Directly he was married Karlsefne began to talk about the Wineland voyage, first to Gudrid, and then to the company at Brattalithe, where he still lived. Gudrid was eager to go. She had always wanted that; and when she found herself with child, that did not deter her—nor her husband either. "I am a prosperous man," he said, "and bring good fortune with me. If you are not afraid, why should I be? Let us trust to our luck, my Gudrid." She believed in him more than in any man she had had to do with yet. He seemed to her a more fortunate man than Leif himself. So it was agreed upon.

Whether it was the lucky star of Karlsefne or not which prevailed, there was more stir about this expedition than had been about any. There were to be two ships fitted for it. First of all, Freydis said that she intended for it—she and her husband Thorhall; then another Thorhall, him they called the Huntsman, offered himself—a tall, oldish, glum fellow, liked by nobody and trusted by few, but a man of great strength and courage, too able to be refused. Then came up Biorn from Heriolfsness offering himself and his ship. Altogether there were some hundred and forty people to be carried, of whom five only were women, and goods in proportion.

Karlsefne, saying that you never knew how things would go, carried livestock in the holds of both ships. He took ten head of cows, a score sheep, some goats, and a bull. He took ducks and hens, a dog or two, and some ponies for the women to ride. But he had some stranger stock yet, human stock, which Leif gave him. They were two Scots, a male and a female, whom he had had from Thorgunna's father in Orkney and had kept ever since, hoping they would breed; but they did not. They were wild, small, shaggy creatures, about the same height—the man was called Hake, the woman Haekia. They were said to be incredibly swift in running, and were certainly hardier than most human kinds. Summer and winter they wore but one garment, a long, sleeveless garment with a hood, which fell straight from the shoulders, and, being slit from the thighs, was fastened between their legs. It had no sleeves; their arms were bare to the shoulder. They called it in their own tongue gioball. You never saw one of these creatures without the other; they were inseparable—and yet they were never seen to speak to each other, or to use any kind of endearments. They would not eat if any one were looking at them, nor sleep except they were alone and in the dark. Gudrid tried to make friends with them. They sat still, looking down or beyond her; but never would meet her eyes.

So much for the company which, when all preparations were done, sailed at mid-summer from Ericshaven, with Karlsefne as leader. Gudrid shed tears at the parting with old Eric Red, knowing that she would never see him again. "Farewell, sweetheart," he said to her; "you leave this world the better for having had you in it." He rode his old white pony down to the quay, and sat there watching the ships go out with the tide. His red cloak was the last she saw of the haven.

The voyage was smooth, with a fair wind all the way. First they went round to the West Settlement, and Gudrid looked out for Lucefrith where her darkest days had also been her brightest. She could not have told it for herself, but Karlsefne showed it to her. The black cliffs now looked warm grey in the sun, the sea was green, sparkling with light; the creek was smooth flowing water lipping on silver sands. Karlsefne told her that nobody lived there now. "Mariners run in there in summer-time for water, and see the green flats and the mountains in a haze of heat. They say: 'This is a sweet and wholesome country. We will dwell here and work and be happy.' Then the winter comes upon them suddenly, white fogs, madness and death. You, my child, know as much of that as you ought." She shivered, and leaned her head against him. There was great store of comfort in Karlsefne; she esteemed him, she trusted him, she believed in his star; but Thorstan Ericsson had given her wings, and she had shed them into his grave. She would never fly again among the stars.

They took in water from the West Settlement and then sailed to the Bear Islands—small rocky, flat lands lying low in the great western surges. Thence with a north wind they came into the ocean and were two days without sight of land. But on the morning of the third day they saw land ahead, and came within reach of it, and cast anchor in a broad bay. This was the country to which Leif had been before and called Helloland.[1] Karlsefne had boats manned from either ship, and stayed a couple of days to explore. It was a litter of rock, very barren, and full of white foxes. They found plenty of fish, and laid in a good store; but that was no country in which to settle, so they left it, going south before a good northerly wind.

In two days' sailing they made out a land ahead, full of trees and dense undergrowth. That was certainly Leif's Markland. South-east of it, at no great distance, there was a large island. They saw a great bear prowling the shore, and gave his dwelling-place the name of Bear Island, out of compliment to him. Karlsefne did not stay to explore it.

They ran on still before the wind for another two days or three, saw land again, and made for it. This was a headland running far out into the sea, which they made and passed, then ran in close to the shore and coasted for some days without finding any haven. This was a very long strand, great stretches of white sand with nothing to break them up. Behind the dunes they could see the tops of great trees. It was judged that the whole country was low-lying and probably swampy. Ferly Strands was the name they gave to this interminable shore.

But yet it was not interminable, for it broke up at last into bays and creeks, with many islands which had beautiful trees on them, and rich herbage down to the sea-line, Karlsefne said that they would run in hereabouts and live ashore for a while. "We will send out our runners, to see what they can find out for us," he said. That was agreed upon.

[1] Believed to be Newfoundland.