III
The summer they spent in South Svanefjord was, for the brothers and their wives, an unbroken succession of beautiful days. There was a peculiar atmosphere of peace and prosperity about the lonely settlement, where the fire burnt day and night under the cliff behind the tents, while on a rising ground close at hand their winter dwelling rose slowly from the ground. It was a house sixty feet in length, thirty in breadth, which the brothers were having built—a house with thick turf walls for a protection against the cold of winter, and adapted to be partitioned according to their needs when they had first roofed it in.
While their men worked at the dwelling and gathered in hay as winter fodder for the cattle, Ingolf and Leif let the days come and go. And whether they were sunny days or the fog hung in grey, soft, gliding belts down to the middle of the mountain-sides, all the days had a peculiar solemn solitariness and charm about them.
The land they had come to was after Leif’s heart. It made quite a different impression on him to any other land he had visited. The sense of power that brooded over it, and the almost palpable solitude, swallowed up the unrest of his mind and gave him peace. The mountains’ strongly marked and infinitely varied shapes, a little copse hidden among grey cliffs, close up to a glacier, the heavily pouring rivers in deep ravines, the fjords where the swans swam among other fowls like royal dragon-ships among peaceful freighters, a seal bathing in the sun on a rock by the fjord, not wise enough to be afraid of men, the countless birds’ nests with the snugly hidden, different-coloured eggs one came across everywhere, and then the soft, downy young ones hopping about between little hillocks—all filled his soul with a sense of wonder and calm hitherto unknown.
Ingolf and Leif made little excursions on their horses in the neighbourhood. They soon ascertained that the fjords north of the Svanefjords were very poor in pasture-land; the mountains descended for the most part steeply to the sea, while the land, on the other hand, seemed to become better the farther southward they went. When they had made that discovery they equipped themselves for a journey of some days in order to examine the land south of the Svanefjords more closely. Over a low, stony stretch of tableland they came to another inlocked fjord which was much broader than even the broad South Svanefjord. The greater part of the upland of this fjord was, however, covered with gravel and clay. Quite outside by the sea was a stretch of luxuriant meadow, and here and there stood rock-islets amid the sand, round which there were large green pastures. Farther up, right under the mountains, there was also pasture-land, and there they found the largest and most luxuriant wood they had yet seen. They came to a river with many rapidly flowing courses which streamed with clay-coloured, turbid water over a sandy and unsafe bottom. But they had caught sight of some sharp mountain-peaks far to the south-west, and since it could scarcely be difficult to cross the ravines between them, they resolved to proceed thither and see what was to be found on the other side. It was generally the case with this land, that one was not satisfied till one had seen what there was on the other side of all the mountains which came in view. They passed with some difficulty the dangerous river-current, and rode farther along high, steep mountain declivities striped with many-coloured gravel.
They found a ravine between the mountain-peaks, and when they had reached the other side of the mountains, there opened on them, while they rode along the edge of the steep descents which led down to the lowland, a view, the like of which they had never seen. A fjord dotted with small green islands, wide-stretching meadows and pastures intersected by gleaming watercourses, a wide bluish ring of mountains which locked in the luxuriant region with a mighty curve, and behind all this in the south and west, glaciers—an immense, slightly arched stretch of sparkling snow with white offshoots to all ravines.
It was on a clear, sunny day at noon that they stood there and surveyed this region, which arrested their minds with a sense of solemn wonder and irresistible fascination such as no view had ever done before. In his rapture, Leif laid his hand upon Ingolf’s shoulder and pressed it; he had tears in his eyes, and his large mouth quivered. They had dismounted from their horses and stood silent for a long time. And when they mounted again to examine the district further, they rode on in silence. From that hour they were Icelanders; the land was theirs, and they belonged to it. In silence the compact was finally and irrevocably solemnized.
When they came back from their trip, Hallveig and Helga had an important and, as they themselves thought, serious piece of news to tell them. They had one day climbed up the green ascent above the encampment, quite up to the base of the cliffs, in order to get a wider view over the fjord and the district. And just as they sat and contemplated the low group of islands and a little island beyond it, they saw smoke rising from the island. It had been a perfectly calm and clear day; there could be no doubt that they had seen correctly. They had not said anything to the men, and they now only wished to ask Ingolf and Leif to be careful, and not to go about any more alone. Ingolf and Leif immediately put the larger of the two boats in the water, called some of their men, and bade them take their weapons with them. They wished to find out what kind of people they had for neighbours. It was in vain that Hallveig and Helga begged and prayed them not to insist on going out, and least of all in a little rowing-boat. The brothers were too resolved on finding out more about the smoke from the island. In answer to their wives they objected that the ship was too unwieldy, and was, moreover, not a ship of war. There was scarcely any chance of fighting; if there were people on the island, they were probably some peaceful, starving, shipwrecked men, whose vessel had been driven to sea and lost. For the rest, they promised to be careful, but they were resolved to go out to the island that day.
So they rowed out thither. Even when they had got quite close to it, they could see no sign that it was inhabited. They rowed round it, and still saw no inhabitants or buildings. They determined to land, and chose a creek on the south side of the island. As soon as they had landed, they saw a wretched little boat, in which they would hardly have trusted themselves to cross a fjord, hidden among the rocks. They went farther up on the island, and found a hut well concealed in a hollow.
As they approached, a man came forth in a splendid cloak and head-dress, with a staff in his hands, and followed by some lean shapes black with dirt, and meanly clad. They came out from the hut, but remained standing before the door, without going towards them. They had seen this kind of people before, and immediately perceived that they had what were called Irish monks before them.
Both Leif and Ingolf, as well as several of their men, knew some Irish, and therefore went nearer in order to hear a little why these people dwelt here on a desert island.
The monks, one of whom carried a cup of water, evidently did not wish them to come too near them or their dwelling. The sworn brothers remained standing at some distance and questioned them. The monks answered their questions reluctantly, but they gathered from them that they had lived here for several years, that they had long since heard reports of this land, and that other monks before them had journeyed to seek it out. They had not seen any of them, but the land was wide, and they had remained here on the island where they had first landed. This information Ingolf at last extracted from the monks, with many questions answered, for the most part, in monosyllables.
When the brothers could not think of anything more to ask them, and were going down to their boat again, the man with the head-dress, cloak, and staff stopped them with a question. “Why had they come hither?”
Ingolf told them that they had come here to look at the land, and intended to settle here.
His words aroused a movement and disturbance among the monks, and their leader gave him to understand plainly that the land was sanctified and reserved by God for Christian men; no heathen had ever settled here, nor ever could. Every kind of misfortune would strike them if they migrated hither, unless they first let themselves be baptized and went over to the Christian faith. Ingolf answered them quietly that they must grant him that it would ill become him to be less faithful to his gods than they were to theirs. The monk answered that heathen did not trust in gods but in idols. Ingolf answered that the Ases had hitherto protected him and his family. Then bidding them farewell, he went off, followed by Leif and his men. They saw the monks sprinkling with water the places where they had trod. Then Ingolf smiled and Leif laughed aloud. The monks sprinkled even the waves which had licked the heathen’s boat.
When Ingolf and Leif returned, they were able to quiet Hallveig and Helga with the news that they were peaceful and harmless people who inhabited the little island. Their only weapon was a little water in a cup! After that they called the island “Monks’ Island.” When the autumn came with cold and sleet the sworn brothers already sat warm in their turf-house. Before the dwelling Ingolf had caused to be built a smaller edifice, where he set up small, roughly carved wooden images of Odin and Thor. And when the time for the autumn sacrificial feast was come, he offered them an ox (they must share the offering as best they could), and had a little feast.
Leif held aloof from all things of that sort. During the twenty-four hours of the feast, he went out catching birds by day and slept quietly in his bed by night. In his lonely wanderings the brown leaves of the autumn rustled round his feet and spoke to him. Leif did not think much about catching birds. He enjoyed being alone with the mountains and the blue sky. Wherever he met a family of grouse who held faithfully together he let them go. He only aimed at solitary birds, caught them round the neck with a practised fling of his light line, and drew them to himself with one sweep through the air.
Ingolf’s sacrificial feast and all his devotion to the gods was a continually recurring trial to Leif’s brotherly feeling. He could not reconcile himself to Ingolf’s constant and devoted adherence to the worship of these ugly wooden idols. Time after time he was obliged, in order to control his rising displeasure, to remind himself that Ingolf never interfered in his beliefs and thoughts concerning the gods, and therefore had a right to expect the same from him. But in his heart Leif scorned and despised Ingolf’s gods, and it was inevitable that some of this violent antipathy should sometimes glance on his brother.
Singularly enough, on the other hand, Leif did not take it at all ill that Helga held fast to her own and her fathers’ faith, without its being clear to him that he possessed in that, as it were, a proof of her steadfastness. He did not at all wish that Helga should forsake her gods to follow him in his want of faith and contempt for them. The day that she did so would have given a severe blow to Leif’s happiness. So and no otherwise was his nature.
The winter came with hard frost but without much snow. The weather for ski-ing, which Ingolf and Leif were waiting for in order to show Hallveig and Helga a little of the country south of the Svanefjords, did not come. Their disappointment was, however, mitigated by the fact that their sheep and goats could, contrary to expectation, go out and get their food the whole of the winter, with the exception of a few stormy days. The brothers came to the conclusion that it was a land where relatively few people might possess many sheep. They also noticed that sheep and goats both in winter and summer went up to the mountains and did not remain below in the luxuriant pastures. It was evident that the grass they grazed among the stones upon the apparently barren mountains must be of peculiar strength, for the sheep’s bodies remained stout and their wool white.
The goats had found some holes in the mountain near the house. There they remained at night, took refuge there in bad weather, and were comfortable.
In spite of the short days and long nights and the great solitude the winter proved by no means long. Neither the brothers nor Hallveig nor Helga felt the solitude oppressive; it brought them into closer intimacy with each other in a way that no summer days could have done. They sat round the fire, busy with their little occupations, and talked cheerfully and confidentially together. Ingolf and Leif carved wood, Hallveig and Helga spun yarn and dyed it in different shades of heather-colour, made mittens and handkerchiefs, or artistically woven bands of it.
In the middle of the winter Hallveig gave birth to a boy, whom Ingolf sprinkled with his own hand with water and named Thorsten after Thor, and in remembrance of his former friend, Haasten, from whom fate had so painfully severed him. When Hallveig had given birth to her boy, Helga became extremely solitary in soul. She never could find any sign that she was with child. When no one could see her, she wept bitter tears about it, but gave no outward sign. Outwardly she was uniformly cheerful and bright, and showed to each and all an untroubled demeanour. It was something she kept to herself, like the scent of the pines from the islands. Spring came, with mildness in the air and vernal winds. As soon as it could be managed, the ship was launched, loaded, and made fit for sea. The sworn brothers needed as much as possible of the summer to make preparations for their migration here the next spring, to exchange those of their movable goods and the live-stock which they could not take with them for useful wares, and in general to arrange their affairs in Norway before they left the country for good. All of them, except Helga, left the new land, though they had only been there a year, with regret. The land had been a good friend to them, and they were loth to bid it farewell even for a short time. When they sailed away from it, it lay there so quiet and silent, gazing after them, as it were. Before they departed, the migratory birds had all come back. The land lay bathed in sunshine, with cheerful bird-life on the fjord and on the shore.
Leif, the restless, was no more eager for journeys. He would rather have remained where he was, and not have travelled to Norway at all. But even Leif had to grant that the plan was impracticable. The provisions for the journey, which they had brought with them, were rapidly decreasing, and, moreover, it would be difficult for Ingolf when he came back to find just the same spot in the land, dependent as he was on weather and sea. Besides, Leif saw clearly that Helga, though she had unhesitatingly acquiesced in his wild proposal, preferred that they should travel with the others. Helga was willing to sacrifice everything for Leif, even the scent of the pines from the islands at home. But when she gave her brave assent to remain, her self-command failed her a little, and her lips quivered slightly. The whole winter she had looked forward with joy to the moment when she should sail between the islands to Dalsfjord. Like a secret treasure, she had concealed the consciousness that that was in store for her, in her steadfast heart. That remained there till Leif started with the others. But when he sailed away from the land, the old unrest was again awake in his soul.