The First Christmas Tree | Page 5

so vast, so full of
endless billows, that it seemed to be pressing on every side to
overwhelm them. Gnarled oaks, with branches twisted and knotted as if
in rage, rose in groves like tidal waves. Smooth forests of beech-trees,
round and gray, swept over the knolls and slopes of land in a mighty
ground-swell. But most of all, the multitude of pines and firs,
innumerable and monotonous, with straight, stark trunks, and branches
woven together in an unbroken Hood of darkest green, crowded
through the valleys and over the hills, rising on the highest ridges into
ragged crests, like the foaming edge of breakers.
Through this sea of shadows ran a narrow stream of shining
whiteness,--an ancient Roman road, covered with snow. It was as if
some great ship had ploughed through the green ocean long ago, and
left behind it a thick, smooth wake of foam. Along this open track the
travellers held their way,--heavily, for the drifts were deep; warily, for
the hard winter had driven many packs of wolves down from the moors.
The steps of the pilgrims were noiseless; but the sledges creaked over
the dry snow, and the panting of the horses throbbed through the still,
cold air. The pale-blue shadows on the western side of the road grew

longer. The sun, declining through its shallow arch, dropped behind
the tree-tops. Darkness followed swiftly, as if it had been a bird of prey
waiting for this sign to swoop down upon the world.
"Father," said Gregor to the leader, "surely this day's march is done. It
is time to rest, and eat, and sleep. If we press onward now, we cannot
see our steps; and will not that be against the word of the psalmist
David, who bids us not to put confidence in the legs of a man?"
Winfried laughed. "Nay, my son Gregor," said he, "thou hast tripped,
even now, upon thy text. For David said only, 'I take no pleasure in the
legs of a man.' And so say I, for I am not minded to spare thy legs or
mine, until we come farther on our way, and do what must be done this
night. Draw the belt tighter, my son, and hew me out this tree that is
fallen across the road, for our campground is not here."
The youth obeyed; two of the foresters sprang to help him; and while
the soft fir-wood yielded to the stroke of the axes, and the snow flew
from the bending branches, Winfried turned and spoke to his followers
in a cheerful voice, that refreshed them like wine.
"Courage, brothers, and forward yet a little! The moon will light us
presently, and the path is plain. Well know I that the journey is weary;
and my own heart wearies also for the home in England, where those I
love are keeping feast this Christmas eve. But we have work to do
before we feast to-night. For this is the Yuletide, and the heathen
people of the forest have gathered at the thunder-oak of Geismar to
worship their god, Thor. Strange things will be seen there, and deeds
which make the soul black. But we are sent to lighten their darkness;
and we will teach our kinsmen to keep a Christmas with us such as the
woodland has never known. Forward, then, and let us stiffen up our
feeble knees!"
A murmur of assent came from the men. Even the horses seemed to take
fresh heart. They flattened their backs to draw the heavy loads, and
blew the frost from their nostrils as they pushed ahead.
The night grew broader and less oppressive. A gate of brightness was

opened secretly somewhere in the sky; higher and higher swelled the
clear moon-flood, until it poured over the eastern wall of forest into the
road. A drove of wolves howled faintly in the distance, but they were
receding, and the sound soon died away. The stars sparkled merrily
through the stringent air; the small, round moon shone like silver; little
breaths of the dreaming wind wandered whispering across the pointed
fir-tops, as the pilgrims toiled bravely onward, following their clue of
light through a labyrinth of darkness.
After a while the road began to open out a little. There were spaces of
meadow-land, fringed with alders, behind which a boisterous river ran,
clashing through spears of ice.
Rude houses of hewn logs appeared in the openings, each one casting a
patch of inky blackness upon the snow. Then the travellers passed a
larger group of dwellings, all silent and unlighted; and beyond, they
saw a great house, with many outbuildings and enclosed courtyards,
from which the hounds bayed furiously, and a noise of stamping horses
came from the stalls. But there was no other sound of life.