But there seems no good reason to doubt that a stranded whale did

actually provide food for the explorers, or to regard, as Dr. Nansen

does, this incident as borrowed from St. Brendan. The second song

of Thorhall the Hunter, generally admitted to be a contemporary

production, and anyhow the oldest part of the existing story, makes a

plain reference to such an episode when it speaks of ‘boiling whales’.

Whales moreover figure extensively in the legends collected from the

Algonquins and Micmac Indians of Nova Scotia and New England by C. G.

Leland, while Douglas, in his Summary of the planting of the British

North American Settlements (1760), refers to whales setting in along

shore by Cape Cod, and records that the back of Long Island, where

small whales affect the flats, was the first place of the English

whale-fishery. To eat whale-meat, even without the pressure of hunger,

was quite natural for an Icelander, for Troil writes in his _Letters

on Iceland_ (1780), with special reference to the ‘reydur’, the name

applied to the whale in question in the Flatey Book, ‘they are all

considered very dainty food; and the Icelanders say that the flesh has

the taste of beef.’ With regard to the whale incident, therefore—at any

rate as recorded in the simpler version—it may be said, first, that it

appears to be corroborated by contemporary allusion, secondly that it

was perfectly consistent with the local natural history, and lastly

that there was at any rate no need for an Icelander to go to Ireland

for stories of whales being used as food. Dr. Nansen’s case accordingly

breaks down in regard to the whale. The other salient feature mentioned

in connexion with Straumsfjord is the bird-island. This Dr. Nansen

dismisses as ‘evidently an entirely Northern feature, brought in to

decorate the tale, and brought in so infelicitously that they are made

to find all this mass of eggs in the autumn’. He further denies the

existence of any breeding-grounds of importance even so far south as

Nova Scotia. Now, in the first place, the statement that the eggs were

gathered in the autumn is not the saga-writer’s but Dr. Nansen’s. The

expedition left Greenland—according to Hauk—in spring, according to the

companion text in summer. We may suppose therefore that the start was

made not later than the beginning of May. No prolonged stay was made

anywhere until Straumsfjord was reached.

Even therefore if we reject all the distances recorded, and

assume a rate of sailing as low as one tylft a day, (75 miles, or

little over three knots), it is manifest that wherever we place

Straumsfjord the explorers would have arrived there before the end

of the nesting-season. And though they stayed in this place for the

winter, when they suffered from great scarcity, no mention is made of

egg-collecting till the following spring, after the first record of the

discovery, immediately upon their arrival in Straumsfjord.

Next, although the statement ‘a man’s feet could hardly come down

between the eggs’ is at first sight startling, it is an easy task to

find parallel passages among the later records of exploration in or

about these latitudes.

For example, Charles Leigh (in _Hakluyt’s Voyages_) says of the Islands

of Birds in the Gulf of St. Lawrence that they ‘are sandy red, but with

the multitude of birds upon them they looke white. The birds sit there

as thicke as stones lie in a paved street.’

The same locality is described in language almost equally striking by

Jacques Cartier: ‘These Islands are as full of birds as a field is of

grass, which nest within these islands.’

If Dr. Nansen objects that the islands here alluded to are not quite

so far south as Nova Scotia, where he denies the existence of large

breeding-places, we may refer him to Nicholas Denys, who writes of an

island off this coast which has been identified with Sambro Island,

near Halifax:

‘I was once there with a boat, at the time when the birds make

their nests. We found so great an abundance of all the kinds I have

named that all my crew and myself, having cut clubs for ourselves,

killed so great a number, as well of young as of their fathers and

mothers, which were very sluggish in rising from their nests, that

we were unable to carry them all away. And aside from these the

number of those which were spared and which rose into the air made

a cloud so thick that the rays of the sun could scarcely penetrate

through it.’

Or again take Champlain (islands near Cape Sable, Nova Scotia):

‘Thence we went to Cormorant island, a league distant, so called

from the infinite number of cormorants found there, of whose eggs

we collected a cask full.... At the two other islands there is

such an abundance of birds of different sorts, that one could not

imagine it, if he had not seen them.’

Lastly we may turn to more modern times and still more southerly

latitudes, and refer to the ‘hundreds of thousands’ of breeding

sea-birds observed on and about Muskegat Island as lately as 1870.[81]

This after centuries of indiscriminate plunder by the hand of man may

well lead us to accept as practically literal fact the birds’ nests of

Straumsey, wherever we may feel disposed to locate this island. In any

case it would appear rash to dismiss this detail as a purely northern

feature, and still more far-fetched to trace, as Dr. Nansen does, a

possible connexion between these eggs and the red and white ‘_scaltae_’

which covered the anchorite’s island in the legend of St. Brendan.[82]

Among the remaining descriptions of the fauna of Wineland there does

not appear to be much calling for any comment. As to the halibut—or

‘holy fish’—taken in pits dug at the tide-mark, it seems to me most

likely that the fish here alluded to was the American plaice or chicken

halibut. Of these it is said in Goode’s _American Fishes_ (p. 316):

‘Very shoal water seems to be particularly attractive, and they are

often found at the water’s edge, embedded in the sand, with only their

eyes in view.’ Cf. the tract _New English Canaan_:[83] ‘There are

excellent plaice and easily taken. They (at flowing water) do almost

come ashore, so that one may step but half a foot deep, and prick them

up on the sands.’

In any case, all Dr. Nansen’s researches have failed to provide him

with a mythical source for this feature.

We find, in short, wherever we look, in place of the wild absurdities

of Irish legend, sober descriptions of places with their fauna and

flora which are perfectly natural. What is more important, we do not

find in these descriptions the sort of thing likely to occur to an

Icelander or Greenlander, who was rationalizing a legend to make it

fit the circumstances to which he was accustomed. Apart from the wine

and corn, we have a temperate climate with woods and large trees, low

shores and sandy beaches; except for the introduction of glaciers into

Helluland in the Flatey Book, which may be an embroidery from local

sources to emphasize the desolate character of the landscape, we trace

a manifest attempt throughout to describe conditions, natural enough to

us, but quite unlike anything characteristic of Iceland or Greenland.

With regard to the vines in particular, one can see that the nature of

these things was imperfectly understood by the saga-writers, so unlike

were they to anything with which they were acquainted at home. The most

conspicuous example of the description of something utterly foreign to

Icelandic conceptions is, however, the account of the ‘Skrælings’ or

savages. These, however, are so important an item in the consideration

of the question that they must be allotted a chapter to themselves.

IV. SKRÆLINGS

There remains to be considered what is probably the most important

feature of all, the information given in the sagas on the subject of

the aborigines. In this connexion it is important to observe that at

the time of the voyages themselves in all probability a savage tribe

was a complete novelty to the Norsemen. The only possible exceptions

were the Eskimo of Greenland, of whom probably something was known by

the time that the Wineland sagas were reduced to writing. In so far,

then, as the descriptions of the Skrælings of Wineland are realistic,

and differ materially from anything which can have been derived from

Eskimo sources, these descriptions form probably the most convincing

proof of the historical accuracy of these stories. The inquiry at this

point falls therefore under three heads: possible or probable Eskimo

influences, any traces which may be found of legendary or mythical

influences, and characteristics indisputably Indian.

_Testimony of the Íslendíngabók._

Now first of all it must be stated that we have no evidence of any

meeting between the Norsemen and the Eskimo of Greenland until after

the time of Ari the Learned. And indeed we have some evidence that no

such meeting had up to this time taken place, while it is clear that

the existence of Skrælings in Wineland had at this date been reported.

In a previous chapter (p. 95) I have drawn attention to Ari’s

testimony on the point, but in view of Dr. Nansen’s comments upon it

some further reference must now be made to these matters.

In Ari’s Íslendíngabók, in the passage relating to the colonization of

Greenland (see Appendix and cf. p. 95), it is stated that dwellings

and fragments of canoes had been discovered. And the writer goes on

explicitly: ‘and stone smith-work (weapons) _such_ that from _it_

(steinsmíði þat, es af því) one may understand that there that kind

of folk had passed (farit) who have settled in (bygt) Wineland, and

the Greenlanders call Skrælings.’ One could hardly have a clearer

statement that the deduction as to the former presence of this people

in Greenland was based on such traces as are here mentioned, and on

nothing else. It seems _prima facie_ most improbable that such guarded

terms should be used if the Greenlanders had at this time actually met

the Eskimo, and thus provided themselves with a much more conclusive

proof of their existence. Moreover we have, besides the express terms

used by Ari, the apparently intentional contrast to which I have

alluded elsewhere between the transitory and past movement of the

Eskimo through the one country (farit) and the permanent residence of

the savages in Wineland (bygt). And it would seem a legitimate and

almost irresistible inference to draw from this passage that accounts

of savages with canoes and stone weapons (cf. the ‘hellustein’ which

slew Thorbrand Snorrison in Wineland) were forthcoming at a time

when the Norsemen had no other source but America from which the

existence of such things could be known to them. Dr. Nansen however

concludes that Ari’s silence as to the Eskimo themselves was due to

the fact that ‘they were supernatural beings of whom it was best to

say nothing’.[84] It is rather difficult to see, if this were so, why

Ari should have felt himself at liberty to mention the existence of

these people in Wineland any more than in Greenland, or why he should

have thought it any better to speak of the inferred existence of the

Eskimo than to record their actual occurrence. Further, we may fairly

demand where it is that Dr. Nansen finds in Icelandic literature any

reluctance to mention supernatural beings, where these are believed to

have existed. Altogether it appears to me an understatement of the case

to say that no meeting between the Norsemen and the Eskimo prior to the

date of the Íslendíngabók seems at all probable.

Dr. Nansen, however, writes (vol. ii, p. 77): ‘I am unable to read

Ari’s meaning in this way. He uses the present tense: “calla”, and

what one “calls Skrælings” must presumably be a people one knows, and

not one that one’s ancestors had met with more than a hundred years

ago.’ On this line of reasoning, if I speak of ‘the man whom Carlyle

_calls_ the Sea-Green Incorruptible’, I mean to imply that Robespierre

and Carlyle were contemporaries. Dr. Nansen further refers (loc. cit.)

to the parallel passage in Ari, mentioning the Irish monks in Iceland

‘whom the Norwegians call (calla) Papar’.[85] ‘From these words’, he

says, ‘it might be concluded, with as much justification as from the

statement about the traces of Skrælings, that the newcomers did not

come in contact with the earlier people; but in the latter case this

is incredible, and moreover conflicts with Ari’s own words.’ Let us

examine this statement. In the first place it is clear from Ari’s

statement, ‘they went away afterwards’, that none were left at the time

of writing, yet he still says, in conformity with normal grammatical

usage, that the Norsemen ‘call’, i.e. speak of, them as Papar. It is

obvious, therefore, from the very passage to which Dr. Nansen appeals,

that the use of the present tense does not denote the contemporary

presence of the Irish monks, and it need not therefore indicate in

the other passage the presence of any Skrælings in Ari’s time in the

Greenland colony.

In the second place, whereas in the Skræling passage Ari only mentions

traces from which their former presence could be inferred, he begins

his reference to the ‘Papar’ with the words, ‘_There were then

Christians here_, those whom the Norsemen call “Papar”, but they went

away afterwards ... and left behind’, &c. This passage therefore cannot

be taken as affording any support to Dr. Nansen’s construction of the

statement about the Skrælings.

In another place (vol. ii, p. 16) Dr. Nansen suggests that the mention

of traces of Skræling occupation without recording a meeting with

the men themselves has an uncanny significance, suggesting that the

Skrælings are treated as trolls. It seems more natural on the whole to

construe the passage as meaning what it says—that the traces were there

but not the men.

While on this subject I may as well refer to an inaccuracy which

appears in the note on page 77 of Dr. Nansen’s second volume. He says

there, ‘If it was the tradition of Karlsevne’s encounter with the

Skrælings that was referred to, then of course neither he nor the

greater part of his men were Greenlanders, but Icelanders, so that

it might equally well have been said that the Icelanders called them

Skrælings.’ This is in direct conflict with the statement in the

Saga of Eric the Red, ‘ok váru þar flestir Grœnlendskir menn á’—‘and

the majority of those there on (the expedition) were Greenlanders.’

Of course the real reason why Ari says ‘the Greenlanders call them

Skrælings’ is that he is here citing, as he tells us, a Greenland

source, viz. the information obtained by his uncle, Thorkel Gellison,

in Greenland. The argument, therefore, in Dr. Nansen’s note, like that

of the text, falls to the ground.

_The Skræling Canoes._

Conceding, however, that some knowledge of the Eskimo may have

prevailed at the time when our sagas assumed their present form, though

the ‘King’s Mirror’, composed about the middle of the thirteenth

century, says nothing of these people in its detailed description of

Greenland, the question next arises as to how far the writers can have

been indebted to such knowledge for their realistic descriptions of the

Wineland savages. These Skrælings, as they are called, make their first

appearance in the story during the exploration of Thorvald, as narrated

in the Flatey Book. We are told how three canoes of skin (húðkeipar)

were observed, with three men sleeping beneath each. These canoes

appear to have been so portable that one man, the only survivor of the

ensuing slaughter, was enabled to escape with one. Now here at first

sight we have an Eskimo characteristic, in the fact that the canoes

are said to have been of skin. And indeed it may well be that the word

used is simply the Greenlanders name for a kayak. This, however, is not

certain, for it would need a close inspection of an Indian canoe, with

its sewn ‘skin’ of birch-bark, to enable a people unfamiliar with the

use of this material in boat-building to distinguish between such a

covering and a hide. I prefer not to lay stress, as some have done, on

the fact that some Indian tribes used skin coverings for their canoes,

for the natives of the latitudes with which we are concerned are

represented in the earliest authorities as using birch-bark. Turning,

however, from the name used to the thing described, it is quite clear

that we here have neither kayaks nor umiaks, but Indian canoes. Three

men could not possibly sleep under a kayak, which is a narrow craft

covered in at all points but one, like a Rob Roy canoe or a racing

outrigger. Nor could one man carry off an umiak, which is a large and

clumsy boat, usually manned (if this is not a bull) by women. Both

these forms of Eskimo boat were observed and accurately described in

the contemporary account of Frobisher’s second voyage (1577), given in

Hakluyt,—‘The greater sort—wherein sixteen or twenty men may sit:—the

other boat is but for one man to sit and row in with one oar;’ and

doubtless at a much earlier time the Eskimo constructed their kayaks

and umiaks in practically the same manner as at the present day. But an

Indian canoe exactly and completely fulfils the conditions required in

both respects. It is exceedingly light and portable, yet it may be,

and frequently is, used as a shelter for its occupants. On this last

point one may compare the observation of Jacques Cartier with regard to

a tribe of Indians met with in the course of his explorations. ‘They

have no other dwelling but their boats, which they turn upside down,

and under them they lay themselves all along upon the bare ground.’

(Hakluyt’s translation.) Here, then, we have a feature which, with the

possible exception of the word used for canoe, can only have been drawn

from an actual meeting with the North American Indians, and of which

the historical accuracy is indisputable.

_The Skræling Food._

Another small point accurately observed and almost certainly pointing

to direct contact with the American Indians is to be found in the

passage relating to the sleeping Skrælings discovered and slain by

Karlsefni’s expedition. They had, we are told, cases containing

animal marrow mixed with blood, a description which seems to refer to

something in the nature of pemmican, or the ‘moose-butter’ of which

Denys speaks in his work on Nova Scotia, and Father Leclercq in his

_Relation of Gaspesia_. This was a cake of hard grease extracted from

the bones of the moose, and Denys tells us that ‘it was this which they

(the Indians) used as their entire provision for living when they went

hunting’.

_Personal Appearance._

In the description of the personal appearance of the Skrælings there

is little that is decisive, but much that is circumstantial. One of

the two companion texts describes them as ‘swarthy’, the other as

‘small’. ‘Small’ sounds more like Eskimo than Indian, and may be

a corruption of the original text based on knowledge derived from

Greenland. Ugliness, unkempt hair, and broad cheeks would apply to

many Indian tribes, e.g. Micmacs, as well as to Eskimo. Large eyes

would seem at first sight to apply to neither, and Dr. Nansen therefore

considers it to be a trait showing the introduction of troll ideas.

Yet the eyes of Indians have struck many genuine observers as large;

for example, Lescarbot tells us that these features ‘neantmoins ne

sont petits, comme ceux des anciens Scythes, mais d’une grandeur bien

agréable’. Carver, again (1779), says of the Indians, ‘their eyes

are large and black.’ Verezzano likewise speaks of ‘large black eyes

and a fixed expression’. Another characteristic claimed by Nansen as

evidence of the influence of the troll-idea is the beard which we are

told was possessed by one of the Skrælings discovered in Markland: but

this strikes me as telling rather the other way, for all trolls are

bearded, and the Norsemen were so commonly so as to be known to the

Greenland Eskimo as ‘Long-beards’. The point therefore appears to have

been recorded precisely because of its rarity among the Skrælings,

and, while Indians for the most part take care to remove all hair

from the face and body, the possibility of beards among this people

is recognized by almost all writers on the subject (cf. Lescarbot,

Schoolcraft, Carter, Catlin, &c.). It may be admitted, however, that

the personal appearance of the Skrælings is not a point from which any

very clear inference can be drawn either one way or the other.

_The Waving Staves._

The savages whose appearance is described in these ambiguous terms

made their appearance in canoes on board of which—we are told—certain

objects were waved with a noise like threshing. The word used of these

objects is variously written ‘trjánum’, ‘trjom’, and ‘trjónum’. It has

been usually translated ‘staves’ or ‘poles’, but if ‘trjónum’ be the

correct reading it would seem doubtful whether something more in the

nature of a totem-mask or movable figure-head is not indicated. For

‘trjóna’ means primarily a snout, and then a detachable figure-head;

cf. the interesting passage in Landnáma (IV. 7) referring to an old

law whereby men were enjoined to remove their figure-heads before

approaching Iceland, ‘and not to sail to land with gaping heads or

open-mouthed snouts (trjónum) which might disturb the local spirits’.

It might on the one hand be argued that figure-heads are things more

intimately connected with the idea of boats than staves are, but for

that very reason a copyist would be more likely to convert ‘trjánum’

into ‘trjónum’ in the passage under consideration than to err in the

opposite direction.

Accepting the meaning ‘staves’ or ‘poles’, a recent writer[86] regards

this as proof that the description is drawn from Eskimo, and Dr. Nansen

makes a similar suggestion. To Mr. Gosling it is ‘evident that this is

an attempt to describe the motion of the double-bladed paddle used by

the Eskimos, and it will be seen that an Eskimo, sitting in his kayak,

facing the direction towards which he is paddling, when going east or

north, will appear to wave his paddle contrary to the motion of the

sun in the heavens, but with it when travelling west or south’. I must

confess that this attempt at an explanation is very far from satisfying

me. In the first place it seems to me most unlikely, that the Norsemen

could observe a large number of kayaks on three separate occasions

without understanding that the waving paddle was merely the means of

propulsion. In the next place, though nothing explicit is stated as to

the direction from which the first visitors arrived, the second and

third visits, one peaceable and the other hostile—one therefore in

which the staves moved with the sun and the other in which they moved

against it—both came ‘from the south’, so that the movement of the

paddles would be the same in both cases. Again, a kayak paddle, having

a blade at each end, does not move continuously in one direction, but

from side to side, while, viewed broadside, the motion is that of a

stave rotated forward.

Finally, though perhaps of less importance, it may be pointed out that

on one occasion the language used seems to imply more than one ‘trjóna’

to each boat (var veift á hverju skipi trjánum). Having regard to the

prevalence in America, as in most other countries, of the ceremonial

use of solar and contra-solar motion (cf. Brinton’s _Myths of the New

World_), it seems to me a more probable explanation that we have here

a genuine and interesting use of a sign correctly interpreted by the

Norsemen, which further research into Indian customs and superstitions

might succeed in elucidating. For my part, I am inclined to think that

the ‘trjóna’ was a rattle-stick, such as is used by many Indian tribes.

No other explanation hitherto suggested takes into account the ‘noise

like threshing’ which is a circumstantial part of the description.

Rattles, being normally an accompaniment to dancing, would be likely to

be swung with or against the sun according to the significance of the

ceremony of which they were a part.

With regard to the white and red shields used as answering signals by

the Norsemen, of course there is no need to suppose that the Skrælings

understood them, as Dr. Nansen does, observing that these features

‘have an altogether European effect’. Yet by a curious coincidence

such signs would in fact have probably been intelligible to American

Indians, for it is stated in Wood’s _Natural History of Man_ that, ‘As

among us, white and red are the signs of peace and war, and each leader

carries with him two small flags, one of white bison’s hide and the

other of reddened leather.’ But we may be content to observe that the

Norsemen would be likely to make their customary attempts at signalling

regardless of the fact that their efforts might be unintelligible.[87]

_Trading and Fighting._

The fur-trading of the savages will recall to any student of the

history of exploration numerous parallels in the writing of Jacques

Cartier and others. In particular one may claim as a genuine Indian

characteristic the eager acquisition of red cloth to bind round the

head. Numerous parallels to this may be found in the records of later

explorers; in particular one may cite, from Juet’s description of

Hudson’s third voyage (ed. Hakluyt Society, p. 60), what reads almost

like a free translation of the saga: ‘They brought many beaver skinnes

and other fine furres, which they would have changed for redde gownes.’

It does not appear likely that the seal-clad Eskimo of Greenland, who

seem to have kept out of the way of the Norsemen as much as possible,

could have contributed such a feature to the story. Even more certainly

authentic is the account of the fights with the natives. Eskimo, as

Dr. Nansen points out, were unused to war in Greenland, where indeed

they had no other nation to fight, while of course warfare has always

been a normal part of the Indian’s existence. (It must be conceded,

however, that Frobisher found the American Eskimo distinctly warlike

and pugnacious.) It is clear that the Skrælings were formidable

antagonists, since it was the fear of them which ultimately drove

Karlsefni to withdraw from the country. Of their weapons only one seems

to call for comment, the large ball, resembling a sheep’s paunch and

dark in colour, which was slung from a pole towards Karlsefni’s force,

making a terrible noise where it came down. Dr. Nansen has sought to

parallel this incident from a number of disconnected sources, ranging

from the use of catapults and even gunpowder in European warfare to the

fiery mass thrown with tongs at St. Brendan’s ship by the inhabitants

of the Smith’s Island, and a similar incident in Mælduin’s voyage, and

through these last to the Cyclops in the _Odyssey_.[88] In all these

suggested sources, however, the differences seem quite as striking as

the resemblances. The pole is absent, the resemblance to a sheep’s

paunch seems remote, the missile in the case under consideration

appears to have been neither fiery nor explosive, and altogether it

is difficult to see that the incidents cited have more in common than

the presence of a large and in some cases noisy missile. Bearing

this in mind, let us see whether a resemblance far more striking

is not to be found in a passage which Dr. Nansen passes by with a

half-contemptuous footnote. The passage in question, which is to be

found in Schoolcraft’s _Indian Tribes of the United States_, vol. i, p.

85, appears to me of sufficient importance to be quoted in full.

‘Algonquin tradition affirms that in ancient times, during the

fierce wars which the Indians carried on, they constructed a very

formidable instrument of attack, by sewing up a large boulder in a

new skin. To this a long handle was tied. When the skin dried it

became very tight round the stone, and after being painted with

devices assumed the appearance and character of a solid globe upon

a pole. This formidable instrument, to which the name of ‘balista’

may be applied, is figured (Plate 15, fig. 2) from the description

of an Algonquin chief. It was borne by several warriors who acted

as balisteers. Plunged upon a boat or canoe it was capable of

sinking it. Brought down among a group of men on a sudden it

produced consternation and death.’

With all deference to Dr. Nansen, who regards the resemblance as

‘distant’, it seems to me that here we have the very thing described.

We have first of all a weapon which Schoolcraft thinks of as a

‘balista’, and one which therefore could easily give rise to the

statement that the Skrælings had ‘valslöngur’, i.e. war-slings or

catapults. We have the pole on which it was raised, we have several

men to sling it, we have in particular the resemblance to a sheep’s

paunch accounted for by the fact that it was covered with a stretched

skin. In fact, to reject an explanation of this passage, which fits

every single fact recorded, in favour of a suggested resemblance to

an explosive because it made a noise when falling, or to fiery masses

hurled at a ship because these, too, are large missiles, seems to me

to border on perversity. But the reader will judge for himself whether

it is necessary to impute to the saga writer here any borrowing from

mythical sources, or whether the description of this weapon is not in

itself a very strong instance of the substantial historical accuracy of

the story.

Mr. Babcock, indeed,[89] seems to me to have been unnecessarily puzzled

by this weapon. He seems to regard the thing described by Schoolcraft

as a ‘club’, whereas that author, by conferring on the implement the

name ‘balista’, distinctly suggests that the stone was discharged as

a missile. He also searches, not very conclusively, for evidence that

the Indians in these latitudes used slings; but it is pretty clear that

the remark about ‘valslöngur’ (war-slings) has reference exclusively to

this weapon, the description of which immediately follows. So at any

rate I read the passage (q. v., page 62).

Of the Skrælings, then, who are said to have been seen in Wineland, we

may say that the description contains practically no statement which

might not be truly made of American Indians. It contains, moreover,

points, such as the canoes under which three men slept and the balista

above referred to, which can hardly be due to any other source but

direct observation of the American natives. Possibly derived from a

knowledge of the Greenland Eskimo comes the word ‘húðkeipur’, used for

a canoe, and, as some have thought, the incident of the waving poles

on the boats, though the latter strikes me as a quite unjustifiable

inference. The description of the personal appearance of the natives

will suit either Eskimo or Indian. On the whole, however, we may say

with confidence that we have here a description of savages so realistic

as to point to direct and careful observation. In support of Dr.

Nansen’s claim that the tale is mainly a potpourri of borrowed folklore

we have really nothing but the double who appeared to Gudrid in the

Flatey Book version, the belated warning of the Skræling attack which

came to Thorvald, and the uniped which in one version is said to have

caused the death of this son of Eric the Red. Of these three incidents

two are typically Scandinavian and no more than we must expect in the

reports of an unscientific age. Did not even Hudson have his mermaid?

The uniped incident shows traces of importation from some separate and

later legend, e.g. the dying speech of Thorvald is clearly plagiarized

from that of Thormod Kolbrunarskald at Stiklestad. And the story, as

I have endeavoured to show, can quite well do without it. When these

fabulous elements are admitted we may still ask in vain for a single

clear instance of the adoption or adaptation of Celtic legend with its

continuous insistence on the supernatural; of the source, that is,

which Dr. Nansen claims as the chief contributor to the saga as we have

it.

_The Markland Skrælings._

There remains to be considered the episode of the savages captured in

Markland on the return voyage. With the circumstance that one of the

Skrælings captured on this occasion is said to have been bearded I

have dealt already. The statement that those who escaped disappeared

into the ground appears to me to mean no more than that, like good

stalkers, they contrived to take cover and creep away unseen. There

is therefore no clearer evidence of legendary influence in this case

than in the rest of the story. The rest of what is reported is hearsay

derived from the captives themselves, after they had—possibly not

very effectually—been taught to speak Icelandic. I therefore agree

with Dr. Nansen that it is hopeless to attempt, as some have done

(notably Mr. Thalbitzer, 1905 and 1913), to trace the nationality of

these savages from the words preserved, Vætilldi, Uvægi, Avalldamon,

Valldidida.[90] The explorers of a later age were not very happy in

their transliteration of native words, and we cannot imagine that these

names were handed down through a period of oral transmission without a

fatal amount of transformation. That the rest of what is reported is

inaccurate in most particulars is no more than we should expect under

the circumstances.

_Hvítramannaland._

One statement, however, in this passage, to which most commentators

have devoted an abnormal amount of attention, merely purports to be

a conjecture on the part of those who heard the story, and does not

involve any necessary inaccuracy in the reported utterance of the

captives. I refer to the allusion to Hvítramannaland (White Man’s

Country) or Ireland the Great. The existence or non-existence of such

a place as this, while it has exercised the ingenuity of almost all

writers on the present subject, has really nothing to do with the

authenticity of the Wineland stories. All that appears from the passage

is that certain persons, on hearing an account of an adjacent land

supposed to have been described by these Skræling children, jumped to

the conclusion that Hvítramannaland was the place described, and the

non-existence of such a country would merely prove that these persons

were wrong in their conjecture, not that the story itself was unworthy

of credence. What the savages may have been struggling to explain I

will suggest later. Here, the point having been made that it is quite

irrelevant, it may be interesting to follow the allusion a little

farther.

What was apparently in the minds of those who made the conjecture

referred to was a passage in Landnáma (i. 22) which tells how one Ari

Marsson was driven by storms to ‘Hvítramannaland, which some call

Ireland the Great; it lies westward in the ocean near Wineland the

Good: it is called six days’ (dægra) sail west from Ireland: Ari did

not succeed in getting away from thence, and he was baptized there.

This story was first told by Rafn the Limerick-farer, who had been long

at Limerick in Ireland. Thorkel Gellison (uncle of Ari the Learned)

stated that Icelanders say, who had heard it from (Earl) Thorfin in the

Orkneys, that Ari had been recognized in Hvítramannaland, and did not

succeed in getting away from it, but was held in great honour there.’

In the Eyrbyggja Saga a similar story is told, though the name of the

strange country is omitted, of one Björn Asbrandsson, who was cast in

the same way upon a land to the south-west of Ireland, where he was

subsequently recognized by an Icelander named Gudleif Gudlaugson. This

story does not appear to me sufficiently relevant to the subject in

hand to warrant more detailed notice, though the curious will find

ample mention of it in other works on the Wineland question.

Apart from the irrelevance of these stories, those familiar with

the laws of evidence will doubtless agree that lands where a hero

is said to have made his final disappearance, reported as they must

necessarily be on hearsay testimony, are on a very different footing

from countries whose explorers returned to describe them in person.

The only value—either one way or the other—of this passage from

Landnáma lies in the mention of Wineland the Good as a place known and

acknowledged to exist at a period long antecedent to the date of any

extant manuscript of these voyages. The proximity of Hvítramannaland

to Wineland is presumably a conjecture by the authors of Landnáma,

who would naturally tend to connect with one another any unknown lands

reported in a westerly direction. It seems to me highly improbable that

Wineland found any mention in the original story told by Rafn from

Limerick. At any rate, no one can be justified in basing an argument on

the assumption that it did, as does Dr. Nansen,[91] when he says, in

support of his argument that the Celtic imagination has played a large

part in corrupting the traditions of Wineland, ‘Ravn must have heard of

both Hvítramannaland and Wineland in Ireland, since otherwise he could

not have known that one lay near the other.’

Anyhow, if Hvítramannaland was but six ‘dægra’ sail from Ireland it

cannot really have been anywhere near Wineland, assuming the latter

to be in America. If we follow the Eyrbyggja Saga in placing it to

the south-west rather than the west of Ireland the distance is more

suggestive of the Azores. Storm, however, is of opinion that the

stories of Ari Marsson and Björn Asbrandsson are a perversion of Irish

legends of the Christian occupation of Iceland, which a knowledge

of the position and characteristics of that island had shifted to a

different locality, retaining the distance (six ‘dægra’ sail) which, in

the form ‘sex dierum navigatione’, is recorded by Pliny and adopted by

Bede and Dicuil with reference to Thule. There seems much to be said

for such a view, particularly as ‘Ireland the Great’ seems intended to

convey the idea of an Irish colony (cf. Magna Græcia, &c.), and, if so,

Hvítramannaland must be regarded as a mythical region.

It by no means follows, however, that the statements attributed to

the captive Skrælings must be placed in the same category. Whatever

these statements may have conveyed to a Scandinavian audience, either

contemporary or subsequent, there seems no reason for us to read

into the description a procession of Christian priests, as so many

commentators seem to have agreed in doing.

Of course such statements as these, even when the captives had been

‘taught speech’, would be very liable to misinterpretation. It is not

difficult, among the well-authenticated voyages of a later period,

to find instances of native reports which were understood to convey

notions the possibility of which must have originated in the mind of

the questioner. Thus we find in the explorations of Jacques Cartier

such passages as the following: ‘Donnacona had told us that he had been

in the country of Saguenay, in which are infinite Rubies, Gold, and

other riches, _and that there are white men, who clothe themselves with

woollen cloth, even as we do in France_.’ Misunderstanding of answers

to questions based on preconceived ideas may thus account for much,

but, farther than this, accounts in themselves accurate may easily

become coloured by a false association of ideas as the tradition passes

from mouth to mouth. Thus in the present case it may well be that those

who gave us the saga in its present form understood the statements of

the Skrælings to imply the existence of some such Christian community

as later commentators have imagined. But the statements themselves

are capable of an explanation more consonant with fact. The dressed

deerskin of the Indians, before being treated with smoke, is as white

as a kid glove, and robes of this unsmoked material are not uncommon,

particularly if intended for ceremonial use. I have myself seen coats

of the Indians of Labrador decorated with a few unimportant lines and

patterns in red paint which would have led me to say with perfect

truthfulness of the wearer that he ‘wore white clothes’. As for the

‘uttering of loud cries’, this is a trait far more easily reconciled

with the idea of an Indian than a Christian ceremony. What is described

as an ‘Indian Flag’, adorned it is true with feathers in place of

bunting, is figured in Schoolcraft’s book at Plate 13 of vol. iii, and

it is difficult to think how else any one could describe it, while

other instances of poles and flags will occur to the reader of almost

any work on the North American Indians.

On the whole there seems no very violent improbability in thinking that

some Indian ceremony on the mainland might be referred to in some such

language as is here attributed to the Skræling prisoners.

It will be convenient, before closing this chapter, to sum up the

conclusions at which we have arrived.

1. At the time when savages, using stone implements and canoes, had

been described and reported in Iceland, no meeting with the Greenland

Eskimo had taken place.

2. There was at the time no other source from which descriptions of

savages could be realistically drawn, unless the Norsemen had found

them in America.

3. The description of the personal appearance of the Skrælings

is neutral—it will suit either Indian or Eskimo very well; it is

manifestly an accurate picture of some sort of savage.

4. The canoes described resemble Indian canoes, except for the name

(húdkeipar), ‘skin-canoes’. This point, however, can be explained,

either by supposing a natural misconception as to the material used, or

by taking the word employed to be that which the kayaks of Eskimo in

Greenland, by the time the sagas were written, had brought into use as

the natural word for any form of canoe.

5. The trading with furs for red cloth, the beast’s marrow mixed

with blood, the sleeping under canoes, the yelling and fighting, are

markedly Indian characteristics.

6. An Indian weapon in use in former times has been independently

described by Schoolcraft, which exactly resembles something described

in the saga.

7. The people described display terror at unfamiliar sights and sounds,

e.g. a domesticated bull; they are unacquainted with civilized weapons;

they are unsophisticated but vindictive. All these are genuine savage

characteristics, some of them specially appropriate to Indians.

8. The waving poles cannot be satisfactorily explained as kayak

paddles, and any attempt made to identify the words ascribed to the

Skræling captives as Eskimo, after they had been transcribed by several

generations of copyists, must necessarily be very inconclusive.

9. The ‘Hvítramannaland’ passage can be interpreted in a sense

consistent with Indian customs, though any alleged statements by the

savages must be regarded as most untrustworthy and extremely liable to

misinterpretation.

10. The descriptions are accurate and life-like, and show no clear

traces of features borrowed from Celtic or other romantic sources.

On the whole, then, we may assert confidently that the sagas contain

accurate descriptions of American Indians, and that these, made at a

time when savages were otherwise unknown to the Norsemen, constitute an

unimpeachable confirmation of the essential historic accuracy of the

story.

V. THE ‘DÆGR’ AND ‘EYKTARSTAD’ QUESTIONS

Before passing on to examine the voyages themselves, with a view to

identifying so far as possible the territory explored, it is advisable

to clear the way by the discussion of two questions, the first of which

provides by its solution an approximate standard for the measurement of

certain distances recorded, while the second provides a rough northerly

limit to the possible situation of Wineland. The two questions are not

in any way connected, except as being preliminaries to any trustworthy

inquiry: as such they may conveniently be dealt with in one chapter,

which may be skipped by the unscientifically inclined.

‘_Dægr sigling_’.

In the early days with which the present volume is concerned, the

only method of measuring distances at sea was necessarily by time. No

astronomical observations capable of giving results even approximately

exact can then have been understood, and it is a curious fact in

the history of navigation that even the simplest form of log for

calculating the rate of progress was not introduced until comparatively

modern times. The most natural method of measuring nautical distances

in these circumstances would be by means of units corresponding to the

usual divisions of time. We should therefore expect to find one unit

representing an hour’s sail, another representing a voyage of twelve

hours, and for use over long tracts of open sea possibly a unit based

on the average progress during a period of twenty-four hours.

Now the standards of nautical measurement found actually to have been

used by the Icelanders are primarily two—the ‘vika’, and the ‘tylft’

or dozen, which, as its name implies, represented twelve of the

first-named units. It will be found useful for the present inquiry

to establish first of all, with as much certainty as possible, the

distances represented by the ‘vika’ and the ‘tylft’.

In a fifteenth-century manuscript incorporated in the collection of

scientific treatises known as _Rímbegla_ the following passage is to

be found (p. 482): ‘Between Bergen and Nidaros (Trondhjem) there are

about four degrees, so one degree comes to about a nautical “tylft”.’

Pausing here, we may observe that the voyage from Bergen to Trondhjem

was evidently recognized to be four nautical ‘tylfts’. The passage

continues: ‘now a degree on land and a “tylft” at sea are equal, and

there are two “tylfts” in a day’s (dægur) sailing.’ To the expression

used for a day’s sailing attention will have to be directed later on,

but for the present it may be allowed to stand in the non-controversial

form into which it is translated above. Taken as an accurate statement

of the case, this quotation from _Rímbegla_ has given us the following

table:

1 vika = 5 nautical miles.

1 tylft = 1 degree (60 nautical miles).

2 tylfts = 1 day’s sail (120 nautical miles).

Now if a day’s sail be taken here as equivalent to twenty-four hours,

we have precisely the divisions of distance which, as I said at the

outset, we ought to expect where the measurement is effected by time.

A ‘vika’ represents an hour’s run, a ‘tylft’ twelve hours, and a day’s

sail twenty-four hours. Whether, the geographical distances which they

are alleged to represent have been correctly stated is another matter,

into which we may now look a little more closely.

It is evident that the assumed correspondence between a ‘tylft’ and

a degree, which, having regard to the state of navigation in the

saga period, must in any case have been accidental, rests upon the

hypothesis that the length of a voyage from Bergen to Trondhjem is

four degrees or 240 nautical miles. The difference of latitude between

the two places is in fact little more than three degrees, and even

the rhumb-line connecting Bergen and Trondhjem is not 240 nautical

miles in length; this error, however, need not necessarily have any

effect on the author’s calculation. But on working out the shortest

distance covered by a ship sailing from the one place to the other,

it is apparent that in calling this distance four degrees a serious

under-statement is made which vitiates the conclusion arrived at.

This distance as sailed at the present day is said to be 318 nautical

miles, and calculation or inspection of a chart will show that it is

impossible to bring it much below 300, so that if this represents four

‘tylfts’, calculated by time, as it probably did, our table must be

revised as follows:

1 vika = 6·25 miles.

1 tylft = 75 miles.

1 day’s sail = 150 miles.

This estimate is corroborated to some extent by the scale of Icelandic

sea-miles (vikur) given in Troil’s _Letters on Iceland_ (1780), where

they are represented as nine to a degree or equal to 6⅔ miles each.

Exact correspondence is of course not to be expected in standards of

measurement arrived at by so rough a method as the time occupied on an

average voyage.

Another ‘tylft’ capable of measurement is that given in the Greenland

sailing directions attributed to Ivar Bardson. Here the distance so

described is that between Reykjanes (lat. 63° 24′ N., long. 22° 40′

W.) and Snæfellsnes (lat. 64° 55′ 30″ N., long. 23° 59′ 40″ W.).

Calculation gives the length of a rhumb-line between the two points as

73.54 miles, according to which a ‘vika’ would be about 6.12 miles,

which once more justifies the assumption that something over six rather

than five miles must be the correct measurement of this unit.

If the line of reasoning has been correct so far, it follows that

the average rate of speed on an Icelandic voyage under favourable

conditions would be something over six knots. The next thing to

ascertain is the highest speed possible under exceptionally favourable

circumstances. Fortunately this point is also capable of determination.

It is unnecessary, and probably misleading, to enter, as Mr. Babcock

does, into calculations based on the speed of modern ships. In the saga

of Olaf the Saint (see this saga in _Heimskringla_, §125), one Thorar

Nefjolfson accomplished what was evidently regarded as a remarkable

feat by sailing from Norway (Moeri) to Eyrarbakki in Iceland in the

space of four days and four nights. There is in this case no ambiguity

about the meaning of eight ‘dægra’, the period recorded, for Thorar

himself refers to the fact that four nights previously he was with

the King in Norway. The starting-point may safely be taken as Stad,

which lay in the Söndmöre district, since we know from other sources

that it was the usual place of departure for Iceland, as indeed its

geographical position at the extremity of the westerly trend of the

coast-line from Trondhjem would render inherently probable. The

geographical position of Stad is 62° 11′ N., 5° 8′ E. The distance to

Eyrarbakki (63° 51′ 45″ N., 21° 7′ W.) round the most southern point of

Iceland (63° 23′ 45″ N., 19° 5′ 5″ W.) comes in round figures to about

730 nautical miles. This would represent a rate of about 7·6 knots,

and though this is probably too little, as the course can hardly have

been so direct and we know neither the precise place of departure nor

the exact times of start and finish, we shall be safe in assuming that

anything appreciably over eight knots was beyond the extreme powers of

an Icelandic vessel.

According to our calculations, then, the average distance covered in

twelve hours with a fair breeze would be about seventy-five miles, and

having obtained these important data we may now proceed to consider

more particularly the unit of distance uniformly employed in the story

of Wineland, namely the ‘dægr sigling’ or day’s sail.

In its strictly scientific signification there can be no doubt that a

‘dægr’ is a period of twelve hours. The _Rímbegla_ (not the treatise

already cited, but another incorporated in the same collection) is

explicit upon the point. ‘In a day there are two “dægra”, in a “dægr”

twelve hours’ (p. 6). In nautical phraseology, in which the word most

commonly occurs, it cannot be denied that it is sometimes used with

the same meaning. The passage already quoted, recording the voyage of

Thorar Nefjolfson, is a case in point. On the other hand, the statement

of the _Rímbegla_ treatise already cited, that there are ‘two tylfts in

a “dægur” sailing’, must clearly be interpreted as meaning twenty-four

hours, since even 120 nautical miles could not be covered in twelve

hours at what we have found to be the extreme speed of an Icelandic

sailing ship, and we should always hesitate to assume the identity of

local or technical usage with accurate scientific terminology.

One might, for example, be led seriously astray by taking the length

of a mile from a geographical textbook and applying it under all

circumstances to any distance called by the same name.

The author of the last-mentioned passage in the _Rímbegla_ seems indeed

to use ‘dægr’ and ‘dag’ interchangeably, for he goes on to say that

ninety degrees of the earth’s circumference would take forty-five ‘dag

siglingar’, and the complete circumnavigation of the globe would occupy

180 ‘dag siglingar’. If this passage stood alone it would doubtless

be possible to explain the first ‘dægr’ as a mere verbal slip; it

is accordingly necessary to examine the matter from a different

standpoint, and to investigate the distances said to be covered by a

given number of ‘dægra sigling’.

A convenient passage for this purpose occurs in Landnáma I, 1. The

writer is evidently endeavouring to fix the position of Iceland by

reference to well-known points on all sides of it. With this object he

makes the following statement:

‘Wise men say that from Norway from Stad it is seven “dægra” sail

west to Horn on the east of Iceland; but from Snaefellsnes where

the distance is shortest, there are four “dægra” of sea to Hvarf

in Greenland[92].... From Reykjanes in the south of Iceland there

are five “dægra” of sea to Jolduhlaup in Ireland, to the south,

while from Langanes in the north of Iceland there are four “dægra”

of sea to Svalbarda in the Polar Sea (Hafsbotn) and it is a “dægr”

sail to the uninhabited parts of Greenland from Kolbein’s island

(Mevenklint) north.’

Let us examine these statements seriatim.

Horn in the east of Iceland may either mean the modern Cape Horn, the

most easterly point of the country, or more probably East Horn a little

further to the south-west. My reason for preferring the latter place

is that it appears to have been the most easterly Horn known as such

to the authors of Landnáma. It is referred to shortly afterwards in

describing the discovery of the land by Gardar, and was evidently not

the most easterly point of the country, for Gardar is said to have

arrived to the east of it. The position of the most easterly part of

Cape Horn is 65° 5′ N., 13° 27′ 45″ W.; that of East Horn is 64° 20′

N., 14° 25′ W. The distances from Stad to these two places respectively

are 524·67 and 543·46 miles. In this case, therefore, it is clear that

seven periods of twelve hours are meant, and the distance covered in

each ‘dægr’ corresponds closely with the average ‘tylft’ at which we

have already arrived, being from 74·9 to 77½ miles according to the

objective chosen. It is clear from this that we are here dealing with

averages, and not, as Storm suggests, with records, for the rate is

but 6·4 knots at the outside, which apart from what we know of Thorar

Nefjolfson’s voyage is obviously nothing extraordinary, while the

journey between these two points must in all probability have been

traversed more frequently than any of the others here referred to.

Hvarf (turning-point) in Greenland was either Cape Farewell or one of

the promontories such as Sermesok lying immediately to the north-west

of it, and for our present purpose it will be fair enough to calculate

the distance to Cape Farewell.

This works out at about 631 miles in a direct line, and it is at once

evident that four periods of twelve hours are quite insufficient to

cover the voyage. On the other hand, four days of twenty-four hours

suit remarkably well, the rate being about 6½ knots.

Let me now deal with one or two possible objections. First it may be

urged that the version of the passage which specifies Hvarf as the

objective may be wrong, and that the coast of Greenland immediately

west of Snæfellsnes is the point of measurement. The words ‘west

to Greenland’, which take the place of any mention of Hvarf in the

alternative reading, may seem to bear out this view, but a glance at

the chart will show that all the courses laid down must be interpreted

with considerable freedom, and that Hvarf answers as closely to west of

Iceland as, say, Ireland to south of Reykjanes. The real answers to the

objection, however, are first that no one can ever have completed an

uninterrupted voyage to a point in Greenland due west of Snæfellsnes,

having regard to the ice barrier which at this point intervenes between

the coast and the open sea; and next that the distance to Greenland due

west of Snæfellsnes, about sixteen degrees of longitude, is at least

400 miles, and is therefore an equally impossible distance to cover in

forty-eight hours sailing. Finally, it is surely more probable that

a point regularly passed on the voyage between Iceland and Greenland

should be chosen for measurement than an undefined locality in an

unexplored region hundreds of miles out of the track of practical

navigation. The next objection will possibly be that I have measured

the distance on the rhumb-line, whereas it appears from the old

sailing directions that this was by no means the usual course adopted.

The course laid down in the directions attributed to Ivar Bardson

appears to lie west for a day and a night and then in a south-westerly

direction parallel to the belt of ice. Now first of all it must be

remembered that a rhumb-line course is not actually the shortest,

and if a day and a night due west be laid down on the chart and the

remainder of the distance be calculated from say longitude 29·45 W.,

the resulting distance will not be very materially increased, but will

come to somewhere about 645 miles, which can still be covered in four

days, at a rate of about 6·7 knots. In point of fact probably all the

courses with which I am dealing would in practice be longer than I have

estimated them, and the average rate which I have deduced from them

should be slightly increased, while the same does not apply to the rate

of eight knots which I have taken as the maximum, since in this case a

liberal allowance for deviation has already been made. If it be said

that my maximum and average rates are in such circumstances brought

rather close together, I reply that in fact a gale does not bring with

it a very great advantage in speed over a fair sailing breeze, as the

effect of the sea raised is to neutralize much of the gain which might

otherwise be anticipated. If the distance actually travelled between

Snæfellsnes and Hvarf be increased even to 700 miles, the rate is not

much over seven knots, or well within the limits assigned. For these

reasons the distance given in Landnáma between the two points seems

to me to be a correct statement, but ‘dægra sigling’ must here be

interpreted as days of twenty-four hours.

Similarly in the case of the voyage from Reykjanes to Jolduhlaup in

Ireland. This cannot by any means be brought within the space of five

‘dægra’ of twelve hours each. Approximately the nearest points in

Ireland may be taken as about 688 miles distant. Malin Head in the

north and Erris Head in the west of Ireland are almost equidistant

from Reykjanes, the former being some 685, the latter 690 miles from

the starting-point. There is no real reason to suppose that any point

in Ireland so near to Iceland is the true position of Jolduhlaup. It

is evident on the other hand that a very few more miles will make the

distance recorded perfectly consistent with five days of twenty-four

hours. If we bring our ship into Sligo Bay the distance will be 718·6

miles, or ten ‘tylfts’ of 71·8. This would be perfectly consistent with

the standards of distance already considered, but of course Jolduhlaup

may easily have lain even farther away than this from Reykjanes. The

name is generally taken to mean ‘wave-run’, and is sometimes spelt

Olduhlaup. Joyce[93] attributes a Scandinavian origin to the name of

Olderfleet close to Larne Harbour, and as ‘hlaup’ and ‘fljót’ are both

common terminations meaning ‘stream’, this word in an Icelandic form

(Oldufljót) would be practically identical with Olduhlaup. The author

above quoted says that the first part of Olderfleet is a Scandinavian

corruption of Ollorbha, the Celtic name of Larne water, but whether the

true derivation be from this word or ‘oldu’ a wave is a question which

applies equally to Olderfleet and Jolduhlaup and affords no ground of

distinction between them. As far as names are concerned the two may

well be identical. Larne would be the first important harbour after

entering the North Channel between Scotland and Ireland, and may well

have been chosen therefore as a well-known point for the measurements

in Landnáma. From Reykjanes to Rathlin Island off the entrance of

the North Channel is about 713 miles, thence to Larne would be about

thirty-seven more, making a distance, if there be anything in this

conjecture, of some 750 miles to be covered in the five ‘dægra’—ten

‘tylfts’ of seventy-five miles, which corresponds exactly with our

amended table.

It has been objected that some of the MSS. do not read ‘five dægra’;

this is true, but the alternative (three dægra) does not help those who

contend for a twelve hours ‘dægr’, while even if we adopt the arbitrary

emendation of the version printed at Skalholt in 1688 and read ‘eight

dægra’, the rate of travel, even to the nearest point, would be too

rapid to be normal. We have therefore once more a statement remarkably

consistent with our data if we interpret a ‘dægr’ as twenty-four hours,

and wholly impossible if a ‘dægr’ must universally be considered as

only twelve.

In estimating the distance from Langanes to Svalbarda we are confronted

with the difficulty that we do not know where the latter place can

have been. I am content, however, to admit that in this case a dægr of

twelve hours seems to be indicated. Four times twenty-four hours would

penetrate too far into the Arctic regions to be at all probable, while

Jan Mayen seems best to fulfil the conditions of a spot to the north of

Langanes, situated in the Polar Sea.

From the point of Langanes to the southern extremity of Jan Mayen is

about 296 miles, or ‘tylfts’ of 74 miles, the route in summer would at

this point normally be clear of ice, and altogether it seems probable

that Jan Mayen rather than Spitzbergen, as sometimes suggested (840

miles away), is the place described as Svalbarda.

The last distance recorded is from Kolbein’s Island (Mevenklint) to

the uninhabited coast of Greenland lying to the north. The position of

Mevenklint is in lat. 67° 10′ N., long. 18° 30′ W., and the nearest

point on the Greenland coast would be about lat. 69° 40′ N., long. 22°

48′ W. The distance would therefore be 177·45 nautical miles, and so it

is evident that it could not be covered by a voyage of twelve hours. In

twenty-four hours, however, under exceptionally favourable conditions,

the whole distance could be traversed, and in any case in that period

of time a ship would be likely to have got as close to the land as the

ice would permit. It is not likely that this particular voyage, which

is not included in all the texts of Landnáma, was sufficiently often

accomplished to enable a fair average to be taken; the allusion is more

probably to a special case within the knowledge of the authors, which

would in all likelihood have taken place on an exceptionally favourable

opportunity.

Now the conclusions to which we are forced by the consideration of all

these distances recorded in Landnáma are as follows:

1. Only two out of the five voyages are at all compatible with a ‘dægr

sigling’ of twelve hours.

2. These two appear to be very accurately recorded, which raises a

presumption in favour of the correctness of the other data. In the

voyage from Stad to C. Horn we have exactly seven ‘tylfts’ of 74·9

miles to cover in seven dægra, in that from Langanes to Svalbarda (if

Jan Mayen is meant) four ‘tylfts’ of seventy-four miles each in four

dægra.

3. Either the remaining three are hopelessly inaccurate, or a ‘dægr

sigling’ in these cases means twenty-four hours.

4. If they are inaccurate, it is a most remarkable coincidence that

they can all be made accurate by adopting the basis of twenty-four

hours.

Thus, taking the average of seventy-five miles in twelve hours at which

we had previously arrived:

The distance from Stad to C. Horn would take 6·9 or practically seven

days of twelve hours (given as seven dægra).

If the alternative Horn be taken the voyage would occupy 7·1 days.

From Snæfellsnes to Hvarf would be 4·1 days of twenty-four hours (given

as four dægra).

In sailing from Reykjanes to any part of Ireland one could not arrive

before the fifth day of twenty-four hours was well advanced, and it

would be easy to find a point which would occupy exactly the time

prescribed. From Langanes to Jan Mayen the distance is correct within

eight miles, which may easily be accounted for by slight differences in

the points of arrival or departure.

From Mevenklint to Greenland would occupy 1·16 days of twenty-four

hours.

Thus the discrepancies are so slight that even if the rate had to be

limited to this average, the statements would be as correct as so vague

a unit as a day’s journey would permit, and of course the variation in

speed must have been greatly in excess of anything required absolutely

to justify these estimates in the smallest detail.

That in the case of three out of five statements such a correspondence

should be fortuitous seems to me to be out of the question.

It will doubtless be objected that I am not justified in interpreting

the same word in the same passage by two different periods of time.

The compilers of the Landnámabók, however, expressly disclaim

personal responsibility for the statistics recorded. They are based

on the reports of ‘vitrir menn’, men that is with the requisite

special knowledge, and once it is admitted that the meaning of the

expression ‘dægr’ may have varied from place to place, there is nothing

extraordinary in a discrepancy of this nature being exemplified in a

passage based on information gathered from different informants in the

east and west of Iceland.

It is comparatively easy to see how such a discrepancy in nautical

use may have arisen. Evidently ‘dægr sigling’ was the usual nautical

expression for a day’s sail. This is shown not only by the fact that

it is nearly always in a nautical context that the word ‘dægr’ makes

its appearance, but also by the opening sentence of the Landnámabók’s

preface, which renders Bede’s words ‘sex dierum navigatione’ by ‘sex

dægra sigling’ as the obvious equivalent. Now of course until the

exodus brought about in Scandinavia by the policy of Harold Haarfagre,

the vast majority of the voyages undertaken by Norsemen were along the

coast of Norway and the adjacent countries, and were carried on almost

entirely by day, the ships putting into a convenient haven almost

every night. The coast of Norway, before the days of lighthouses,

cannot have been a pleasant place to navigate in the dark, and in

fact we almost always find it recorded, as an exceptional occurrence,

when any motive induced the seamen of this period to sail day and

night without stopping. A day’s journey in a ship would therefore in

the normal course be equivalent to the distance covered in a ‘dægr’

of twelve hours, and thus the application of this word to a nautical

day’s journey doubtless began. Then, when colonial expansion and viking

enterprises made continuous open-sea voyages more common, two courses

would be open to those who wished to record the distance travelled.

They might take the nautical expression ‘dægr’ as referring to the

twelve hours actually occupied in sailing under old conditions, or

they might take it as extending to the period during which the ships

of less venturous seamen had usually lain at anchor. A man who had

taken—say—four ‘dægra’ to sail between two points, stopping at night,

would actually have travelled but forty-eight hours, but the time

occupied from point to point would have been four days of twenty-four

hours. According to the aspect of the question which struck a sailor

accustomed to this method of reckoning he would be likely to call a

continuous voyage of four days either four or eight ‘dægra’. Thus a

variety in local usage might quite naturally spring up which would

account for the discrepancy which has given rise to the difficulties

with which I have been endeavouring to deal.

Of course it is but seldom in passages where this expression is used

that we have any data at all to enable us to say which meaning should

be attached to the word. In the sagas of Wineland the word ‘dægr’

occurs perhaps with unusual frequency, and to my mind every passage

where it is there employed might be prayed in aid of the argument that

a ‘dægr sigling’ was frequently twenty-four hours. But to use these

passages at this stage would be to argue in a circle, and we must be

content to rest the assumption that the word was so used on the data

of which use has been made in the foregoing argument, reserving to

ourselves the right in subsequent investigation of the voyages to

accept what is there stated with regard to distances sailed, even

though on the hypothesis that a ‘dægr’ can only mean twelve hours the

statements made are clearly incredible.

_The ‘eyktarstad’ problem._

In the account of Leif’s sojourn in Wineland, contained in the Flatey

Book, will be found a passage which has given rise to more acute

controversy than any other in the story. It runs as follows:

‘Sol hafðe þar eyktarstad ok dagmálastad um skamdegi’—the sun had

there eykt place and breakfast place on the shortest day, or, as

rendered in our translation, p. 42, ‘on the shortest day the sun

was up over the (Icelandic) marks for both nones and breakfast

time’.

Now one may note in passing that, whatever the significance of the

words, they are evidently not the sort of thing which a romanticizing

saga-writer would introduce from his own imagination. This is admitted

by the most adverse critics of the authority which reproduces them.

In view of the attitude taken up by some modern writers, it is

important to point out their entire independence of anything to be

extracted from the rival version. They go far to disprove, if disproof

be necessary, the theory that the Flatey Book account is borrowed from

the Saga of Eric the Red.

But at this point in the inquiry we are less concerned with this than

with the precise significance of the expression used, and though the

question has finally been solved, and nothing new can be added, it is

necessary, for the sake of readers unfamiliar with the subject, to

devote some space to the matter.

The Icelanders, possessing no clocks or scientifically constructed

dials, were in the habit of estimating the time of day by the position

of the sun above the horizon. With this object they marked eight

points upon the horizon, utilizing hills and natural objects where

such were conveniently situated, and erecting cairns in places which

were otherwise undistinguished. This method of time-keeping, crude as

it was, persisted down to very recent times, if indeed it is not still

in use in some parts of the country. Henderson, who visited Iceland in

1814–15, describes the method in some detail (_Iceland_, vol. i, p.

186), and gives the names and time-equivalents of the various points as

follows:—

1. Midnaetti. About 11 p.m.

2. Otta. ” 2 a.m.

3. Midur-morgun

(or Hirdis-rismal). ” 5 a.m.

4. Dagmal. ” 8 a.m.

5. Hádegi. ” 11 a.m.

6. Nón. ” 2 p.m.

7. Midur Aptan. ” 5 p.m.

8. Nattmal. ” 8 p.m.

In an earlier work,[94] the same divisions of time are mentioned, but

with some difference in the equivalents, thus:—‘Otta is with them three

o’clock in the morning; Midur morgon or Herdis rismal, five o’clock;

Dagmal, half past eight; Haadege, eleven; Nonn, three in the afternoon;

Midur afton, six in the morning (sic: obviously should be ‘afternoon’);

nattmal, eight, and midnatt twelve o’clock at night.’ A little thought

will make apparent the reasons for these discrepancies in time, for

not only is the method exceedingly rough, but of course the horizontal

bearing or azimuth of the sun at a particular time is not the same

throughout the year, and it also varies with the latitude. For example,

taking the latitude of Iceland as 65°, and the obliquity of the

ecliptic in A.D. 1000 as 23° 34′, which is substantially accurate, and

calculating the sun’s bearing at three o’clock p.m. throughout the

year, we get:—

Midsummer: S. 57° 9′ W.

Equinox: S. 47° 49′ W.

Midwinter: S. 40° 36′ W. (not visible)

while on shifting the latitude to 51° 30′ (about that of London) we

get a bearing of 68° 17′ for 3 p.m. at midsummer.

It appears, however, from the fact that one of the eight points was

midnight, and another ‘hádegi’ (high day or noon), that the scheme

would aim at dividing the equinoctial day into three-hour intervals.

Dagmál would then be about 9 a.m. and Nón 3 p.m. The latter word

originally meant the ecclesiastical ‘nones’ (3 p.m.) and in old

Icelandic ‘eykt’ is used as synonymous with ‘nones’.

In the Icelandic Ecclesiastical Code, or Kristinret, instructions are

given for the correct location of the mark for ‘eykt’. ‘It is eykt’,

says the law, ‘when the south-west airt is divided into three, and

the sun has passed two divisions and has one to go.’ This gives us

a bearing of S. 52° 30′ W. for ‘eykt’ or nones, which would be, in

Iceland of the eleventh century, pretty correct for 3 p.m. between

the equinoxes and the summer solstice, during nearly the whole time,

that is, when the sun would be visible at this hour in these northerly

latitudes. (See accompanying diagram.)

Now the root error of all the earlier commentators who attempted the

elucidation of the passage under consideration consisted in treating

‘eykt’ not as a solar bearing, but as a definite clock time. Three

o’clock clearly would not do, for sunset at 3 p.m. on the shortest

day in winter indicates a latitude too far north to correspond in any

way with the climate indicated. Torfaeus, the earliest writer on the

subject, accordingly interpreted ‘the south-west airt’ as the whole

quarter between south and west, and dividing the _time_ between noon

and 6 p.m. (equinoctial west) into thirds he arrived at 4 p.m. as

the time of sunset, which with 8 a.m. for Dagmál gave an eight hours

day, or a latitude of approximately 49° N. Of course, for the reasons

already given, the bearing corresponding to such a division of the

horizon (S. 60° W.), assuming the latter to be justifiable, would not

unalterably represent 4 p.m. even in Iceland, and the clock time for

which the bearing stood in Iceland would be indicated by a wholly

different position of the sun in another latitude.

[Illustration: DIAGRAM OF SUN’S BEARINGS AT THREE-HOUR INTERVALS

LATITUDE 65. A.D. 1000]

Next came what may be called the school of Rafn, who claimed to have

located the Wineland of the sagas with certainty in the neighbourhood

of Rhode Island. For them an interpretation which resulted in a

latitude of 49° was unsatisfactory. They accordingly prayed in aid a

passage from Snorri’s Edda, in which the winter is said to begin at the

point where the sun sets in ‘Eyktarstad’. It was known that winter,

according to the Icelandic calendar, began in the week preceding the

18th of October, and observation in the latitude of Snorri’s home

showed that the sun set there on the 17th of October at 4.30 p.m. As

the passage is drawing a distinction between autumn and winter it

could hardly refer to the Icelandic winter beginning about the 18th of

October, for as Vigfusson has pointed out with regard to this division

of the calendar, which persists in modern Iceland, it is a division

of the year into summer and winter only, and leaves spring and autumn

out of account.[95] But it led Rafn and his followers to assert, in

the teeth of all the other evidence, that ‘eykt’ was not a point

but a period of time, and that ‘eyktarstad’ was a point which could

be interpreted as 4.30 p.m. apparently in any latitude! This, with

‘dagmálastad’ at 7.30 a.m. gave a day of nine hours, from which Rafn

claimed to deduce the latitude—to a second of arc—as 41° 24′ 10″, an

observation which, accepting Rafn’s theory as to the locality visited,

would be beyond the accuracy of a modern sextant. Unfortunately

for this surprising result, the method of calculation was hardly so

correct, for, apart from the fallacy of treating the local _time_ as

transferable, no correction was made for the effects of refraction,

&c., and the declination assumed was not that of the eleventh but of

the nineteenth century.

It remained for Dr. Gustav Storm to point out the correct way of

utilizing the data supplied. Assuming the instructions in the

Kristinret to apply to an observation recorded of an earlier day, and

assuming the passage to mean that the sun set at the precise moment of

‘eykt’, the amplitude, or distance from the west at setting, of the

sun on the shortest day in Wineland was 37½. We may assume, as the

observer would have been looking across the land, that the lower edge

of the sun was at least 19′ above the actual horizon, and this being

so no allowance for refraction or dip of the horizon need be made

before working out the formula:—sec : lat : = sin : amp : cosec : decl.

Professor Turner, of the Oxford University Observatory, has kindly

supplied me with the corrected declination for the year A.D. 1000, viz:

23° 34′ 8″. We need not trouble about the seconds, as we know neither

the precise moment of the solstice nor even the year with certainty;

omitting these the problem works out as follows:—

log sin : amplitude : 9·784447

log cosec : declination : 10·398140

—————————

log sec : latitude : 10·182587

=========

The latitude therefore would be about 48° 57′ N. This, however,

correctly understood, gives only the northern limit beyond which the

observation could not have been made.

It might be argued that the refinements enjoined in the Kristinret were

not likely to have been in operation in these primitive times. There

seem to have been eight day-marks, two of which represented midnight

and noon respectively, and it would seem more natural therefore for

men who attached no particular importance to the hour of 3 p.m. such

as was subsequently associated with the time of nones, to divide

their horizon into equal parts, which would serve, at any rate at the

equinoxes, accurately for 6 a.m. and p.m. and mid-day, while dagmál and

eykt would occupy the points midway between the others, and stand, less

accurately, for 9 a.m. and 3 p.m. The answer to this criticism probably

is that it was found necessary to divide the day into equal watches:

anyhow, such an interpretation cannot be correct, for an amplitude of

45° would give a latitude of 55° 34′ up to which this bearing would

be visible, and this would be too near the latitude of Greenland to

be remarkable, while nothing is clearer than that the writer of the

passage was endeavouring to record a marked and surprising difference

from the length of the winter day to which Greenlanders were accustomed.

This in fact, rather than a precise determination of latitude, would

seem to be the object of the statement, taken as a whole. It is as if

one were to say, ‘I could breakfast, or shave, by daylight all the

year round.’ It by no means follows from the passage that dagmálastad

and eyktarstad are meant to be understood as sunrise and sunset; in

fact, it would involve an extraordinary coincidence if they were. There

were only eight points in general use by which the time of day could

be measured or expressed, and to say therefore that the sun was up

at a particular time does not indicate that at that precise moment it

was on the horizon. Indeed if Rafn had been content with probabilities

instead of trying to make the passage support an exact determination

of latitude, he would have made out a fairly strong case, so far as

eyktarstad was concerned, for the locality which he identified with the

explorers’ camp. The chances are that, over a background of wooded and

hilly ground, actual sunrise and sunset were invisible, and that the

sun was well up at the time of passing over the points recorded. I have

calculated roughly the altitude of the sun in eyktarstad at the time

in question, and I make out that even so far south as 40° it would not

be as much as 5½°. Even assuming that the time of sunset was meant, it

would not require any very great unevenness of the horizon to produce

the effect of sunset at this point in the latitude supported by Rafn,

and it is almost certain that the locality indicated was much nearer to

this latitude than to the northern limit of the observation.

Taken with their context, the words seem to be an illustration of the

greater equality of day and night referred to in the opening words

of the sentence. Their real value lies in the fact that they embody

a remark of a circumstantial and business-like character, which goes

far to support the historical authenticity of the narrative. It is

not the sort of thing that a romancer would invent, it is the sort

of thing that a traveller would notice. Secondarily, though in all

probability the words indicate a much more southerly latitude, they

make it impossible that the site of the observation was north of

(roughly) 49°. To consider them as a deliberate attempt to fix latitude

is to lose sight of all probabilities. Let any who still adhere to

this interpretation go and fix marks for themselves, and endeavour

therefrom to ascertain the latitude. The south point could of course

be fixed accurately, by the place of the shortest shadow or various

other well-known devices. The time equivalents given by Henderson and

Troil do not, however, suggest that it was so fixed as a rule. But

without instruments to measure the angles for the other marks correctly

to—say—2° would be very difficult indeed, while the marks themselves

would probably subtend an appreciable angle. An error of one degree

will be more than reproduced in the latitude. Any change in the exact

position of the observer would be likely to cause an inaccuracy of at

least this extent; so that if the locality visited is to be identified

at all it certainly will not be by the use of this passage, on which so

many commentators have expended so much fruitless ingenuity.

VI. THE VOYAGES. GENERAL CONSIDERATIONS

The reader who has attentively followed the argument so far will, I

think, be convinced that the discovery and exploration of some parts of

America by the Norsemen rests upon a solid historical foundation.

It now becomes necessary to deal with a matter as to which there is

considerably more scope for controversy; the reconstruction, so far as

is reasonably possible, of the voyages themselves. No one acquainted

with the difficulties presented by the records of far later explorers,

such as Cabot and Corte Real, will expect this to be a subject on which

it is possible to dogmatize; the geographical details can probably

never be settled with absolute finality. We must advance cautiously and

by stages, eliminating the impossible and establishing broad lines,

before we embark on the fascinating task of theorizing on points of

detail.

_Difficulties of the Task._

The principal difficulty lies in the fact that in the primitive state

of the science of navigation at the period those particulars are

naturally most vague and unreliable on which we are most accustomed

to depend. There are no precise latitudes or longitudes, and even the

compass, though in use before the extant manuscripts were written, was

not known to these early explorers. For distances we have to depend

on periods of time which may have been inaccurately copied, and the

very meaning of which is a subject of acute controversy. (See previous

chapter, §1.) The courses set down are quite likely to have been

affected by the preconceived ideas of later editors, and are in any

case vague, often only roughly indicated by the direction of the wind.

We have in fact to depend to a large extent on what we are told of the

appearance of the various coasts, and of the different local products.

And so far as one version of the story is concerned, we have to depend

for these on the description of one voyage only—Karlsefni’s. With

regard to the other version, that of the Flatey Book, it must be borne

in mind that the writers of that saga considered all the explorers to

have made the same landfall. They came to ‘Leif’s camp’. Now, while

this was a natural idea to those who had no notion of the size of the

country, it seems to me improbable that it represents the actual facts.

To the writer of the Flatey Book version, ‘Leif’s camp’ and ‘Wineland’

were more or less synonymous terms. But the more detailed account of

Karlsefni’s voyage suggests that while the later explorer was looking

for the district visited by Leif, he never in fact found it. Leif

seems to have hurried ashore on his first sight of the country, and

to have conducted a merely local exploration. His brother, Thorvald,

who, following immediately after Leif, may have arrived at the same

base, we are told, ‘thought that the exploration of the country had

been confined to too narrow an area’. Karlsefni, on the other hand,

after arrival at Keelness, conducted a very protracted exploration,

and apparently split his party into two, one going north and the other

south, with the object of rediscovering Leif’s Wineland. As I hope

presently to show, Leif cannot have penetrated to Karlsefni’s Hóp.

Yet the writer of the Flatey Book, imbued with the idea that Leif and

Karlsefni occupied identical camps, has evidently felt himself at

liberty to draw his description of the scene of Leif’s landing from

the fullest report available, which, as he tells us, was Karlsefni’s.

Given the notion that all the explorers made the same landfall, this

was natural and legitimate enough, but it adds an element of confusion

to our already difficult task. There can, I think, be little doubt that

the combination of shoal, river, and lake in the description of Leif’s

camp is Karlsefni’s Hóp, but, as will be seen later, it is improbable

that Leif ever got there.

I am inclined to think that another instance of the same sort of

confusion is to be traced in Hauk’s version of the story. After the

resolve to return home on account of the savages, the author brings the

party back to Straumsfjord. He then evidently wishes to incorporate

some matter from different sources. So he first puts in a note of some

information at variance with that just given, ‘Some men say’, &c., and

then interpolates his version of the death of Thorvald Ericson, who, as

has been pointed out in the chapter on the Flatey Book (p. 126), has

really no place in this saga up to this point. It will be observed that

in both versions Thorvald is killed on a voyage north past Keelness,

where as one story has it, ‘it was all covered with wood’, while the

other says, ‘there was nothing but desolate woods’. It seems most

unlikely that Karlsefni’s party, after a definite resolve to return

home, should have embarked on a fresh voyage of discovery, so, though

the evidence may not be conclusive, I am inclined to think that the

matter here incorporated was originally an account of an independent

voyage undertaken by Thorvald, as given in the Flatey Book. The verses

about the uniped, which are old, certainly mention Karlsefni, but,

as Storm points out in his edition of the saga, the verses seem but

loosely fitted to the context, and make no mention of the uniped’s

ferocity. It seems probable therefore that the uniped is made to kill

Thorvald in order that the lay may be worked in, just as the author

works in the death-speech of Thormod Kolbrunarskald, with very little

alteration and considerable infelicity, as the last words of Thorvald

Ericson.

Seeing, then, that we have reason to suspect confusions of this

nature, it is plainly impossible to discriminate as much as could be

wished between the different voyages, and we are thrown back mainly

on Karlsefni, though Bjarni Herjulfson’s adventure is on rather a

different footing, and can be investigated independently.

_The Cardinal Points._

Faced with these difficulties, how are we to proceed? It is established

that the Norsemen visited North America: the map of that country lies

before us, awaiting the results of our survey. The evidence to hand

is plainly of unequal value; we are in fact very much in the position

of the cartographer, whose material ranges from the meticulously

accurate work of the professional expert with his theodolite to the

hasty compass traverses and sketches of the pioneer explorer fighting

his way through trackless and savage wilds. The method by which the

map-maker obtains the most satisfactory results from his material is, I

think, one to be imitated here. To a framework made up of a number of

points fixed with the utmost certainty of which science is capable, he

adjusts the less trustworthy material, rejecting altogether that which

cannot be brought into line with such facts as have been definitely

ascertained. Any haphazard selection of separate items is bound to

result in a considerable if not a cumulative error.

So in the present case, unless we adhere inflexibly to what may be

regarded as our fixed points, adapting that which fits, either wholly

or in part, and inexorably rejecting the remainder, we shall be apt to

jump to a conclusion and indulge in an arbitrary selection of whatever

pieces of evidence happen to support it. A study of the results

achieved by some earlier investigators of the subject presses this

danger very forcibly upon one’s attention.

Now perhaps some may be inclined to demur to the use of such an

expression as ‘fixed points’ in this connexion, but there are really

quite a number of statements standing out from the rest as facts which

anyone who credits the sagas at all must regard as reasonably certain.

These I will endeavour to set out before drawing any conclusions, in

the hope that, studied apart from any question of where they may lead

us, they may meet with general acceptance.

1. A line drawn about the 49th parallel of north latitude is fixed

by the ‘eyktarstad’ observation as the northern limit of the area in

which Wineland is to be sought. The passage, as we have seen, cannot

be interpreted to mean that the sun set on the shortest day precisely

at the point of eyktarstad. It would, in fact, be a coincidence

difficult to credit if the sunset on a particular day corresponded with

a mark arbitrarily fixed in Iceland for a wholly different purpose.

The passage means, in fact, rather that the sun had _not_ set at the

point in question; consequently to the south of this line we have an

increasing probability for a considerable distance.

2. The scope of our inquiry is further restricted by the limits within

which the wild vine is to be found. Omitting as irrelevant Jacques

Cartier’s discoveries of this plant in the Gulf of St. Lawrence,[96]

this area may be said to begin with the Annapolis Basin in western Nova

Scotia, excluding the rest of that peninsula, and from thence to follow

the coast of New England as far south as we care to go. The discovery

of the vine by the Norsemen is, I think, conclusively established.

The name conferred on the country, which can be traced back to the

very inception of written history, in itself goes far to prove it. It

is corroborated by Adam of Bremen at a still earlier date, and it is

plain from the apparently contemporary verses of Thorhall the Hunter

that before the time of Karlsefni’s voyage it had been alleged by

some member of a prior expedition that the vine flourished in the new

country. The corn is perhaps a little more doubtful, and its nature

more controversial; it is accordingly excluded from our cardinal points.

3. The area explored must be divided by stretches of open sea into

three independent land-forms. Different parts of one unbroken coastline

will not suit the conditions required. All the accounts agree in

deferring any coasting voyage to the point where Wineland is reached.

4. Helluland, Markland, Wineland, Furdustrands, are all place-names

drawn from natural characteristics. Whatever form their attributes may

have taken, we are justified in treating Helluland as a land of stones,

Markland as one of woods, Wineland as a grape-country, and Furdustrands

as a coast with a beach of extraordinary length. The last-named was not

an isolated point; the name survived into later Icelandic geography

as that of a district comparable with the three main divisions of the

country, though with most erroneous ideas as to its situation. Thus the

geographical treatise known as Gripla:

‘Furdustrands is the name of a land where there is hard frost,

so that it is not habitable, so far as is known; south of it is

Helluland, &c.’

Its existence is corroborated by a reference in the very early

verses ascribed to Thorhall the Hunter,—‘and boil their whales on

Furdustrand’—and if we accept the testimony of the saga as to the

locality where these verses were composed, the beaches in question must

have stretched at least from Keelness to Straumsfjord.

5. Keelness, as a cape running in a more or less northerly direction,

and constituting the first point touched at in Wineland, is established

by the constant references to such a feature in both the independent

versions of the story. The derivation of its name, in spite of

statements in the sagas, may well be treated as uncertain. Both

Keelness and Bjarney (Bear Island) are names existing elsewhere,

and what we are told of them may have been invented to account for

them. They may, in fact, owe their names to a fancied resemblance to

prototypes elsewhere.

6. Straumsfjord, with its island and strong currents, is too

circumstantially described to be an invention.

7. The topographical characteristics of Hóp, apart from the meaning of

the name, which seems to be a land-locked tidal estuary, are confirmed

by the evidence of both independent versions. We must therefore accept

its main features—extensive shoals, and a river running through a lake

into the sea.

These then are our points of departure. To these we may safely add,

as a general rule, points as to which the independent versions agree.

The savages, though equally well authenticated, and valuable as

evidence of the general truthfulness of the story, are not included,

since, whatever the opinion we ourselves have formed, it may still be

considered arguable by some that they were Eskimo. In any case they

do not help us to fix any situation more closely than our other data.

If they were Indians they might occur anywhere within the area of our

inquiry, if Eskimo they cannot carry Wineland with them north of the

49th parallel, or away from the vines from which it derived its name.

Their existence, if established, would only prove a more southerly

migration of the Eskimo than has been hitherto generally accepted.

_The Labrador Theory._

In spite of all this some writers have strenuously maintained that

the full scope of all the voyages recorded should be confined to the

Labrador coast. These are not generally to be found among those who

have specialized on the subject. They are more usually those who,

like Weise (_Discoveries of America to 1525_), deal with the matter

incidentally, as part of a wider historical study. Their view, for the

most part, seems to be connected with a sceptical attitude towards the

sagas as a whole. It is, indeed, independent of the story except in

so far as this supplies some corroboration of the bare fact that the

Norsemen discovered America. Its advocates mainly argue on independent

grounds that bold sailors like the Norsemen, having got so far as

Greenland, must occasionally have been driven to Labrador. Nothing

that is recorded of Wineland can really be brought into line with

such theory, except possibly the skrælings, who are made the most of

for that purpose with very inconclusive results. The ‘eyktarstad’

observation (see previous chapter, p. 211), a most circumstantial point

in the story, rules out the whole of Labrador.

The climate, too, is altogether inappropriate, and, of course, the

vines and corn become an absurdity. Apart from these things one may ask

where, on the Labrador coast, we are to find three distinct land-forms,

with wholly different characteristics, and separated from one another

by days of open sea.

It is true that a Boston botanist, Professor Fernald, has endeavoured

to suggest that the vines, the corn, and the mösur wood were all

products of quite a different order, which are to be found in Labrador.

The vines, according to him, are the ‘partridge-berry’ of Canada (the

_tyttebær_ of Norway); the corn, lyme-grass (arundo arenaria); and the

mösur a form of birch. If this were so it is difficult to understand

why things perfectly well known in Iceland should have attracted so

much attention, or have been described by totally new names; or why a

land containing nothing better than partridge-berries should have been

called Wineland. As regards the vines, it may be further pointed out

that ‘Vine-wood’ (vínvið) is more frequently mentioned in the sagas

than grapes, which seems to rule out berries; lyme-grass (melur) is

well known in Iceland, and a kind of flour was prepared from it in

that country in quite recent times.[97] Lastly, the mösur wood was

not anything known to the Norsemen, for we are expressly told, in the

episode of the Bremen merchant, that Karlsefni did not know what wood

it was.

Altogether this, the latest variant of the Labrador theory, must be

discarded like its predecessors.

_Storm’s theory—Labrador, Newfoundland, Nova Scotia._

The theory most generally accepted at the present time is that put

forward by Dr. Storm in _Studier over Vinlandsreiserne_.

Before making any independent analysis of the voyages, it will be

useful to examine this theory in the light of the principles just

laid down. According to Storm, Helluland, Markland, and Wineland are

Labrador, Newfoundland, and Nova Scotia respectively.

The identification of Labrador with Helluland is based mainly upon the

appearance of that barren coast, and the presence there of arctic foxes

in large numbers. Certainly the little that we are told of Helluland

suits Labrador very well, and the name conferred is suggestive of

the unflattering description of the country written in later times by

Jacques Cartier:—‘It should not be named the New Land, but _the land

of stones and rocks_, frightful and ill-shaped, for in all the said

North coast I did not find a cartload of earth, though I landed in many

places,—in short, I deem rather than otherwise that it is the land God

gave to Cain’. Indeed, as I know from personal experience, the bald,

glaciated rocks of the Labrador coast are a feature so striking that

one must admit the probability of the country deriving a name from them.

Yet it can hardly be disputed that at the date under consideration

all that we are told of Helluland would suit Newfoundland as well as

Labrador. No doubt at the present day the arctic fox is more suggestive

of Labrador, but in past times this animal seems to have been quite

common in Newfoundland. Thus Antony Parkhurst writes to Hakluyt from

that country in 1578,—‘I had almost forgotten to speake of the plentie

of wolves, and to show you that there be foxes, blacke, _white and

grey_’, and in another passage he speaks of the remarkable fearlessness

of these foxes—a trait more characteristic, even in a new country,

of the arctic than the red species. The red fox, even where it is

unaccustomed to the sight of man, is easily scared and habitually

cunning, but I myself have found the arctic fox so fearless that it was

practically impossible to keep it away from meat lying close to the

camp. A handkerchief tied to the horn of a dead caribou was of no use

even as a temporary check.

Still, so far as all this goes, Helluland might well be in Labrador.

But even if Helluland be Labrador, can we consider Newfoundland as

Markland? Accepting the only authority relied on by Storm and his

school, we do not get any positive clue from the description given of

the country. ‘Much wood and many beasts’ is not distinctive, though,

no doubt, it can be made to apply to Newfoundland as well as any other

place. If we include the Flatey Book description, ‘low-lying, with wide

stretches of white sand, the slope from the sea was not abrupt’, it is

difficult any longer to look for Markland along the bold, rocky coasts

of Newfoundland. The description is certainly not characteristic. But

setting the question of local resemblance apart, the identification

is defended on the ground that one text gives for the direction from

Helluland, ‘they changed their course from south to south-east’. This

seems to me a most unreliable statement on which to found a definite

and positive conclusion. In the first place, the change of course

indicated is only given by Hauk; the purer companion version states

merely that the explorers had a north wind. Having regard to the

fact that the word ‘south-east’ (landsuðr) occurs in the very next

sentence,—‘an island lay to the south-east’—there is here an obvious

trap for the unwary copyist. Supposing the word in the archetype of

the saga to have been originally south-west (utsuðr), a course more

consistent with the general direction of Karlsefni’s investigations, it

is extremely likely to have been mistranscribed with a word so like it

close at hand to catch the eye. Besides, the courses on the whole are

so manifestly wrong, or at best vague approximations, that no one can

be on sure ground who relies on them. (Cf. Chapter II, p. 131.)

But, more than this, inherent probability is dead against a

south-easterly course between Helluland and Markland. The original

discoverer, whoever he was, would never have sailed into the open sea

south-east from Labrador. If return to Greenland was his object he

would turn north-east; if exploration, he would hug the coast. In the

latter event he would either sail through the Strait of Belle Isle,

which he clearly did not, or, regarding this as a mere inlet or fjord,

would treat Newfoundland and Labrador as one country. If Karlsefni was

navigating independently of the experience of a predecessor, he would

have acted in the same way, and formed the same conclusion. If he were

making use of another explorer’s sailing directions, he might, indeed,

cut south-east from Labrador to Cape Freels, but he would do so with a

knowledge of what lay before him, and would not therefore regard as a

separate country what his predecessor had decided to be connected with

Helluland. For these reasons I am disposed to reject the identification

of Markland with Newfoundland, and to conclude that, whether the spot

visited in Helluland lay in Newfoundland or in Labrador, the name must

be regarded as including both countries.

Still more unsatisfactory is the identification of Nova Scotia with

Wineland. Except in the Annapolis basin on the west, which does not

suit the requirements of the saga, no wild grapes can be found there.

The temperature falls to 20° below zero in winter; frost generally

continues from Christmas to April. Moreover, the description of the

coast in the sagas, at all events in the neighbourhood of Keelness, the

cape at its northern extremity, insists upon long beaches and sands,

so remarkable in extent as to give rise to the name Furðustrandir (The

Wonderful Beaches). Nova Scotia shows nothing of the kind. This is a

circumstance of such importance that I shall return to it hereafter;

here it will be sufficient to state that all authorities, ancient

and modern, agree in speaking of Nova Scotia as a rocky coast, with

numerous indentations. Of the authorities who accept Storm’s views in

the main, Mr. Dieserud and Mr. Babcock have realized this difficulty,

though Mr. Babcock alone has made a serious attempt to face it. His

solution may be left for later consideration; here he shall merely be

called as an unwilling witness against Nova Scotia. ‘These people had

swift ships. Beaches of ordinary length must also have been familiar

to all of them.... They would not marvel at a stretch of fifty

miles’. ‘The palpable fact that Nova Scotia does not now supply these

wonderstrands ... seems to have compelled Dr. Storm to piece out this

part of his theory with minor beaches that the Icelanders would have

hardly glanced at as they swept by’. The objection could not be more

forcibly stated; there let us leave it for the moment.

Again: Karlsefni was exploring for three years. On more than one

occasion he sailed ‘a long time’. When the saga means a day or two,

it says so; nay, it frequently seems, if anything, to understate the

time occupied. The extreme length of Nova Scotia is under 350 miles;

two days and nights at 7 knots would about cover the distance. We need

far more space than this theory affords; in fact, it needs Procrustean

methods to fit the Wineland of the sagas into the confines of Nova

Scotia. To compress the whole scope of the exploration, from Keelness

to Hóp, as Mr. Dieserud does, into the coast between Cape Breton and

Halifax, seems inconsistent both with the letter and the spirit of the

story.

_Theories including New England._

Members of the older school of Wineland investigators are, at present,

greatly discredited. Their enthusiasm outran all bounds of scientific

caution, and they heaped ridicule on their theories by the attempt to

support them with evidence which was largely pure rubbish. Alleged

Norse remains in America have justly become a byword; although Mr.

Babcock thinks it worth while to review all that has been adduced

of this sort of testimony, he adopts without hesitation the general

verdict that, as was _a priori_ probable, no vestiges of Norse visits

remain to the present day. There can never have been more than the

makeshifts of a transient encampment; ‘_perierunt etiam ruinae_’. As a

result of their ill-judged and credulous enthusiasm, no serious writer

finds himself able to agree on a point of detail with Rafn or Horsford

without a preliminary apology.

Yet there may be something to be said for the adoption of the main

lines of their identification of the ‘three lands’: Newfoundland,

Nova Scotia, and New England standing for Helluland, Markland, and

Wineland. It is the theory that leaps to the eye on looking at a map

with a view to discovering three separate land-forms lying in the track

of an exploration from Greenland or Iceland. It is, perhaps, at its

weakest in its identification of Helluland, though, as has been shown,

Newfoundland is not excluded by the conditions required. If, however,

as I have suggested, Labrador and Newfoundland were likely to have been

regarded as one and the same country, the identification of Markland

and Wineland is not affected.

The little we know of Markland fits Nova Scotia very well. ‘Much wood

and many beasts’ may, of course, be descriptive of Newfoundland and

its caribou, but it would also be true of Nova Scotia. In the voyage

of Mr. Hill of Redrife in 1593, given in Hakluyt, a casual run ashore

at Cape Breton is thus described;—‘and as they viewed the country they

saw divers beastes and foules, as black foxes, deere, otters, &c.,

&c.’. It is apparent that as late as the sixteenth century the fauna

of Nova Scotia was sufficiently plentiful to strike a ship’s crew as

soon as they went ashore. The description of the country given in the

Flatey Book, which is unlike anything Icelandic and consequently sounds

genuine, will suit the southern extremity of Nova Scotia, a very likely

landfall, much better than Newfoundland. It is low-lying and wooded, as

Champlain found between Port Mouton and Cape Negro,—‘the shores which

I saw, up to that point, are very low, and covered with such wood as

that seen at the Cap de la Heve’. As to the white sand we may compare

Hudson’s description,—‘The land by the water side is low land, and

_white sandie_ banks rising, full of little hills.’

While there is no sufficient extent of beach in Nova Scotia to serve

for Furdustrands, there is enough sand as a local feature to suit the

conditions required for Markland.

In their identification of Wineland with New England rather than Nova

Scotia, the older school are on even less questionable ground, however

rash their speculations on points of detail. Indeed, there seems to be

a tendency at the present day, which is exemplified in the conclusions

of Mr. Babcock, to depart so far from Storm’s theories as to include a

part of the New England coast-line. The addition of New England gets

over the formidable difficulties before noticed, of want of space for

the whole of Karlsefni’s expedition, and almost entire absence of the

wild vine. Whether or no we must also include Nova Scotia in the ‘third

land’ visited by the Norsemen, we shall be well advised to look for

Hóp, at any rate, along the coast of the United States. Personally,

I feel strongly that Nova Scotia is needed for Markland, and that

Wineland must have been situated altogether to the west or south-west

of it.

Before entering upon the more detailed consideration of the voyages

which forms the subject of the ensuing chapters, I would provisionally

fix the broad lines of our research in accordance with the arguments

adduced above. Helluland will then be in all probability Newfoundland

and Labrador considered as one country, or perhaps Newfoundland alone;

Markland will be Nova Scotia; and Wineland, the most important area in

the inquiry, somewhere on the eastern seaboard of the United States.

_Postscript on two recent theories._

It will be convenient here to deal with the theories advanced by two

recent writers, whose works did not come to my notice until all the

chapters of the present volume were written. These are:

1. Professor W. Hovgaard’s _Voyages of the Norsemen to America_ (New

York, 1915), and

2. Professor H. P. Steensby’s _The Norsemen’s route from Greenland

to Wineland_ (Copenhagen, 1918).

Of the two treatises the second is on the whole the more

revolutionary. For Professor Steensby, after locating both Helluland

and Markland in Labrador, and identifying Bjarney with Newfoundland,

brings his explorers into the gulf of St. Lawrence, with southern

Labrador for Furdustrands, Keelness (_after Furdustrands_) at Point

Vaches by the mouth of the Saguenay, Straumsey at Hare Island in the

St. Lawrence river, and Hóp, still in the St. Lawrence, at St. Thomas

on the southern side.

Though entertaining widely different views as to the relative value

of the sources—Professor Steensby altogether rejecting the Flatey

Book, whose authority the other author upholds—both writers agree in

certain respects which are somewhat novel. Both make Karlsefni’s first

landing-place, in Helluland, at a point in Labrador which is almost in

the same latitude as southern Greenland, involving a course very far

to the west of south; and both insist on a coasting voyage throughout,

with no intervals of open sea between the different lands visited. It

seems to me that both these theories rest on a substitution of what

their authors regard as inherent probabilities for the express language

of the sagas.

More especially is this the case with Professor Hovgaard’s treatment of

Bjarni. He brings him first to Newfoundland, and carries him back along

the Labrador coast to Resolution Island off Baffin Land, in order to

substantiate the ice (_jökul_, understood as glaciers) of the story.

The effect of this treatment, when the author comes to consider Leif’s

and Thorvald’s voyages, is to leave an enormous unexplained stretch

of coast between Helluland (Resolution Island) and Markland, which he

agrees cannot be reasonably identified with any place north of Cape

Sable in Nova Scotia. (As regards Leif’s Markland and Wineland, indeed,

Professor Hovgaard comes to substantially the same conclusions as

myself.) But, considered apart from this difficulty, there are still

formidable objections to this reconstruction of Bjarni’s voyage.

1. The text either expresses or implies an open sea passage out of

sight of land between the various landfalls. From the first to the

second land this is implied in the statement ‘after sailing two days

they saw another (or the second) land’. From the second to the third

land it is expressly stated that the ship sailed ‘_out to sea_ for

three days, when they saw the third land’. In the remaining case ‘they

turned the bows _away from_ the land and held out to sea’.

2. The whole point of giving the direction of the wind (south-west)

is to supply an indication of the course. To this course Professor

Hovgaard pays no attention: from Resolution Island to Herjulfsness the

bearing would actually be to the south of east, and the rest of the

voyage is to the west of north.

With regard to Karlsefni, Professor Hovgaard’s treatment of his

authorities is even more arbitrary. The previous expeditions, he agrees

with me, had found Wineland on the coast of the United States. Now

Wineland was Karlsefni’s objective, and his expedition, if somewhat

cumbrous, was more elaborately equipped and took more time than any

other. Yet, according to the writer under consideration, Karlsefni

never got to Wineland at all. He first paid a visit to Baffin Land

or northern Labrador, then coasted to Nain on the Labrador coast and

conferred on that locality a name (Markland) already allocated by

his predecessor to a spot far to the south,[98] and next, instead of

following Leif’s directions, went wandering into Sandwich Bay, which

is here identified with Straumsfjord. True, as our author remarks, the

winter at Straumsfjord is described as severe. Still, the expedition

was evidently not frozen in, as it would have been in Labrador, for

even at this time the Norsemen ‘hoped for fishing or jetsam’, and

actually acquired a stranded whale. Captain Cartwright, who settled in

this region, thus describes the winter conditions:—

Ascend yon Mountain’s top; extend your view

O’er Neptune’s trackless Empire, nor will you,

In all his vast Domain, an Opening have,

Where foams the Billow, or where heaves the Wave.

A dreary Desart all, of Ice and Snow.

In this spot, according to Professor Hovgaard, maddened by mosquitoes

in the summer, and hopelessly frozen in during a long winter, the

experienced Karlsefni, far north of his objective, established his

principal base. And in all the three years of his exploration,

according to the same author, Karlsefni never penetrated farther than

a ‘Hóp’ in Newfoundland, having failed to reach even the Markland of

his predecessor. The theory in fact involves a wholesale readjustment

and arbitrary selection of the available material which must be read

to be appreciated. Of course Karlsefni found no vines or corn, and the

‘sands’ of Furdustrands are conspicuously absent.

The minor point that this theory requires a coasting voyage throughout

may now be considered in conjunction with Professor Steensby’s

conclusions. I do not lay much stress on the evidence of the old maps,

dealt with later on in Chapter IX, though they show that there was

always understood to be open sea between the three principal ‘lands’.

The Icelandic geography referred to in the same chapter (p. 287)

likewise assumes sea at any rate between Markland and Wineland. I

would ask the impartial reader to refer to the text, and see whether

it conveys to him any idea of a coasting voyage until Keelness is

reached, except in one case in Hauk’s version, which is at variance

with the purer language of Eric’s Saga. Let him further decide whether,

on a dispassionate reading of the evidence, Helluland, Markland, and

Wineland can be treated as parts of one and the same unbroken coastline.

Professor Steensby (p. 32) argues that the Norsemen habitually coasted

on approaching land, saying, moreover, ‘This applies in a quite

especial degree when new land was in question.’ I should have thought

it more true to say that the Norsemen were the pioneers of open-sea

navigation, and the necessity for keeping plenty of sea-room would be

particularly cogent in the case of a coast whose dangers were quite

unknown. Moreover, according to all accounts, the first discovery was

accidental, and open sea might well have been crossed in the endeavour

to get back to Greenland, as we are told in the case of Bjarni: if this

were so, subsequent expeditions would keep as far as possible to the

track of their predecessors up to the point when they arrived at the

country (Wineland) which alone was considered desirable to visit and

explore. Along the shores of Wineland they would undoubtedly coast,

and this is exactly what we are told in the sagas.

I will not dwell on the modification of the courses given, as this is

not a point upon which much reliance can, in the circumstances, be

placed. The statement, however, of the saga, that Helluland lay south

of Greenland, is corroborated by the old Icelandic geography (see,

_post_ Chapter IX, p. 287), and in any case the ultimate objective

lay so far to the south that a ship, limited in storage capacity,

would naturally press in that direction as quickly as possible. As

I shall have occasion to point out later (Chapter VIII, p. 262), a

ship coasting Labrador in the early summer would be liable to be

tremendously delayed by ice, of which we find no mention, apart from

other considerations, in the report of Karlsefni’s expedition. If the

manipulation of the courses stood alone, however, this point would

hardly be conclusive.

But once we are in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, the objections to this

theory are formidable indeed. In the first place, Professor Steensby

is compelled to keep Karlsefni in Straumsfjord (the St. Lawrence)

throughout, and to make Hóp a point actually in the fjord. This is

quite inconsistent with our authority. The climatic conditions of

Straumsfjord and Hóp appear to have been markedly different, and the

language everywhere implies that it was necessary to leave the one

place to reach the other.

Secondly, the author under consideration is forced to place Keelness

_after_ Furdustrands and close to the Straumsfjord base. The saga,

however, before mentioning Furdustrands, states ‘there was a cape

(Keelness) where they arrived’, i.e. it was the first point sighted

after leaving Markland. Again, in reverse order from Straumsfjord,

‘Thorhall wished to go north by Furdustrands and past Keelness.’

Straumsey is identified with Hare Island, which even at the present day

is described as ‘densely wooded’, an unlikely place, one would think,

for quantities of breeding sea-fowl, and ill-adapted as a pasture land

for cattle. Finally, Professor Steensby’s ‘Hóp’, at St. Thomas, faces

north, which is in conflict with the saga, where we are told more than

once that the Skrælings came in from the south. From the situation of

Karlsefni’s camp by the ‘lake’ it is clear that the arrival of the

savages could only have been perceived after they had entered the

estuary, which must accordingly, if the authority is to be trusted,

have faced south rather than north.

St. Thomas, being slightly south of the 47th parallel, is within the

possible limits of the eyktarstad observation. This, however, is only

true if we understand that the sun set at that precise point on the day

in question. As I have elsewhere pointed out, it would be too strange

a coincidence to be readily accepted if the Norsemen settled at a spot

where the sun, exactly on the shortest day of the year, covered at

the very moment of setting one of the eight marks fixed in a totally

different latitude for the purpose of determining three-hour intervals.

We are therefore forced to the conclusion that the sun had _not_ set at

the moment in question, but was up at this point so as to be capable of

being used. This being so, a latitude far south of the computed limit

is indicated, and, as regards this observation, Professor Steensby’s

Hóp is within an area too near this limit to be at all probable.

VII. THE VOYAGES IN DETAIL: BJARNI, LEIF, THORVALD

_Bjarni Herjulfson._

As has been stated in a former chapter, poor Bjarni has been severely

handled by Storm and most of the accepted authorities. The case for

and against his voyage has been already dealt with, and it is hoped

that some readers may have been persuaded that Bjarni has a solid claim

to be regarded as the first seaman who sighted American shores. But,

whether or no the personal claims of Bjarni can be substantiated, I

submit that we have here a very clear and correct account of the way

in which America was discovered, whether by Bjarni or another. The

first discovery must necessarily have been accidental, and must almost

certainly have been, as stated of Bjarni, from south to north, as

subsequent exploration in a southerly direction would not otherwise

have been encouraged. The northern part of America offered few

attractions to the practical minds of early explorers, whose criterion

was ‘that it would be a profitable country to visit’; Labrador or

Newfoundland from the sea would seem at first sight to deserve Bjarni’s

epithet ‘ogagnvaenligt’—good-for-nothing. Storm-driven mariners, with

stores running short, would hardly have pursued investigations from

north to south, while in the reverse direction discovery was forced

upon them by circumstances, and their experience might well prompt

further exploration on the part of the inhabitants of Greenland.

Whatever criticisms have been passed upon Bjarni’s voyage by those who

are unable to bring it into line with their theories, it seems to me

that if all the rest of our material had been destroyed, this voyage

would be regarded as in itself sufficient to substantiate the fact of

Norse discovery.

Slight and sketchy as it is, it presents fewer real difficulties

than any other. The chronicler, like his hero, was not interested in

the lands seen, but in the adventures of the ship, and both courses

and distances are given with perhaps greater precision and accuracy

than any others in these sagas. Probably this arises from the fact

that but few copies were ever made of this narrative. It was, as has

been already hinted, of little interest to the general reader of a

pre-Columbian age; it could appeal only to sailors and navigators,

who would be more interested in the accurate preservation of the data

supplied by it than would a mere scribe, wholly ignorant or misinformed

as to the actual topographical details.

It is worth while noticing how full the narrative is of nautical

phraseology and details of interest to sailors only. This confirms

one’s impression of its genuineness, as of course the story, if true,

must originally have been told by Bjarni or one of his sailors. The

lowering and hoisting of sails, the necessity for reefing on the voyage

home, together with such expressions as ‘distinguish the airts’ or,

as in our translation, ‘get their bearings’, ‘left the land to port

and let the sheet turn towards it’, ‘turned the bows from the land’,

‘the land was laid’, i.e. lost below the horizon (landit var vattnat),

give this part of the story an extremely nautical colour, while they

add little to the general interest of the tale. Moreover we get course

and distance in the greatest detail, except during the period of fog,

when the sailors themselves could have had no knowledge of what was

happening.

The simplest way of dealing with this voyage is to plot it backwards

from Greenland. The outward journey is but vaguely indicated, as that

of a ship struggling unsuccessfully on a westerly course against

northerly gales, and confused by fogs and many days of drifting. The

ship was presumably provisioned for a dangerous voyage into unknown

seas, yet appears to have been running short of water and other

necessaries before the end; one is consequently justified in assuming

a really long period for the duration of these adverse influences. The

voyage home is, however, recorded with the utmost precision.

Taking the data arrived at in Chapter V for the length of a ‘dægr

sigling’, we may plot the distance represented by this unit at

about 150 miles. The wind, we are told, was south-west. Plot from

Herjulfsness (Sermesok) in the south of Greenland four ‘dægr’ units

in a south-westerly direction and then draw a land-form which will

serve for the ‘island’ which was the third land seen, follow its coast

to a point further south, to cover the coasting voyage described,

then plot five more ‘dægr’ units south-west. Lastly mark land on

the course at the end of the five days and also two days from the

end. The result will be as shown on the shaded portions of the

sketch. These indications are quite near enough to the truth to show

pretty conclusively that the ‘lands’ were the Barnstable peninsula

(Massachusetts), Nova Scotia, and Newfoundland respectively. It is

true that if these lands are restored to their correct positions on

the map, the courses are only roughly north-east, and the distance

from Newfoundland to Greenland is lengthened, but during the last

part of the voyage it must be remembered that the wind was much

stronger, and the distance between either Cape Freels or Cape St. John

in Newfoundland and Sermesok (Herjulfsness) in Greenland is under

720 miles, and could easily be covered in four days and nights under

conditions as favourable as those of Thorar Nefjolfson’s voyage to

Iceland discussed in Chapter V. The whole account so far is quite

consistent and probable.

[Illustration: VOYAGE OF BJARNI HERJULFSON]

The problem may now be tackled in a different way. Bjarni, before

reaching Greenland, is met by a strong northerly gale. He struggles

against it for some time, and, delaying too long the moment for heaving

to, is forced to run before the wind. He is driven to the Newfoundland

Banks, where he runs into fog, and lowering sail, as we are told

he did, he drifts for some time. The set of the current is in the

direction of Cape Cod; the wind, working round with the sun as the

weather improved, would tend to drive him in the same direction. There

is accordingly no difficulty in supposing him to have first sighted

land somewhere on the Barnstable peninsula in the neighbourhood of Cape

Cod. The description given of this land, while not distinctive, is

certainly not inconsistent with the conclusion arrived at.

Now Bjarni is entirely taken up with the idea of getting back to

Greenland. Where is he? He has been sailing for a long time in an

attempt to get westward; he is probably to the west of his destination.

Moreover there is an unknown shore to the west or north of him, to

which he must give a wide berth. The visible change in the altitude of

the Pole-star or the mid-day sun, and the difference in the length of

the day, are data which show an experienced sailor that he is a long

way too far south. He must get away from the unknown coast into the

open sea, and he must go east and north. Sailing therefore on a course

slightly to the north of east, he sights in two days another land,

the south-western projection of Nova Scotia, ‘low-lying, and covered

with wood.’ This is not the least like Greenland: he sails away again

on the same course. The shore, trending here to the northward, sinks

out of sight, but after about 500 miles of open sea covered in three

‘dægr’ he sights some part of the south coast of the Avalon peninsula

of Newfoundland. It is a bleak-looking coast, and there are icebergs

about; moreover, though Bjarni’s reckoning still makes him too far

south, the crew have already been grumbling, and it must be proved to

their satisfaction that this is not Greenland. As regards the ice, I

am of course aware that the saga uses the word ‘jökul’, which suggests

glaciers, and it may well be that this is an embroidery on the part

of the author, accustomed to associate glaciers with any desolate

landscape. ‘Jökul’, however, can also mean merely ice, and is so used

in Gretti’s Saga and elsewhere. Icebergs, according to _the King’s

Mirror_, were known to Greenlanders as ‘falljöklar’. There may be some

confusion here. Still, there would be bergs about, and the appearance

of the country would be more Arctic; the place had better be explored a

bit. Accordingly Bjarni follows the coast till he convinces himself and

his crew that this place is merely an island. Probably he came to this

conclusion on rounding the Avalon peninsula; possibly he sailed as far

as Cape Freels or slightly further. It is less likely that he sailed

through the Strait of Belle Isle, and so conclusively demonstrated the

insular character of Newfoundland, for, if so, he could hardly have

avoided sighting the Labrador coast, which he evidently never saw. That

the Norsemen, without carrying their investigation so far, should have

come to the conclusion that what they saw was an island is not in

the least remarkable, when it is remembered that for nearly 100 years

after its rediscovery Newfoundland was regarded, owing to the broken

and indented character of its coastline, as an archipelago, and is so

depicted on the earlier charts.[99]

Anyhow, Bjarni came to the conclusion that this ‘third land’ was an

island. There is nothing conventional in the statement; it is not

suggested of the other lands, and the fact that the island comes into

the story in its proper place is a strong confirmation of its accuracy.

Having satisfied himself and his crew that this was not Greenland,

Bjarni could fall back with renewed confidence on his own reckoning,

and so reach his destination. That he did so with speed and precision

might give cause for surprise, were there not many well-authenticated

instances in Icelandic literature of men who, after drifting about,

the sport of adverse winds and fogs for a long time, retained to the

last sufficient knowledge of their position to enable them to return

home. It was a creditable feat of seamanship, and we may leave Bjarni

with a greater feeling of respect than his contemporaries seem to have

felt for him, whatever his shortcomings as an explorer may have been.

One point alone in Bjarni’s voyage may at first sight be regarded with

suspicion. This is the exact correspondence between the number of days

sailed and the number of the land reached. They sail two days to the

second land, three to the third, and four to the fourth. As has been

shown, however, in working out the voyage, this is not an impossible

coincidence. I think it is not without importance to note that what

is called ‘the fourth land’ is not a land _ejusdem generis_ with the

others, but is Bjarni’s original objective, Greenland, which would

naturally be so called. This looks to me rather as if the coincidence

above referred to was noted, and used as a _memoria technica_ for the

time occupied on the voyage.

_Leif._

Leif’s voyage may be dealt with shortly. The description of Helluland

is open to the suspicion that it has been coloured by the imagination

of the saga-writer. Snowy hills in Labrador may account for the ‘great

glaciers’, but it looks like a feature borrowed from Greenland to

emphasize the forbidding character of the landscape. The reason given

for the name, Helluland, may easily be founded upon the name itself.

However, as stated in the preceding chapter, it does not much matter

whether the landfall in Helluland was Labrador or Newfoundland, as,

before the discovery of the Strait of Belle Isle, both would presumably

be regarded as one country by an explorer coasting south. Leif’s

Markland, as already suggested (p. 232), sounds much more like Nova

Scotia than Newfoundland.