Historic Tales, Vol. 1 | Page 6

each three men lay concealed.
The blood-loving instinct of the Norsemen was never at fault in a case
like this. Drawing their swords, they assailed the hidden men, and of
the nine only one escaped, the other being stretched in death upon the
beach.
The mariners had made a fatal mistake. To kill none, unless they could
kill all, should have been their rule, a lesson in practical wisdom which
they were soon to learn. But, heedless of danger and with the
confidence of strength and courage, they threw themselves upon the
sands, and, being weary and drowsy, were quickly lost in slumber.
And now came a marvel. A voice, none knew whence or of whom,
called loudly in their slumbering ears,--
"Wake, Thorvaldt! Wake all your men, if you would save your life and
theirs! Haste to your ship and fly from land with all speed, for
vengeance and death confront you."
Suddenly aroused, they sprang to their feet, looking at each other with
astounded eyes, and asking who had spoken those words. Little time
for answer remained. The woods behind them suddenly seemed alive
with fierce natives, who had been roused to vengeful fury by the flying
fugitive, and now came on with hostile cries. The Norsemen sprang to
their boats and rowed in all haste to the ship; but before they could
make sail the surface of the bay swarmed with skin-boats, and showers
of arrows were poured upon them.
The warlike mariners in turn assailed their foes with arrows, slings, and
javelins, slaying so many of them that the remainder were quickly put
to flight. But they fled not unrevenged. A keen-pointed arrow, flying
between the ship's side and the edge of his shield, struck Thorvald in
the armpit, wounding him so deeply that death threatened to follow the

withdrawal of the fatal dart.
"My day is come," said the dying chief. "Return home to Greenland as
quickly as you may. But as for me, you shall carry me to the place
which I said would be so pleasant to dwell in. Doubtless truth came out
of my mouth, for it may be that I shall live there for awhile. There you
shall bury me and put crosses at my head and feet, and henceforward
that place shall be called Krossanes" [Cross Cape].
The sorrowing sailors carried out the wishes of their dying chief, who
lived but long enough to fix his eyes once more on the place which he
had chosen for his home, and then closed them in the sleep of death.
They buried him here, placing the crosses at his head and feet as he had
bidden, and then set sail again for the booths of Leif at Vineland, where
part of their company had been left to gather grapes in their absence.
To these they told the story of what had happened, and agreed with
them that the winter should be spent in that place, and that in the spring
they should obey Thorvald's request and set sail for Greenland. This
they did, taking on board their ship vines and an abundance of dried
grapes. Ere the year was old their good ship again reached Eireksfjord,
where Leif was told of the death of his brother and of all that had
happened to the voyagers.
The remaining story of the discoveries of the Northmen must be told in
a few words. The next to set sail for that far-off land was Thorstein, the
third son of Eirek the Red. He failed to get there, however, but made
land on the east coast of Greenland, where he died, while his wife
Gudrid returned home. Much was this woman noted for her beauty, and
as much for her wisdom and prudence, so the sagas tell us.
In 1006 came to Greenland a noble Icelander, Thorfinn by name. That
winter he married Gudrid, and so allied himself to the family of Eirek
the Red. And quickly he took up the business of discovery, which had
been pursued so ardently by Eirek and his sons. He sailed in 1007, with
three ships, for Vineland, where he remained three years, having many
adventures with the natives, now trading with them for furs, now
fighting with them for life. In Vineland was born a son to Thorfinn and
Gudrid, the first white child born in America. From him--Snorri

Thorfinnson he was named--came a long line of illustrious descendants,
many of whom made their mark in the history of Iceland and Denmark,
the line ending in modern times in the famous Thorwaldsen, the
greatest sculptor of the nineteenth century.
The sagas thus picture for us the natives: "Swarthy they were in
complexion, short and savage in aspect, with ugly hair, great eyes, and
broad cheeks." In a battle between the adventurers