wish to go on a

Viking expedition in the summer. He gave many reasons--among others,

that he needed serfs. Further, he alleged that it was the simplest way

of obtaining goods for their journey to Iceland the next spring. Ingolf

could arrange their affairs in Dalsfjord while he was out trading for

them both. Leif spoke much about this important trading and about his

very inconvenient want of serfs. They were dear to buy, and it was

easiest to take them where one could find them. All these and more

reasons were adduced by Leif. But he concealed his real reason for

the journey, which was that it was impossible for him to conceive how

he should spend a summer at home at Dalsfjord. His blood had suddenly

become restless. His mind was like a bow which had been long on the

strain.

Helga, who, as was her way, always left matters to Leif, made no

objection to his plan. On the contrary, she gave it her warmest assent.

But now it appeared that there would be no more sunshine in the summer

which would be the last she spent at home.

Ingolf, for his part, knew Leif. And he was forced to admit that the

arrangement was not a bad one. They certainly needed goods, and would

obtain them most cheaply by fetching them themselves. For the rest,

whatever private plans Leif had in his expedition were his own affair.

It was thus already decided on the way that Leif should go on a Viking

expedition.

As soon as they landed at Dalsfjord, Leif set to work equipping himself

for his expedition. He was somewhat late in that, and had therefore to

hurry his preparations as much as possible. He allowed himself leisure

neither for sleep nor meals. In great haste he collected all the goods

which he and Ingolf had in stock, and loaded his dragon-ship with them,

together with the other ship which he still had in reserve. This time

he had to be content with two ships; he could not well man more, and,

moreover, they had not goods for more than two.

Only a few days after his homecoming Leif sailed out again from

Dalsfjord and left Helga alone with the pine-tree scent from the

islands. Leif did not guess that the pain of separation which left in

his mind only a fleeting pang, filled Helga with burning anxiety and

unrest, which should not vanish till she had him again.

Leif sailed out over the sea and let the sea-breezes, the sense of

solitary independence, together with the expectation of dangers and

adventures, absorb his mind.

He sailed to Ireland, and traded and ravaged wherever he came. This

time Ingolf had forgotten to exact any promises of caution from him.

Leif had latterly appeared to him so altered that he simply had not

considered it necessary. Leif was therefore completely free, unfettered

by promises or considerations of any kind. And in the consciousness

that this was now the last time he was on a Viking expedition, be

displayed a daring and exuberance in his conduct which filled his men

with joy and sent several of them to Odin.

During the summer Leif acquired, more by pillaging than by commercial

genius, a very large supply of all kinds of goods, mostly valuable

cloths and metals. In the course of the summer he succeeded in catching

ten serfs--ten wiry, grimy men--who bore names like Duftak, Gerrod,

Skjoldbjarn, Haldor, Drafdrit, and the like, sour-looking men with evil

eyes, but good enough as serfs, tough at rowing as they sat chained

to the oars, and enduring in all kinds of work. Luck, which only

unwillingly forsakes the bold, followed Leif wherever he went. On one

occasion, towards the close of the summer, it nearly went ill with him.

He had landed with his men on an apparently deserted coast, which was

protected by skerries and rocky islands with strong currents between

them--a place which only Leif could think suitable for landing. He

caused his ships, loaded with the costly booty of the summer, to be

rowed in between these skerries, in order to hide them in a rocky

creek, which he had selected during a solitary excursion, while he with

his men went for a foray in the neighbourhood. For this expedition he

needed as many of his men as possible, the object being a very large

and presumably rich town. Leif left the ships in the creek with only a

few men to look over the chained serfs, whom he dared not allow to go

free as long as he was so near their native place.

With the rest of his men Leif went on shore and he be-took himself to

the wood. They were all full of great excitement and expectation. This

was to be the last great adventure of the summer, and Leif expected

a booty which might perhaps make it necessary to conquer a vessel to

carry it in. Time would show!

The wood they intended to cross covered a steep mountain-side, from the

summit down to the coast, and it was traversed by deep, rocky ravines

covered with bushes. Leif and his men had not penetrated far into

this very impassable wood when they were attacked by an armed force

far superior to their own. The people of the town must have had spies

out along the coast. They were not only outwardly but really prepared

for their coming. Leif had just shouted to his men to fight each for

himself, first and foremost to get away and save the ships, when the

enemy was on them with strident war-cries and loud clashing of weapons.

Leif had no time to see how his men fared. The people of the town had

at once seen who was the leader, and since it was the leader whom it

was the most important to strike, they flocked round him with lifted

axes and upraised swords. Leif had to sacrifice his spear to one of the

two nearest attackers; the other's head he split with his ax, but next

moment a swarm of howling Irish were pressing on him. They did not,

however, surround him, a fact which Leif, who was striking doughtily

about him with ax in one hand and sword in the other--his shield he

had thrown away--had no time to think about. They pressed him back in

between the trees.

Leif, who at the moment only thought that six was the smallest number

he could reasonably take with him to Valhalla, and was still short of

two, suddenly lost his foothold. It happened so unexpectedly that his

sword dropped from his hand, but with his ax he hooked himself fast to

a tree-root in falling, and there he hung, swinging in the air, over

the edge of a ravine. His attackers had raised a great shout of victory

when he fell. They now gathered on the edge of the ravine, stood there

and laughed at him, and made themselves merry at his plight. They

pricked at him for amusement with their spears, while in loud tones

they debated which would be the most amusing way to see him die. A

proposal that they should slowly prick the life out of him gained the

day. So they began to prick him in turn, each of them wishing to have

his share of the pleasure.

Leif was in a desperate situation. He looked down at the bottom of the

ravine, where there grew heather and bushes. He had no other resource

than to let himself fall and see if he escaped with life. He wasted

no time in reviewing the situation; he simply let go and let himself

fall. At the moment he fell he perceived that men spread themselves on

both sides of him, to find a way down to the ravine and to surround him

there if he escaped from the fall with his life and whole limbs. The

fall absorbed both his body and his thoughts. He turned two somersaults

in the air and struck against something hard; there was a singing in

his ears, and he fainted for a time.

When he came to himself again, he was lying on his back in some high

heather and staring up at the light green leaves on some scattered

stunted trees. He had a distinct consciousness of danger without at

once remembering where it threatened him, and grasped involuntarily

after his ax and spear. He grasped in vacancy, and when he discovered

that he was weaponless, the whole situation was suddenly clear to him.

In an instant he was on his legs, satisfied himself that no bones were

broken, picked up his helmet, and, involuntarily stooping to half

his height, set off, running as hastily as his somewhat stiff limbs

allowed, into the thickest part of the wood, and took the way down to

the coast.

He had already run a good way when he heard men approaching, talking

loudly, farther down the ravine. He halted and stood stiff and

motionless. Only his eyes roamed round to seek a hiding-place, but he

saw nothing resembling one anywhere. A little hollow in the ground

close to his feet might perhaps afford room for his body, but by no

means could it conceal him. With every moment that passed, while he

stood there without any chance of escape, he could more distinctly

hear his heart beating. He already imagined to himself how it would be

to have his entrails drawn out and to be led round a tree. But at the

same instant, when he was on the point of giving up and of flying up

the ravine where he was quite sure to meet other foes, his eye fell on

a large flat stone. There was salvation! Trembling over his whole body

with excitement, he raised the stone on its edge and rolled it towards

the hollow. Then he lay down, wrapped his cloak round him, shrunk

himself up as well as he could, and pushed the stone right over him.

There he lay and heard his pursuers come tramping. From their talk he

understood that they were quite sure that he still lay where he had

fallen, and feared that he had broken his neck, so that all further

amusement for them was over. All the same, they urged each other to

have a good look for him. If they found the red-haired devil, he should

be flayed alive. Leif lay there under his flat stone with a corner of

his cloak between his teeth. An irresistible convulsive fit of laughter

seized him and shook his whole body. Every moment he might be prepared

for them to raise the stone; he did not know whether it covered him

completely. But here he lay, and there they went, rejoicing at the idea

of flaying him alive. Less than that was needed to make Leif merry.

The men passed. Their voices died away gradually farther up the ravine.

Leif let some moments pass, then cautiously raised the stone. After

taking a good look round he set out, crouching as he ran, to the

harbour. He reached the shore without seeing more enemies. He stood

for a little, recovering himself in the cool air from the sea. He was

tolerably sure that they would remain so keenly on the watch that he

could hardly in full daylight get to his ship, if indeed he still had

a ship at all! It was impossible for him to know if things had gone

better with his men than with himself, or if the ships had already

fallen into the enemies' hands. It was really a nice mess that he had

got into! When would he see Helga again?

Leif let his gaze wander over the fjord, and caught sight of an island

with some stunted fir trees a little distance out. This island was

surrounded by smaller ones, and appeared to him, at that moment, very

attractive. His enemies would scarcely think of looking for him outside

the borders of the land.

Leif did not reflect very long. He hid his cloak, helmet, and whatever

might be in his way when swimming thither, piled stones up on them,

and let them lie. Then he flung himself into the waves. He swam on his

back the first part of the way in order to be able to keep an eye on

the land and to see if he was noticed. He could not see the least sign

of life on shore. He reached the island safe and sound, and crawled,

wet and weary, up its smooth, rocky side. He dragged himself under

the shelter of a stone where he could lie and let the sun bathe him;

luckily it shone brightly and warmly, in spite of the lateness of the

season. He settled himself comfortably and closed his eyes. Shortly

afterwards he fell asleep. He awoke from uneasy dreams; the light of

the setting sun fell dazzling on his face. He had, then, slept the

whole day. And what sort of a coverlet was that which he had over him?

Closer inspection showed it to be a grey cloak of coarse material.

Leif looked round him with wide-open eyes, and caught sight of a man

squatting a little distance off, and regarding him with mild, attentive

eyes.

Leif did not place much confidence in the mildness of his glance.

Involuntarily he felt around for his weapons. There were no weapons

there--now he remembered the whole affair--but the man there seemed

likewise unarmed. Also, he smiled, and for the rest was so thin and

wasted that he could hardly be dangerous. What sort of a man was he?

He looked ragged and starving. His hair and beard were tangled like a

bird's nest. There was an atmosphere of death about him. Only in his

eyes and smile was there life--a gentle and, at the same time, intense

life.

The man rose and disappeared behind a projecting rock. Leif thought

this very strange conduct, and remembered, when he was out of sight,

that he had not heard his step at all. Was he still asleep and

dreaming? Was it a living man he had seen or a ghost? No, there he

came again, whoever he was. He had bare legs, which explained why he

walked noiselessly, and, for the rest, appeared altogether wretched and

harmless. This time he came up close to Leif with some shellfish, which

he opened with a practised hand, merely with the help of a sharp-edged

stone. Leif ate a couple of the shellfish, being ravenously hungry,

and would have gladly thanked this friendly and strange man, but his

disgust was too strong for him, and he declared himself satisfied.

Then the strange man smiled anew, an indulgent smile, and ate the rest

of the shellfish himself. When he had finished, he asked Leif how he

was, if he could rise, and how he came to be lying here on his island.

Leif trumped up a long story about having fallen overboard from a ship.

"The current had seized him," he said, "and carried him hither." He

found it best at the same time to show the man quite clearly, in order

that he might make no mistake, that he not only could rise, but that he

was altogether quite sound.

The man smiled again, whether on account of his story or his slightly

threatening gestures, Leif was not sure, and asked him no more, but

rose quietly and bade Leif follow him. He led him over to the other

side of the island to the mouth of a little cave. "I live here," he

said in his gentle voice. "You are the first guest who has paid me a

visit, and the only man I have seen for many years. Assuredly God had

His special purpose in sending you hither, my brother, however that may

have happened. If you will share my cave with me for the night, you are

welcome. In the morning you can swim to the shore, if you will, and are

a strong swimmer. You can also perhaps remain here, if you prefer it."

"What are you doing here?" asked Leif, who, to his astonishment, could

discover neither the roving eye nor mistrustful behaviour of an outlaw

in this mild, quiet man. "Why do you live alone on this desert island?"

"I serve my God," answered the man gently and seriously, making the

sign of the Cross. Then Leif suddenly became aware that it was one of

the mad Irish monks whom he had before him.

From that moment he did not fear the man any more. The monks were

peaceful people, mad though they were. But there was something

mysterious about the man which caused Leif to feel by no means

comfortable in his society.

"How do you live?" Leif asked, after a long pause. The man smiled his

gentle smile, and pointed to a pot-shaped hollow in the rock, which

stood filled to the brim with sea-water. "At high tide God sends me

sometimes a little food," he said contentedly, "or I dive for shellfish

when I am hungry. There is also plenty of seaweed here. I do not need

much. Shall not God who feeds the birds also feed me?"

"How do you serve your God?" asked Leif, growing curious.

"I pray, fast, and lead a pure life," answered the monk quietly.

"Who is your God?" Leif questioned further.

"The one true God, the Trinity--God the Father, God the Son, and God

the Holy Ghost," answered the monk in his gentle voice, and again made

the sign of the Cross.

"What is His name?" Leif continued.

He had sat down on a stone step outside the mouth of the cave and fixed

his wondering eyes on the monk.

"He is called Jehovah; His Son, whose sacred name is Jesus Christ, let

Himself be born as man, and shed His blood for men, to wash away their

sins."

Leif was silent. He remembered carved and painted images he had seen of

a God they called Jesus Christ. He hung nailed to a cross, with blood

dripping from His hands and feet, from His thorn-crowned head, and from

a wound in His side. Leif had always despised this God, who, according

to the narrative, had willingly let Himself be killed and hung up upon

a cross of wood. He did not comprehend the love of such a wretched

divinity which could make a man like this monk live his life on this

desert island, merely to pray to Him and thank Him. A powerless God He

must be--much more wretched than even Odin and Thor. And yet He could

obtain such power over men.

The monk had seated himself on a stone directly opposite Leif. The last

rays of the sun fell on his back, and made his grey hair glow like a

golden glory round his head. Leif remembered having seen this gold ring

round the head, and he sat and began to feel quite strange and uneasy

in his mind.

"Shall I tell you about Jesus Christ?" asked the monk at last, in a

voice that was soft and ingratiating like a woman's.

"No," answered Leif, not without a certain fear in his soul, which

distinctly betrayed itself in his voice. "Tell me rather of something

else."

The monk sighed sorrowfully. "As you will, my brother. The Lord is

mighty, and I am but the least of His instruments. Perhaps He has

reserved the grace of delivering your soul for another and worthier

than myself. What shall I tell you, brother?"

"Tell me something about foreign lands," said Leif, who had a dim

consciousness that there could hardly be anything which this man did

not know.

"I cannot tell you about foreign lands," answered the monk gently. "I

have not seen any other country except Ireland. And I do not feel the

want of it. The wickedness of the world is great in the lands. The

Devil rules most lands where people dwell. The Lord has of His mercy

granted me this lonely island, and my only wish is to live here in

peace till He takes me to Himself in His glory."

He was silent for a while, and reflected. "But I can read to you of a

place called Paradise," he said, breaking off his meditations. Then he

rose and crept into the low mouth of the cave.

A little while after he came back with a roll in his hand. When he

opened it, Leif saw that it consisted of some pieces of skin covered

over with strange signs.

The monk sat down and began to read in a monotonous and devout voice:

"There is a place that is called Paradise. It is not in heaven nor upon

earth, but between heaven and earth, at an equal distance from both,

as it was fixed there by God. Paradise is forty miles higher than the

Flood rose at its highest. Paradise is of the same length and breadth

on all sides. There is no hill nor valley there. There comes never

frost, there falls never snow. The earth is luxuriant and fruitful

there, but there are no evil beasts nor dangers nor defects of any

kind. There is a pure well, which is called the well of life. There is

a splendid and beautiful wood called 'Radion saltus,' the leaves of

which never fade. Each of its trees is straight and round like a spar,

and so high that the top is invisible. There are all kinds of trees

which stand in complete beauty and bear all manner of blossoms and

beautifully coloured apples and fruits of all kinds. There no leaves

fall from the branches. The wood stands in the midst of Paradise. One

of the fruit trees was forbidden to Adam; in its fruit was hidden the

knowledge of good and evil. There is neither hate nor hunger, and never

is there night nor darkness, but always perpetual day. The sun shines

there seven times more strongly than in this world, for its light is

increased with the light of all the stars. There walk Angels, keeping

all things in order in joy and pleasure. Thither have the souls of good

men gone (and shall go and dwell there till Doomsday) since God opened

the place when He took thither the soul of the Thief who died upon the

cross.

"In Paradise there is a bird which is called the Phoenix. It is very

large, and wonderful is the fashion of its creation, and it is the King

of all birds. It bathes in the well of life, and then flies up on that

tree which is the highest in Paradise, and sits in the sun. Then it

shines with a light like that of the sun's rays. Its whole body gleams

like gold, its feathers are like God's angels, its breast is beautiful,

and its beak resembles its feathers. Its eyes are like crystal, and its

feet like blood. But when this beautiful bird, the Phoenix, flies from

Paradise to the land of Egypt and dwells there five weeks, all kinds of

birds gather there and sing round it in all manner of ways. Then the

men who dwell there hear that and gather round it from everywhere, and

speak as follows: 'Welcome, Phoenix, to our land! Thou shinest like red

gold; thou art the King of all the birds!' Then the people of the land

make another phoenix of wax and copper which resembles the old one as

much as possible. All the birds fall at its feet and honour it with a

glad voice. Along its back there runs a red stripe, beautiful as burnt

gold. When its fifth week is passed, the beautiful Phoenix flies again

to Paradise. All the birds fly with it, some below it, some above it,

on both sides. But when they cannot follow it any longer they return

home."

The monk paused and looked at Leif, who sat bowed opposite him with

open mouth and eyes. When the monk saw how absorbed his hearer was, he

smiled and continued:

"It happened four thousand years before the birth of Christ (one

millennium had passed) that the Phoenix had become old, and gathered

round it a great number of birds, in order to bring together a great

pile of fuel. But by God's will it happened so that the sun shone on

the pile of fuel and the sun's warmth kindled a fire in it. But the

Phoenix fell in the midst of the fire and was burned to ashes. But the

third day afterwards it rose from the dead and was young again, and

went to the Well of Life and bathed. Then its feathers grew again, as

beautiful as they had ever been. It becomes old in the course of a

thousand winters, then it burns itself again to ashes, and rises each

time young once more. But no one knows, except God alone, whether it is

a male or a female bird."

The monk stopped. The sun had gone down, and the dusk of twilight

filled the air. He could no longer see to distinguish the characters.

He rolled up his skin-scroll carefully together and tied a band round

it.

Leif had swallowed his words to the end with eager ears. At the same

time the monk's droning way of reading had had a soporific effect upon

him. When the monk was silent for a moment, Leif gave a deep yawn and

felt a strange weariness in all his limbs. The next moment he fell

asleep where he sat, with his head propped on his hands.

The monk let him sit and sleep while he uttered a long and humble

prayer to God, that it might be granted him to save this heathen's soul

from destruction and the outer darkness.

Then he awoke Leif gently, and bade him follow him into the cave and

share his straw bed and his cloak with him, for it was now cold outside.

Leif awoke and saw that it was already night, with a pale glimmer of

the moon behind black clouds. Now the time had really come. But he was

not a little curious to learn more about the monk's cave, and, besides,

it was perhaps best to let him fall asleep before he left the island.

The monk struck a light and kindled a shaving. Then he crept into

the low mouth of the cave. Leif crept after him, and the first thing

he set eyes upon was a magnificent sword with a golden hilt and gold

inlaid blade. It stood set up against the wall in the inner-most part

of the cave. It was the most beautiful sight which at the moment could

meet Leif's eyes, and it was impossible for him to avert his gaze

from the shining sword. When he noticed the monk's look fixed on him,

he compelled himself to ask, in an indifferent tone, how it was he

possessed such a valuable sword, as he was so poor and peaceful.

"That sword I inherited from my father," answered the monk gently and

as it were apologetically. "I brought it with me here so that it should

not do more harm than it has already done among men. I first intended

to throw it into the sea, but it is so splendid. I have never been able

to bring myself to do that, and it does no harm here in my cave."

He took it in his hand with obvious tenderness, and showed it to Leif.

Leif dared not touch it for fear of betraying his covetousness.

The monk stood and contemplated the sword, and said, as though

reflecting: "They who slay with the sword shall perish with the sword."

Leif believed that he was pronouncing a spell which belonged to the

sword, and smiled incredulously. Immediately afterwards he threw

himself down on the pallet of straw, as though he were weary and

sleepy, and only thought of rest.

The monk replaced the sword, put out the light, laid himself down at

Leif's side, and arranged his cloak over them both, so that his guest

had a brother's share. Leif lay wide awake, wondering whether he should

succeed in finding his men, and whether he should see his ships again.

Soon afterwards Leif heard the monk snoring, and began to twist and

turn himself, to see if that would wake him. No, the monk slept deeply

and soundly; his snoring filled the cave with the peace of sleep and

night.

Then Leif rose stealthily from the pallet, groped his way to the sword,

took hold of it, although with a little prick in his conscience,

and crept on all fours noiselessly out of the cave, followed by the

unconscious snoring of the monk. When he stood outside in the dark

night, he raised himself erect and breathed freely. He was not at all

sure whether he still had his ships and men, or whether all his men

were killed, and the ships taken possession of by the enemy. But he

again held a sword in his hand. Leif only stopped for a moment outside

the mouth of the cave. Then with long, noiseless strides he crossed

over the island and plunged into the water. He held the sword between

his teeth and swam as best he could.

Leif found his cloak and other articles of clothing where he had left

them. He had much feared lest they should be gone, and the discovery

of them have served as a guide to the enemy. He put his clothes on and

then began to listen intently in all directions. When he could not hear

any movement or noise anywhere, he set off running along the shore in

the direction of the creek where he had left his ships. The last part

of the way he crept through the wood. He reached the creek without

having come across hindrances of any kind. And out there lay his ships.

They were lying farther out than when he had left them, and to Leif it

seemed a good sign. This time he tied his cloak in a bundle on his

back, took the sword between his teeth, and, thus equipped, swam out to

the ships. He swam as noiselessly and cautiously as possible, so that

he might be able to turn quickly if it should prove that it was not his

men who were in possession of the ships.

When he got within a bowshot of the ships, his old headman gave the

alarm, and asked in a grim voice: "Who goes there?"

Leif answered with a low whistle, which they all knew, and there was

great excitement and gladness on board. He had a rope thrown to him.

Immediately afterwards he swung himself over the gunwale and stood wet

and dripping among his men, with a strange sword between his teeth.

"Leif! Leif!" they shouted, and all wanted to touch him. Leif asked

hastily how many men they had lost. It appeared that they had only

three killed and two wounded. The rest had got on board safe and sound.

Questions hailed down upon him. His men had really not expected to see

him again, and were frenzied with delight and impatient to hear what

had happened to him.

Before Leif would tell them anything, he questioned them thoroughly,

and learnt that they had intended to remain lying here for some days,

if the weather allowed, in case he should return, or hoping at least

that they might learn something of his fate in some other way.

All the men on board the dragon-ship were gathered in a cluster round

Leif, their eyes fixed on his splendid sword. Leif took off his wet

clothes and put on dry ones. Then he crept into his bearskin bag and

shook himself with a sense of satisfaction. The men took their places

round him and waited patiently to hear his story. Lying stretched on

his back among his sitting men, with the pale moonlight flickering over

his face, Leif began his narrative.

He began with his fall down the ravine. He told them how he had first

hooked himself firm with his ax, and then had been obliged to let go

of it and to drop when the men had begun to prick him. He told of his

awaking without a weapon, and of his flight. He only related briefly

the adventure with the flat stone under which he had concealed himself.

His men listened, breathless with excitement.

When Leif was about to tell of his visit to the cave he suddenly

paused. He noticed, to his surprise, that he really did not like to

tell how he had got possession of his sword. But it was precisely about

the sword that his men were most curious to hear.

"The sword?" asked the old headman in a husky voice, when he had been

silent for a while.

"Yes, now comes the most wonderful thing of all," answered Leif

reflectively. And, staring at the pale sickle of the moon, he rallied

all his inventive powers and continued: "I had at last come up out of

the ravine and was wandering in the wood. I do not know how long I ran

about without an idea where I was. But suddenly I stood at the entrance

of a great cave in the earth. I slipped into it in order to let the

darkness hide me. When I had gone a good way in, I heard a strange

sound farther on in the cave. I stole forward and caught sight, in the

dark, of a man who sat and sang. His head waggled forward and backward

and to the sides, and his song penetrated my bones and marrow. His eyes

rolled about in his head as though he were possessed. His face was

yellow and blue, and there issued a strong odour from him, for he was

not a living man, but a dead one. A little behind him hung this sword,

and it shone on the wall of the cave. As I was weaponless, my life

depended on my getting hold of the sword. I stole, therefore, farther

on, and succeeded in slipping past him without his noticing me. But,

just as I was going to seize the sword, I stumbled over a stone on the

floor of the cave, and at the same instant I had the dead man on me."

Leif was so absorbed in his story that a cold sweat burst out on his

forehead at the narrative of this imaginary fight. His men listened in

death-like silence, staring at him with wide-open eyes, and pressing

involuntarily closer to each other.

"So near to the dead I have never been," Leif continued, and took

a deep breath. "You have no idea what power there is in a dead

man's bones. He crushed me as though with claws of iron. The most

uncomfortable part was, that wherever I seized hold of him the flesh

slipped away under my grip, and I held the bare bone-pipes with my

hands. And there was a most intolerable smell which nearly suffocated

me. Moreover, the whole time he kept wheezing foam into my face." Leif

stopped with a groan, and with the back of his hand wiped the sweat

from his brow. He lay there white as a corpse, with burning eyes, in

the pale moonlight.

"At last I succeeded in getting him under me," he said in a lowered

voice, "and putting out my utmost strength I pushed him against the

stone he had sat upon, and at last I broke his back. While he lay

there, and before I had seized the sword to cut off his wretched head,

his rotten tongue continued to spit out curses. I will not repeat them,

for they were terrible. Only so much I will tell you, that he said that

there was a spell on this sword, that whosoever should kill with it

should die with it."

Leif's old headman, who during the last part of this narrative had

panted like a sick man, suddenly sprang up in great excitement. "Throw

the cursed sword overboard," he shouted in a shaky voice, with his

whole body trembling. Leif reached after the sword, and clutched its

golden hilt firmly. "No!" he answered decidedly. "I have risked too

much to gain it."

The old man broke down with a hiccoughing sob, which sent an ice-cold

shudder through the bones and marrow of Leif and all the rest.

"What did you do then with the dead man?" asked one at length, with his

teeth chattering.

"I cut his head off and laid it by his feet," Leif answered curtly, and

gave a sigh of relief. Since there was no more to tell, Leif remained

lying silent. His men continued sitting silent and motionless round him.

Leif found himself wondering that his meeting with the monk had

suddenly become so distant and unreal. Was it not something which

he had dreamt? How was it, really? Had he not been fighting with a

dead man? His body was so strangely stiff. And if not, why should he

have this smell in his nostrils? Leif no longer knew himself what to

believe. The drowsiness of sleep slurred the clearness of his thought

and confused the real with the unreal.

The old man had gradually become silent. For a while he sat motionless,

with his head wrapped in a corner of his cloak. Then he let the

corner fall and continued to sit and look at Leif. When at last he

spoke, his voice had resumed its deep, quiet tone. "In memory of your

wonderful experience and great adventure, you shall hereafter be called

'Hjor-Leif,'" he said solemnly to Leif.

Leif smiled with half-closed eyes; then they closed quite. He slept

peacefully and calmly as though he had never been engaged in fighting a

dead man.

His men remained sitting quite silent around him. They did not talk

together. They had conceived a great fear in their souls which the

moon's unearthly light considerably increased. They were simply afraid

to lie down and close their eyes and fall asleep. They could not

understand how Leif could lie there and sleep so comfortably after such

an adventure. Their admiration for him had never been greater than now.

They would like to know whether he would be afraid to encounter the

gods themselves. They had never seen fear in his eyes. It was certainly

right that he should have the sword affixed to his name and be called

Hjor-Leif.

Leif awoke of his own accord at sunrise. Then he saw his men still in

a circle round him. He broke into a loud fit of laughter when he saw

their stupid eyes and faces weary with watching.

"Beer! Beer!" he shouted, and sprang up. "Plenty of beer for all the

men! Drink now, boys!"

He cheered them up. The most slack of them he whirled round and

capsized and thumped till there was a roar of merriment around him.

When Leif had emptied a couple of jugs of beer he felt hungry and

demanded food. For a whole day and night he had had nothing except two

raw shellfish, if _that_ were not something which he had only dreamt.

At any rate, his hunger was keen and insatiable. With continually

increasing wonder his men stood round him and watched him devour a

hearty meal. He was the only one on board who had an appetite. An icy

dread instilled by the moonlight still possessed his men like bodily

nausea. Even the beer which he had given them they drank more from

obedience than from pleasure.

When Leif had made them first stir themselves and then totter a little

on their legs, he set them at the oars and bade them set to work like

the boys they were! They should only think of their wives and dearest

ones, and for the rest row as though a dead man were after them. Leif

had had enough adventures for the present. Now he wanted to get home to

Norway.

V

Helga, the faithful and anxious, was once more to see the summer die on

the fields and in the wood and Leif return home over the autumn sea.

The foggy, raw, cold autumn day became great and festive when she

caught sight of Leif's ship out on the fjord. A red flag waved from the

mast, a signal which had been agreed upon. There came Leif sailing with

her happiness on board.

Merely the fact of his being alive was like a boon from the gods. It

filled her soul with summer to feel herself warm and living in his

arms. Every time that Leif came home from an expedition, it was equally

new and incomprehensible that he lived--lived and was near her again.

Leif came home with spring and renewal of life in his soul. That was

always the case with him. The evil and dangerous unrest was gone. He

had swept it out of his soul with adventures. Leif was again Leif. His

cheerful laughter betokened his inner quiet. There was noise and bustle

wherever he moved, but there was a contented assurance in his voice and

look.

To Helga, at any rate, it seemed worth while to have endured the pain

of longing and anxiety during the summer in order to have him home

again. The eager tone of his voice alone, when he asked questions or

related incidents, made her heart swell with happiness. She could

forget both to answer and to listen, and just cast herself on his neck

because she must, because it was so delightful to weep and laugh out

her happiness with his arms round her.

Leif never returned empty-handed from an expedition. Besides the

serfs and goods which he had this time gained, he had acquired a new

name--Hjor-Leif.

Ingolf, Hallveig, and Helga were all obliged to laugh loudly the first

time they heard him called by this new name. Leif began at once to

explain eagerly, and with a little embarrassment, that it was not a

name which he had himself assumed--one of his men had bestowed it on

him of his own accord. But it was plain to see that he was proud of the

addition to his name, and did not like their laughing at it.

They questioned him with curiosity about the sword which had given

occasion for the name--a valuable sword which few remembered to have

seen the like of.

Leif answered with great seriousness that there was a ludicrous story

connected with that sword. He had told it once to his men. But it was

not a story one went spreading about. He had no intention of repeating

it. His old headman, on the other hand, was fond of relating it. He

was by no means disposed to let Leif's adventure pass into oblivion.

And he related it in such a way that one did not sleep quietly for

several nights after hearing the old man's quavering voice relate

the unheard-of terrors which Leif had experienced in the cave. He

certainly deserved to be called Hjor-Leif, especially since he himself

liked it--on that all were agreed, when they had heard of the way in

which Leif had gained his sword. And so from that day he was called

Hjor-Leif, and nothing else.

Neither Ingolf nor any one else doubted that the story was true. The

sword in itself was sufficient proof. Moreover, it was so entirely like

Leif not to be satisfied with fighting living men, but also to have to

test his strength with the dead, and to come well out of the encounter.

Hjor-Leif was, as we have said, not to be persuaded to narrate the

story himself. He was not at all fond of being reminded of it.

His other adventures, small and great, he was generally willing enough

to relate. And he took them by no means seriously. His description

of the way he hung out over the cliff, clinging to the handle of his

ax and being thrust at by sharp spear-points, might have made even a

dead man writhe with laughter, although in itself there was nothing

pleasant in the situation. The Leif who revealed himself behind such

experiences, and could relate them in such a light and completely

artless way--that was the Leif whom Ingolf loved and could not resist.

For a long time after he had heard Hjor-Leif tell of the little hollow

and the flat stone, Ingolf could have a fit of laughter merely by

thinking of it.

Hjor-Leif confided to Helga, and Helga alone, a wonderful story

regarding which he was not sure whether it was an actual experience or

a dream. Upon an island he had swum to he had met a hermit who from

some mysterious characters on some pieces of skin had deciphered a

long and wonderful account of a place which was called Paradise, and a

bird he called the Phoenix. Had Helga ever heard the name of the place

or the bird? No, Helga had not. And even though Helga in her heart

thought that there was no limit to Hjor-Leif's possible experiences,

she gave it, nevertheless, as her view that it was very likely a dream.

Hjor-Leif also thought it might be. For part of the story or dream was

that the hermit had given him shellfish to eat, and that he really had

eaten them. That could in any case not be the fact, for he cherished

the most decided dislike to raw shellfish. _That_ must at least be

something he had dreamt.

All the same, the story about the monk continued to haunt Hjor-Leif's

mind and disquiet him. For a part of the dream which he had not

confided to Helga was--that he had stolen his sword from the monk. That

was a bad dream.

When Hjor-Leif returned home from the Viking expedition of the summer,

Ingolf had already sold such of their goods and cattle as could not be

stowed on board the two ships. He had also sold his dragon-ship. He

confided in a quiet voice to his brother that he intended hereafter

to lead a perfectly peaceful life. Hjor-Leif once more remembered

his dream of the hermit on the island, and said that he also had had

enough of these expeditions. They agreed that Ingolf should purchase

from Hjor-Leif his share in the vessel, and that Hjor-Leif should then

exchange his two ships for a powerful trading-ship. Ingolf had in his

journeys seen one that might suit him. The matter was arranged, and

everything was now ready for their departure in the next spring.

It was the season when the first winter nights were powdering the earth

with frost.

And now began a lively and unquiet time for the sworn brothers.

Relatives and friends came from near and far to spend some days with

them. The whole of this last winter in Dalsfjord there was a festivity

and bustle which made them all giddy with hilarity, especially

Hjor-Leif. His irrepressible mood infected Helga. She gave herself

away and forgot everything, even her most secret troubles--she forgot

everything in the one fact that she just had Leif. They let day be day,

and night be night, and merely lived--lived in a state of blissful

intoxication, which excluded everything except absorption in the

present happiness of their souls. Often when Helga was falling asleep,

she thought, "You will not wake in the morning," and smiled happily.

Her happiness was so deep that death and life ran into one.

There was no pause in the festivities. When there was no feast being

held in the house, they and their guests and servants were invited to

week-long feasts in other houses. Among their kinsmen and friends there

were already at this time many who said that if Ingolf and Hjor-Leif

prospered in the new land, they also would sell their properties in

Norway and migrate thither. Norway was no longer what it had been.

They knew no longer whether they were free yeomen or King Harald's

lease-holders. Lately one of Harald's Jarls had murdered Atle Jarl the

Slender. Haasten held his right and inheritance by Harald's permission.

And there were many situated as he was. Every one who dared to murmur

had forfeited life and land. It would certainly be a good thing to find

a free place so far away that Harald's hard arm could not reach.

Hjor-Leif reminded Ingolf that he had long fore-told that. There was no

need to fear solitude in the new land. Before many years had passed,

the whole of the great island would be taken in possession by the best

men of Norway.

Hjor-Leif spoke contentedly and undisturbedly about the matter. He was

himself, as usual, not aware of any responsibility. Upon Ingolf the

prospects of many following them thither had a different effect. He was

quite weighed down with a sense of responsibility and anxiety. Was the

land out there in the west so good that he could justify drawing others

by his example from their inheritance and the country of their race?

And, above all: _Was_ it the gods' will that he should journey thither?

Ingolf arranged a great Yuletide sacrificial feast. And now he wished

to ascertain the will of the gods.

On the first night of the feast he cast lots. Some chips or sticks,

dipped in sacrificial blood, were tossed in a cloth, and he read off

the characters formed by the positions which the chips assumed towards

each other. Far to the left lay a chip by itself, straight up and down,

a clear character, an "I." That signified "ice," and seemed to mean

that he should travel. The next character was even clearer. Some chips

had so arranged themselves that they formed the runic character "F."

That signified "cattle"; goods and wealth. There was no fear of making

a mistake. Ingolf read off still more characters, but they were all

propitious, with the exception of a single death-rune. Well, one could

not escape death by not travelling. That came to each one on the day

assigned by the fates. Ingolf was reassured.

Winter passed, and the days increased in light and length. Then came

a spring day. It was a warm and festal spring which fell in step with

winter's mood.

The sworn brothers launched their vessel and loaded it with goods

and implements, men and cattle. Ingolf had taken the pillars of his

high-seat on board, together with all the images of the gods from the

temple.