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- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
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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.
The additional force thus opportunely gained by the Norsemen, although hailed with so much enthusiasm, did not very materially alter their position. True, they now formed a company of above fifty stout and well-armed men, who, in the hour of extremity, could make a formidable resistance to any foe, however numerous; but what chance had they of ultimately escaping from upwards of a thousand savages, every man of whom was an adept at bush-warfare; could dart from tree to tree, and harass and cut off in detail an enemy whom he would not dare, or did not care, to face in the open field—which latter mode of warfare was more natural and congenial to the Norsemen?
This truth soon began to force itself upon Karlsefin’s understanding; but as he feared to damp the spirits of his less thoughtful comrades, he kept his anxieties to himself, and made the best disposition of his force that was possible in the circumstances.
Very soon there was a movement among the savages on shore, and its object was not long of being apparent, for presently a fleet of canoes was seen ascending the river. At the same time the other fleet renewed its advance from above, while the men on shore moved once more towards the spit of sand.
“They mean to attack on all sides at once,” said Biarne.
“Let them come,” growled Thorward. “’Tis death or victory now, lads.”
No one spoke, but the eagle glances of the men, and their firm grasp of sword and spear, told that they were ready; and once more it seemed as if the bloody fight were about to begin, when again it was interrupted by a shout. This time the shout came from the woods, from which, a few minutes later, a solitary savage was seen to issue. He appeared to be in haste, and ran through the crowd of warriors, who made way for him, straight towards the white-haired chief, to whom he appeared to speak with great fervour and many gesticulations, though he was too far off to be heard, or his countenance to be distinctly seen, by the Norsemen.
“That fellow brings news of some sort or other. I should say,” remarked Biarne.
“Whatever his news may be,” replied Karlsefin, “I don’t think it will be likely to do much for us.”
“The rascal’s figure seems not unfamiliar to me,” said Thorward.
At that moment the crowd of chiefs around Whitepow shouted the word “Ho!” apparently in approbation of something that he had just remarked, and immediately after the man whom Thorward had styled a rascal began to talk and gesticulate again more violently than ever.
“What is the man after now?” said Thorward. “It seems to me that he is mad.”
The savage did indeed appear to be slightly deranged, for, in the midst of his talk, he took an arrow and went through the pantomime of discharging it; then he applied the point of it to his own back, and fell down as if wounded; whereupon he rose quietly and kneeled with a tender air, as if in the act of succouring a wounded man; and thereafter went on to perform other pantomimic acts, which at last induced Thorward to open his eyes very wide and whistle, as he exclaimed— “Why, ’tis Utway, that fellow who was half killed in our first brush with the Skraelingers.”
“Ay, and who was so tenderly nursed by Bertha,” added Biarne.
“There can be no doubt of it,” said Karlsefin, in a cheerful voice; “and now have I some hope of a peaceful end to this affair, for what else can he be doing but pleading our cause?”
“I’m not so sure of that,” replied Thorward. “He may just as likely be telling them what lots of good things might be got by killing us all and taking possession of Leifsgaard.”
“The question will soon be settled, Thorward, for here comes the savage,” said Biarne.
This was true. Having finished his talk, whatever it was, and heard a brief reply from Whitepow, Utway turned round and ran fearlessly towards the Norsemen.
“I will go meet him,” said Karlsefin.
“There may be danger in that,” suggested Biarne.
“Greater danger in showing distrust,” replied Karlsefin. “Confidence should beget confidence.”
Without more words he flung down sword and shield, and advanced unarmed to meet the savage, whom he shook warmly by the hand—a style of salutation which Utway thoroughly understood, having learned it while lying wounded in Leifsgaard.
They could not of course make use of speech, but Utway was such a powerful gesticulator that it was not difficult to make out his meaning. After shaking hands he put his hand on his heart, then laid it on Karlsefin’s breast, and pointed towards the old chief with an air that would have done credit to a courtier.
Karlsefin at once took the hand of the savage, and walked with him through the midst of the native chiefs, above whose heads he towered conspicuously, until he stood before Whitepow. Taking off his iron helmet he bowed to the old chief, an act which appeared to afford that worthy much satisfaction, for, although he did not venture to return the bow, he exclaimed “Ho!” with solemn emphasis.
This was all very pleasant, but it was not much. Karlsefin, therefore, tried his hand at a little gesticulation, while the natives gazed at him with speechless interest. Whitepow and Utway then replied with a variety of energetic demonstrations, some of which the Norseman understood, while of others he could make nothing at all, but the result of
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