But Karlsefne, the prosperous man, did well. He sailed along the land
in and out of beautiful wooded islands until he came to the mouth of a
great river.[1] He entered that on the flood and sailed up for many
days. It was a broad and noble river which came, as they discovered,
out of a lake. Here was such a land as they had never seen before, so
beautiful, so fruitful that they had no desire to seek further. They
called this land Hope, for here was the utmost they had dreamed of.
There were broad acres of wheat growing here, self-sown; upon the
slopes of the hills wild vines were thick and full of bud; the streams
were full of fish; there were deer in the woods, and everywhere in the
early mornings the piping of birds. Karlsefne said: "My Gudrid, we
have found Wineland the Good. Here we will stay awhile." She was
happy to be in so good a place.
They made their camp on the shores of the lake, and built themselves
houses of timber, with a stockade and trench about the whole
Settlement. There was abundance of food for the animals, abundance for
themselves, with promise of a harvest both of corn and of wine. No
signs of human occupation had been found as yet. They began to think
that they had Wineland to themselves, and used to go far afield, even
to being out for days together and sleeping in the open. But Karlsefne
kept his eyes wide for some possible attack, and was proved to be right.
Early one morning when he went down to the lake shore he saw boats upon
the quiet water. He counted nine of them. They kept close company and
came on steadily. He looked beyond them but could see no more. "With
no more than nine of them, this won't be a long affair," he thought to
himself; but he went back to the Settlement and called out his men.
Then he went into his own house and called Gudrid to come. "Are you
minded to see some of the Winelanders, my Gudrid? Bring your baby with
you, and I will show them to you. I don't think they mean us any
harm." Gudrid went with him without question.
By this time the settlers had lined the shore, and the hide-boats had
drawn up within bowshot and were making signals. A man stood up in
each boat and waved a pole over his head. He swept it round in
circles, and moved it from east to west, following the course of the
sun. "What do they want with us?" says Karlsefne. "Not war, I think.
Now who will come out to meet them with me? We will show them a white
shield, but there shall be weapons at the bottom of the boat." He soon
had a crew, and was soon afloat.
The native boats scattered out in a half-moon as the adventurers came
on. Karlsefne saw that he was being hemmed in, but having the notion
fixed in his head that no harm was intended, he did not give orders to
cease rowing, and stood up in the bows himself with his white shield
displayed. When he was within speaking distance he bade his men rest
on their oars. By and by, as he had expected, curiosity did his work
for him. The hide-boats came in and in, each of them holding five or
six men. In one at least he saw a woman with a baby. "If they bring
their babies out to see us, it's no more than I have done," Karlsefne
said. "They mean peace, and they shall have it."
He invited them forward with open arms, and all signs of friendliness,
and presently they were all crowded about. Small people they were,
very dark brown, very ugly, with flat faces, coarse black hair twisted
and tortured into peaks and knots. They had broad fat cheeks and
enormous eyes. Their talk was like the chattering of birds.
Karlsefne invited them to shore, and very cautiously their boats
followed his. They landed and were induced to mingle with the large
company they found there. Gudrid and her baby were the great
attractions. The first man who saw her suckling it stared and jumped
about. He called shrilly to his friends behind, and a body of them
came to join him. They pushed forward the brown woman with her child.
Gudrid, not at all put out or frightened, held out her hand. The woman
stared hard at her white breast, then opened her gown and showed her
own. She gave her baby suck and grinned community of nature in
Gudrid's face. Gudrid, with one of those happy motions of hers, looked
round to see if Karlsefne was by, and finding that he was, put up her
hand into his.
That shot told. There was much commotion among the brown people, much
bickering and stirring; and presently they pushed one of their own men
forward, and joined his hand with that of the mother. Joyful
murmurings arose. Everybody understood. Now it was Freydis's turn.
She stood disdainfully apart, with folded arms, but her colouring and
shape betrayed her. Here was plainly to be another mother soon, as
they did not fail to tell each other. Then nothing would do but her
husband must be found for her. His friends dragged him out and put him
beside her, no more willing to go than she was to have him. "Handfast
her, you dog," said Karlsefne. "How else will they believe you?" So
that was done. Freydis fumed and burned, as handsome and furious a
young woman as you could have hoped to see. All went so well that
Karlsefne was moved to hospitality, sending a man off for milk and
fish. They crowded about for their share, and growing bold by degrees
handled the women's gowns, the men's weapons, and were for spying into
the stockade. The bull, who was feeding in there, snorted and puffed
up the dust; presently, wagging his head, he came towards them and sent
them flying back. Karlsefne, by signs, tried to make them understand
that he was ready to barter if they were. He touched the fur with
which they were all clad, and pointed to the milk bowls. When they saw
what he would be at, they in turn fingered the weapons which every man
had about him. Clearly they had not the art of forging steel. It was
long before they would leave the shore, and when they did go it was
with one consent, without any words passing. Quite suddenly they
turned about and ran down to the shore, launched their canoes and were
out in the water like a horde of rats. They rowed down the lake, as if
towards the sea.
Nothing more was seen of them for some time, but presently they began
to come in numbers, always very friendly and willing to barter. They
brought furs with them--fox and marten, beaver, as well as coarser
kinds, bear and wolf and elk. Karlsefne would exchange no weapons; but
milk he offered, and that they drank greedily and on the spot, and
cloth too, of which he had a good store. Red cloth took their fancy
most; they seemed as if they must have it, it was a kind of lust. The
breadths he could spare them grew narrower and narrower; they pushed
out their furs for it with no consideration of what they got in
exchange. At last it became a kind of madness, and Karlsefne said it
had better stop. "They take it like strong water; one of these days
they will be killing men for it." It was a prophecy on his part--for
they came in greater and greater numbers, and when there was no more
red cloth for them, they howled and chattered and looked dangerous.
Karlsefne and the men with him faced them with the best heart they had,
but he ordered a retreat to the stockade, and when he was pretty near
the entrance bade a man go in and bring out the bull. That answered.
The great beast stood in the doorway pawing the ground and breathing
hard. When he saw what was in front of him, down went his head, and he
charged. The savages scattered all ways and saved themselves. In a
few moments the lake was black with canoes; it was, the tale says, as
though the water was covered with floating charcoal. Karlsefne did not
like the look of things at all. He doubled the watch on the ship and
strengthened the stockade; but did not wish to frighten Gudrid, who was
so happy with her child, and beginning, as he could see, to love
himself. He knew that she loved him, because at all sorts of times he
found out that she had been looking at him while he moved about, busy
over something or other. He taxed her with it one day. "I think that
you love me, Gudrid."
She put her head on one side. "What makes you think so?" He told her;
so then she owned to it, and he wished to know why. She said that she
could not tell, but in such a way that he saw that she could, and
wished him to know. So then he pressed her. "Tell me, Gudrid, why you
love me." She touched her child's head. "Because you are strong, and
good, and brave. And because you gave me this. A woman must love her
child's father."
"Ask Freydis that," said Karlsefne; and she answered him; "Freydis
loves more than she chooses to say. When Freydis has a child, you will
see that she will love it."
"But not her man on that account," he said. "It is only a heart like
yours, my Gudrid, that can love because it loves. For I see very well
that you love me because you love this boy, and did not until he came."
She looked gently at him, half excusing herself. "I liked you well,
and was grateful."
"Ah, yes, maybe," he said, "but that was not how you loved Thorstan
Ericsson."
She said: "I was younger then, and I loved him so much because our time
was short. But I love you better than I loved Thorstan, because of the
peace you have put in my heart."
[1] The Hudson River.