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Chapter Twenty Two.
Hake Makes a Bold Venture, but does not Win—The Norsemen Find that There is Many a Slip ’twixt the Cup and the lip
When Karlsefin and his men had surmounted the rapid, as before described, they found their future advance unimpeded, and, in the natural course of things—or of the river—arrived, not long after the children, at the lake-like expansion on the shores of which the native village stood.
This village, it must be understood, was not a permanent one. The natives were nomads. Their tents were merely poles cut as required from the neighbouring woods, tied together at the top, spread out in a circle at the base, and covered with leather, which coverings were the only parts of their habitations the natives deigned to carry about with them. They were here to-day and away to-morrow, stopping a longer or shorter time in each encampment according to fancy, or to the measure of their success in procuring food. The particular tribe of natives which had captured the Norsemen’s children had only just come to the locality; they therefore knew nothing of the arrival of the white strangers in their land, except what they had recently learned from their scouts, as we have seen.
Karlsefin’s canoe led the way; hence, on turning sharp round a point of rock that jutted out into the stream, Krake was the first who caught sight of the smoke that rose above the tree-tops.
“Hist! hold on,” he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper, looking over his shoulder as he backed-water suddenly. Karlsefin and the men instantly did the same, and sent the canoe back under the shelter of the point. The other canoes of course followed suit.
“The Skraelingers!” whispered Krake. “I saw the smoke of their fires.”
“Did you see tents?” asked the leader.
“No; there was scarce time to see anything before we got back here.”
“What do you advise?” asked Karlsefin, looking at Thorward.
“Go ashore and attack them at once,” he replied.
“Ay, that’s it, there’s nothing like fighting it out at once!” muttered Krake in an undertone.
“My advice,” said Karlsefin, “is, that we cross the river and get on yonder height, which from its position must needs overlook the camp of the savages, and there reconnoitre and form our plans.”
“Well, I daresay your advice is best after all,” rejoined Thorward, with a smile. “You were always a cautious and peaceful man; though I’m bound in fairness to admit that you can fight passing well when it comes to that.”
“Thanks for your good opinion,” said Karlsefin, laughing quietly. “So now, lads, turn about and follow me closely. Keep silence, and dip your paddles as lightly as may be.”
Saying this, he returned a considerable way down the river; keeping very close in to the banks, which were overhung with bushes, until he reached a point where it seemed likely that the party could cross without being observed. There was a slight rapid at the place, so that they had only to enter it at an angle with the bank and were swept across in a few moments, almost without requiring to use their paddles.
Landing at the edge of a dense thicket, they hauled the canoes out of the water, secreted them carefully, and then, taking their arms, made a détour through the forest in the direction of the cliff before referred to by Karlsefin. In less than half an hour they reached it, and found, as had been anticipated, that it commanded a view of the native encampment, which to their dismay they now discovered was an immense one, filled with many hundreds of men, besides women and children.
Here, prone on their breasts, and scarce venturing to raise their heads above the grass, the two leaders held a consultation, while their men kept well in the background.
“This is an unfortunate business,” said Karlsefin.
“Truly it is,” replied Thorward; “but the question is, can this be the set of rascals who carried off the children? It seems to me that, being a small band, as we know, they did not belong to the same set.”
“That may be so, Thorward;—but I incline to the belief that the small party was but an offshoot from the large one, and that our dear little ones are even now with the people before us.”
As if to put the matter beyond doubt, Olaf, with Snorro on his back, issued at that moment from the woods on the opposite side of the river, and went out upon the identical spit of sand where, on the previous evening, he had held such bitter communings with his own spirit. The Norseman leaders recognised the children at once, being almost within hail of them, and it was with difficulty they restrained the impulse to spring to their feet and shout.
“Thanks be to God for the sight of them at all events,” said Karlsefin fervently; “see, the dear boy has brought my darling there to amuse him.—Ah! little dost thou know, Olaf, the hold that thy kindness has given thee of his father’s heart!”
“’Twould be well if he had a hold of the father’s hand just at this time,” drily observed Thorward, who was not gifted with much of a sentimental temperament.
“That is not easy of accomplishment,” returned the other. “Even you would scarcely, methinks, advise so small a band of men to make an open attack on five or six hundred savages.”
“I would not advise it,” replied Thorward; “nevertheless, if it came to the worst I would do it. But what, then, is your advice?”
“Why, until it comes to the worst we must try strategy,” answered Karlsefin. “I will call Hake to our council; the youth, I have observed, is a deep thinker, and clear-sighted.”
When Hake was summoned, and had laid himself down beside his leaders, he remained for some time silently gazing on the busy scene below, where some men in canoes were spearing fish in the bay, and others were skinning and cutting up deer near the edge of the woods, while women were cooking and engaged in other domestic duties at the doors of the tents, and children and dogs were romping about everywhere.
“Could we not get into our canoes,” suggested Thorward, “make a dash at the spit of sand, and carry off the children at a swoop before the brown-skinned rascals were well aware of us?”
“They would see us before we got half-way to the spit,” replied Karlsefin, “carry the children into the woods, and then be ready to receive us in hundreds on shore.—What think you, Hake; can you suggest any plan of outwitting these savages?”
“I have a plan,” answered the Scot, “but I fear you will deem it foolish.”
“Out with it, man, foolish or otherwise,” said Thorward, who was beginning to chafe under difficulties that appeared to be insurmountable, even by his favourite method—force of arms.
“If ye approve of it,” returned Hake, “I will cross the river alone and unarmed, and walk straight to the spot where the children are now seated. Much of the way is concealed by shrubs, and when I saunter across the open part, it may be that I shall scarce be noticed until I am near them. If I be, then will I make a dash, catch them up, make for the rapid, plunge in, and, on gaining the opposite bank, run to meet you. We can then hasten to the canoes—fight our way to them if need be—and sweep down the river. We shall probably get a fair start; and if so, it will go hard but we reach Leifsgaard before they overtake us. If not, why—”
Hake touched the hilt of his sword by way of completing the sentence.
“A rare plan!” said Thorward with a suppressed chuckle; “and how, my bold youth, if thou art observed and caught before getting hold of the children?”
“I will then set my wits to devise some other plan. It may be of some advantage to them that I should be a captive along with the children, and at most it is but one man lost to the expedition.”
“Ay, but that would be a heavy loss,” said Karlsefin; “nevertheless the plan seems to me not so unlikely—only there are one or two points about which I have my doubts. In the first place, although your legs are marvellously good, I fear that with the additional weight of Olaf and Snorro on them, the fleet runners among the savages, of whom there must be many, would soon overtake thee.”
“With Olaf on my back, Snorro under my left arm, and the right arm free to swing—I think not,” replied Hake, quietly but decidedly.
“Then as to crossing: how do you—”
“I would swim,” replied Hake.
“What! with the weight and drag of wet garments to cumber you!” exclaimed Thorward; “besides making it clear to the savages, if they caught you, that you had come from the opposite bank of the river, where your friends might be expected to be waiting for you!”
“I would tie my clothes in a tight bundle on the top of my head,” said Hake. “Many a time have I crossed the streams of my native land in this manner.”
“Well, ye have a ready answer for everything,” returned Thorward; “nevertheless I like not the plan.”
“If you cannot suggest a better, I am disposed to let Hake try it,” said Karlsefin.
Thorward had no better plan to suggest. Indeed, the more he thought of it the more did he feel inclined to make a tremendous onslaught, cut as many men to pieces as he could before having his own life taken, and so have done with the whole affair for ever. Fortunately for Olaf and Snorro his counsels were not followed.
In a few minutes Hake was ready. His brother was ordered to lead the men back to the canoes, there to keep in close hiding and await further orders. Meanwhile Karlsefin remained on the cliff to watch the result.
Hake felt it to be a desperate venture, but he was possessed of that species of spirit which rejoices in such, and prefers danger to safety. Besides, he saw at a glance that there would be no chance whatever of success if his leaders made up their minds to attempt an open attack against such fearful odds.
With a light step the young Scot descended to the river, thinking of Bertha as he went. A few minutes afterwards he was seen—or rather his head with a bundle on it—was seen crossing the river by the watchers on the cliff. A few minutes later, and he was on the opposite shore rapidly putting on his light garments. Thereafter he entered the bushes, and a glimpse could be caught of him ever and anon as he glided swiftly, like the panther towards his prey.
When the last point capable of affording concealment was gained, Hake assumed a careless air, and, with his head down, as if in meditation, sauntered towards the spit of land where Olaf and Snorro were still playing.
“Well done!” exclaimed Thorward, with a look of admiration; “cleverly, bravely done!”
There is no doubt that such was the case, and that Hake would have reached the children unobserved by the natives had not Olaf chanced to notice him while he was yet about fifty yards off. He recognised him at once, and, with a shout of joy, ran to meet him.
Hake dashed past him, sprang toward Snorro, whom he caught up, and, stooping, cried— “Up, Olaf! up for your life!”
Olaf understood at once, sprang on his back, and held on tight, while Hake, bending low, sped away at a pace that defied pursuit, though by that time a hundred savages were almost at his heels!
It was obvious from the first that the lithe Scot was well able to achieve his purpose. He was already nearing the rapid. His pursuers were far behind, and Karlsefin could scarcely restrain a shout of exultation as he rose to run round to his canoes, when he observed that a party of more than a dozen natives, who chanced to be ascending the river’s bank on foot, met the fugitive. Observing that he was a stranger, and pursued by natives, they crossed his path at once.
Hake stopped abruptly, glanced at the bushes, then turned to the river, and was on the point of plunging in, when a canoe, with four savages in it, shot out from the bank just below him.
He saw at once that escape was impossible. Feeling intuitively that submission was his best policy, he set the children on the ground and quietly suffered himself to be taken prisoner.
“I knew it! I said it!” growled Thorward between his teeth, as he sprang up, drew his sword, and slashed down two small trees at a single stroke in his wrath, then rushing through the woods, he made for the canoes.
Karlsefin followed in a state of mind almost as furious. It was such a bitter disappointment to fail so signally on the very eve of success!
The canoes were already in the water and manned when the leaders reached them, for Heika, who had been left in charge, knew well that whatever might be the result of the enterprise, prompt action would be necessary.
“Quick, shove off!” cried Karlsefin, taking his place, and driving his paddle into the water with such force that the light craft shot from the bank like an arrow.
The men were not slow to obey. The fierce spirit of their leader seemed to be catching, and the foam curled from their respective bows, leaving a long white track behind, as they rushed up the river and swept out upon the broad expanse above.
Of course they had been seen before reaching that point, and the savages immediately lined the banks with armed men. They did not, however, go out upon the spit of sand where Olaf and Snorro had first been observed by their friends. That point was so high up the stream, that it did not seem to be considered by any one as worthy of attention. This Karlsefin observed at once, and formed his plans accordingly. He advanced as if he were about to land below the spit, but made no hostile demonstrations of any kind, and paddled so quietly on nearing the shore, that the savages did not seem to understand him, and, although ready with their arrows for instant action, they remained passive.
When within a short distance of the land, Karlsefin suddenly, but still quietly, turned the head of his canoe up the stream, and made for the spit of sand. The other canoes followed. The natives, perceiving the intention of the strangers, uttered a wild shout, and made for the same place along the shore, but before they reached it Karlsefin had landed with all his men, and, with their stalwart figures and strange arms, presented such an imposing front that the natives stopped short.
At this point the crowd opened a little to let some one pass, and Whitepow came to the front. Judging him to be the chief, Karlsefin at once laid down his sword, and, stepping a few paces in front of his men, held up his hands and made demonstrations of a peaceful kind.
But Whitepow was not peacefully inclined. Although aged, he was a sturdy fellow, stood erect, and carried a heavy club on his shoulder. To the Norseman’s demonstrations he replied by frowning fiercely and shaking his head savagely, as though to intimate that he was much too old a bird to be taken in with such chaff. Then, turning to those beside him, he gave an order, which resulted in Hake being led to the front with his arms tightly bound to his sides.
“Ah!” thought Karlsefin, “if you had only brought the children to that spot, I would have rescued them at all hazards.”
He did not, however, think it wise to make so desperate an attempt merely to rescue Hake, while the children were still concealed and at the mercy of the savages. He therefore put on his blandest looks and manner, and again invited confidence, but Whitepow again shook his head, pointed backwards as if in reference to the two children, and then at Hake, after which he flung his club with such violence and precision at Karlsefin’s head that the stout Norseman would certainly have measured his length on the sand, if he had not been very much on the alert. As it was, he received the missile on his shield, from which it glanced with a loud clang, and went hissing into the river.
Karlsefin smiled, as if that sort of thing rather amused him than otherwise, and again held up his hands, and even advanced a step or two nearer, while the concourse of savages gave vent to a shout of surprise. It is probable that Whitepow was a hero whose artillery had hitherto been the messenger of certain death to foes. The failure of the club seemed to exasperate the old savage beyond endurance, for he instantly seized a bow, and let fly an arrow at the Norseman leader. It was well aimed, but was also caught on the shield, and fell broken to the ground.
Seeing this, some of the Norsemen hastily drew their bows, but Karlsefin, anticipating something of the kind, turned about and bade them forbear.
Meanwhile Whitepow had ordered his warriors to remove Hake, and to fall back a little. This they did, and appeared to be awaiting further orders from their chief, who had gone up towards the tents. The movement puzzled Karlsefin, who rejoined his men.
“It is my advice,” said Thorward, “that we hesitate no longer. Stand or fall, we are in for a fight now, so the sooner we begin the better. No doubt the odds are great, but they don’t seem to be able for much—at least if that old chap gave us a good specimen of their powers.”
Most of the Norsemen appeared to agree with this advice, but Karlsefin did not.
“You forget,” said he, “that this would not be a mere trial of strength. If we once begin, and chance to fail, every man of us must die, and our colony, thus left so weak, would stand a small chance of surviving in the midst of so many savages. Besides—the children would be lost for ever! It is my opinion that we should wait a little to see what this movement implies. Perhaps that white-haired old savage may have recovered his temper and senses by this time, and is making up his mind to have peace instead of war. God grant that it may be so.”
Instead of replying Thorward frowned darkly, and with something of a savage sneer on his lip pointed to a bend in the river above them, round which, at that moment, a hundred canoes swept, and came swiftly towards them.
“Looks that like peace?” he said bitterly.
Karlsefin’s countenance fell.
“All is lost!” he muttered, in a tone that was rather sad than fierce. “Oh my tender little child!”
Crushing down his feelings with a mighty effort, he turned to the men, and quietly but quickly arranged them in a circle, with their faces outwards, so that they presented a front in all directions.
“Now, ye men of Norway and Iceland,” he said, “the day has come at last when ye must prove yourselves worthy descendants of a noble race. Our cause this day is a right cause, and God is with the right, whether it please Him to send death or victory. Quit you like men, and let us teach these Skraelingers how to fight—if need be, how to die.”
Taking his stand on the landward side of his men, and ordering Thorward to do the same in the direction of the water, he calmly awaited the onset.
And now, indeed, it seemed as if a fierce and bloody battle were about to begin, for when the canoes of their comrades swept round the point of land, as already described, the savages on shore, constantly reinforced by new arrivals, began to move steadily down in an overwhelming mass towards the spit of sand, and the heroes who stood there, though comparatively so few in number, were, with their superiority of weapons and courage, certain to make a fearfully prolonged and bloody resistance.
Affairs had reached this critical point, when a sudden and loud shout was heard down the river. All eyes were turned in that direction, and there several canoes were seen coming round the bend of the river, full of armed men. The descent of the native fleet was checked. The Norsemen at once recognised their comrades, and greeted their approach with a lusty cheer. In another minute the newcomers had leaped upon the sand.
“Welcome, welcome, Biarne!” exclaimed Thorward, seizing and wringing his friend’s hand in great delight. “Why, man, we had all but taken leave of each other, but we shall have another tale to tell now.”
“May God bless you, Biarne, for coming so opportunely,” said Karlsefin. “Let your men join and extend the circle. There, spread it out wider; that will do. I won’t trouble you with questions just now, Biarne, as to what made you think of coming. We have more pressing work on hand.”
Thus saying, the leader busied himself in arranging his reinforcements, while the savages held back, and awaited the result of a consultation between Whitepow and the chief men of the tribe.
