THE KEELS OF THE NORTHLAND.
"How we shall be crowded!" exclaimed Ned, the son of Webb. "Who
ever supposed that the Vikings had ships that would carry so many
passengers? Some of them, too, are loaded with horses."
It was about noon of the day after the great review of Hardrada's
army, and Ned was standing upon the high prow of the _Serpent_, the
two-masted war-ship which was to transport Vebba's men and others to
the coast of England. He knew that Tostig the Earl had hurried away in
a swift vessel, the previous evening, to rejoin his own squadron at
Bruges, and he remarked:
"I'm glad he went. I couldn't guess what to say if he were to corner me
and ask questions."
Everything here was going forward in good order, for Hardrada was an
experienced seaman, and so were his officers. They knew thoroughly
well how to manage an embarkation of troops, and therefore there was no
confusion. The gathered warriors marched to the shore and were embarked
rapidly, thousand after thousand. It might be an exaggeration, but Ned
had obtained an idea that the three hundred ships of the king, sailing
from this and other ports, when joined by those of Tostig, would be
carrying over thirty thousand men. It was also expected that upon
landing they would be reinforced by as many more of the disaffected
Saxons who were ready to rebel against the hard rule of Harold, the son
of Godwin, who was not descended from the English royal line.
"He is all the better for that," thought Ned. "I like him. He was
elected, like one of our presidents. They swore him in, too."
He had to confess, nevertheless, that the appearance of things was bad
for the English king,--or president. Harold was to be, indeed, the last
ruler of England chosen by regular election, like an American.
All of the ships were regarded as war-ships, and none of them had been
constructed for ease, elegance, or the passenger business. Each of them
had more or less cabin room for men of high degree and importance, but
the rank and file, as Ned called them, would, obviously, have to camp
out wherever they might find deck room to lie down on. It was quite a
comfort to Ned to find that Lars and he were to have bunks under the
after deck.
"It will be a good deal better," he said, "if there should come a rainy
night."
The weather now was pleasant, and ship after ship was made ready and
sailed away. All the while, the blowing of horns and the shouting
were tremendous, and every harper in the fleet seemed to be twanging
the best he knew how. There were many flags and streamers, and Ned saw
several banners which bore the black picture of a raven. He was staring
around him in all directions, and the _Serpent_ was swiftly gliding out
of the harbour, when a hearty voice at his side declared:
"My boy, I am glad to be with thee on the same ship. I'll tell thee one
thing. We are on a doubtful errand. Whichever side wins, I am intending
to stay in England. There are plenty of heathen there to convert,
and I'll not be in Norway another winter. It's a cold place in snow
time. Even the sea freezes hard, and the wolves come howling into the
towns at night, and a man's nose getteth frost-bitten if he weareth it
out-of-doors. They have fine winters often in England."
"They are not so long, either," said Ned. "I'd rather be there, myself.
How many days dost thou give for this voyage of ours?"
"That dependeth upon the wind," said Father Brian, "and how much will
come, I don't know. These heathen pirates have been praying for good
blasts to all the old idols they can think of. They don't seem to know
the name of one saint among them. It's not so in Ireland. I am glad I
was born in a civilised land, among Christians. I am told that Duke
William of Normandy can speak Latin. He is an exceedingly religious
man. He is in favour of teaching, too, but not one man in a thousand of
his own army can read the best parchment I can put before him."
Ned had already begun to find his Latin speech improving with the
constant exercise of it forced upon him by Father Brian. Day by day,
also, he could make better use of Erica's Norwegian, for he was
continually picking up new words. Nevertheless, he was all the while
wondering what he was to do among Saxons to keep up the impression that
he was one of them. It was almost a relief, therefore, when, shortly,
the zealous missionary began to grumble concerning the babel of tongues
and dialects in the British Islands.
"It is all sorts," he said. "Where we are to land, they are mostly
Angles and Danes and one kind of Saxons. Besides them, there are Jutes,
Frisians, West Saxons, South Saxons, East Saxons, Scot Saxons, and no
man knoweth what else, not to speak of the Gaels and the Welsh and the
Cornishmen. It is not at all the same in Ireland, my boy, where all
speak the same tongue, except at the north of it and at the south and
in the middle. I can do nothing with a Briton, or a Gael, or a Manxman,
or with one of those long-legged Kernes from the West and the centre,
that speak no tongue at all but a kind of jabber that everybody else
hath forgotten, long ago."
From his further account it appeared that all the countries and islands
of those regions were divided among many tribes, clans, and languages.
Each leading language was split up into local dialects which differed
much in the speaking.
"That's it!" thought Ned. "I can get along well enough, where it's an
every-day matter for one fellow not to understand another of the same
kind. They'll pay it no attention."
That night was a warm one, and the fleet sailed along comfortably
before a fair wind. So it did during the next day, and the next. The
swarm of keels kept pretty well together, and Ned, the son of Webb,
of York in Northumberland, the young friend of Tostig the Earl,
wondered more and more at the size, the swiftness, and the good
handling of those strangely modelled war-ships. Sailing down the
North Sea appeared, thus far, as a very agreeable summer excursion,
except for the crowded condition of the _Serpent_. That, however, was
only a temporary inconvenience, which everybody had calculated upon
beforehand, and the men endured it with general good humour.
Altogether different became the tone of public feeling, so to call it,
when a gale swept down from the north, lashing the sea into foaming
surges. The ships of the Vikings were constructed to stand against
stormy weather, but all the sails had to be taken in. Then, for the
first time, Ned, the son of Webb, began to appreciate the thole-pins
and the great oars. To each of the latter, long-handled, broad-bladed,
two, or even three, strong men were ordered. On the high deck at the
stern stood an officer, shouting loudly in a hoarse cadence like a
song, and stamping time with his feet, that all the rowers might pull
together. At regular intervals the oarsmen were changed, so that all
on board, except men of high rank, might take turns at this hard
and disagreeable work. Even such celebrated warriors as Sikend the
Berserker were called upon to do their share. Ned, himself, was half
afraid that he might be given an oar, and he may have escaped quite
as much on account of his age and size as by reason of his supposed
aristocracy.
Harder and harder blew the wind as the sun went down, and the most
important consolation was that it was all the while driving them toward
England. The night which followed was full of discomfort. In the
morning the rain-drenched and weary Vikings were grumbling all over the
ship. It was as if King Harold Hardrada and Tostig the Earl were to be
held responsible for not having provided better weather and smoother
water.
"A fine lot of men they are," scornfully remarked Father Brian. "Look
at them! Who would have expected to see so many of them seasick at
once? I was never like that, any time."
An hour or so later, Ned saw his reverence leaning dolefully over a
bulwark between two dripping war-shields, with all the roses gone from
his cheeks.
"Oh!" he exclaimed. "What did I eat, to-day? It's not the motion of the
ship I care for. She's a bad one to pitch and roll, anyhow. They build
better ships than this in Ireland."
The great fleet had been increased from day to day, as it was joined by
squadrons from other ports. It was necessarily scattered far and wide
by this rough weather. When, at last, land was seen to the westward,
word was passed rapidly around, by swift rowboats, that all should
draw well together, and make for the wide bay, known as the Humber,
for there the landing was to be made. All disaffection among the
overcrowded Vikings instantly disappeared, as the good news spread
among them, and there was an immediate cleaning of all weapons and
armour.
Ned himself felt better, for several reasons.
"I've not been so very seasick," he said to himself, "but I'd like to
eat something cooked. I'm tired of chewing dried fish and raw ham.
The water is bad, too, and I won't drink any beer. There's one thing,
though; there isn't any smoking or tobacco chewing among these fellows.
There isn't a pipe, nor a cigar, nor a Virginia plug, in the whole
fleet. No cigarettes. They can't get any, yet, but they will, some day."
The headlands at the mouth of the Humber were very near now. The King
of England had no forts there, nor had he stationed any forces to
oppose the landing of an enemy. The fact was, as Ned had learned from
Father Brian, that the Saxons did very little stone-work building,
whether of castles or churches.
"That's one thing they'll have to learn after they're conquered," said
the good missionary. "The ignorant savages! But it'll be a queer lot of
teaching that'll be going on among them now, with Tostig and Hardrada
for teachers."
Ned was all the more of that opinion after he heard Sikend the
Berserker blessing Thor and Woden for getting him across the sea, and
for the chances he was soon to have for murdering Saxons.
"I know what he means by the Valkyrias and the ravens," said Ned to
Father Brian, "but what is it he was saying about being afraid of a
cow's death?"
"These Norse heathen," replied the priest, "have a notion that it's a
burning shame for any man to die decently in his bed. He'd rather be
murdered, any day. May he have his own will in that matter, say I! Most
likely he will not be disappointed, this trip, and there will be more
than one funeral the day they put him under,--the wild beast!"
At that moment, truly, Sikend was hardly looking like a human being.
He sat upon the low deck amidships, between the rows of rowers,
sharpening with a stone the edge of an enormous battle-ax. Now and then
he would hold it up to the light, twirling its heavy weight as if it
had been a feather, while his dark, hairy features twisted and gleamed
with bloodthirsty ferocity, and his deeply sunken eyes flashed fire.
From such a slayer as he, no foeman might look for mercy. It was said
of all Berserkers that in their blind rage they spared neither old nor
young, man or woman or child.
"All of them will have to be killed off," said Ned, decidedly. "The
world can't be really civilised while they are in it."
"That is what will have to be done," replied Father Brian. "We had them
as bad as he is, in the old days, in Ireland. Picts and Scots, they
were, and Cornishmen that came over to harry the land. The worst of
all were the giants, like Finn and his big brethren. What wouldst thou
think of Sikend now, my boy, if he were twelve feet high, and had four
arms to kill with, instead of only twain, his mouth blowing fire, and
his every stride more than the length of a tall man?"
"I should go for him with a rifle, at long range," said Ned. "Hullo!
Father Brian! There's the king's own ship, ahead of us, going right
into the Humber. We are all to follow him, they said. That land yonder
is England!"
"Hurrah for that!" shouted the good missionary. "The next ship behind
Hardrada's is Tostig's. Hark to the war-horns! All the Vikings will be
going blood wild! Ah, my boy, there'll be hard fighting before long.
It's not one battle that'll conquer England,--or Ireland either, for
that matter."
All the ships in sight were obeying their orders to follow the king.
The wind had gone down, and they could fall into line all the better
for being propelled by oars. As Ned remarked, oars were as good
as steam, for that business, so far as they went. The fleet made a
splendid appearance, and it was a sight worth seeing to watch so many
banks of long oars dipping and lifting together.
"It is a tremendous show," said Ned to Father Brian, "but the
_Kentucky_ could make it look as if there'd been a fire in half an
hour."
"Speak Latin," said the missionary. "What is that thou wert saying? I
don't know one word of Saxon. It's a tongue they'll all get rid of when
they're conquered."
Ned made an effort to explain himself, but it was of no use, for his
friend knew nothing about gunpowder.
"It's a kind of witchcraft, most likely," was the good man's pious
conclusion. "All of them ought to be burned, and they will be. It's not
a country like England that can be civilised in that way. It hath been
on my mind, though, that if the Northmen and Duke William kill off the
Saxons, we could send over enough of the right kind of men from Ireland
to make a fine land of it."
"You could do that," replied Ned. "Loads and loads of Irish have come
over to our country, and after they get there they all turn into
Americans."
"That's witchcraft," again grumbled Father Brian. "What's the good of
them if they all become heathen themselves?"
Before Ned could decide exactly what to say to that point, a loud shout
came to him from Lars.
"Mail and helmet, O Ned, the son of Webb! The command of the king is
that every man shall land in full armour. There will be a battle right
away."
"Hurrah!" shouted Ned, and up sprang the good missionary, exclaiming:
"I'll be there myself! I'll not have any heathen Saxon cut my throat
for nothing, either. I'll have good mail under my cassock, and I can
swing an ax with any of them. Get thyself ready, my boy. Thou art young
for it, but thou canst show them what thou art made of."
Ned was already on his way to his bunk under the deck to put on his
battle trappings, and he shortly discovered that the missionary had not
left Norway, or it might be Ireland, unprovided for warlike emergencies.
The shields which had hung along the bulwarks of the _Serpent_ during
the voyage were now transferred to the strong left arms of their
owners. Even the rowers put on their mail. War-horn after war-horn rang
out across the sea, chief answering chief with fierce, defiant music,
while once more came twanging with the horn blasts the sound of many
harps. It was an hour of intense excitement, for the armament of the
Sea King had come to decide the fate and future of a great empire.
It was well understood by all, moreover, that it was to be met by a
Saxon king and general, Harold, the son of Godwin, who was believed
to be equal to Alfred the Great himself, in either battle-field or
council-room. Ned had noticed that the Vikings did not often speak of
him as king, but rather by the old title of Harold the Earl, under
which he had earned his fame.
As Earl of Wessex and as prime minister of Edward the Confessor he
had long been the actual ruler of England, dreaded by its enemies and
greatly beloved by its people.
Ned also remembered that the West Saxons had been Alfred's own people,
his original kingdom.
"It worked like a kind of hub," he said, "and the other kingdoms of the
old Heptarchy were stuck on, one after another. Father Brian says that
some of them are hitched on a little loosely, even now, and that Harold
cannot make them obey him any too well. That may get him whipped in
this fight."
The Humber is a bay, long and wide, which narrows gradually toward
the place where the river Ouse runs into it. The invading fleet was,
therefore, compelled to accommodate its order and movement to the
shape and area of the water it was now rowing into. It soon began to
string out, with a narrower front, and the _Serpent_ was not one of the
foremost vessels.
"I should like to see the first of them get ashore," said Ned to Father
Brian.
"Thou art all too late for that," replied the good missionary. "Our
ship came right along, with nothing else to do, but Hardrada's men have
been working havoc everywhere. There hath been hard fighting in the
Scotch islands, that's the Orkneys and Shetland, and a good many Scots
are with him now. Didst thou know he had ships and men from Iceland,
where the fire mountain is?"
"No," said Ned. "That's a long way off."
"So it is," continued Father Brian, "and they are a bit civilised up
there. And while we have sailed along, part of Hardrada's army hath
been harrying the coast of Yorkshire, they call it, to no good that I
can see. Now he hath pulled them all together, and if he doth not get
himself killed he will conquer the north of England first. It is on my
mind that he hath been wasting his chances. We shall soon see about
that."
How and where the landing was to be made, was, indeed, a matter of
great importance. Narrower became the channel of the Humber, and still
the long line of ships rowed steadily on. No man could say just where
the Humber ended and the Ouse began. Before long the mouth of a river
was reached on the left. That was the Don, and Ned did not see any
ships go into it. Not a great deal farther up, on the same side, was
another stream flowing into the Ouse, and that was the river Aire.
"It's of no use to Hardrada," said Father Brian. "What he wanteth to
do, now, is to get his grip on thy own city of York, and maybe he will."
A sort of gloomy doubt seemed to be growing in the mind of the good
missionary, and he evidently had military ideas of his own.
"Thou mayest remember," he remarked to Ned, "that the women at Vebba's
place made no wailing at all when their men marched away? I am told
that it was not so elsewhere. The women wept as if they were mourning,
and all the old ones, that are half witch-like, foretold bad luck.
There hath many a bad luck sign been spoken of. Here we are, though."
So they were, and the now more swiftly rowed ships of the Vikings were
crowding one another somewhat in the narrow Ouse.
Lars came in full armour to stand by Ned, and gaze at the woodlands,
the cultivated fields, and the homesteads on either bank. He had been
almost a talkative boy in Norway, among his hawks and hounds and the
scenery he was accustomed to. Ever since coming on board the _Serpent_,
however, he had seemed another fellow. He was tall and strong for his
age, and his yellow hair was put up in a long braid, which the back rim
of his steel cap appeared to rest on. His bright gray eyes were full of
excitement, but his lips were tightly closed, as if it were impossible
for him to express something or was resolutely keeping it in.
"What's the matter, Lars?" asked Ned.
"Father is angry with the king," said Lars. "The troops are to land all
along shore. That will scatter them, he saith, and some of them will be
cut to pieces by these Danes and Angles of Northumberland. Father doth
not believe that thy Earl Tostig can do anything with them. All the
news is bad."
That was the longest speech Ned had heard him make since leaving
Norway, and Father Brian at once replied to it:
"Thy father's a man of sense, my boy. I am thinking I will keep myself
a good piece in the rear of this army rather than at the front. That's
where men get killed, anyhow."
The _Serpent_ had advanced steadily, and she was now passing the
mouth of the river Derwent, on the right. Large numbers of vessels of
all sizes, which had been ahead of her, were already making fast at
convenient places along the banks. From each of these gang-planks were
put out, and lines of warriors were marching forth upon the land. From
other ships, at anchor out in the stream, boats were plying, but Father
Brian was not looking at them. He was gazing very critically down the
river.
"There they go," he muttered. "All those men that are landing away down
yonder, below the mouth of the Derwent, will have that bit of water and
swamp between them and us. They are cut off from doing any good if the
rest of us get into a battle. Maybe it's good generalship and maybe it
isn't. I wish Hardrada were an Irishman, and he'd never have split his
army in two."
A very strong force of Northmen was getting ashore with Hardrada, above
the mouth of the Derwent, nevertheless, and among them, before long,
were all the passengers of the _Serpent_.
There was nobody there to oppose them. The Earls of Northumberland
and Mercia, Edwin and Morcar, had expected Hardrada to come, but not
so soon, and they had not dreamed that he would push right on up the
river, to land so near them. They were not ready, therefore, and the
King of Norway had now posted his army in strong positions, while the
frightened people who had fled at his coming were telling the news
in the city of York. The horses, what there were of them, were also
coming ashore, but it was evident that the invading army would have no
cavalry to speak of.
"That isn't the worst of it, by any means," remarked Ned, the son of
Webb, as he marched along with Vebba's men. "England can never be
conquered without artillery. If King Harold or the Saxon earls could
bring out a few batteries of Maxim guns, or of field-pieces like those
of the Fourth Artillery, they could tear up this invasion before
Saturday night."
The landing of so great an army was a matter of time and toil, and
it was well indeed for the Vikings that there were neither forts nor
forces for them to encounter at the outset. Even when sunset came, and
after that the darkness, ship after ship, as it arrived, was hastily
unladen, every man stepping ashore with an idea that he might be
marching into an immediate collision with the Saxons.
"It is pretty good luck we have had, thus far," said Father Brian, "in
spite of the old women of Norway, but no man ever knoweth exactly when
the luck will turn, if it's against him and if he is careless about
what he is doing. There is always bad luck in that."