TREATS OF THE FRIENDSHIP AND ADVENTURES OF OLAF AND SNORRO, AND OF
SUNDRY SURPRISING INCIDENTS.
We must now pass over a considerable period of time, and carry our story
forward to the spring of the third year after the settlement of the
Norsemen in Vinland.
During that interval matters had progressed much in the same way as we
have already described, only that the natives had become a little more
exacting in their demands while engaged in barter, and were, on the
whole, rather more pugnacious and less easily pleased. There had been a
threatening of hostilities once or twice, but, owing to Karlsefin's
pacific policy, no open rupture had taken place.
During that interval, too, Leif had made two trips to Greenland and
back; a considerable amount of merchandise had been sent home; a few
more colonists had arrived, and a few of the original ones had left;
Thorward's ship had been also brought to Vinland; and last, but not
least, Snorro had grown into a most magnificent baby!
Things were in this felicitous condition when, early one beautiful
spring morning, Snorro resolved to have a ramble. Snorro was by that
time barely able to walk, and he did it after a peculiar fashion of his
own. He had also begun to make a few desperate efforts to talk; but
even Gudrid was forced to admit that, in regard to both walking and
talking, there was great room for improvement.
Now, it must be told that little Olaf was particularly fond of Snorro,
and, if one might judge from appearances, Snorro reciprocated the
attachment. Whenever Snorro happened to be missed, it was generally
understood that Olaf had him. If any one chanced to ask the question,
"Where is Snorro?" the almost invariable reply was, "Ask Olaf." In the
event of Olaf _not_ having him, it was quite unnecessary for any one to
ask where he was, because the manner in which he raged about the hamlet
shouting, howling, absolutely yelling, for "O'af!" was a sufficient
indication of his whereabouts.
It was customary for Olaf not only to tend and nurse Snorro, in a
general way, when at home, but to take him out for little walks and
rides in the forest--himself being the horse. At first these delightful
expeditions were very short, but as Snorro's legs developed, and his
mother became more accustomed to his absences, they were considerably
extended. Nevertheless a limit was marked out, beyond which Olaf was
forbidden to take him, and experience had proved that Olaf was a
trustworthy boy. It must be remembered here, that although he had grown
apace during these two years, Olaf was himself but a small boy, with the
clustering golden curls and the red chubby cheeks with which he had left
Greenland.
As we have said, then, Snorro resolved to have a walk one fine spring
morning of the year one thousand and ten--or thereabouts. In the
furtherance of his design he staggered across the hall, where Gudrid had
left him for those fatal "few minutes" during which children of all ages
and climes have invariably availed themselves of their opportunity!
Coming to a serious impediment in the shape of the door-step, he paused,
plucked up heart, and tumbled over it into the road. Gathering himself
up, he staggered onward through the village shouting his usual
cry,--"O'af! O'af! O'AF! O-o-o!" with his wonted vigour.
But "O'af" was deaf to the touching appeal. He chanced to have gone
away that morning with Biarne and Hake to visit a bear-trap. A little
black bear had been found in it crushed and dead beneath the heavy tree
that formed the _drop_ of the trap. This bear had been slung on a pole
between the two men, and the party were returning home in triumph at the
time that Snorro set up his cry, but they were not quite within earshot.
Finding that his cries were not attended to, Snorro staggered out of the
village into the forest a short way, and there, standing in the middle
of the path, began again,--"O'af! O'af! O'AF! O-o-o!"
Still there was no reply; therefore Snorro, stirred by the blood which
had descended to him through a long line of illustrious and warlike
sea-kings, lost his temper, stamped his feet, and screeched with
passion.
Nothing resulting, he changed his mood, shouted "O'af!" once more, in
heartrending accents, and--with his eyes half-shut and mouth wide open,
his arms and hands helplessly pendent, his legs astraddle, and his whole
aspect what is expressively styled in the Norse tongue begrutten--howled
in abject despair!
In this condition he was found by the bear party not many minutes later,
and in another moment he was sobbing out his heart and sorrows into the
sympathetic bosom of his dearly-loved friend.
"What is it, Snorrie? What's the matter?" inquired Olaf tenderly.
"Hik!--Me--hup!--O!--want--hif!--wak," replied the sobbing child.
"It wants to walk, does it? So it shall, my bold little man. There,
dry its eyes and get on my back, hup!--now, away we go! I'll be back
soon," he said to Biarne, who stood laughing at them. "Be sure that you
keep the claws of the bear for me.--Now, Snorrie, off and away! hurrah!"
"Hoo'ah!" echoed Snorro, as, holding tight with both his fat arms round
Olaf's neck, he was borne away into the wilderness.
Olaf's usual mode of proceeding was as follows:
First he dashed along the track of the woodcutters for about half a
mile. It was a good broad track, which at first had been cleared by the
axe, and afterwards well beaten by the constant passage of men and
horses with heavy loads of timber. Then he stopped and set Snorro on
his legs, and, going down on his knees before him, laughed in his face.
You may be sure that Snorro returned the laugh with right good-will.
"Whereaway next, Snorrie?"
"Away! a-way!" shouted the child, throwing up his arms, losing his
balance, and falling plump--in sedentary fashion.
"Ay, anywhere you please; that means, no doubt, up to the sun or moon,
if possible! But come, it must walk a bit now. Give me its hand, old
man."
Snorro was obedient to Olaf--and, reader, that was an amazing triumph of
love, for to no one else, not even to his mother, did he accord
obedience. He quietly took his guide's hand, trotted along by his side,
and listened wonderingly while he chatted of trees, and flowers, and
birds, and squirrels, and wild beasts, just as if he understood every
word that Olaf said.
But Snorro's obedience was not perfect. Olaf's pace being regulated by
his spirits, Snorro soon began to pant, and suddenly pulled up with a
violent "'Top!"
"Ho! is it tired?" cried Olaf, seizing him and throwing him over his
shoulder into the old position. "Well, then, off we go again!"
He not only went off at a run, but he went off the track also at this
point, and struck across country straight through the woods in the
direction of a certain ridge, which was the limit beyond which he was
forbidden to go.
It was an elevated ridge, which commanded a fine view of the surrounding
country, being higher than the tree-tops, and was a favourite resort of
Olaf when he went out to ramble with Snorro. Beyond it lay a land that
was unknown to Olaf, because that part of the forest was so dense that
even the men avoided it in their expeditions, and selected more open and
easier routes. Olaf, who was only allowed to accompany the men on short
excursions, had never gone beyond the ridge in that direction. He
longed to do so, however, and many a time had he, while playing with
Snorro on the ridge, gazed with ever increasing curiosity into the deep
shades beyond, and wondered what was there! To gaze at a forbidden
object is dangerous. We have already said that Olaf was a trustworthy
boy, but he was not immaculate. He not only sometimes wished to have
his own way, but now and then took it. On this particular occasion he
gave way, alas! to temptation.
"Snorro," said he, after sitting under a tree for a considerable time
basking in the checkered sunshine with the child beside him, "Snorro,
why should not you and I have a peep into that dark forest?"
"Eh?" said Snorro, who understood him not.
"It would be great fun," pursued Olaf. "The shade would be so pleasant
in a hot day like this, and we would not go far. What does it think?"
"Ho!" said Snorro, who thought and cared nothing at all about it, for he
happened to be engaged just then in crushing a quantity of wild-flowers
in his fat hands.
"I see it is not inclined to talk much to-day. Well, come, get on my
back, and we shall have just one peep--just one run into it--and then
out again."
Error number one. Smelling forbidden fruit is the sure prelude to the
eating of it!
He took the child on his back, descended the hill, and entered the thick
forest.
The scene that met his gaze was indeed well calculated to delight a
romantic boy. He found that the part of the woods immediately around
him consisted of tall straight trees with thick umbrageous tops, the
stems of which seemed like pillars supporting a vast roof; and through
between these stems he could see a vista of smaller stems which appeared
absolutely endless. There was no grass on the ground, but a species of
soft moss, into which he sank ankle-deep, yet not so deep as to render
walking difficult. In one direction the distance looked intensely blue,
in another it was almost black, while, just before him, a long way off,
there was a bright sunny spot with what appeared to be the glittering
waters of a pond in the midst of it.
The whole scene was both beautiful and strange to Olaf, and would have
filled him with intense delight, if he could only have got rid of that
uncomfortable feeling about its being forbidden ground! However, having
fairly got into the scrape, he thought he might as well go through with
it.
Error number two. Having become impressed with the fact that he had
sinned, he ought to have turned back _at once_. "In for a penny, in for
a pound," is about the worst motto that ever was invented. Interpreted,
it means, "Having done a little mischief, I'll shut my eyes and go
crashing into all iniquity." As well might one say, "Having burnt my
finger, I'll shove my whole body into the fire!"
But Olaf did not take time to think. He pushed boldly forward in the
direction of the lake. As he drew near he found the moss becoming
softer and deeper, besides being rather wet. Going a few steps further,
he found that it changed into a swamp.
"Ho! Snorrie, this is dangerous ground," he said, turning back; "we'll
take a round-about and try to get to the lake by a drier way."
He did so, but the more he diverged towards dry ground the more did the
swamp force him to one side, until it compelled him to go out of sight
of the pond altogether.
"Now, isn't that vexin'?" he said, looking about him.
"Iss," replied Snorro, who was becoming sleepy, and had laid his head on
his friend's shoulder.
"Well, as we can't get to the lake, and as this is rather a wild place,
we'll just turn back now and get out of it as fast as we can."
"Iss," murmured Snorro, with a deep sigh.
Olaf turned back and made for the edge of the wood. He was so long of
coming to it that he began to be somewhat surprised, and looked about
him a little more carefully, but the tall straight stems were all so
much alike that they afforded him no clue to his way out of the wood.
Young though he was, Olaf knew enough of woodcraft to be able to steer
his course by the sun; but the sky had become clouded, and the direction
of the sun could not be ascertained through the dense foliage overhead.
He now became seriously alarmed. His heart beat against his ribs as if
it wanted to get out, and he started off at a run in the direction in
which, he felt sure, the ridge lay. Becoming tired and still more
alarmed, he changed his course, eagerly advanced for a short time,
hesitated, changed his course again, and finally stopped altogether, as
the terrible fact flashed upon him that he was really lost in the woods.
He set Snorro on the ground, and, sitting down beside him, burst into
tears.
We need scarcely say that poor Olaf was neither a timid nor an
effeminate boy. It was not for himself that he thus gave way. It was
the sudden opening of his eyes to the terrible consequences of his
disobedience that unmanned him. His quick mind perceived at once that
little Snorro would soon die of cold and hunger if he failed to find his
way out of that wilderness; and when he thought of this, and of the
awful misery that would thus descend on the heads of Karlsefin and
Gudrid, he felt a strange desire that he himself might die there and
then.
This state of mind, however, did not last long. He soon dried his eyes
and braced himself up for another effort. Snorro had gone to sleep the
instant he was laid on the ground. As his luckless guide raised him he
opened his eyes slightly, murmured "O'af," and again went off to the
land of Nod.
Olaf now made a more steady and persevering effort to get out of the
wood, and he was so far successful that he came to ground that was more
open and broken--more like to that through which he had been accustomed
to travel with the men. This encouraged him greatly, for, although he
did not recognise any part of it, he believed that he must now be at all
events not far distant from places that he knew. Here he again looked
for the sun, but the sky had become so thickly overcast that he could
not make out its position. Laying Snorro down, he climbed a tall tree,
but the prospect of interminable forest which he beheld from that point
of vantage did not afford him any clue to his locality. He looked for
the ridge, but there were many ridges in view, any of which might have
been _his_ ridge, but none of which looked precisely like it.
Nevertheless, the upward bound which his spirits had taken when he came
to the more open country did not altogether subside. He still wandered
on manfully, in the hope that he was gradually nearing home.
At last evening approached and the light began to fade away. Olaf was
now convinced that he should have to spend the night in the forest. He
therefore wisely resolved, while it was yet day, to search for a
suitable place whereon to encamp, instead of struggling on till he could
go no farther. Fortunately the weather was warm at the time.
Ere long he found a small hollow in a sand-bank which was perfectly dry
and thickly overhung with shrubs. Into this he crept and carefully laid
down his slumbering charge. Then, going out, he collected a large
quantity of leaves. With these he made a couch, on which he laid Snorro
and covered him well over. Lying down beside him he drew as close to
the child as he could; placed his little head on his breast to keep it
warm; laid his own curly pate on a piece of turf, and almost instantly
fell into a profound slumber.
The sun was up and the birds were singing long before that slumber was
broken. When at last Olaf and his little charge awoke, they yawned
several times and stretched themselves vigorously; opened their eyes
with difficulty, and began to look round with some half-formed notions
as to breakfast. Olaf was first to observe that the roof above him was
a confused mass of earth and roots, instead of the customary plank
ceiling and cross-beams of home.
"Where am I?" he murmured lazily, yet with a look of sleepy curiosity.
He was evidently puzzled, and there is no saying how long he might have
lain in that condition had not a very small contented voice close beside
him replied:
"You's here, O'af; an' so's me."
Olaf raised himself quickly on his elbow, and, looking down, observed
Snorro's large eyes gazing from out a forest of leaves in quiet
satisfaction.
"Isn't it nice?" continued Snorro.
"Nice!" exclaimed Olaf in a voice of despair, when the whole truth in
regard to their lost condition was thus brought suddenly to his mind.
"Nice! No, Snorrie, my little man, it isn't nice. It's dread-ful!
It's awful! It's--but come, I must not give way like a big baby as I
did yesterday. We are lost, Snorrie, lost in the woods."
"Lost! What's lost?" asked Snorro, sitting up and gazing into his
friend's face with an anxious expression--not, of course, in consequence
of being lost, which he did not understand, but because of Olaf's woeful
countenance.
"Oh! you can't understand it, Snorrie; and, after all, I'm a stupid
fellow to alarm you, for that can do no good. Come, my mannie, you and
I are going to wander about in the woods to-day a great long way, and
try to get home; so, let me shake the leaves off you. There now, we
shall start."
"Dat great fun!" cried Snorro, with sparkling eyes; "but, O'af, me want
mik."
"Milk--eh? Well, to be sure, but--"
Olaf stopped abruptly, not only because he was greatly perplexed about
the matter of breakfast thus suggested to him, but because he chanced at
that moment to look towards the leafy entrance of the cave, and there
beheld a pair of large black eyes glaring at him.
To say that poor Olaf's heart gave a violent leap, and then apparently
ceased to beat altogether, while the blood fled from his visage, is not
to say anything disparaging to his courage. Whether you be boy or man,
reader, we suspect that if you had, in similar circumstances, beheld
such a pair of eyes, you might have been troubled with somewhat similar
emotions. Cowardice lies not in the susceptibility of the nervous
system to a shock, but in giving way to that shock so as to become unfit
for proper action or self-defence. If Olaf had been a coward, he would,
forgetting all else, have attempted to fly, or, that being impossible,
would have shrunk into the innermost recesses of the cave. Not being a
coward, his first impulse was to start to his feet and face the pair of
eyes; his second, to put his left arm round Snorro, and, still keeping
his white face steadily turned to the foe, to draw the child close to
his side.
This act, and the direction in which Olaf gazed, caused Snorro to glance
towards the cave's mouth, where he no sooner beheld the apparition, than
shutting his own eyes tight, and opening his mouth wide, he gave vent to
a series of yells that might have terrified the wildest beast in the
forest!
It did not, however, terrify the owner of the eyes, for the bushes were
instantly thrust aside, and next instant Snorro's mouth was violently
stopped by the black hand of a savage.
Seeing this, Olaf's blood returned to its ordinary channels with a rush.
He seized a thick branch that lay on the ground, and dealt the savage a
whack on the bridge of his nose, that changed it almost immediately from
a snub into a superb Roman! For this he received a buffet on the ear
that raised a brilliant constellation in his brain, and laid him flat on
the ground.
Rising with difficulty, he was met with a shower of language from the
savage in a voice which partook equally of the tones of remonstrance and
abuse, but Olaf made no reply, chiefly because, not understanding what
was said, he could not. Seeing this plainly indicated on his face, the
savage stopped speaking and gave him a box on the other ear, by way of
interpreting what he had said. It was not quite so violent as the
first, and only staggered Olaf, besides lighting up a few faint stars.
Very soon little Snorro became silent, from the combined effects of
exhaustive squeezes and horror.
Having thus promptly brought matters to what he seemed to consider a
satisfactory condition, the savage wiping his Roman nose, which had bled
a little, threw Snorro over his shoulder and, seizing Olaf by the collar
of his coat, so as to thrust him on in advance, left the cavern with
rapid strides.
Words cannot describe the condition of poor Olaf's mind, as he was thus
forced violently along through the forest, he knew not whither. Fearful
thoughts went flashing swiftly through his brain. That the savage would
take him and Snorro to his home, wherever that might be, and kill,
roast, and eat him, was one of the mildest of these thoughts. He
reflected that the hatred of the savage towards him must be very
intense, in consequence of his recent treatment of his nose, and that
the pain of that feature would infallibly keep his hatred for a long
time at the boiling-point; so that, in addition to the roasting and
eating referred to, he had every reason to expect in his own case the
addition of a little extra torture. Then he thought of the fact, that
little Snorro would never more behold his mother, and the torture of
mind resulting from this reflection is only comparable to the roasting
of the body; but the worst thought of all was, that the dreadful pass to
which he and Snorro had come, was the consequence of his own wilful
_disobedience_! The anguish of spirit that filled him, when he
reflected on this, was such that it caused him almost to forget the pain
caused by savage knuckles in his neck, and savage prospects in the
future.
Oh how he longed for a knife! With what fearful gloating did he
contemplate the exact spot in the savage groin into which he would have
plunged it until the haft should have disappeared! And this, not so
much from a feeling of revenge--though that was bad enough--as from an
intense desire to rescue Snorro ere it should be too late.
Several times he thought of a final dying effort at a hand-to-hand
struggle with his captor, but the power of the grip on the back of his
neck induced him to abandon that idea in despair. Then he thought of a
sudden wrench and a desperate flight, but as that implied the leaving of
Snorro to his fate, he abandoned that idea too in disdain. Suddenly,
however, he recurred to it, reflecting that, if he could only manage to
make his own escape, he might perhaps find his way back to the
settlement, give the alarm, and lead his friends to Snorro's rescue.
The power of this thought was so strong upon him, that he suddenly
stooped and gave his active body a twist, which he considered absolutely
awful for strength, but, much to his astonishment, did not find himself
free. On the contrary, he received such a shake, accompanied by such a
kick, that from that moment he felt all hope to be gone.
Thus they proceeded through the woods, and out upon an open space
beyond, and over a variety of ridges, and down into a number of hollows,
and again through several forests not unlike the first, until poor Olaf
began to wonder whether they had not passed the boundaries of the world
altogether and got into another region beyond--until his legs, sturdy
though they were, began to give way beneath him--until the noon-day sun
shone perpendicularly down through the trees, and felt as if it were
burning up his brain. Then they came to a rivulet, on the banks of
which were seen several tents of a conical form, made of skins, from the
tops of which smoke was issuing.
No sooner did the savage come in sight of these tents than he uttered a
low peculiar cry. It was responded to, and immediately a band of
half-naked savages, like himself, advanced to meet him.
There was much gesticulation and loud excited talking, and a great deal
of pointing to the two captives, with looks expressive of surprise and
delight, but not a word could Olaf understand; and the gestures were not
definite in their expression.
When Snorro was placed sitting-wise on the ground--nearly half dead with
fatigue, alarm, and hunger--he crept towards Olaf, hid his face in his
breast, and sobbed. Then did Olaf's conscience wake up afresh and stab
him with a degree of vigour that was absolutely awful--for Olaf's
conscience was a tender one; and it is a strange, almost paradoxical,
fact, that the tenderer a conscience is the more wrathfully does it stab
and lacerate the heart of its owner when he has done wrong!
There was, however, no uncertainty as to the disposition of the savages,
when, after a thorough inspection of the children, they took them to the
tents and set before them some boiled fish and roast venison.
Need we remark that, for the time, Olaf and Snorro forgot their sorrow?
It would scarcely be an exaggeration to say that Snorro was as ravenous
as any wolf in Vinland. From the day of his birth that well-cared-for
child had, four times a day, received regular nutriment in the form of
milk, bread, eggs, and other substances, and never once had he been
permitted to experience the _pangs_ of hunger, though the _intimations_
thereof were familiar. No wonder, then, that after an evening, a night,
and half a day of abstinence, he looked with a longing gaze on victuals,
and, when opportunity offered, devoured them desperately. Olaf, though
trained a little in endurance, was scarcely less energetic, for his
appetite was keen, and his fast had been unusually prolonged.
When they had eaten as much as they could--to the delight of the
natives, excepting, of course, the man with the temporary Roman nose--
they were ordered by signals, which even Snorro understood, to remain
still and behave themselves. Thereafter the natives struck their tents,
packed up their goods and chattels, embarked in sixteen large canoes,
and descended the rivulet a hundred yards or so to the spot where it
flowed into a large river. Here they turned the canoes upstream, and
silently but swiftly paddled away into the interior of the land.