It was the end of summer again before they were ready to sail. The
ship which brought home Thorwald's crew had gone a voyage to Iceland
and not come back. It was necessary to find and furnish another; no
crew would ship until the harvest was over; and though Gudrid was
willing to follow Thorstan at a word, Eric had not wanted her to leave
him yet; so she saw one more high summer.
They fared badly from the start, with heavy weather as soon as they
were off the land. After a week of blustering south-west gales and
rain the wind went round to the north. Then from the N.N.W. there
began a storm the like of which none of them had ever known, and for
week after week they were buried in it, not knowing where they were.
They lost men, tackle, stores; there was not a dry rag on the ship;
every day Thorstan expected the snow. Instead of that, after a few
days of sunny weather, the wind dropped in a clear sky; it began to
freeze, and then came the white blanket to cling about sheets and
spars, and hold them close, a blur drifting upon a sea like oil.
Gudrid sat like a ghost in the after deckhouse, nursing her baby and
trying to keep it warm. It did not thrive and could not be expected to
thrive. She was sure it would die. And so it did--died in its sleep
while she was suckling it. She felt the cold upon its legs; and then
it grew heavy. She looked down--its eyelids were blue. But she did
not move.
Thorstan came down to see her. He knew at once. He went to her and
covered her breast in the blanket. He said nothing, but was very
gentle.
"Oh, husband, speak to me! Our little baby----"
"Hush, my dear one--it is better. She is not cold now." He made her
lie down, with a hot stone for her feet and another for her arms to
hold instead of her Walgerd. When she was asleep he said a prayer over
the child and sank it in the sea. Then he comforted her as only he
could have done it.
There was a good deal of sickness on board and plenty for Gudrid to do.
The wind blew gaps in the fog, and as it stiffened tore it into flying
shreds and rags. The ship heaved and lurched in water now inky-black.
They got steerage way, and ran before a gale which they judged came
from the south-west; they held this course for many days, hoping to get
a sight of land. And land was nearer than they thought, for one
morning Thorstan saw a darkening in the fog, a kind of shape, and then,
quick as the thought, he put the ship about. She came round slowly,
and at that moment the spars and rigging seemed alive with sea-birds.
As the ship went round a huge black wall reared itself a-starboard, and
he heard the waves at its foot. As nearly as might be he had broken up
his ship on the rocks.
Thorstan ran out to sea for half a mile or more and stood off until the
weather cleared a little. When it did they all saw the crags and
headlands of an iron coast. The only thing to do was to keep within
hail of it until they found some sort of haven. Thorstan said he would
spend the winter there, whatever country it might be. Already it was
cold, and wherever the land stooped low enough there was snow to be
seen lying.
An opening in the land was reported next day, and as they drew near
they could make out a firth and a muffled ship lying at anchor within
it. The tide serving, Thorstan ran in between low hills all smothered
in snow. A settlement of white, muffled houses lay on the shore of a
bay, a deserted quay, a few boats drawn up on the beach: not a soul was
to be seen; the winter swoon was over all.
He drew up within hail of the silent ship and anchored in that black
water. The rattling of the chain and splash of the anchor echoed among
the hills, but awoke no man. "Are we, dying, come to a city of the
dead?" he thought. The chill lay on his heart like lead; the thought
of Gudrid gave him a dull ache; even the passion of desire to save her
was dead within him. He did what came up before him to be done, but
could not provide nor foresee.
"Here we must see the winter out," he said, and had the boat out so
that he might go ashore and seek quarters. First he went below to see
Gudrid.
He found her in the bed, rigid with cold, almost too cold to shiver.
He leaned over her in an agony of pity. "Oh my heart! Oh my poor
heart!" She looked up at him and smiled in his face. She was not able
to speak.
"I shall see the winter out here," he told her. "I must find out where
we are--I believe that we have beaten back to Greenland. If that be
so, then we may be able to reach home; but if that is not possible,
then we stay here. I will get quarters for the men, and for ourselves,
please God. My love, trust me to do for the best--and wait for me
here."
She nodded her head two or three times, but her eyes were shut and she
did not look at him again. He dared not kiss her for fear of finding
out how cold she was. How could it be that men were allowed to suffer
so? He found some more covering for her bed before he left her.
The boat took him ashore; he went to the nearest house he saw and
thumped on the door. There was no light to be seen, and for long there
was no sound to be heard inside; but at last he heard the bolts drawn
back. A white-faced woman peered at him through a crack.
"Let me in, for the love of God," said Thorstan. Then she beckoned him
in.
A sick man lay muttering in a bed; children huddled about a turf fire.
The place was very nearly dark, but he made out some six souls to be
there. He found out that he was come to Lucefrith in West Greenland;
the winter sickness was heavy on the place. The woman did not refuse
to take one of his men, and did not agree. She seemed stupid with
misery. He told her that he should send her a man, and went out. In
every house in the Settlement was much the same story. Sickness and
death on all hands, but no refusals. At the end of his rounds he had
managed to place out all hands. There remained himself and Gudrid.
There was no place for them--not room enough to die in. He had asked
if there were no headman in Lucefrith, and was told of one Thorstan
Black; but he, it seemed, lived far off--over the hills, they said--and
no way of getting at him through the snow.
Then he went back to the ship and told his men to get ready to go
ashore. He took them off by companies in the boat, and saw them all
indoors before he left them. The last man under cover, he rowed back
alone to the ship. At this extremity, with frozen death and silence
all about him, he felt a strange uplifting of the heart in the thought
that he and Gudrid were now alone indeed--they two and Love. And what
if Death were a fourth in the party? Ah, he was welcome too. But
before Death came Love should be there. He rowed gaily, fiercely, that
he might be with her the sooner.
He was warmed by his exercise when he was on deck again, and wildly
happy in the thought which possessed him.
He went below and saw his love watching for him. "My heart, I am
coming to you," he said. He took off his furs and most of his clothes
and got into the bed with her. He held her close to him, with a
passion which despair may have quickened into flame. Wildly as he had
loved her since she had given him herself, he never loved her as he did
now, when the end seemed close upon them.
For a week they lived so, the supreme week of Thorstan's and Gudrid's
lives. They were utterly alone, and they never left each other's arms,
but when Thorstan was busy mending the brasier fire, or getting food.
They cherished each other, the fire in them at least never went out;
they loved and slept, they loved again and slept. It was the last leap
of their fire, it was the swan-song of their love maybe; but it was
beautiful, and as strong as if they were breasting a great flight
through space. Thorstan sang to Gudrid, he told her tales of lovers,
he put their joint lives into verses; but he had not a word to say of
the future. Here fate was too heavy for either love or religion. Fate
stood with stretched-out arms holding a black curtain over what was to
come. Thorstan had seen behind it. He knew. But Gudrid had
forgotten, and he would not tell her. As for Gudrid herself, the glory
was to have Thorstan find her so lovely, and her love so full, was
enough for her. She lived on his needs. To fill them was her utmost
desire, and to be to him a never-failing well was a crown of stars.
She seldom spoke; she was as silent as the earth below the rains and
heats of heaven, and as receptive. She neither asked nor pondered what
was to be the end of this rapturous dream. If she had, her utmost
desire would have been that they should die together in some nuptial
sleep, and lie still, folded under the snow.
But Fate ordered it otherwise. The day came when they heard the
knocking of oars, and then while they lay clasped, listening, a great
voice hailing the ship. They looked at each other. "The dream is
over," Thorstan said. "My love, the world is about us again." She
clung to him. "Let us stay here--let nobody forbid us that." "Nay,
but I must go out and see who is coming."
He dressed and went on deck. A large man muffled to the eyes in a
bearskin was below him in a boat, standing up in it holding on to the
side. He pulled open his hood and showed a red face, black beard and a
pair of merry eyes.
The two hailed each other, and then the new-comer said, "They told me
in the Settlement that you were under the weather here. It will have
gone hard with you, I doubt. And your lady with you! Now I make known
to you that I am Thorstan of this place, called commonly Thorstan
Black, and at your service."
Thorstan said: "Then I must be Thorstan Red, for Thorstan is my name,
and the red is of Nature's doing, and my father's. I am Eric's son of
Ericsfrith. I was making the western voyage, but was driven out of my
course in a gale, and forced to beat up here against my will. My men
are in the Settlement, but I and the good wife could find no better
quarters than these."
"I will show you better," said Thorstan Black. "I knew nothing of your
coming till last night when a man came up asking for fuel. You shall
come off with me now if you will. In a week's time you will be able to
walk ashore. My mistress will be glad of your company, and so shall I
be."
"Thank you for that," said Thorstan. "We take your offer gladly." He
asked him up, but Thorstan Black said he was very well where he was.
Gudrid was dressed when he came down for her. The dream was broken,
and neither of them spoke of it. Their preparations were soon made,
and then they left the ship.
Thorstan Black rowed them ashore with strong and leisurely strokes. He
told them that he lived over the ridge beyond the Settlement. He had a
sleigh of dogs waiting for him, packed up Gudrid, put Thorstan one side
of her and himself the other, cracked a great whip, uttered a harsh
cry; and they were off. The dogs panted and strained at the ropes;
sometimes one yelped in his excitement. And so they came to a
broad-eaved house, and were welcomed by the good wife, whose name was
Grimhild.