matters. Soon they were surging once more across apparently boundless
seas. Three times they came to lands unknown to them, yet not the
country of great trees talked of by old sailors around the winter
fires. At last it loomed up in reality above the horizon, covered with
timber enough to build a great city,--more than ever was seen close at
hand by Northmen before. And right lustily swung the axes among them
for days and weeks, until even the keenest trader among them all was
contented with his share of wealth that was to come to him when once
back in Greenland. There were not lacking signs, either, that savage
neighbours might be unpleasant neighbours, as more than one stone-
headed arrow had whistled past, heralded by the first war-whoop that
ever was heard by ears of white men.
So, like a careful captain, Leif got his dried fish, his smoked deer-
meat, his water casks, and his lumber by degrees all on board; he lit
the watch fires as usual at sundown; but by moonrise, with the early
tide he and his men slipped quietly out of their stockaded camp and
into their vessel, and silently drifted out to sea before the warm
land-wind that still was faintly blowing. And late that night a savage
war party called at the camp with spear and torch, to find it only an
empty shell, to their huge disappointment.
Other captains, less wise, came after Leif in their timber-hunting,
and not all came safely home again. Perhaps the good fortune that
still followed the guardian of the Iron Star had something to do with
Leif and Ulf's fair voyaging in this, the first time that a part of
the Star ever came to the shores of America. If so, then indeed its
power must have lived long after Ulf had said farewell and swept
onward in his own ship toward Norway once again; for by all his
friends the tall captain was called "Leif the Lucky."
And even now, in the entrance to a beautiful park in a great city of
that land where he went timber-cutting a thousand years before that
city--Boston--was ever heard of, there, high in air, as though still
standing on the prow of his ship, looms up a brave figure in bronze. A
closeknit, flexible shirt of mail guards his form. One hand rests upon
his hip, holding his curved war-horn. The other shades the eyes;--for,
even in this statue of him, Leif Ericsson is still the crosser of far
seas, the finder of strange lands, the sleepless watcher forever
gazing from beneath his shadowed brows into the golden west.
SPARK VII.
HOW THE STAR HELPED ULF THE SILENT TO WIN A GREAT NAME.
Back at the fjord, what happened to Edith Fairhair while Ulf was on
the ocean? Apparently nothing worth recording. Yet something had
happened, so silently, so stealthily that no one gave the matter a
thought. What was it? Why, Edith Fairhair had grown up!
She was now a tall maiden, straight as a poplar tree. Hers was now the
hand to rule in her sweet lady-mother's place when work bore heavily
on the shoulders now weary with many years. She it was who now
directed the household thralls and saw that their tasks were well
done. Did they not understand their business? Then hers was the hand
to show them how, be it spinning, weaving, milking, washing, sweeping,
dusting, or any other household art.
In the kitchen it seemed to the servants that all the pots and kettles
were bewitched when young Edith stood before them, for the water never
refused to boil nor the wood to burn, nor the roast to cook thoroughly
and tender. And she had so deft a way of first thinking out what new
things would be likely to go well together, and then mixing things
that no one ever thought of mixing before, which yet turned into the
most delightful dishfuls, that the sea-kings who dined with Sigurd
jestingly declared that but one thing prevented some one's making war
on him in hope of capturing Edith for himself, and that was the surety
that if he won he then would have to fight all the others!
But one morning the sun had just begun glinting past the pines, and
had turned all the dewdrops into dancing jewels, as Edith stepped to
the door and flung it open to admit the fresh morning air. As it swung
she found herself face to face with a browned, bright-eyed young man,
clad in mail that rippled in the sunlight radiance.
"Ulf!"
"Edith!"
And down the slope were moving forms about a longship, rusty and weedy
from long voyaging, now drawn up high on the beach for a long rest. In
the clear air their voices were blithe as they shouted orders and
tossed to earth the bales of costly furs, or handed down with more
respect some small yet valuable parcel, doubtless containing gems or
gold; while over the waters of the vik the gulls were wheeling,
screaming, calling, as it seemed to Edith,
"Ulf! our Ulf is home again!"
Then the sun lifted itself clear of the shadowing pines and flooded
the fjord with glory, and in Edith's face he seemed to have flashed a
colour of sunrise rose.
"For rest and new plans have I come," said Ulf, presently. "Seas have
I crossed, and new lands have I seen, and wealth have I won while
trading; but a name is not won in ways like these."
To him, indeed, that name of honour still seemed as far beyond the
horizon as ever it had been. Yet, for some reason, Edith thought
differently. So did Jarl Sigurd when, now seated on the "high-seat"
with other visiting captains, Ulf told of his search for timber lands
and briefly gave an idea of what he had brought home.
"Almost thou art man-grown, Ulf," he said, significantly. "Not quite,
as yet. But almost. A little more, perhaps another voyage--"
Ulf's face flushed scarlet, and into his eyes leaped a joyous light.
Yet he said only,
"The son of a jarl needs a larger measure, else will men say, 'good as
a dagger, but short for a sword.'"
And the grim war-captains around, who knew the difference, nodded
assent and said the word was wise. Yet thought they none the less of
the youth because he felt that a renowned father made all the harder
work needful in the son.
But all day long, and for various other days, the dark little smithy
was alight again, and merrily the clink of anvil rang. Little by
little new plans were forming. A new strip of rings had to be let into
that mail, for Ulf had grown larger. He had grown in other ways as
well, and could see far into the needs for the future. So to his arms
he had added a spearhead with a point like a needle. And now he took
from an almost forgotten hiding-place a toy of his younger days.
You would hardly know the use at first glance. Just two jawbones of
some large animal, white and polished. But look closer at them. The
outer side of the curve has been filed flat. There are holes drilled
in the bone through which are rove leather strips. If with those
strips the bones were laced to the bottom of your shoes, now--
"Skates!" you cry; and skates they were. Not keen enough perhaps to
give a good honest stroke, yet speedy enough when used rightly in
"roller-skate" fashion, and just as easy to get a fall with as any
other kind. Ulf's nose tingled as he looked at them. It seemed to
remember at least one bump.
Then Ulf fell to hammering again at his bits of steel, and presently
those flat surfaces of bone were shod with something harder, with keen
cutting edges of corners that would never slip, no matter how glassy
the ice beneath.
Jarl Sigurd laughed when he heard of it and said that Ulf was still
quite a boy. Edith was amazed, although that winter she took much
pleasure in a pair of skates which were wondrous keen. But that was
still in the future; meanwhile, Ulf said nothing, only smiled, and
when he next sailed away he took his new toys with him.
* * * * *
Far up in the Arctic Circle, where the nights are six months long, day
was fairly begun. That means, it had progressed till five or six weeks
of our days might have been carved out of it, and the sun stood quite
high above the horizon. It was so warm that the ice had begun to melt,
and one great floe of it, ever so many miles wide, broke off from the
rest and began to drift slowly southward. What made it break off was
this:--here and there in the smooth plain great icebergs were frozen,
huge mountains of ice, every one of them. The wind was blowing south,
and each berg stood there like a great white sail. Underneath there
was a current flowing southward; and every berg was many times larger
under water than it was above, as you can see for yourself by dropping
a piece of ice into a waterpail and measuring the difference. So the
river of water flowing through the Arctic Ocean was pushing, pushing,
and the wind above was pushing, pushing, until at last there came a
thunderous crack, and the whole concern began drifting, drifting down
to the warmer seas.
But where did the bergs come from? That, too, is very curious. Among
the mountains in the far north, just as in Switzerland, there are
great rivers of ice, called glaciers. They look like rivers frozen
clear to the bottom, and the weight of the ice is forever pressing it
downward toward the sea, sliding, squeezing, crushing itself into
strange forms, and moving a few inches or a few feet or yards per
year. Very slow progress, you will say. But then, it is enough. By and
by a great mass of it will be shoved so far into the sea that it will
break off, a whole mountain of it, and go wallowing away with perhaps
twenty cart-loads of sand and gravel and great stones scooped up from
the bottom into its crevices, or frozen fast to the ice. By-and-by
that berg will drift down as far as Newfoundland, where it will meet
the warm water of the Gulf Stream as it hurries northward. The ice
will melt, the sand and stones will go silting downward, and by just
so much the bottom of the ocean will be a little nearer to the
surface. Already there are great banks of such deposits, many miles
across, where a ship can anchor, although out of sight of land; and
they are great places to go fishing on. More codfish and halibut are
caught in such places than anywhere else.
Meanwhile the floe was drifting,--the one we started to write about.
Right in the heart of it there was a round hole in the ice. A fat
brown seal had made it when the ice was not so thick; and he kept it
open, so that when the whole ocean was frozen he still could have a
place to breathe through. There were other places now, but still he
liked to come back home to this one. The snow had blown into the hole
and formed a hard crust across it, which kept the colder air out; and
after our seal had tired of fishing and felt air-thirsty, he would
swim quickly to the place and blow warm breaths against the crust till
a little airhole was melted right through it, which was quite enough
for him. Just now the seal was not at home.
Close to the snow-buried hole lay a great yellowish-white heap, too
yellow to be ice, too white to be noticed as different from any other
hummock of ice. For hours it had crouched there utterly motionless,
save now and then the silent quiver of a small ear hidden in the fur.
All day it would stay if need be, patient as death and as sure--the
great white polar bear, with claws like hooks of iron, and looked at
with respect by Northmen, who gave scant respect to anything else on
earth.
And good was their reason, for, as they knew, "He has eleven men's wit
and twelve men's strength," and of all foes to meet, none was so
terrible, none so full of craft. Men tell of two hunters who saw one
by a pool and stole up behind a rock. When they peered over there was
no bear there, nothing but a brown leaf drifting across the pool.
Then, as they looked, the leaf disappeared behind the bank, and
without a sound the head of that bear slipped out of the water right
there, and rose inch by inch to get a good look at the watchers. Then
back it slipped again, down, down, till only the tip of the nose was
left, and once more there was nothing to be seen but what seemed a
brown leaf drifting across the water.
Well the great beast on the floe knew what was to be found in good
time beneath that snow crust, and his long-haired paws had made no
sound when he first had crept like a shadow to the spot. Now at last
the time had come. The first faint tinkle of water lapping in the hole
had caught his watchful ear. Yet still he waited; waited while the
breathing grew plainer as the snow grew thin; raised himself ever so
slowly and rustleless, and until the first little whiff of steam burst
through; then--then--down on each side plunged the resistless sets of
curved daggers! down between plunged the wolf-trap mouth, and with an
ease that would make one forget how heavy a seal is, this one was
flirted out of his hole and sent rolling yards away, only to be
pounced on a second later, with an exultant roar that echoed from berg
to berg until a great fragment split off from one and crashed into
splinters at its base. Then the echoes were fine indeed as they
rumbled along the glittering plain.
The bear enjoyed his dinner. He had waited long for it and so perhaps
deserved it. But it was not wise of him to pay it quite such close
attention, and for the moment fail to keep ears or eyes alert to other
things. Even as it was, however, a sound caught his attention--an odd,
hissing, whistling noise,--and he raised his long, snaky neck and
head, now dyed a brilliant red, and dripping frightfully. Yes, he was
not mistaken. Something was coming, and he stirred uneasily. Not that
he was afraid,--of what living creature in those days was a Rider of
the Berg ever afraid?--but he might have to fight for his dinner.
Perhaps he remembered meeting such a creature once before and the
fight that came of it. It was a good dinner that followed, but it was
many days before certain wounds of his own had healed; at all events,
it was well to be ready.
On came the figure as swiftly as a bird, glittering in the light like
an icicle. The bear began half not to like it, and expressed his
displeasure at such uncanny work by uttering a curse deep in his
shaggy throat, a curse that came snarling through ivory fangs already
tinged with red; but never a second paused that flying form. Long
leads of ice around were glassy, and down the nearest lane among the
rougher patches, hist!--swist! flashed the darting feet. And as the
skater passed in full flight, followed by the ever-turning, wrathful,
watchful, shaggy head, up went the short sea-bow, backed with
whalebone. Tsang! and swift as light an arrow, drawn to the head, had
crossed the space and buried its length nearly to the feather in the
mass of yellow hair.
Like an uncoiled spring round snapped the roaring head, and bit
savagely at the spot where the arrow had already bitten deeper, and
then with wonderful speed the furious beast stretched himself in keen
pursuit. If that smooth road should come to an end!--but the skater
had vanished behind a berg. Hist!--swist! Here he comes again, from
round the other side, and down another lane. Another arrow glances in
the sun, and again for a second a stinging wound receives a needless
bite. Time lost! and time, O Bear, is of value, did you but know it.
Twice already has that fierce sting bitten deeply into your joints,
and both hind feet move now strangely slow, feet which used to carry
you swiftly as any deer. Beware the third!
Silently came again the mail-clad skater--voiceless, save for the
whistling of his flight,--and undaunted still the enraged monster
rushed to meet him, only to meet, baffled, yet another shaft in the
tenderest spot in his shoulder, that gave to the severed sinew and let
him drop on it so heavily that it completed the mischief done. And now
for the first time in his life the polar bear felt fear. His keen wit
told him that in such war he was mastered. He ceased to rush madly
onward. He settled slowly on his torn haunches, and swayed this way
and that on his one sound foreleg, till that too gave way and he sank
in a shapeless heap.
Back came Ulf, swirling, wildly exultant, casting away bow and quiver.
A slash of his knife freed his feet, and with a bound he sprang on the
rough ice, axe in belt, spear in hand, on his feet small irons that
would keep them from slipping. In a dozen strides he was ready for the
thrust and made it. Then Ulf's brave heart stood still for one dread
throb. Like the ward of a boxer up came the great white forearm, and
the spear only glanced along the hair. Like the stroke of a serpent
the long neck shot upward, the furious jaws crunched into the shaft,
and with a sharp side-shake, snap! snap! in three pieces flew the
splintered wood. Now for the throat!
It was all so awfully sudden! No time to think, to plan, to evade!
Just time to snatch from belt his keen little axe, to fling out the
weaponless left hand and catch with it from below that murderous lower
jaw, then, with all his own wildcat quickness and last ounce of
strength, to strike!
It was a wonderful blow, men said afterward--so fairly in line between
the eyes that no scale could detect a waver, yet far enough back to go
crashing down helve-deep through the brain till it touched somewhere
the spinal cord, the one great nerve of life that carries the brain's
messages to the limbs, and without which they are dead. And Ulf, still
staring into the glowing coals that gleamed in the eyesockets of his
enemy, felt, rather than saw, the light flicker out like candles as
the red-stained head dropped to his blow with a sinking of the whole
frame about which there could be no mistake. Axe fell with head, and
the handle clattered on the ice.
Yes, it was a wonderful blow; and when Ulf looked at the black,
hurrying knot of his slowfooted men and down at the result, and knew
in his soul what other results would follow, the blood came surging
back from his heart in a mighty tide of joy. Now he was a man! Now he
was a Northman of the Northmen! Now he would have a name of his own!
And over the wild waste of ice rang out the war-cry of the Northman,
of the Viking, the one who made and unmade kings,
"AOI!"
SPARK VIII.
HOW THE IRON STAR VISITED A GREAT KING.
So Ulf came home again to his reward with more renown than often falls
to a young man; and when Jarl Sigurd grew too old to care to govern
longer, the command slid over to the sturdy young shoulders so well
fitted to receive it. And long before this Ulf had married Edith
Fairhair, greatly to the regret of all the other young men along the
coast.
But of all his treasures won in war or trading, nothing gave him
greater honour than his white bearskin; for the fame of his winning
travelled far, and was sung in winter nights by harpers round the
roaring fire which peopled the far corners with ghosts and leaping
shadows, which might well be the wraiths of bears and wolves still
haunting the land where once they lived, and roared, and howled,--or
so thought the younger people. If the truth be told, so thought not a
few of the older ones too, for those were days when men believed in
magic, and in the power of dwarfs, elves and gnomes who were supposed
to work in caves deep in the mountain sides, making magic arms, and
other witchcraft things.
About this time, the great outside world began to move on a little
faster. More was happening, day by day, worth remembering, and thus
called History. Wars were afoot in half a dozen countries, and at last
like a light flame war came flickering around the fjords, touching now
here, now there. Even Sigurd's distant vik was beset, and Thorold the
Strong, now as mighty a man as Thorolf his father, struck such strokes
among the invaders that many supposed he was the leader, and told
tales of the giant that made the pirates rather shy of coming back
again.
Yet always in each tale, there was some word of another leader, and
always word of a lost ship, sometimes of more than one; so when they
talked it over it began to dawn on many that the stories told so fully
were told by men who escaped from Thorold; but the tale was so scanty
about the slighter leader in the glittering mail because men whom _he_
met never came back to boast of it. When once he shot over the side of
a long-ship at the head of his men, that was ever but the beginning of
the end. Not many minutes later, war would cease on that particular
craft, no one being left to defend it. This did not make the wise-
heads anxious to try it for themselves. But for a while, hot-headed
young men who wanted to win great fame in a voyage, without waiting
for it to come in many voyages, as most must do, thought that a viking
trip to Sigurd's Vik was the speediest way of getting it.
Now and then some young madcap would do more than think about it, and
with cheers would sail away for Sigurd's Vik; but it is not recorded
that many men thus won the fame they went for. So at last every one
very sensibly decided that the Vik was an excellent place for
fighting, but a still better place to leave alone, and then war died
out, and slowly trade began again.
With the trade came news, as usual. Across the seas at no great
distance lay Denmark. Further off yet was Britain, where the tin came
from, and some gold. Now word came that in Denmark a mighty king had
arisen, who had conquered all England, in Britain, and was now ruling
both lands. Great was the wonder throughout all the Northland, for
fierce were the fighters who dwelt in Britain, and such a deed had
never been done before. This was better than fighting off pirates in
the mouth of a vik, thought Ulf. Moreover, the pirates had ceased to
come.
So Ulf welcomed the traders heartily, and gave them good bargains; and
in return, while he listened, they told him all they knew about the
king, which was not much, to be sure. That he was not a very young man
was certain, for he had a son as old as Ulf. But they told one strange
thing about him at which all wondered. When the King was a young man
of Ulf's age, he was as fierce a warrior as ever held a shield, and
toward the conquered was as relentless as a wolf. They told wild tales
of his cruelty then.
This was common enough in the world, and Ulf said nothing. But they
went on to tell that which to Ulf was indeed a very curious thing.
When England lay at this fighter's feet, beaten, every one expected as
a matter of course that all the captured leaders would be killed, and
all the gold, and furs, and lands would be seized by the King for his
own use. But nothing of the kind happened! Instead, he began a rule so
good-hearted, so fair and just to all, whether British or Dane, and
toward past enemies as well as toward friends, that his enemies were
more than half inclined to be friends. The country was growing rich in
cattle, and was better to live in than ever before,--indeed quite like
Sigurd's Vik in that respect, a state of things natural enough where a
Sigurd ruled, but not at all where a Knut did,--for Knut or Canute, as
it is sometimes written, was this new king's name.
Lastly, strangest of all, this wild warrior, yet mild-ruling king, had
proclaimed throughout the land that he no longer believed in Thor, nor
Odin, nor the other cruel gods of the North, but declared that they
did not even exist! He worshipped, they said, one God only, a merciful
One, who did not love bloodshed and murder, for which reason there
should be none of it throughout the kingdom. And there was very little
of it indeed. Men knew so well what the King himself had done in that
line, in the past, that they were in no hurry to disobey him now, lest
perhaps they might find that he had forgotten nothing of his oldtime
handy use of battle-axe. So there was peace from one end of the
country to the other.
Now, Edith Fairhair sat in the highseat when this was told, and she
became very curious about it. Ulf sat silently by, with his chin in
his hand, with the firelight flashing from his mail, and listened.
When the tale was told, and they were alone, they looked into each
other's eyes, and both laughed softly, each reading the same thought.
"Would'st care to go, Edith?"
"Far hast thou sailed, Ulf, and much hast thou seen. Yet Vik-mouth is
as far as I have travelled. I would like to see that fair land."
"There may be storms," he said, teasingly.
"I like storms."
"There may be pirates on the way." And his face grew sober.
"I am Sigurd's daughter, and the wife of Ulf," was the proud reply.