Chapter IX: Book III: I (1)

Ingolf and Leif equipped themselves in great haste for their journey to seek the land which Raven-Floke had last visited, and which he had given the name of Iceland. They wished to be there as early in the year as possible, in order to be the better able to explore the distant and unknown island. Therefore there was no time to be lost. The first thing they did was to acquire a trading vessel, a strong sea-ship, in exchange for two of their smallest ships, which, in all probability, they would not want to use again. A trading vessel was just what they now needed. In the conflict they were proceeding to, there was no use for small, light battleships. Their new vessel was certainly neither little nor light. It was a regular ox to look at. High and broad, clumsy and solid, it lay, and the movements of the water only made it rock sluggishly. By the side of the long, slim, low-decked dragon-ships, it was seen to great disadvantage. Leif laughed at it, called it his rock and his old woman's boat, said that it had a stomach like an old cow, and expressed his fixed opinion that it certainly cherished secret designs of going to the bottom at the first opportunity. But Leif did it great injustice. The vessel was good enough for its purpose, even if it was a little slow in turning and no beauty to look at.

It had a half-deck at prow and stern and a small side-deck along the gunwales. The rest of it was one large hold, in the midst of which towered a great, solid, strongly supported mast. It was exclusively built for the purpose of long trade-journeys, and therefore quite excellently suited for such an expedition in which the chief object was to convey as much as possible. There were but a few banks of oars fore and aft; one might as well try to row a rock over the sea. It was not adapted to be propelled by slender oars. The oars were only there to turn it and to facilitate going on shore. It was to sail, not to be rowed. Therefore it was entirely dependent on wind and weather. But, on the other hand, it took the wind and weather with a composure and immovability which came near to justifying its nickname of a "rock." It only had one enemy--lack of wind.

It certainly did not dance on the billows like a dragon-ship. It was too contemptuous of the unstable element around it, whose humours it only yielded to when compelled, and then as little as possible. It entered into no brotherly alliance with the wind. _That_ it took into its service and allowed to further its object.

Such was the new ship, inspiring confidence in a high degree and independent, both in form and behaviour--free from all kinds of levity. Storm and sea were its--certainly often somewhat wayward--servants, but not its masters.

Hallveig took an eager part in the loading of the vessel and in all preparations for the journey, and showed Ingolf in numberless little ways that she had no intention of remaining at home. When Ingolf was aware of it, it seemed to him that he had all along known that Hallveig was like that. And yet it gave his happiness an increased fullness and weight. Without inquiries of any kind, with a silent agreement, as though it were a matter of course, Hallveig prepared to follow him always and everywhere, to belong to him and to be near him.

For Helga, who already went about with a hidden foreboding of coming separation in her mind, the spring suddenly became really spring when she saw Hallveig's preparations. If Hallveig could travel with them, so could she. Of herself, Helga would never have hit upon so bold an idea, though not from want of courage. Her courage and readiness to sacrifice herself where Leif was concerned were boundless. Her backwardness was from an inherited fear of causing trouble and being inconvenient, and a deep anxiety not to displease Leif in any thing great or small.

Helga wept for gladness when it was decided that she should also go with them. She did not often weep in the sight of others. Her weeping made Leif quiet and thoughtful. He guessed that he often, for the most part through thoughtlessness, caused Helga grief which she did not show. For some time his tenderness towards her knew no bounds, and Helga was happier than she had been for a long time.

Hallveig and Helga had been at first somewhat shy of each other. Helga was in her own way independent enough. She certainly had a will, and knew in every case what she wanted. But Hallveig's whole resolute way of behaving and acting alarmed her a little. It took her some time to understand that Hallveig was far from being inconsiderate and selfish, that, on the contrary, she had a recklessness and warmth in her devotion which was apparent in each of her words and deeds in such a decisive way that to superficial observation it might look like want of consideration and self-will. Yes, in her devotion Hallveig was certainly reckless. Every one could easily see that she loved Ingolf and belonged to him with body and soul. The quiet and apparently cold Hallveig displayed a peculiar latent warmth and energy in all that she undertook. She did not lavish smiles and caresses; that was not her nature. No one had heard her speak tenderly or lovingly to Ingolf. But out of all her actions shone love and tender solicitude. An invisible fire burned around the apparently cold-natured woman.

When Helga first became convinced that she had at the beginning mistaken her sister-in-law and done her injustice in her heart, a specially warm devotion for Hallveig broke forth in her soul. And from the moment that Hallveig saw that the reserve Helga had hitherto displayed towards her had been a veil she had covered herself with in the presence of a stranger, she embraced her also with the latent warmth of her nature.

Hallveig showed Helga that outside the house also a woman may be a benefit and do good service. Even when it was a question of loading a ship for a long journey there were many things a woman could help and participate in. Hallveig, who was never at ease when Ingolf was occupied with the ship, from this time always took Helga with her when she went down to it. She had an amusing way of walking, Helga thought. She took long, resolute, manly strides, and her legs were obviously legs under her skirts. Helga found it difficult to follow her when she was in a hurry, as she almost always unconsciously was.

Hallveig examined even the smallest details that concerned the loading of the ship, with her husband and Leif, and did so in a matter-of-course tone which aroused Helga's astonishment and admiration. In everything she said, Hallveig showed her practical sense. She did not hesitate either to give help where it was needed. Her help and advice were gladly welcomed. Her advice was advice and not child's prattle. It was nearly always followed.

Hallveig had a peculiar rapid way of surveying matters. This was the best place for this, and for that. She demanded that everything which might be needed on the voyage should be as easily accessible as possible. Ingolf and Leif had never given a thought to that. They only thought of packing things so that they fitted in, took the least possible room, and were so distributed according to weight and size that the ship might lie on the water as level as possible. Now Hallveig showed them that with a little reflection all these objects might be excellently combined.

Hallveig's and Helga's presence and hearty participation in the work--for Helga also quickly began to use both eyes and hands--put Ingolf and Leif in high spirits, which helped them over many difficulties and trifling annoyances.

The vessel was loaded amid much merriment. Corn in chests, dried fish in great bundles, butter in small barrels, and boxes of dried flesh and salt meat, beer and wine in barrels--a whole year's provision of food and drink--were brought on board and packed carefully in the great hold. But the vessel's stomach had to find space for much more. Small compartments had to be made for the animals which were to be taken with them. A cow and a pair of goats; they could not be entirely without milk. There was also an ox to be slaughtered, and a bull-calf to be company for the cow through the winter and grow large and fat and ready to be slaughtered in the spring. A sow with small pigs was also useful to have with them, together with some sheep, and a couple of horses were simply indispensable.

And, at any rate, there was room for a hut for Hallveig and Helga. The hut was Hallveig's idea. She did not wish only to be with them; she wished to live on board and to be comfortable. Leif jumped like a boy with delight when Hallveig put forward her proposal about the hut. From that day not even the smallest thing seemed to him quite right till Hallveig had expressed her satisfaction with it. He would rather have Hallveig's help in counsel and action than that of most men, he declared decisively. And he was absolutely resolved to teach her to swing an ax and to hurl a spear. Hallveig did not often laugh, but she had to laugh sometimes at Leif. There was the same completeness and power in Hallveig's laughter as in all the rest of her character and behaviour. When Hallveig laughed, there was something to laugh at. She could never be imagined laughing at any one or anything she did not like.

So these spring days passed. Liveliness and activity reigned everywhere. This journey to a foreign land, which at the beginning seemed so difficult to carry into effect, so improbable and unrealizable, became through all these preparations imminent and a matter of course for all those who took part in it. Here Ingolf now stood in the smithy and forged scythes to cut grass in a land which he had never seen and really only heard a tale about. Who was Naddod the Viking? Who was Gardar Svavarsson? Who was Raven-Floke? Or Thorolf Smor? Could one be sure they had not imagined that land over there? Or that others had imagined _them_ and the whole affair? One might be foolish to believe it, but he was going to get a sight of it. And while Ingolf forged scythes to cut grass in that legendary land of the west, and made spades to dig in its soil, that fact became firmly fixed in his mind. In spite of all doubt, the land lay and actually existed over there in the sea. And, in fact, it became more than real to him. It lay there and spoke secretly to his soul; it waited for him almost like a friend. And thus it seemed at last to have a claim on him, which he could not disregard. For the land lay there and expected to be taken in possession, as is the right of every land. Such and similar thoughts filled Ingolf. And yet he did not guess that while he stood there in his smithy and forged scythes and prepared implements with which to till the new land's soil, the land took _him_ in possession by help of the secret power a land possesses--never again to let him go.

Ingolf and Leif had to prepare themselves to build winter dwellings and to store hay for their animals, therefore they took implements with them, without considering what power the earth and implements together have over a man's soul. They did not guess that only homeless men wander their free ways, which are no ways, or rather that secret earth-powers guide all other steps.

Ingolf and Leif provided themselves with fishing-gear and nets for catching birds. They also took a pair of boats.

When the boat was loaded and everything else was in order for the journey, Ingolf concluded his preparations with a great sacrificial feast, at which he made abundant offerings to the gods, in order that they should grant him and his fellow-travellers good fortune and happiness on the voyage. Nevertheless, the days went by without the commencement of the hoped-for sailing weather.

These days of waiting were hard for Leif to bear. He became morose. Any kind of waiting was the worst thing Leif knew. It made his hasty and adventurous spirit full of discontent. He cursed the vessel, called it a wretched old woman's bath, and invented even worse names for it.

Ingolf took the matter quietly. Certainly he had already made his offerings to the gods, and copiously. But it was a special voyage they were to make--the gods were to protect them, and on wide and strange ways. He therefore brought fresh offerings, and also secretly gave Odin and Njord private gifts, besides vowing yet greater ones if they would prosper his journey there and back and on the way. This expedient helped. There came a day with splendid sailing weather--a sunshiny day full of light and warm wind. Before midday all was ready--the animals brought on board, the crew in their places (Ingolf and Leif took only the smallest possible crew with them), and the vessel cleared for sailing. Under a heavily bellying sail it glided out between the skerries. Hallveig and Helga stood on the poop by their husbands and watched the shores glide past on either side. Hallveig was quiet in mind, and felt only glad at the fine day and the journey. Sea and land were all the same to her, if only she had Ingolf. Here they were sailing out to find a new land, to seek a new home. She was ready with all her soul to remain fixed in the spot on the earth which Ingolf might choose for them, no matter where it might be.

But with Helga it was otherwise. She was calm and quiet enough, but her calm was, as so often on other occasions, only outward. The strong scent of the pines from the spruce- and fir-clad islands they were sailing by, roused a profound longing in her soul. This was the place where she was at home. There in the house down there by the shore, which seen from the fjord here looked so strange. There seemed to be a sob in Helga's soul. She, the faithful, had only one home. She did not at all wish to turn or to remain behind, for she stood here by Leif's side. But she felt as though her heart were being split asunder and her soul divided. For this place which she now left, to return to it next spring only for a time, had shared with her happiness and solitude. There was hardly a stone in the house which she had not patted with her hand and made her confidant in joy or sorrow. She was bound to the house and the surroundings of her childhood with ties which could not be loosed or cut asunder. She knew with certainty that she would always feel strange and homeless outside Dalsfjord. She reproached herself for this feeling--for she had Leif--but she could not overcome it. All she could do was to vow to herself never to betray it. Thus Helga took a secret with the scent of the pine trees from the islands.

II

Ingolf and Leif sailed by the guidance of the sun and the stars, and steered directly westward. For the first two days and nights a steady east wind filled the square sail and carried them steadily forwards. There were high spirits and much excited expectation on board. Indeed, it seemed as though the wind had been sent by Odin with the sole purpose of furthering their journey. But just as they had settled down in confidence that they were under the god's special protection the weather began to shift and change. Now it seemed, for the most part, as if one or another of the divinities had set himself fiercely against them, or as if Odin had suddenly become busy elsewhere.

The wind took the wrong direction, and seemed uninterruptedly occupied in settling private accounts with the towering waves of the sea. In the course of two days and nights it had gone several times round the horizon and varied through all degrees of strength from a moderate calm to what Vikings would mildly call a storm. And then all of a sudden it disappeared. They looked longingly for it--east, west, south, and north--for though they had cursed its vagaries heartily enough, it was still preferable to a dead calm. But it was absent, and remained absent. Unreliable as it had always been, it had gone off to other regions, and left them alone here in the midst of the sea. There lay the vessel, pitching lazily, and making no way at all. Where they were no one knew, and there was nothing to show them. Whither the wind had carried them, while it was still with them and blew alternately from all points of the compass, they could not find out. The sun and stars had only rarely been visible. The spirits of all on board were rapidly sinking. Matters were not improved when, after several days and nights of calm, there came gliding a cunning, silent bank of fog and swallowed them up, blotted them out from the eyes of heaven, swept all sight of sea and sky out of the world, and left the vessel lying, rocking lonelily, forgotten by all good powers on a strange sea.

There they lay while the days came and went--grey days which could only make marks on Ingolf's time-stick. For even though Ingolf was displeased enough with these days he kept a steady count of them, marked each of them off on his stick with the little notch that was their due, and, for the rest, execrated them in silence.

Leif had given up all hope now; morose and aggrieved, he surrendered himself to the power of chance. He sat most of the days on the gunwale with his legs dangling outside, singing from sheer despair. Only now and then he interrupted his song to hurl a violent succession of sanguinary curses in a penetrating, angry voice into the damp, foggy air.

With every day that passed, Ingolf became more silent and introspective. What was the obstacle in their way? Were the gods so much opposed to this journey that they were absolutely determined to prevent it?

He did not like being questioned regarding the number of days he had marked off. The days were quite bad enough without making them more by talking about them. And at last he flatly refused to answer questions regarding the number of the days. For long periods he would sit silent looking at his stick, forgetting to mark the days, with his mind full of inward longing and powerful exorcisms.

He heard that the crew were talking about drawing lots for a sacrifice. Ingolf was not narrow-minded. But he remembered the offerings which before his journey he had made to Odin, as well as the vows he had made of further offerings if the journey prospered. Odin had often fulfilled his wishes for less sacrifices than those. He really did not understand what was the matter with Odin this time.

Hallveig and Helga were the only ones on board who, to some extent, kept up their spirits. To Hallveig it seemed quite natural; they were very well off, and the fog and the calm must some time come to an end. Every morning she awoke with the firm conviction that that day the fog would lift. Helga, on the other hand, had to pull herself together, in order not to be infected by the depression of the rest. Yet she was accustomed to do this, and on this occasion she had, besides, Hallveig's good-humour to support her. But their good temper seemed almost to put the crew into a still worse humour. Even Ingolf--not to speak of Leif--could sometimes be impatient at their unconcern. And one day, in answer to a cheerful remark of Hallveig's, he very curtly drew her attention to the fact that the water-casks were seriously near becoming empty. Hallveig looked at him steadily and a little astonished. Ingolf had never before seen that look in her eyes. She went to her hut without saying anything more.

Ingolf looked round for Helga. She stood by the gunwale, playing with Leif's hair. When Ingolf had thus ascertained that Hallveig was alone in the hut, he followed her into it. Hallveig was sitting and looking before her when he came. She did not meet his glance as usual, but remained sitting and staring into space with a troubled expression on her serious face. Ingolf stopped before her and laid his hand on her shoulder. Then Hallveig looked up at him. "It can do no good to give up," she said seriously; "that will not make things better. Have you not noticed how the men follow you with their eyes, and are disturbed by your looks? There is nothing left us, Ingolf, but to take things as they come. The fog may lift some time. And since it has not rained for a long time, it may soon rain, so that we can again have the water-casks filled. And we have also beer and wine on board, so that we can get along for some time."

"What makes me uneasy," answered Ingolf, "is that we seem to be pursued by misfortune, and that I don't know at all where we are. It might almost seem as if the gods had forgotten us, or as if we had fallen under their displeasure. If the fog and the calm continue, and there is no rain for some time, it will soon be all over with us. You and Helga ought never to have been taken with us on this journey. I have also heard that the crew are beginning to talk among themselves of casting lots. Perhaps a sacrifice will be necessary."

Hallveig was silent for a long time. At last she sighed deeply and said: "I have never been able properly to understand how the gods can desire human sacrifices. Perhaps, however, I would have agreed on this occasion if I was quite sure that the lot would not fall on you. But I cannot rely on the gods so absolutely. Let us rather wait awhile, Ingolf."

Ingolf left her with the firm resolve henceforth to alter his outward demeanour. He saw that the first and foremost thing was his duty and obligation to exhibit to the crew a calm and untroubled face, be the outlook never so hopeless. The first man he met he greeted with a cheerful remark, and after that day he was altogether more lively and communicative.

When the crew saw what an alteration had taken place in Ingolf, they thought in themselves that he must in some way or another have received a token from the gods. Their desire for a sacrifice and drawing of lots ceased. Ingolf's altered demeanour inspired them with hope and courage.

But the days went on, and one day the supply of drinking water ran out. During the night following the day when the last scoop of water had been equally divided among all on board, Ingolf did not sleep. And he could easily see that Hallveig lay awake by his side. But they did not talk. Ingolf was more and more convinced that the gods had for ever withdrawn their favour from him. Perhaps it was their intention to let him miserably perish here at sea. Would they not even grant him to die on land? Could they not even spare a place for a funeral mound for him and his? Ingolf reproached himself severely that he had involved Hallveig in his own and his race's ill-luck.

Towards morning they began at last to talk together in a whisper. Ingolf opened his whole mind to Hallveig, and confided to her his most secret thoughts and anxieties. Hallveig said that she had married him because she intended to share his fortunes whether they were good or bad. She feared neither life, nor death, nor the displeasure of the gods, if only she had him.

While they were still lying there and whispering together, Leif stood suddenly in the doorway and shouted. He had kept watch during the night, and had good news to tell. The fog was gone and the wind was gradually rising. He had given orders to hoist the sail, and now only wished to ask whither they should sail, for he did not know. The sky was overclouded all the time, and the sun could not be seen. Would Ingolf come and see if _he_, perhaps, could scent out the right direction?

Ingolf was on his legs in an instant. All anxiety and trouble was blown away from his soul by the first puff of wind. He took counsel with his deepest instincts, and found a direction to sail in. The wind was rather slack at first, but then it had got out of the habit of blowing. In the course of the day it freshened to splendid sailing weather. There were birds on the water; they must be near some land. Towards evening they caught a glimpse of a dark streak ahead, which showed distinctly against the fog-banks on the horizon. There rose a shout on board: "Land in sight!" Then Helga wept. No one was astonished at it. Some of the men also felt a flutter at their hearts this time on sighting land again. But Hallveig stood quiet and undisturbed, staring at the dark streak ahead. What sort of land was it? Were they already there? That night no one thought of seeking sleep or rest.

Early in the morning they were among some precipitous green islands which were divided by narrow straits with strong currents. From the vessel they could here and there catch sight of smoke from houses and huts. This, then, was an inhabited land, and not the one they sought. One of the old men on board had been here before, and was able to inform them that these were the Faroe Isles. That reassured Ingolf; it meant they had not come out of their course. There was great joy on board. Here they could go on shore, feel firm ground under their feet, and provide themselves with water. There were some among the crew who ventured to hint that the voyage had lasted long enough, but a look from Ingolf was enough to reduce them to silence. All depression and doubt had been swept out of his mind along with the fog.

The brothers now had all tubs, buckets, together with the empty barrels and casks which were on board, filled with water from a spring on the coast. When that had been seen to, they were so fortunate as to get good weather with a stiff breeze. It was again possible to sail by the sun and stars, straight to the west. They left the Faroe Isles astern and made for the open sea. The weather remained fine, with a light breeze blowing. The wind was certainly somewhat capricious both as regards force and direction. But it blew all the time, and that was what was needed. Only seldom could the vessel hold on a straight course; they were obliged to tack, and so the way became somewhat uncertain. Still they made progress.

On the seventh day after leaving the Faroes they at last sighted land. A large and wide-stretching land, crowned by white glaciers behind blue mountains, and land with broad, open fjords and bright streams which wound down green mountain-sides, rose from the sea before their wondering eyes.

This must be the land they sought. Here then it lay, solitary and uninhabited, far away in the uttermost part of the sea. It lay silent and patient, expecting them.

The land greeted them with sunshine and summer and blue mountains. Majestic it lay there, with skyward towering promontories and broad mouths of fjords which, like open arms, offered them a royal welcome. No other land had ever received them with such a festal and solemn greeting as this gave them.

A strange silence spread on board the vessel. It was early in the morning that they sailed into a fjord full of swans. The blue surface of the fjord was completely covered with these white birds, which, with proudly lifted necks and in great flocks, swam to one side as the ship glided on. Many other birds swam among them--variegated eider-ducks and handsome water-fowl. But one did not notice them because of the white swans. Hallveig named the fjord Svanefjord.

The brothers had chosen this fjord because it was protected by a little group of islands which might make it more secure as a winter haven than the open fjords. They tacked a little to and fro, using a corner of their sail, and surveyed the land. Bare mountains rose on either hand. On the north was a strip of fertile land along the fjord; on the east side the waves broke freely at the base of the mountain. The land at the end of the fjord seemed fertile and inviting, but they could not find a landing-place which suited them.

Ingolf proposed that they should inspect a little more closely the nearest fjord south of the one they were in. He had seen from the ship that there lay a broad fjord sheltered by a small, low group of islands.

They tacked past a promontory and entered the other fjord. It was both broader and deeper than the one they had just come from, but was likewise full of swans! Hallveig laughed with gladness when she saw it. This fjord also must be called "Svanefjord," she declared. They might be called North and South. She did not know there were so many swans to be found in the world. "Birds love this land," she said to herself.

Helga stood by her side. She compelled herself to smile and share Hallveig's gladness, but her heart was full of pain, for the beautiful land she saw here and which Hallveig already seemed to love, could never be _hers_. She saw the swans, the mountains, and the green dales. But in her heart there was no room for anything but a quiet, slightly strange emotion. The scent of the pines from the islands at home was too keen in her memory. Ingolf and Leif stood silent and in a solemn mood, side by side; they looked at the land and did not say a word. They had stood thus a long time when Ingolf turned to his brother and said quietly: "What do you think of the land, Leif?"

"It is a big land and seems a good one," answered Leif, in a low voice.

"If only most of it was not barren mountain," said Ingolf, but his voice lacked the reservation which his words expressed.

"I think we might soon feel at home among these mountains," said Leif.

"It does not look unfriendly," Ingolf admitted.

In his inmost heart he was deeply moved. The strength and sternness of the mountains filled his mind with a peculiar excitement. Among these mountains the green dales and fertile stretches of land, which he caught a glimpse of at the end of the fjord, assumed a doubly home-like aspect.

Suddenly Leif awoke from his long reflection and silent contemplation. Abruptly and unexpectedly, as always, a resolve had been born in his mind, and aroused him. "It is all the same to me what sort of a land it is--I shall settle here," he declared in an excited tone. "Since I have come, I think it would disappoint the land if I left it again. And I will not disappoint this land, which lies here so ready to receive me--so much is certain."

Ingolf was silent. Leif had given expression to his own thoughts. He felt so convinced at this moment that here it was his lot to settle and remain. But this feeling was followed in his mind by a peculiar anxiety which almost made him sorry. Was it a good land--a land where one could peacefully build and settle, and where his family could flourish in happiness and prosperity? Not himself alone, but his children and children's children should dwell here, if he determined to settle himself in the place.

The brothers chose a landing-place on the north side of the fjord, and steered thither. It was with strange feelings that they set foot on this new land, which from time immemorial had lain here behind the sea and the distance, alone with its birds. On sea and land, everywhere the birds swarmed. The questioning whistle of the golden plover and the rippling quaver of the curlew were the first sounds that greeted them as they trod the stones of the shore.

Ingolf and Leif immediately set the crew to work to bring the animals on land and to unload the vessel. They themselves proceeded to pitch their tents, after having selected a spot with thick green grass, well protected from wind and weather by a projection of rock, and close to the brink of a small, clear stream. The kitchen utensils were brought up, and a fire kindled. The shore was covered with driftwood, so that there was plenty of fuel. Pots containing salted flesh were hung up; at last they got hot meat again. They could not remember that any meat had tasted so good as this hot salt flesh after the dried fish, preserved flesh, and hard and finally mouldy bread they had had on the sea voyage. They baked bread, too, and ate it warm from the embers. It was splendid to have soft bread between their teeth again.

Round them the animals dispersed, grazing eagerly over the fertile pastures. It was a pleasure to see the satisfaction with which they swallowed the green grass. Towards evening the vessel was so far unloaded that it could be brought ashore and rolled on logs over the ground. They had chosen a little cleft in the rocks for it to lie in shelter during the winter.

By the evening, when the men had crept into their skin bags and had lain down to sleep, Ingolf and Leif, Hallveig and Helga, still sat round the remains of the fire, but did not think of sleep. They sat silent, close to one another, and did not talk. The night was bright and still, and dew was falling. The fire gleamed palely in the night. Red ember-snakes writhed at the bottom of it. The fjord spread a shining surface, dotted white with sleeping swans. There was a peace and stillness over the land which filled their minds with a peculiar awe and sense of expectation.

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.

IV

The brothers were favoured by a good wind as they crossed the sea to Norway. Only ten days after they had sailed out between the skerries outside the Svanefjords, the vessel lay before Ingolf's house in Dalsfjord.

When they disembarked, it was only Helga who felt as though she had come home. Ingolf and Leif had already separated themselves in their hearts from their birthplace, and Hallveig, whose home was wherever Ingolf was, had never been intimately acquainted with this district.

Leif had already on the return journey expressed his wish to go on a Viking expedition in the summer. He gave many reasons--among others, that he needed serfs. Further, he alleged that it was the simplest way of obtaining goods for their journey to Iceland the next spring. Ingolf could arrange their affairs in Dalsfjord while he was out trading for them both. Leif spoke much about this important trading and about his very inconvenient want of serfs. They were dear to buy, and it was easiest to take them where one could find them. All these and more reasons were adduced by Leif. But he concealed his real reason for the journey, which was that it was impossible for him to conceive how he should spend a summer at home at Dalsfjord. His blood had suddenly become restless. His mind was like a bow which had been long on the strain.