BEHIND THE TIMES.
"I wish I had on a better rig," thought Ned, very naturally. "I look
like anything."
He felt that he was going in among entire strangers, and that he was
not by any means in company dress. He had come out fishing in a pair
of blue flannel trousers and a blue woollen outing shirt, with canvas
shoes, and wearing the low, brown felt hat he had dived in yesterday.
It was dry now, but not handsome. He lowered his sail and began to
paddle slowly along, thinking of all sorts of things, and watching
sharply for whatever might turn up. He studied the sloop at anchor, as
he went past it, and declared that it was a queer enough craft to look
at. It was very long, and it was low amidships, with big thole-pins
along the rails, as if it were planned to operate occasionally as a
rowboat. The stern of it rose very high, so that it might contain a
cabin, and so did the bow. Projecting from the latter was an iron-clad
beak. It was chisel-edged, and Ned remarked:
"That's a ram, but she doesn't look much like a ship-of-war. Our
ironclads have rams, but they never get near enough to other ships to
strike with them. Our fighting has to be done with long-range guns.
Well! I never saw her like before. Hullo! I see it! She is made like
the Norse pirate pictures in that book! She is one of them!"
He was eager enough to go forward now, and he rowed with his eyes at
work in all directions. The landing-place was now not far ahead of him.
It was provided with a pretty substantial wharf, made of logs and
stones. From this a pier of similar construction ran out about fifty
feet into the harbour. Upon the deck of the pier, and on the wharf, and
along the beach, were scattered men and women, and there were a number
of stout-looking rowboats hitched here and there, or pulled up on the
shore.
Ned ceased rowing for a full half-minute to stare intensely at the
people, and then he exclaimed:
"I guess I'm right about it. These chaps are out and out Norsemen! That
biggest man wears an iron topknot, too, and he carries a spear. Every
man of 'em has a short sword at his belt, and those are all what the
book calls seaxes. I know where I am now. I'm in for it! But how on
earth am I ever to get home again in time for supper?"
That particular anxiety, and almost everything else, was speedily
driven out of his head as he paddled his punt in among the
fishing-boats at the pier. It came very near astonishing him, however,
that not a soul among them seemed to be at all surprised at seeing
him. They paid him no especial attention after they had hailed him,
and after he had replied to them in the language which he had learned
at home from old Erica. She herself had told him that her speech was
not exactly the Norwegian of the printed books. She could not even
read them very well, for she had been born up among the mountains
and fiords, where the country people still talked the ancient Norse
dialect, which could sometimes hardly be understood by town folk.
That is, he knew already that Norway, in that particular, was very much
like parts of England, Scotland, Ireland, and several other countries.
As for the manner in which he was received, it was possible that his
rig, which had made him nervous, was in his favour. He was really very
much better dressed than were any of these fisher people. They all
bowed to him politely, and he heard them say something about his being
a young jarl. He had some idea of the meaning of that term, but he did
not just now feel like a highly aristocratic boy.
The man who wore the long-nosed steel cap and carried the spear was
very busy giving directions to the others, and was evidently some sort
of captain among them. Just as Ned stepped from the pier to the wharf,
however, he saw something that almost took his breath away, and he paid
no more attention to anything else.
"Isn't he splendid!" he exclaimed. "It's the first time I ever saw a
man in armour."
Not many paces away, and coming slowly and with dignity, was a tall,
gray-bearded, powerful-looking Norseman. He carried no shield, but he
wore a coat of link-mail that glittered in the sunshine. The spear in
his hand was long, with a straight blade that was broad and brightly
polished. His helmet was open in front, and was ornamented on top by a
small pair of gilded wings. His face was handsome, and he smiled very
good-humouredly as Ned stepped forward to meet him.
"I am Vebba, son of Bjorn," he said. "Thou art welcome. Who art thou?"
"I am Ned Webb. I went out fishing, and I came in by the fiord."
"Ned, son of Webb?" replied the Viking. "Thou art of the south haven
men. I know them not well. Come thou to my house. I will meet thy
father when he cometh to the gathering."
"I shall be glad to come," said Ned, with his best manners, but he was
thinking, "Meet my father? Well! I don't believe he will. I've a pretty
clear notion that father won't be there."
"All mine have been fishing also," said Vebba, as he turned to walk
away, Ned following with him. "Thou must know that we are salting and
smoking every fin we can pull in, that the ships of Harold Hardrada's
fleet may not sail without plentiful provisions when he and Tostig
Godwinson harness the steeds of the sea to bear the heroes of the North
to the conquest of England."
Ned's heart gave a great thump, and Vebba must have noticed how his
face flushed with sudden delight, for he laughed loudly and said to him:
"Thou art but young to join in a feast of swords, but we will arm
thee and thou shalt sail with us to the shore of Britain. There will
be grand fighting when we close with the Saxon host that will meet us
under Harold the King."
"That's just what I'd like to see!" exclaimed Ned. "Of all things! I've
always wanted to conquer England, and now I'm to have a tip-top chance.
When do you all expect to go?"
"It hath taken long to build ships," replied Vebba. "The keels of
Hardrada will be fifteen score, and Tostig hath already as many as
three score with him at Bruges. We wait, now, only for the outfitting.
Let us walk on to the house."
Ned had noticed that, with the exception of Vebba, all whom he had
yet seen were barefooted. The chief, however,--for there could be no
doubt about his rank,--wore sandals that were strapped to his feet and
ankles by broad thongs of leather. Most of the other men wore leathern
blouses, which reminded Ned of some buckskin hunting-shirts he had
seen pictures of. The women were supplied with gowns, some of which
were of coarse woollen stuff and some of leather. All of the garments
were more or less fish-soiled, and not a few were ragged. "No style
here," thought Ned. "I wonder, though, if a steel cap feels heavy on
a fellow's head. Perhaps it doesn't when one gets used to it. Oh, but
I'm glad I can understand them. I'd be in the worst kind of fix if I
couldn't."
The fish which had been brought to the shore in the boats were very
fine. Ned saw cod, haddock, herring, salmon, and some that he was not
familiar with. Heaviest of all was a great porpoise they had speared
and that lay on the sand ready for cutting up for war purposes. He had
never before heard of sea-pigs being eaten.
The village lay somewhat farther from the landing than it had at
first appeared, looking at it from the water. It was in a narrow
valley between two rugged, mountainous ridges, and all around it were
broad fields of cultivated land. Most of the houses were low-roofed
and small, constructed of logs and stones and tempered clay that was
used to stop chinks and holes with. Three or four of a better sort
were built, in part at least, of hewn logs and planks and pretty
fair-looking stone-work, but all were irregular in plan and as if they
had been builded at random. Of these larger dwellings, the roofs were
high-pitched, differing altogether from the mere cabins. Ned did not
see any chimneys, and he knew why, after his armoured guide had led him
into the most extensive house, at the upper end of the village. It was
more like a collection of houses around one huge affair in the middle,
and this, when he entered it, seemed to be all one room or hall.
"Hullo!" thought Ned. "There's their fireplace, in the middle of the
floor, and the smoke gets out at that hole in the roof, if it can.
Well, no, there isn't any floor but the earth except at the end, away
there at the left. There's a pretty wide plank platform there."
On this "dais," raised about a foot above the hard beaten earth of the
rest of the level, he saw a long table, around which were benches and
chairs of various kinds. In the middle, behind the table, was one very
high-backed chair of oak, that was covered with grotesque carving.
"That's the dinner-table," he said to himself. "It's big enough for a
New York hotel. There are benches and bunks all around the sides of
the room. Six windows, too, and not a sash in one of them. That's good
enough for summer, but what do they do in winter?"
He had to leave that question unsettled, so many others were coming
along. The earth floor seemed to be as hard as stone, but it could not
have been swept recently. There were neither carpets nor rugs, but in
one corner he saw a spinning-wheel and what looked like a hand-loom
for weaving. In another corner was a strong stone-work, at the side
of which was an anvil, against which a large bellows was leaning. The
clothing he had seen had told him that these people knew what to do
with wool and flax.
He was quickly compelled to cut off his observations, for now a tall,
handsome, yellow-haired woman came forward and shook hands with him,
telling him that she was Wiltna, the wife of Vebba. Following her were
other women, and at least a dozen of boys and girls, whose several
names he had a great deal of difficulty in catching. He did best of all
with one tall, red-haired youngster of about his own age.
"I am Lars, son of Vebba," he said, loudly. "Come with me, and see the
hawks and hounds. Let us get away from so many women. I am glad thou
art come."
In an instant Ned began to feel at home. What would he have done in a
country where there were no boys!--if there ever was such a forlorn
land as that.
He and Lars were like old friends in a minute, but they had only
to get out of the house to see some of the dogs. A pair of tall,
ferocious-looking wolf-hounds came bounding toward them, not barking,
but uttering strange, short howls of greeting, and showing dangerous
rows of sharp, white teeth. Lars wrestled for a moment with one of
them, boxing the animal's ears fearlessly, and Ned made friends with
the other. On they all went, then, to a low building behind the house,
from which a chorus of howls arose as they drew near.
"Pups that are only half trained," said Lars. "We have to keep 'em shut
up. If they and some of the older savages got out, we might never see
'em again. They'd go hunting on their own account, or they'd get among
the sheep; then they'd be worse than wolves, for the shepherd dogs
wouldn't fight them."
It was hardly necessary for Ned to ask questions, so eager was Lars to
entertain him, and to tell him the name and character of all the dogs
in all the kennels, older and younger. They went to the stables, after
that, and to a paddock.
"Horses enough," thought Ned, "but only a very few of them are large
ones. Nanny could run out of sight of anything I've seen here. They're
a clumsy-looking lot, and the carts and the harness are all the
roughest kind. They don't seem to know what a buckle is, and the wheels
are a sight to see. They make pretty good saddles, though. Now for the
hawks. I want to see 'em."
On went Lars to his bird-cages, beyond the stables, and here was what
Ned called "the biggest kind of poultry show."
There were more than twenty falcons, of all sorts, in Vebba's falconry.
All of them were leading dull and tedious lives, sitting on perches,
and several of them were not only fettered but hooded. Lars transferred
one of these from its perch to his own wrist, over which he wore a
thick leather guard to protect the skin from the sharp talons of the
bird.
"Come on!" he said. "I'll show thee. There won't be any game in sight,
but I'll fly him, and call him. I trained him myself. He's a gerfalcon.
Hardrada's brother gave him to father after the fight with the pirates
at Croning's Fiord. Father killed five of them, and took one of their
boats. It was almost big enough for a ship. It got sunk, though, last
winter, by the ice."
So they chatted, back and forth, as they walked along together, away
out of the village. They met people who bowed and greeted them, but
no other boys seemed to feel at liberty to join them. Ned learned,
afterward, that it was considered bad manners for anybody to interfere
with hawking or any other kind of sport.
Suddenly Lars uttered a short, sharp cry, as he looked upward, and the
falcon began to ruffle his feathers.
"A heron!" exclaimed Lars. "He is well up, but my bird can reach him."
Off came the falcon's hood, and his brilliant eyes winked rapidly as
they were getting accustomed again to the light.
[Illustration: "WITH A STRONG MOTION THEN HE THREW HIS HAWK UPWARD."]
"He seeth!" shouted Lars. "I'll cast him!" With a strong motion then
he threw his hawk upward, blowing a shrill screech upon a bone whistle
that hung by a cord of braided leather around his neck.
"Hurrah!" exclaimed Ned, as the beautiful hawk spread his pinions and
sailed swiftly away. "He seeth the heron!"
His own eyes could not see the game very well, so high in the air it
was flying, and the sunlight dazzled him.
Higher, higher, in great circles, the falcon sped upward until he arose
above the now frightened and screaming heron.
"He will strike soon!" said Lars. "See! He is swooping! He never
faileth! He is the king of gerfalcons!"
At that moment the falcon seemed to Ned a mere speck against the sky,
while the heron was flying lower, as if its fear bore it downward.
Then the speck above it disappeared for a moment, so like a flash of
lightning was the unerring pounce of the well-trained bird of prey.
"Struck! Well struck!" shouted Lars. "Forward, now; we must be with
them at their falling."
It was not far that they had to run, and Ned kept well abreast of his
young Norse comrade. He saw the hawk and the heron strike the earth
together, fluttering and struggling, and then the game lay motionless.
Forward darted Lars, before the falcon released the grip of his talons,
and in a moment more the bird's bright eyes were hooded again.
"He shall not tear," said Lars. "It would harm his training."
Nevertheless, his favourite screamed angrily as he was restored to the
wrist of his master.
"Thou knowest," said Lars, "that no hawk will come to a whistle when
his talons are in. It is only when they miss that thou canst call them
back."
"Do your hawks ever miss?" asked Ned.
"Often," said Lars. "Or else there were soon no more herons. All of
these long-billed fowl will fight, too. I have seen an old heron kill a
falcon, spiking him."
"I've read about it," thought Ned, "and I'm glad I've seen it done.
It's great!"
"Now, houseward," said Lars, picking up the heron. "Didst thou ever
slay a wild boar?"
"I never did," confessed Ned.
"Then I am ahead of thee," exulted Lars. "It was but a week ago that my
two hounds and I brought a fine one to bay in the gorge of the north
mountain thou seest yonder. My father would have held me back, had he
been there, but I went in alone. When the boar charged out, my spear
went through his heart and the hounds pulled him down. Angry was Vebba,
but he bade the carles cut me out the tusks to keep for a prize."
"There are wolves and bears in the forest mountains?" inquired Ned.
"That there are, and many," replied Lars, "but who would go taking them
in the summer-time, when their fur is short and thin? No man careth for
a bear-skin or a wolf-skin, save in winter, when the fur is full upon
them. If thou art here next winter, I will show thee sport. Ye people
of the lower fiords and the towns have small enjoyment, I think, save
in going to sea. This raid on Britain is to be my first long voyage. My
father saith that thou art to sail with us."
"I wouldn't miss it for anything," said Ned. "Canst thou throw a spear?"
"I will show thee soon," said Lars. "But I will not throw before the
men lest they say I am but young. How art thou with a sword?"
"Try me!" exclaimed Ned. "I am better with a sword than with a spear."
Then he remarked, to himself:
"I don't believe he ever had a better fencing-master than I did. We'll
see."
They were soon at the house, and, to Ned's surprise, it was old Vebba
himself who ordered his son into what he called the house of arms. It
was only a kind of barn of split logwork at the right of the central
dwelling. It had a good earthen floor, however, and its walls inside
were hung with many weapons.
"So," thought Ned, "is the great hall in yonder. I'm going to take a
good look at them, by and by."
"Take this light shield," said Vebba to Ned, "and this thin blade. It
is heavy enough for thee. Thou wilt first fence with Svip, the son of
Pend."
"No shield," said Ned, a little proudly, putting it down on the floor.
"Let him punch away at me."
Several grown-up Vikings were standing around watching, and they all
uttered exclamations of surprise, but Svip, a youth as tall as Lars,
stepped promptly forward, sword in hand. Neither of them wore armour,
but the shield of Svip was a pretty heavy weight for a fencer to
carry,--unless the other fencer should also be weighted.
Svip was even irritated by something in the confident manner of Ned,
the son of Webb, and he attacked vigorously, striking and pushing. Of
course it was not intended that any hurt should be done. The swords
were blunt on edge and point, and the hilts were basketed with strong
steelwork. On each boy's head was also a thick bull-hide cap, serving
as a helmet. No blow of those dull blades could split such a cap.
In half a minute there were loud exclamations of admiration, for Ned's
fencing-master at home had indeed been a good one. Svip, the son of
Pend, had no chance with him whatever, for there was no science at all
in him. He was even forced across the room with several hard raps upon
his leathern helmet, and then he was disarmed, his sword flying from
his hand.
"Thou art a young swordsman!" shouted Vebba. "Thou mayest go with
Hardrada. Thy father will be proud of thee. Thou shalt give Lars his
lessons in thy skill of fence. Try thou a spear."
Ned looked at the light javelins they brought out, and he did not wish
to let them see how little he knew of spears; but a wooden target was
set, and the other boys made their casts. It was his turn, and he could
not back out. He imitated their manner of swaying and balancing, and
then he sent his javelin.
"All an accident," he thought, "but I landed mine between theirs."
"Thou throwest well," said Vebba. "Take now a shield and let us see if
thou canst catch as well as throw."
Ned was silent, for at that moment Lars stepped forth, shield on arm
and spear in hand, to let the other youngsters throw headless javelins
at him at ten paces.
"That's the way they do it, is it?" he said, to himself, as Lars caught
throw after throw upon his shield, quite skilfully. "Any baseball
catcher can beat that. I'm the best catcher in our nine. I can pitch,
too. I can stop one of those things."
It was his turn next. He did not actually throw down the shield, this
time, but he held it close to him and parried with only his spear-shaft
the throws of Lars and the others. Only one cast went by his guard to
ring against the shield.
"It is the better way," said Vebba. "It is the skill of old warriors. I
can catch the spears of battle on sword or axe. Thou wilt need the less
armour. But who may parry the swift arrow? Thou wilt need good mail
for English arrows."
Long and tiresome was the exercise, but it terminated suddenly, for the
sound of a horn blast came loudly through the open door.
"Dinner!" exclaimed Lars. "Oh, Ned, the son of Webb, all we are ready
to eat. I am ever glad to hear the sound of that crooked horn. Let us
go."
Whatever was Ned's reply in Norwegian, his inner thought was, "I'm as
ready as he is."