FREYDISSA SHOWS HER TEMPER AND A WHALE CHECKS IT--POETICAL AND OTHER
TOUCHES.
The expedition which now set out for Vinland was on a much larger scale
than any of the expeditions which had preceded it. Biarne and Leif had
acted the part of discoverers only--not colonisers--and although
previous parties had passed several winters in Vinland, they had not
intended to take up a permanent abode there--as was plain from the fact
that they brought neither women nor flocks nor herds with them.
Karlsefin, on the contrary, went forth fully equipped for colonisation.
His ship, as we have said, was a large one, with a decked poop and
forecastle, fitted to brave the most tempestuous weather--at least as
well fitted to do so as were the ships of Columbus--and capable of
accommodating more than a hundred people. He took sixty men with him
and five women, besides his own wife and Thorward's. Thorward himself,
and Biarne, accompanied the expedition, and also Olaf--to his
inexpressible joy, but Leif preferred to remain at home, and promised to
take good care of Thorward's ship, which was left behind. Astrid was
one of the five women who went with this expedition; the other four were
Gunhild, Thora, Sigrid, and Bertha. Gunhild and Sigrid were wives to
two of Biarne's men. Thora was handmaiden to Gudrid; Bertha handmaid to
Freydissa. Of all the women Bertha was the sweetest and most beautiful,
and she was also very modest and good-tempered, which was a fortunate
circumstance, because her mistress Freydissa had temper enough, as
Biarne used to remark, for a dozen women. Biarne was fond of teasing
Freydissa; but she liked Biarne, and sometimes took his pleasantries
well--sometimes ill.
It was intended that, when the colony was fairly established, the ship
should be sent back to Greenland to fetch more of the men's wives and
children.
A number of cattle, horses, and sheep were also carried on this occasion
to Vinland. These were stowed in the waist or middle of the vessel,
between the benches where the rowers sat when at work. The rowers did
not labour much at sea, as the vessel was at most times able to advance
under sail. During calms, however, and when going into creeks, or on
landing--also in doubling capes when the wind was not suitable--the oars
were of the greatest value. Karlsefin and the principal people slept
under the high poop. A number of the men slept under the forecastle,
and the rest lay in the waist near the cattle--sheltered from the
weather by tents or awnings which were called tilts.
It may perhaps surprise some readers to learn that men could venture in
such vessels to cross the northern seas from Norway to Iceland, and
thence to Greenland; but it is not so surprising when we consider the
small size of the vessels in which Columbus afterwards crossed the
Atlantic in safety, and when we reflect that those Norsemen had been
long accustomed, in such vessels, to traverse the ocean around the
coasts of Europe in all directions--round the shores of Britain, up the
Baltic, away to the Faroe Islands, and up the Mediterranean even as far
as the Black Sea. In short, the Norsemen of old were magnificent
seamen, and there can be no question that much of the ultimate success
of Britain on the sea is due, not only to our insular position, but also
to the insufficiently appreciated fact that the blood of the hardy and
adventurous vikings of Norway still flows in our veins.
It was a splendid spring morning when Karlsefin hoisted his
white-and-blue sail, and dropped down Ericsfiord with a favouring
breeze, while Leif and his people stood on the stone jetty at Brattalid,
and waved hats and shawls to their departing friends.
For Olaf, Thora, and Bertha it was a first voyage, and as the vessel
gradually left the land behind, the latter stood at the stern gazing
wistfully towards the shore, while tears flowed from her pretty blue
eyes and chased each other over her fair round face--for Bertha left an
old father behind her in Greenland.
"Don't cry, Bertha," said Olaf, putting his fat little hand softly into
that of the young girl.
"Oh! I shall perhaps _never_ see him again," cried Bertha, with another
burst of tears.
"Yes, you will," said Olaf, cheerily. "You know that when we get
comfortably settled in Vinland we shall send the ship back for your
father, and mine too, and for everybody in Ericsfiord and Heriulfness.
Why, we're going to forsake Greenland altogether and never go back to it
any more. Oh! I am _so_ glad."
"I wish, I _wish_ I had never come," said Bertha, with a renewed flow of
tears, for Olaf's consolations were thrown away on her.
It chanced that Freydissa came at that moment upon the poop, where
Karlsefin stood at the helm, and Gudrid with some others were still
gazing at the distant shore.
Freydissa was one of those women who appear to have been born women by
mistake--who are always chafing at their unfortunate fate, and
endeavouring to emulate--even to overwhelm--men; in which latter effort
they are too frequently successful. She was a tall elegant woman of
about thirty years of age, with a decidedly handsome face, though
somewhat sharp of feature. She possessed a powerful will, a shrill
voice and a vigorous frame, and was afflicted with a short, violent
temper. She was decidedly a masculine woman. We know not which is the
more disagreeable of the two--a masculine woman or an effeminate man.
But perhaps the most prominent feature in her character was her
volubility when enraged,--the copiousness of her vocabulary and the
tremendous force with which she shot forth her ideas and abuse in short
abrupt sentences.
Now, if there was one thing more than another that roused the ire of
Freydissa, it was the exhibition of feminine weakness in the shape of
tears. She appeared to think that the credit of her sex in reference to
firmness and self-command was compromised by such weakness. She herself
never wept by any chance, and she was always enraged when she saw any
other woman relieve her feelings in that way. When, therefore, she came
on deck and found her own handmaid with her pretty little face swelled,
or, as she expressed it, "begrutten," and heard her express a wish that
she had never left home, she lost command of herself--a loss that she
always found it easy to come by--and, seizing Bertha by the shoulder,
ordered her down into the cabin instantly.
Bertha sobbingly obeyed, and Freydissa followed. "Don't be hard on her,
poor soul," murmured Thorward.
Foolish fellow! How difficult it is for man--ancient or modern--to
learn when to hold his tongue! That suggestion would have fixed
Freydissa's determination if it had not been fixed before, and poor
Bertha would certainly have received "a hearing," or a "blowing-up," or
a "setting down," such as she had not enjoyed since the date of
Freydissa's marriage, had it not been for the fortunate circumstance
that a whale took it into its great thick head to come up, just then,
and spout magnificently quite close to the vessel.
The sight was received with a shout by the men, a shriller shout by the
women, and a screech of surprise and delight by little Olaf, who would
certainly have gone over the side in his eagerness, had not Biarne
caught him by the skirts of his tunic.
This incident happily diverted the course of Freydissa's thoughts.
Curiosity overcame indignation, and Bertha was reprieved for the time
being. Both mistress and maid hastened to the side of the ship; the
anger of the one evaporated and the tears of the other dried up when
they saw the whale rise not more than a hundred yards from the ship. It
continued to do this for a considerable time, sometimes appearing on one
side, sometimes on the other; now at the stern, anon at the bow. In
short it seemed as if the whale had taken the ship for a companion, and
were anxious to make its acquaintance. At last it went down and
remained under water so long that the voyagers began to think it had
left them, when Olaf suddenly gave a shriek of delight and
surprise:--"Oh! Oh! OH!" he exclaimed, looking and pointing straight
down into the water, "here is the whale--right under the ship!"
And sure enough there it was, swimming slowly under the vessel, not two
fathoms below the keel--its immense bulk being impressively visible,
owing to the position of the observers, and its round eyes staring as if
in astonishment at the strange creature above. [The author has seen a
whale in precisely similar circumstances in a Norwegian fiord.] It
expressed this astonishment, or whatever feeling it might be, by coming
up suddenly to the surface, thrusting its big blunt head, like the bow
of a boat, out of the sea, and spouting forth a column of water and
spray with a deep snort or snore--to the great admiration of the whole
ship's crew, for, although most of the men were familiar enough with
whales, alive and dead, they had never, in all probability, seen one in
such circumstances before.
Four or five times did the whale dive under the vessel in this fashion,
and then it sheered off with a contemptuous flourish of its tail, as if
disgusted with the stolid unsociable character of the ship, which seen
from a submarine point of view must have looked uncommonly like a whale,
and quite as big!
This episode, occurring so early in the voyage, and trifling though it
was, tended to create in the minds of all--especially of the women and
the younger people--a feeling of interest in the ocean, and an
expectation of coming adventure, which, though not well defined, was
slightly exciting and agreeable. Bertha, in particular, was very
grateful to that whale, for it had not only diverted her thoughts a
little from home-leaving and given her something new to think and talk
about, but it had saved her from Freydissa and a severe scold.
The first night at sea was fine, with bright moonlight, and a soft wind
on the quarter that carried them pleasantly over the rippling sea, and
everything was so tranquil and captivating that no one felt inclined to
go to rest. Karlsefin sat beside the helm, guiding the ship and telling
sagas to the group of friends who stood, sat, or reclined on the deck
and against the bulwarks of the high poop. He repeated long pieces of
poetry, descriptive of the battles and adventures of their viking
forefathers, and also gave them occasional pieces of his own composing,
in reference to surrounding circumstances and the enterprise in which
they were then embarked,--for Karlsefin was himself a skald or poet,
although he pretended not to great attainments in that way.
From where they sat the party on the poop could see that the men on the
high forecastle were similarly engaged, for they had gathered together
in a group, and their heads were laid together as if listening intently
to one of their number who sat in the centre of the circle. Below, in
the waist of the ship, some humorous character appeared to be holding
his mates enchained, for long periods of comparative silence--in which
could be heard the monotonous tones of a single voice mingled with
occasional soft lowing from the cattle--were suddenly broken by bursts
of uproarious laughter, which, however, quickly subsided again, leaving
prominent the occasional lowing and the prolonged monotone. Everything
in and around the ship, that night, breathed of harmony and peace--
though there was little knowledge among them of Him who is the Prince of
Peace. We say "little" knowledge, because Christianity had only just
begun to dawn among the Norsemen at that time, and there were some on
board of that discovery-ship who were tinged with the first rays of that
sweet light which, in the person of the Son of God, was sent to lighten
the world and to shine more and more unto the perfect day.
"Now," said Karlsefin, at the conclusion of one of his stories, "that is
the saga of Halfdan the Black--at least it is part of his saga; but,
friends, it seems to me that we must begin a saga of our own, for it is
evident that if we are successful in this venture we shall have
something to relate when we return to Greenland, and we must all learn
to tell our saga in the same words, for that is the only way in which
_truth_ can be handed down to future generations, seeing that when men
are careless in learning the truth they are apt to distort it so that
honest men are led into telling lies unwittingly. They say that the
nations of the south have invented a process whereby with a
sharp-pointed tool they fashion marks on skins to represent words, so
that once put down in this way a saga never changes. Would that we
Norsemen understood that process!" said Karlsefin meditatively.
"It seems to me," said Biarne, who reclined on the deck, leaning against
the weather-bulwarks and running his fingers playfully through Olaf's
fair curls, "It seems to me that it were better to bestow the craft of
the skald on the record of our voyage, for then the measure and the
rhyme would chain men to the words, and so to the truth--that is,
supposing they get truth to start with! Come, Karlsefin, begin our
voyage for us."
All present seemed to agree to that proposal, and urged Karlsefin to
begin at once.
The skipper--for such indeed was his position in the ship--though a
modest man, was by no means bashful, therefore, after looking round upon
the moonlit sea for a few minutes, he began as follows:--
"When western waves were all unknown,
And western fields were all unsown,
When Iceland was the outmost bound
That roving viking-keels had found--
Gunbiorn then--Ulf Kraka's son--
Still farther west was forced to run
By furious gales, and there saw land
Stretching abroad on either hand.
Eric of Iceland, called the Red,
Heard of the news and straightway said--
`This western land I'll go and see;
Three summers hence look out for me.'
He went; he landed; stayed awhile,
And wintered first on `Eric's Isle;'
Then searched the coast both far and wide,
Then back to Iceland o'er the tide.
`A wondrous land is this,' said he,
And called it Greenland of the sea.
Twenty and five great ships sailed west
To claim this gem on Ocean's breast.
With man and woman, horn and hoof,
And bigging for the homestead roof.
Some turned back--in heart but mice--
Some sank amid the Northern ice.
Half reached the land, in much distress,
At Ericsfiord and Heriulfness.
Next, Biarne--Heriulf's doughty son--
Sought to trace out the aged one. [His father.]
From Norway sailed, but missed his mark;
Passed snow-topped Greenland in the dark;
And came then to a new-found land--
But did not touch the tempting strand;
For winter winds oppressed him sore
And kept him from his father's shore.
Then Leif, the son of Eric, rose
And straightway off to Biarne goes,
Buys up his ship, takes all his men,
Fares forth to seek that land again.
Leif found the land; discovered more,
And spent a winter on the shore;
Cut trees and grain to load the ship,
And pay them for the lengthened trip.
Named `Hella-land' and `Markland' too,
And saw an island sweet with dew!
And grapes in great abundance found,
So named it Vinland all around.
But after that forsook the shore,
And north again for Greenland bore.
And now--we cross the moonlit seas
To search this land of grapes and trees
Biarne, Thorward, Karlsefin--
Go forth this better land to win,
With men and cattle not a few,
And household gear and weapons too;
And, best of all, with women dear,
To comfort, counsel, check, and cheer.
Thus far we've made a prosp'rous way,
God speed us onward every day!"
They all agreed that this was a true account of the discovery of Vinland
and of their own expedition as far as it had gone, though Gudrid said it
was short, and Freydissa was of opinion that there was very little in
it.
"But hold!" exclaimed Biarne, suddenly raising himself on his elbows;
"Karlsefin, you are but a sorry skald after all."
"How so?" asked the skipper.
"Why, because you have made no mention of the chief part of our voyage."
"And pray what may that be?"
"Stay, I too am a skald; I will tell you."
Biarne, whose poetical powers were not of the highest type, here
stretched forth his hand and said:--
"When Biarne, Thorward, Karlsefin,
This famous voyage did begin,
They stood upon the deck one night,
And there beheld a moving sight.
It made the very men grow pale,
Their shudder almost rent the sail!
For lo! they saw a mighty whale!
It drew a shriek from Olaf brave,
Then plunged beneath the briny wave,
And, while the women loudly shouted,
Up came its blundering nose and spouted.
Then underneath our keel it went,
And glared with savage fury pent,
And round about the ship it swum,
Striking each man and woman dumb.
Stay--one there was who found a tongue
And still retained her strength of lung.
Freydissa, beauteous matron bold,
Resolved to give that whale a scold!
But little cared that monster fish
To gratify Freydissa's wish;
He shook his tail, that naughty whale,
And flourished it like any flail,
And, ho! for Vinland he made sail!"
"Now, friends, was not that a great omission on the part of Karlsefin?"
"If the whale had brought his flail down on your pate it would have
served you right, Biarne," said Freydissa, flushing, yet smiling in
spite of herself.
"I think it is capital," cried Olaf, clapping his hands--"quite as good
as the other poem."
Some agreed with Olaf, and some thought that it was not quite in keeping
with Karlsefin's composition, but, after much debate, it was finally
ruled that it should be added thereto as part and parcel of the great
Vinland poem. Hence it appears in this chronicle, and forms an
interesting instance of the way in which men, for the sake of humorous
effect, mingle little pieces of fiction with veritable history.
By the time this important matter was settled it was getting so late
that even the most enthusiastic admirer among them of moonlight on a
calm sea became irresistibly desirous of going to sleep. They therefore
broke up for the night; the women retired to their cabin, and none were
left on deck except the steersman and the watch. Long before this the
saga-tellers on the forecastle had retired; the monotone and the soft
lowing of the cattle had ceased; man and beast had sought and found
repose, and nothing was heard save the ripple of the water on the ship's
sides as she glided slowly but steadily over the sleeping sea.