But Karlsefne, the prosperous man, did well. He sailed along the land in and out of beautiful wooded islands until he came to the mouth of a great river.[1] He entered that on the flood and sailed up for many days. It was a broad and noble river which came, as they discovered, out of a lake. Here was such a land as they had never seen before, so beautiful, so fruitful that they had no desire to seek further. They called this land Hope, for here was the utmost they had dreamed of. There were broad acres of wheat growing here, self-sown; upon the slopes of the hills wild vines were thick and full of bud; the streams were full of fish; there were deer in the woods, and everywhere in the early mornings the piping of birds. Karlsefne said: "My Gudrid, we have found Wineland the Good. Here we will stay awhile." She was happy to be in so good a place.

They made their camp on the shores of the lake, and built themselves houses of timber, with a stockade and trench about the whole Settlement. There was abundance of food for the animals, abundance for themselves, with promise of a harvest both of corn and of wine. No signs of human occupation had been found as yet. They began to think that they had Wineland to themselves, and used to go far afield, even to being out for days together and sleeping in the open. But Karlsefne kept his eyes wide for some possible attack, and was proved to be right.

Early one morning when he went down to the lake shore he saw boats upon the quiet water. He counted nine of them. They kept close company and came on steadily. He looked beyond them but could see no more. "With no more than nine of them, this won't be a long affair," he thought to himself; but he went back to the Settlement and called out his men. Then he went into his own house and called Gudrid to come. "Are you minded to see some of the Winelanders, my Gudrid? Bring your baby with you, and I will show them to you. I don't think they mean us any harm." Gudrid went with him without question.

By this time the settlers had lined the shore, and the hide-boats had drawn up within bowshot and were making signals. A man stood up in each boat and waved a pole over his head. He swept it round in circles, and moved it from east to west, following the course of the sun. "What do they want with us?" says Karlsefne. "Not war, I think. Now who will come out to meet them with me? We will show them a white shield, but there shall be weapons at the bottom of the boat." He soon had a crew, and was soon afloat.

The native boats scattered out in a half-moon as the adventurers came on. Karlsefne saw that he was being hemmed in, but having the notion fixed in his head that no harm was intended, he did not give orders to cease rowing, and stood up in the bows himself with his white shield displayed. When he was within speaking distance he bade his men rest on their oars. By and by, as he had expected, curiosity did his work for him. The hide-boats came in and in, each of them holding five or six men. In one at least he saw a woman with a baby. "If they bring their babies out to see us, it's no more than I have done," Karlsefne said. "They mean peace, and they shall have it."

He invited them forward with open arms, and all signs of friendliness, and presently they were all crowded about. Small people they were, very dark brown, very ugly, with flat faces, coarse black hair twisted and tortured into peaks and knots. They had broad fat cheeks and enormous eyes. Their talk was like the chattering of birds.

Karlsefne invited them to shore, and very cautiously their boats followed his. They landed and were induced to mingle with the large company they found there. Gudrid and her baby were the great attractions. The first man who saw her suckling it stared and jumped about. He called shrilly to his friends behind, and a body of them came to join him. They pushed forward the brown woman with her child. Gudrid, not at all put out or frightened, held out her hand. The woman stared hard at her white breast, then opened her gown and showed her own. She gave her baby suck and grinned community of nature in Gudrid's face. Gudrid, with one of those happy motions of hers, looked round to see if Karlsefne was by, and finding that he was, put up her hand into his.

That shot told. There was much commotion among the brown people, much bickering and stirring; and presently they pushed one of their own men forward, and joined his hand with that of the mother. Joyful murmurings arose. Everybody understood. Now it was Freydis's turn. She stood disdainfully apart, with folded arms, but her colouring and shape betrayed her. Here was plainly to be another mother soon, as they did not fail to tell each other. Then nothing would do but her husband must be found for her. His friends dragged him out and put him beside her, no more willing to go than she was to have him. "Handfast her, you dog," said Karlsefne. "How else will they believe you?" So that was done. Freydis fumed and burned, as handsome and furious a young woman as you could have hoped to see. All went so well that Karlsefne was moved to hospitality, sending a man off for milk and fish. They crowded about for their share, and growing bold by degrees handled the women's gowns, the men's weapons, and were for spying into the stockade. The bull, who was feeding in there, snorted and puffed up the dust; presently, wagging his head, he came towards them and sent them flying back. Karlsefne, by signs, tried to make them understand that he was ready to barter if they were. He touched the fur with which they were all clad, and pointed to the milk bowls. When they saw what he would be at, they in turn fingered the weapons which every man had about him. Clearly they had not the art of forging steel. It was long before they would leave the shore, and when they did go it was with one consent, without any words passing. Quite suddenly they turned about and ran down to the shore, launched their canoes and were out in the water like a horde of rats. They rowed down the lake, as if towards the sea.

Nothing more was seen of them for some time, but presently they began to come in numbers, always very friendly and willing to barter. They brought furs with them—fox and marten, beaver, as well as coarser kinds, bear and wolf and elk. Karlsefne would exchange no weapons; but milk he offered, and that they drank greedily and on the spot, and cloth too, of which he had a good store. Red cloth took their fancy most; they seemed as if they must have it, it was a kind of lust. The breadths he could spare them grew narrower and narrower; they pushed out their furs for it with no consideration of what they got in exchange. At last it became a kind of madness, and Karlsefne said it had better stop. "They take it like strong water; one of these days they will be killing men for it." It was a prophecy on his part—for they came in greater and greater numbers, and when there was no more red cloth for them, they howled and chattered and looked dangerous. Karlsefne and the men with him faced them with the best heart they had, but he ordered a retreat to the stockade, and when he was pretty near the entrance bade a man go in and bring out the bull. That answered. The great beast stood in the doorway pawing the ground and breathing hard. When he saw what was in front of him, down went his head, and he charged. The savages scattered all ways and saved themselves. In a few moments the lake was black with canoes; it was, the tale says, as though the water was covered with floating charcoal. Karlsefne did not like the look of things at all. He doubled the watch on the ship and strengthened the stockade; but did not wish to frighten Gudrid, who was so happy with her child, and beginning, as he could see, to love himself. He knew that she loved him, because at all sorts of times he found out that she had been looking at him while he moved about, busy over something or other. He taxed her with it one day. "I think that you love me, Gudrid."

She put her head on one side. "What makes you think so?" He told her; so then she owned to it, and he wished to know why. She said that she could not tell, but in such a way that he saw that she could, and wished him to know. So then he pressed her. "Tell me, Gudrid, why you love me." She touched her child's head. "Because you are strong, and good, and brave. And because you gave me this. A woman must love her child's father."

"Ask Freydis that," said Karlsefne; and she answered him; "Freydis loves more than she chooses to say. When Freydis has a child, you will see that she will love it."

"But not her man on that account," he said. "It is only a heart like yours, my Gudrid, that can love because it loves. For I see very well that you love me because you love this boy, and did not until he came."

She looked gently at him, half excusing herself. "I liked you well, and was grateful."

"Ah, yes, maybe," he said, "but that was not how you loved Thorstan
Ericsson."

She said: "I was younger then, and I loved him so much because our time was short. But I love you better than I loved Thorstan, because of the peace you have put in my heart."

[1] The Hudson River.