The prize which had thus fallen into the hands of the Norsemen was of
great importance, because it furnished a large supply of food, which
thus enabled them to go leisurely to work in establishing themselves,
instead of, as would otherwise have been the case, spending much of
their time and energy in procuring that necessity of life by hunting and
fishing.
It was also exceedingly fortunate that the whale had been killed a
little before the time of high water, because that enabled them to
fasten ropes through its nose and row with it still farther in to the
shore. This accomplished, the boats made several trips back to the ship
and landed all the men, and these, with a number of ropes, hauled up the
carcase foot by foot as the tide rose. After reaching a certain point
at high water they could get it up no farther, and when the tide turned
all the men twice doubled could not have budged it an inch. The ropes
were therefore tied together and lengthened until they reached a strong
tree near the beach, to which they were fastened.
Leaving their prize thus secured they hastened back to the ship, hauled
up the anchor, and made for the mouth of the river, but they had lost so
much of the flood-tide, in consequence of their battle with the whale,
and the evening was so far advanced, that they resolved to delay further
proceedings until the following day.
The ship was therefore hauled close in to the land at the river's mouth
and allowed to take the ground on a spit of sand. Here the men landed
and soon built up a pile of stones, between which and the ship a gangway
was made. The women were thus enabled to walk comfortably ashore. And
here, on a grassy spot, they pitched their tents for the first time in
Vinland.
Provisions were now brought on shore and large fires were kindled which
blazed up and glared magnificently as the night drew on, rendering the
spit of sand with the grassy knoll in the centre of it quite a cheerful
and ruddy spot. A few trees were cut down and stretched across the spit
at its neck on the land side, and there several sentinels were placed as
a precaution--for which there seemed little occasion.
Karlsefin then set up a pole with a flag on it and took formal
possession of this new land, after which the whole colony sat down on
the grass--some under the tents, others under the starry sky--to supper.
The cattle, it may here be noted, were not landed at this place, as
they were to be taken up the river next day, but their spirits were
refreshed with a good supply of new-mown grass, so that it is to be
hoped, and presumed, they rejoiced not less than their human companions
in the satisfactory state of things.
In the largest tent, Karlsefin, Biarne, Thorward, Gudrid, Freydissa,
Astrid, and Olaf, sat down to a sumptuous repast of dried Greenland-fish
and fresh Vinland-whale, besides which they had soup and beer. Being
healthy and hungry, they did full justice to the good things. Bertha
and Thora served and then joined in the repast.
"This is pleasant, isn't it, Freydissa?" asked Biarne, with his mouth
full.
Freydissa, with her mouth not quite so full, admitted that it was, for
she happened to be in an amiable humour--as well she might!
"Come, let us pledge the new land in a can of beer," cried Biarne,
pouring the beverage out of an earthenware jar into a squat old Norse
flagon of embossed silver. "Thorward, fill up!"
"I will join you heartily in that," cried Thorward, suiting the action
to the word.
"And I," said Karlsefin, raising an empty flagon to his lips, "will
pledge it in a wish. I wish--prosperity to Vinland!"
"Come, Karlsefin," remonstrated Biarne, "forego austerity for once, and
drink."
"Not I," returned the skipper, with a laugh.
"Wherefore not?"
"First, because a wish is quite as potent as a drink in that respect;
second, because our beer is nearly finished, and we have not yet the
means to concoct more, so that it were ill-advised to rob _you_, Biarne,
by helping to consume that which I do not like; and, last of all, I
think it a happy occasion this in which to forswear beer altogether!"
"Have thy way," said Biarne, helping himself to another whale-steak of
large dimensions. "You are too good a fellow to quarrel with on such
trifling ground. Here, pass the jar, Thorward; I will drink his portion
as well as my own."
"And I will join you both," cried little Olaf with a comical turn of his
eyebrows. "Here, I wish prosperity to Vinland, and drink it, too, in
water."
"We can all join thee in that, Olaf," said Gudrid I with an approving
nod and laugh. "Come, girls, fill up your cups and pledge to Vinland."
"Stop!" shouted Biarne in sudden anxiety.
They all paused with the cups half-way to their lips.
"_You_ must not drink, Freydissa," he continued seriously. "Gudrid did
call upon the _girls_ to join her: surely ye don't--"
He was cut short by Freydissa throwing her cup of water in his face.
With a burst of laughter Biarne fell backwards, and, partly to avoid the
deluge, partly for fun, rolled out of the tent, when he got up and dried
his dripping beard.
"No more of that, fair girl, I beseech thee," he said, resuming his
place and occupation. "I will not again offend--if thou wilt not again
misunderstand!"
Freydissa made no reply to this, silence being her usual method of
showing that she condescended to be in good humour--and they were all
very merry over their evening meal. From the noise and laughter and
songs around them, it was evident that the rest of the company were
enjoying their first night on shore to the full, insomuch that Olaf was
led, in the height of his glee, to express a wish that they could live
in that free-and-easy fashion for ever.
"'Tis of no use wishing it," observed Karlsefin; "if you would insure
success you must, according to Biarne, drink it in beer."
"I cry you mercy, skipper," said Biarne; "if you persecute me thus I
shall not be able to drink any more to-night. Hand me the jar,
Thorward, and let me drink again before I come to that pass."
"Hark!" exclaimed Gudrid, "there must be something going to happen, for
all the men have become suddenly quiet."
They listened intently for a moment or two, when Krake's voice broke the
deep silence:--"Come, now, don't think so long about it, as if ye were
composing something new. Every one knows, sure, that it's about sweet
Scotland you're going to sing."
"Right, Krake, right," replied a rich deep voice, which it required no
sight to tell belonged to Hake, the young Scot; "but there are many
songs about sweet Scotland, and I am uncertain which to choose."
"Let it be lively," said Krake.
"No, no, no," chorussed some of the men; "let it be slow and sad."
"Well well," laughed the half-Irishman--as he was fond of styling
himself--"have it your own way. If ye won't be glad, by all means be
sad."
A moment after, Hake's manly tones rose on the still air like the sound
of an organ, while he sang one of the ancient airs of his native land,
wherein, like the same airs of modern days, were sounded the praises of
Scotland's heather hills and brawling burns--her bonny daughters and her
stalwart sons.
To those in the large tent who had listened, with breathless attention
and heads half averted, it was evident that song, sentiments, and singer
were highly appreciated, from the burst of hearty applause at the
conclusion, and the eager demand for another ditty. But Hake protested
that his ruling motto was "fair play," and that the songs must circle
round.
"So let it be," cried Swend.--"Krake, it is your turn next."
"I won't keep ye waiting," said that worthy, "though I might do it, too,
if I was to put off time selecting from the songs of old Ireland, for
it's endless they are--and in great variety. Sure, I could give ye
songs about hills and streams that are superior to Scotland's burns and
braes any day--almost up to those of Gamle Norge if they were a bit
higher--the hills I mean, not the songs, which are too high already for
a man with a low voice--and I could sing ye a lament that would make ye
shed tears enough to wash us all off the spit of land here into the sea;
but that's not in my way. I'm fond of a lively ditty, so here you are."
With that Krake struck up an air in which it was roundly asserted that
Ireland was the finest country in the world (except Iceland, as he
stopped in his song to remark); that Irish boys and girls lived in a
state of perpetual hilarity and good-will, and that the boys displayed
this amiable and pleasant condition chiefly in the way of kissing the
girls and cracking each other's crowns.
After that, Swend was called on to sing, which he did of Norway with
tremendous enthusiasm and noise but little melody. Then another man
sang a love-ditty in a very gruff voice and much out of tune, which,
nevertheless, to the man's evident satisfaction, was laughingly
applauded. After him a sentimental youth sang, in a sweet tenor voice,
an Icelandic air, and then Tyrker was called on to do his part, but
flatly refused to sing. He offered to tell a saga instead, however,
which he did in such a manner that he made the sides of the Norsemen
ache with laughter--though, to say truth, they laughed more at the
teller than the tale.
Thus with song and saga they passed the first hours of the night, while
the camp-fires blazed ruddily on their weather-beaten faces, and the
heavenly constellations shone, not only on the surrounding landscape,
but appeared to light up another world of cloudland beneath the surface
of the sleeping sea.
At last Karlsefin went out to them.
"Now, lads," said he, "it is high time that you laid your heads on your
pillows. Men who do not sleep well cannot labour well. To-morrow we
have hard work before us in taking possession and settling our new home.
God has prospered us thus far. We have made a good beginning in
Vinland. May it be the foretaste of a happy ending. Away, then, and
get you to rest before the night is older, and let your sleep be sound,
for I will see to it that the sentinels posted round the camp are
vigilant."
The men received this brief speech with a murmur of willing
acquiescence, and at once obeyed the order; though Krake observed that
he fell in with the custom merely out of respect to the opinions of his
comrades, having himself long ago learned to do without sleep in
Ireland, where the lads were in the habit of working--or fighting--all
day, dancing all night, and going home with the girls in the morning!
Each Norseman then sought a spot upon the grassy knoll suited to his
taste; used his arm, or a hillock, or stone, for a pillow, or anything
else that came conveniently to hand, and with his sword or axe beside
him, and his shield above him as a coverlet, courted repose, while the
bright stars twinkled him to sleep, and the rippling wavelets on the
shore discoursed his lullaby.