Robert Michael Ballantyne
The Norsemen in the West
He went a few steps towards the boat, and pointing to it, said— “Tell me, Hake, for thou art not a bad counsellor at need, dost think that vessel there is a sufficiently large one to venture a voyage in it on these northern seas at this time of year?”
“It is large enough for men who would be free,” replied Hake moodily, for his astonishment on first beholding his master had given place to deep mortification, now that he perceived his brother’s hopes and plans were frustrated.
“Nay, as to being free,” returned Leif, with a laugh, “thy brother hinted not long ago something about thy preference for thraldom, in regard to which I now perceive some glimmering of reason; but I ask thee for a matter-of-fact opinion. Dost think there would be much risk in the voyage thy brother contemplated?”
“There would be some risk, doubtless, yet not so much but that we would have run it for the sake of freedom.”
“H’m! In my opinion it would have been a mad venture,” rejoined Leif. “What say you, Karlsefin?”
“A useless venture, as well as mad,” he replied; “for death, not freedom, would have been the end of it.”
“So I think,” returned Leif, “and that is my only objection to your undertaking it, Hake. Nevertheless if you and Heika are still willing to venture, ye may do so. There lies the boat; a fair wind is blowing outside; get on board, shove off, hoist the sail and away to bonny Scotland if you will, for I grant you freedom to go!”
“It is ill to jest with thralls,” said Heika, looking sternly at his master.
“Nay, I do not jest—nor are ye thralls,” replied Leif, assuming a look and tone of unwonted seriousness. “Give me your attention, friends; and thou, Karlsefin, take note of what I say, for I care not to talk much on this subject until my mind is more clear upon it. My opinion is that this new religion which we hear so much of just now, is true. It is of God—not of man, and I believe that Jesus Christ, my Lord, has come in the flesh to save His people from their sins. Many things have led me to this opinion, in regard to which I will not speak. I have thought and heard much for some years past, and woefully have I been staggered, as well as helped on, by the men who have been sent to Greenland with the Good News. Some have, by their conduct squaring with their profession, led me to believe. Others have, by their conduct belying their profession, hindered me. But the Lord Himself has led me into a certain measure of light; and there is one law of His in particular, which just now comes home to me with much power, namely this— ‘Whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, do ye even so unto them.’ This law, I am persuaded, is of God. Long have I lived, and never before have I seen it acted on till these Christians came amongst us. They do not, indeed, always practise as they teach; but they are imperfect, therefore they cannot practise fully as they teach, because they teach perfection. This law I shall henceforth follow as I best can. I follow it to-day. If I were in thraldom to you, Heika, just now, I would wish you to set me free, therefore I now set you and your brother free. The rule is very simple of application. It only wants a willing spirit. And let me add—ye have to thank the Lord, not me, for your freedom.”
The brothers stood speechless with surprise on hearing this, but Karlsefin grasped Leif’s hand and said very earnestly— “Ye have done well, brother. Long have I thought to urge thee to this, and frequently have I asked of Him that it might be as it has turned out. Now, my prayer is answered. But what say Heika and Hake to this?”
“Never mind what they say,” returned Leif brusquely. “Doubtless their thoughts interfere with their speech at present. And hark ’ee, all; as I said before, I desire to have no further talk at present on this point. Ye are welcome to tell whom ye please what I have said, and what I have done, and why I have done it—there let the matter rest. So now, Heika and Hake,” he added, in a gay tone, “I mean what I say. There lies the boat, and ye are free to go if it please you. Only, if ye will accept my advice you will make up your minds to spend this winter in Greenland as my guests, and in spring there will be better weather and a more fitting craft to carry you over the sea to Scotland. Meanwhile Hake will have ample opportunity to woo, win, and wed—without demanding—the fair Bertha!”
Need we say that the brothers gladly accepted this generous invitation, and endeavoured, in spite of Leif’s prohibition, to express their gratitude in a few earnest though broken sentences.
Great was the surprise that night in Brattalid, when it was made known that Leif Ericsson had given freedom to his thralls out of regard to the Christian religion. Leif afterwards told his friends that it was out of regard to the Founder of that religion, but it was long before many of the people could see a distinction in that. Numerous were the theological discussions, too, which this act of emancipation called forth in every household, and great was the joy which it created in one or two hearts.
To say nothing of the young Scots themselves, it caused the heart of timid little Bertha to sing for joy, while Gudrid, Astrid, and Thora rejoiced sympathetically, and looked forward with pleasant anticipation to the approaching marriage. Even Freydissa opened out in a new light on the occasion, and congratulated her handmaiden heartily, telling her with real sincerity that marriage was the only thing she was fit for!
But it was Olaf who displayed the greatest amount of feeling on the occasion, and it was Snorro on whom he expended himself!
On the morning after the great event, he hoisted Snorro on his back with his wonted care and tenderness, and hurried off with him to the solitude of the sea-shore—for, alas! there were no umbrageous solitudes in Greenland. There, not far from the spot where Flatface and his friends had once been made to wriggle their coat-tails with terror, he set Snorro down, and, sitting on a rock beside him, said—
“Now, old man, it is going to have a talk with me.”
“Iss,” replied Snorro, very contentedly.
“Does it know what has happened to Hake and Heika?”
Snorro shook his head.
“Well, my father has set them both free.”
“Bof f’ee?” repeated Snorro, with a puzzled look.
“Yes, both.”
“W’at’s f’ee?” asked Snorro.
Olaf was greatly perplexed, for he knew not how to convey an idea of the meaning of that word to his little friend. He made various attempts, however, by means of simple illustrations and words, to explain it, but without success—as was made plain by Snorro’s usually intelligent countenance remaining a perfect blank.
At last he seized the child by both wrists and held him fast for a few seconds.
“Snorro,” he said, “you are not free while I hold you. Now,” he added, releasing the wrists, “you are free.”
Snorro’s countenance was no longer blank, but, on the contrary, extremely perplexed.
“Leif,” he said, “no’ hold Heika an’ Hake by e hands!”
“No,” replied Olaf, “but he holds them by the spirit.”
“W’at’s spiwit?” asked Snorro.
Olaf was in despair!
“Well, well,” he cried, after stroking his chin and pulling his nose, and knuckling his forehead in the vain hope of hitting on some other mode of explaining his meaning; “it don’t matter, old man. They are free, and that has made them very happy; and oh! I am very glad, because I am so fond of Hake. Don’t you remember how he came to save us from the Skraelingers, and nearly did it too? And he is going to be married to Bertha. Isn’t that nice? It knows what married means, don’t it?”
“No,” said Snorro.
“Well, no matter; it’s what seems to make everybody very happy; and Bertha is very happy, and so am I, for I’m fond of Bertha, as well as of Hake; and so is Snorro, isn’t he?”
“Iss,” replied Snorro, with a very decided nod.
“Well, that’s all very pleasant,” continued Olaf, running on with the subject until it led him into another subject, which led him into a third and fourth, and so on, with the ever-varying moods of his gay and fanciful mind, until he was led in spirit to Vinland, where he and Snorro remained lost in the woods, perfectly contented and happy, for the remainder of the day.
And now, patient reader, we must lead you in spirit away from the scenes on which we have dwelt so long, across the wide ocean to Scotland.
There, on the heights of a lion-like hill, stand Heika and Hake. A precipitous crag rises behind them. In front towers a rock, from which Edwin’s castle frowns down on the huts of an embryo city. The undulating woodland between resounds with the notes of the huntsman’s horn. Away in the distance lie the clear waters of the fiord of Forth, and the background of Scotia’s highland hills mingling with the sky.
The brothers stand in rapt and silent admiration of the scene, as well they may, for it is surpassingly beautiful. But they do not stand alone. Bertha leans on Hake’s arm, and a tall girl with dark hair leans on Heika’s. Beside them stands a fine-looking though somewhat delicate old man; whose benignant gaze seems to be more attracted by the young people than the scenery.
Need we say that this is the Scottish Earl, the father of our fleet-footed thralls, and that the dark-haired girl is Emma? We will not violate your sense of propriety, gentle reader, by talking of Mrs Heika; nor will we venture to make reference to the little Heikas left at home!
But these are not all the party. Karlsefin, Biarne, and Thorward are there—on a visit to the Earl—with Gudrid and Freydissa; and away on the fiord they can see their two Norse galleys towering like quaint giants at rest among the small craft that ply and skim about there.
Shall we listen to what our friends say? We think not. Too long already have we caused them to break the silence which they have maintained for the last eight hundred years. Let us rather bid their shades depart with a kind farewell.
But before the memory of them is quite gone, let us say a word or two in conclusion.
Whether the Norsemen ever returned again to Vinland is a matter of uncertainty, for the saga is silent on that point; and it is to be feared that Snorro, the first American, did not return to take possession of his native land, for when the great continent was re-discovered about five hundred years later, only “red-skins” were found there; and the Pilgrim Fathers make no mention of having met with descendants of any colony of white men.
What ultimately became of Snorro and Olaf is, we regret to say, unknown. This, however, is certain, that Karlsefin, according to his oft-expressed intention, retired to Iceland, where he dwelt happily with Gudrid, Leif, Biarne, and Thorward for many years. It is therefore probable that Snorro and Olaf took to a seafaring life, which was almost the only life open to enterprising men in those days. If they did, they distinguished themselves—there can be no doubt whatever upon that point.
As to the other personages who have figured in our tale, we can only surmise—at least hope—that they lived long and happily, for the saga relates nothing as to the end of their respective careers. But of this we are quite sure, that wherever they went, or however long they lived, they never failed to retain a lively recollection of that romantic period of their lives when they sojourned in the pleasant groves of Vinland—that mighty continent which, all unsuspected by these men of old, was destined, in the course of time, to play such a grand and important part in the world’s history.
Thus ends all that we have got to tell of the adventures of the Norsemen in the West, and the Discovery of America before Columbus.
