HOW THORSTEIN TOOK LAND.
Hundi sat on his own howe, and Thorstein with him. They were looking out
for neighbours who were to come by the old path from Broughton beck to
Lowick, and to the new household where Hundi and Halldora were master and
mistress.
“Dost thou mind when we were barns, brother, how we sat here and parted
hence? Seven winters have gone since we planned to keep house away
yonder;” and he pointed up-bank, where the Crake came down between the
crags on the right and the Blawith, the blue wood as they called it, of
dark firs mantling the long slopes of the lower banks, on the left. And
far beyond were the great fells that surrounded the head of Thorstein’s
water, this Coniston lake that he, first of Northmen, had found.
The neighbours for whom they waited were coming to be witnesses to
Thorstein’s landtaking. It was the custom for settlers of uninhabited
land to go round a tract of country, as much as they could encompass in
a day, carrying fire, and lighting from point to point beacons which
might be seen one from another. And when this was done with proper
witnesses like any other deed of law, the land became the possession of
that landtaker and his heirs for ever. Now up the Crake valley, above
Lowick where Hundi had settled, there were no inhabitants at this time:
whatever fell-folk used to hunt in the woods and fish in the waters
dwelt upon the moors on either hand. It was Thorstein’s mind to take all
that upper valley between Lowick and the water-foot; and he had bidden
his neighbours, from Asmundarlea especially, and from Mansriggs, and
round about, to come and bear witness, so that there might be no dispute
thenceforward, and that he and Asdis and his heirs might dwell there
undisturbed in lawful freehold.
[Illustration: Crake and Coniston Fells from Lowick
A PICTURE OF THE LAND TAKEN BY THORSTEIN.]
It was early in the morning of a bright frosty day, when the days were
already a good bit longer than at Yule, that Thorstein and Hundi and his
neighbours were already out, and at the bounds of Hundi’s land before
the sun was up. There was a company of half a score or so, dressed in
their woodland dress of rough homespun, with axes in their hands; and
Thorstein himself carrying an iron pot with burning peat in it. They
stood by the brink of the stream a little above Lowick force, and stamped
their feet on the crispy sedges of the marsh-ground, until the sun should
be up; munching the remains of the hasty breakfast they had left, in
order to be in good time and to make the most of the winter day. When the
edge of the fell to the eastward blazed, and the sun began to get above
the silver fringe of trees, a shapeless point of fire, “Away with us,
friends,” cried Thorstein; and they made a move for the fell where the
sun was standing, and started up-bank through the trees that clothed it,
and over the scree that lay between. Here and there they had to hew their
way through the underwood, and where that was not needed, they marked
the trees with great notches, in order to leave no doubt of the boundary
they had beaten.
As they passed along through the forest, where every leaf was laced with
rime, and the frozen twigs crackled underfoot, beast and bird fled before
the noise of their axes and the loud talk and laughter of the merry
company. “A grand hunting-spot for Thorstein the hunter,” says one. “Oh
man,” says another, “there went somewhat I’d be fain to follow.” “Never
heed it, friend,” said Thorstein; “business is business. Wait till my
house is built, and then I’ll show thee a day’s hunting, and the tricks I
learned with the fell-folk.”
When they came out on the ridge, they could overlook the whole valley,
and down into the next where Colton stands, and southward away to
Legbarrow. Here some of them began to cut elding and logs to build a
balefire, and others rolled up a huge boulder to be planted on end for a
meer-stone or land-mark. And when the fire blazed up, they lost no time,
but set out again along the ridge, up and down, until at last they came
to a high place overlooking the foot of Thorstein’s water. To most of
them the sight was wholly strange, well known as it was to him. The mere
was just as he had seen it seven years before; just as quiet and as wild;
only now it lay dark blue between its white promontories; the shores were
disguised with shelves of ice that stood far out into the ripple, and
countless birds flew screaming about over the open spaces, or dived and
settled in flocks.
On this high point, for the morning was beginning to wear, they built
another balefire, and set up another meer-stone; and then picked their
way down to the water-foot, where they came about mid-day, travelling
but slowly, for the way was hard to find, and rough. At the crossing of
Crake, where mere ends and beck begins, they ate hastily the bannocks
they had brought with them; and Thorstein, wading into the shallows with
his fire-pot in one hand and a brand lighted at it in the other, cast
the brand into the water; and as it floated hissing, cried out, “I take
you to witness that this water and all its shores, oyce and ere, dub and
deep, are hereby in my holding.”
Then they started again along the western bank, and so up into the moor,
where they built another beacon and set another meer-stone. But here
Thorstein bade them turn, for he said that thence-beyond he reckoned
he would be within the bounds of old friends, namely the fell-folk of
Heathwaite. And he would have no disputes with them. “For we Northmen,”
said he, “have land enough in the wooded bottoms, and can well afford to
leave the moor-tops to the wild folk who dwell there.”
So they came round in a great half-moon under the brow of the moor,
leaving the heather and enclosing the woods: and at last by sunsetting
they were back again where they started from. Thorstein took them to
witness that he had lawfully carried fire around untenanted land, and
the land was thenceforth his and his only. And so after due feasting at
Hundi’s, the neighbours went their ways: and Thorstein, with such as were
in his service, began the building of his house.
On the slope of the great blue fir-wood, that rose to a howe behind and
fell to the Crake in front, beside a little beck, they cleared a thwaite,
and made the timber of it into a house. It was no long job to skilled
wood-wrights, and with plenty of hands; for Thorstein’s wealth got him
all he wanted, what with buying thralls, and hiring free men who lay by
the fire for the most part in winter. The house was like the Greenodd
house; a great hall with little chambers built along each side of it
for bed-chambers; high roofed and thatched with broom; and the walls,
where the roughly squared logs left chinks open to the wind, daubed with
clay and roughcast. A few out-buildings, byres and sheds, were put up to
begin with; and round about the whole a turf wall was raised, to keep out
wild beasts and to make some stand against enemies, if such should ever
appear. But who would expect foes in so lone and peaceful a spot?
By cuckoo-tide, or Gowk-month as the Northmen called it, the house was
standing, and wanted but little; and that chiefly what a body might do
after the flitting. And on the right flitting-days, that is to say about
Whitsuntide as we should call it, they began to move goods into the
house, carrying in first of all the salt and meal, and starting a fire
upon the hearth. Since beds and benches were built there as fixtures,
there was little to carry in the way of moveable furniture, and what
there was came in kists on horseback. And when all was flitted, there was
nought to hinder the wedding.