Part 8 (1/2)

”We made no boast,” replied Heika gravely.

”If you did not speak it, ye thought it, I doubt not.--But, tell me, is your land as good a land as Norway?”

”We love it better,” replied Heika.

”But _is_ it better?” asked Freydissa.

”We would rather dwell in it than in Norway,” said Hake.

”We hope not. But we would prefer to be in our own land,” replied the elder brother, sadly, ”for there is no place like home.”

At this point Karlsefin and the rest of the party came back to the sh.o.r.e and put an end to the conversation. Returning on board they drew up the anchor, hoisted sail, and again put out to sea.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

SONGS AND SAGAS--VINLAND AT LAST!

In days of old, just as in modern times, tars, when at sea, were wont to a.s.semble on the ”fo'c'sle,” or forecastle, and spin yarns--as we have seen--when the weather was fine and their work was done.

One sunny afternoon, on the forecastle of Karlsefin's s.h.i.+p--which, by the way, was called ”_The Snake_,” and had a snake's head and neck for a figure-head--there was a.s.sembled a group of seamen, among whom were Tyrker the Turk, one of Thorward's men named Swend, who was very stout and heavy, and one of Karlsefin's men called Krake, who was a wild jocular man with a peculiar tw.a.n.g in his speech, the result of having been long a prisoner in Ireland. We mention these men particularly, because it was they who took the chief part in conversations and in story-telling. The two Scots were also there, but they were very quiet, and talked little; nevertheless, they were interested and attentive listeners. Olaf was there also, all eyes and ears,--for Olaf drank in stories, and songs, and jests, as the sea-sand drinks water--so said Tyrker; but Krake immediately contradicted him, saying that when the sea-sand was full of water it drank no more, as was plain from the fact that it did not drink up the sea, whereas Olaf went on drinking and was _never_ satisfied.

”Come, sing us a song, Krake,” cried Tyrker, giving the former a slap on the shoulder; ”let us hear how the Danish kings were served by the Irish boys.”

”Not I,” said Krake, firmly. ”I've told ye two stories already. It's Hake's turn now to give us a song, or what else he pleases.”

”But you'll sing it after Hake has sung, won't you, Krake?” pleaded several of the men.

”I'll not say `No' to that.”

Hake, who possessed a soft and deep ba.s.s voice of very fine quality, at once acceded to the request for a song. Crossing his arms on his chest, and looking, as if in meditation, towards the eastern horizon, he sang, to one of his national airs, ”The Land across the Sea.”

The deep pathos of Hake's voice, more than the words, melted these hardy Nors.e.m.e.n almost to tears, and for a few minutes effectually put to flight the spirit of fun that had prevailed.

”That's your own composin', I'll be bound,” said Krake, ”an' sure it's not bad. It's Scotland you mean, no doubt, by the land across the sea.

Ah! I've heard much of that land. The natives are very fond of it, they say. It must be a fine country. I've heard Irishmen, who have been there, say that if it wasn't for Ireland they'd think it the finest country in the world.”

”No doubt,” answered Hake with a laugh, ”and I dare say Swend, there, would think it the finest country in the world after Norway.”

”Ha! Gamle Norge,” [Old Norway] said Swend with enthusiasm, ”there is no country like _that_ under the sun.”

”Except Greenland,” said Olaf, stoutly.

”Or Iceland,” observed Biarne, who had joined the group. ”Where can you show such mountains--spouting fire, and smoke, and melted stones,--or such boiling fountains, ten feet thick and a hundred feet high, as we have in Iceland?”

”That's true,” observed Krake, who was an Icelander.

”Oh!” exclaimed Tyrker, with a peculiar twist of his ugly countenance, ”Turkey is the land that beats all others completely.”

At this there was a general laugh.