Vineland And The Vikings


The year 1000 A.D. was one of strange history. Its advent

threw the people of Europe into a state of mortal terror.

Ten centuries had passed since the birth of Christ. The

world was about to come to an end. Such was the general

belief. How it was to reach its end,--whether by fire,

water, or some other agent of ruin,--the prophets of

disaster did not say, nor did people trouble themselves to

learn. Destruc
ion was coming upon them, that was enough to

know; how to provide against it was the one thing to be

considered.



Some hastened to the churches; others to the taverns. Here

prayers went up; there wine went down. The petitions of the

pious were matched by the ribaldry of the profligate. Some

made their wills; others wasted their wealth in revelry,

eager to get all the pleasure out of life that remained for

them. Many freely gave away their property, hoping, by

ridding themselves of the goods of this earth, to establish

a claim to the goods of Heaven, with little regard to the

fate of those whom they loaded with their discarded wealth.



It was an era of ignorance and superstition. Christendom

went insane over an idea. When the year ended, and the world

rolled on, none the worse for conflagration or deluge, green

with the spring leafage and ripe with the works of man,

dismay gave way to hope, mirth took the place of prayer,

man regained their flown wits, and those who had so

recklessly given away their wealth bethought themselves of

taking legal measures for its recovery.



Such was one of the events that made that year memorable.

There was another of a highly different character. Instead

of a world being lost, a world was found. The Old World not

only remained unharmed, but a New World was added to it, a

world beyond the seas, for this was the year in which the

foot of the European was first set upon the shores of the

trans-Atlantic continent. It is the story of this first

discovery of America that we have now to tell.



In the autumn of the year 1000, in a region far away from

fear-haunted Europe, a scene was being enacted of a very

different character from that just described. Over the

waters of unknown seas a small, strange craft boldly made

its way, manned by a crew of the hardiest and most vigorous

men, driven by a single square sail, whose coarse woollen

texture bellied deeply before the fierce ocean winds, which

seemed at times as if they would drive that deckless vessel

bodily beneath the waves.



This crew was of men to whom fear was almost unknown, the

stalwart Vikings of the North, whose oar-and sail-driven

barks now set out from the coasts of Norway and Denmark to

ravage the shores of southern Europe, now turned their prows

boldly to the west in search of unknown lands afar.



Shall we describe this craft? It was a tiny one in which to

venture upon an untravelled ocean in search of an unknown

continent,--a vessel shaped somewhat like a strung bow,

scarcely fifty feet in length, low amidships and curving

upwards to high peaks at stem and stern, both of which

converged to sharp edges. It resembled an enormous canoe

rather than aught else to which we can compare it. On the

stem was a carved and gilt dragon, the figurehead of the

ship, which glittered in the bright rays of the sun. Along

the bulwarks of the ship, fore and aft, hung rows of large

painted wooden shields, which gave an Argus-eyed aspect to

the craft. Between them was a double row of thole-pins for

the great oars, which now lay at rest in the bottom of the

boat, but by which, in calm weather, this "walker of the

seas" could be forced swiftly through the yielding element.






Near the stern, on an elevated platform, stood the

commander, a man of large and powerful frame and imposing

aspect, one whose commands not the fiercest of his crew

would lightly venture to disobey. A coat of ring-mail

encircled his stalwart frame; by his side, in a

richly-embossed scabbard, hung a long sword, with hilt of

gilded bronze; on his head was a helmet that shone like pure

gold, shaped like a wolf's head, with gaping jaws and

threatening teeth. Land was in sight, an unknown coast,

peopled perhaps by warlike men. The cautious Viking leader

deemed it wise to be prepared for danger, and was armed for

possible combat.



Below him, on the rowing-benches, sat his hardy crew, their

arms--spears, axes, bows, and slings--beside them, ready

for any deed of daring they might be called upon to perform.

Their dress consisted of trousers of coarse stuff, belted at

the waist; thick woollen shirts, blue, red, or brown in

color; iron helmets, beneath which their long hair streamed

down to their shoulders; and a shoulder belt descending to

the waist and supporting their leather-covered

sword-scabbards. Heavy whiskers and moustaches added to the

fierceness of their stern faces, and many of them wore as

ornament on the forehead a band of gold.



They numbered thirty-five in all, this crew who had set out

to brave the terrors and solve the mysteries of the great

Atlantic. Their leader, Leif by name, was the son of Eirek

the Red, the discoverer of Greenland, and a Viking as fierce

as ever breathed the air of the north land. Outlawed in

Norway, where in hot blood he had killed more men than the

law could condone, Eirek had made his way to Iceland. Here

his fierce temper led him again to murder, and flight once

more became necessary. Manning a ship, he set sail boldly to

the west, and in the year 982 reached a land on which the

eye of European had never before gazed. To this he gave the

name of Greenland, with the hope, perhaps, that this

inviting name would induce others to follow him.



Such proved to be the case. Eirek returned to Iceland, told

the story of his discovery, and in 985 set sail again for

his new realm with twenty-five ships and many colonists.

Others came afterwards, among them one Biarni, a bold and

enterprising youth, for whom a great adventure was

reserved. Enveloped in fogs, and driven for days from its

course by northeasterly winds, his vessel was forced far to

the south. When at length the fog cleared away, the

distressed mariners saw land before them, a low, level,

thickly-wooded region, very different from the ice-covered

realm they had been led to expect.



"Is this the land of which we are in search?" asked the

sailors.



"No," answered Biarni; "for I am told that we may look for

very large glaciers in Greenland.



"At any rate, let us land and rest."



"Not so; my father has gone with Eirek. I shall not rest

till I see him again."



And now the winds blew northward, and for seven days they

scudded before a furious gale, passing on their way a

mountainous, ice-covered island, and in the end, by great

good fortune, Biarni's vessel put into the very port where

his father had fixed his abode.



Biarni had seen, but had not set foot upon, the shores of

the New World. That was left for bolder or more enterprising

mariners to perform. About 995 he went to Norway, where the

story of his strange voyage caused great excitement among

the adventure-loving people. Above all, it stirred up the

soul of Leif, eldest son of Eirek the Red, then in Norway,

who in his soul resolved to visit and explore that strange

land which Biarni had only seen from afar.



Leif returned to Greenland with more than this idea in his

mind. When Eirek left Norway he had left a heathen land.

When Leif visited it he found it a Christian country. Or at

least he found there a Christian king, Olaf Tryggvason by

name, who desired his guest to embrace the new faith. Leif

consented without hesitation. Heathenism did not seem very

firmly fixed in the minds of those northern barbarians. He

and all his sailors were baptized, and betook themselves to

Greenland with this new faith as their most precious

freight. In this way Christianity first made its way across

the seas. And thus it further came about that the ship which

we have seen set sail for southern lands.



This ship was that of Biarni. Leif had bought it, it may be

with the fancy that it would prove fortunate in retracing

its course. Not only Leif, but his father Eirek, now an old

man, was fired with the hope of new discoveries. The aged

Viking had given Greenland, to the world; it was a natural

ambition to desire to add to his fame as a discoverer. But

on his way to the vessel his horse stumbled. Superstitious,

as all men were in that day, he looked on this as an evil

omen.



"I shall not go," he said. "It is not my destiny to discover

any other lands than that on which we now live. I shall

follow you no farther, but end my life in Greenland." And

Eirek rode back to his home.



Not so the adventurers. They boldly put out to sea, turned

the prow of their craft southward, and battled with the

waves day after day, their hearts full of hope, their eyes

on the alert for the glint of distant lands.



At length land was discovered,--a dreary country,

mountainous, icy; doubtless the inhospitable island which

Biarni had described. They landed, but only to find

themselves on a shore covered with bare, flat rocks, while

before them loomed snow-covered heights.



"This is not the land we seek," said Leif; "but we will not

do as Biarni did, who never set foot on shore. I will give

this land a name, and will call it Helluland,"--a name which

signifies the "land of broad stones."



Onward they sailed again, their hearts now filled with

ardent expectation. At length rose again the stirring cry of

"Land!" or its Norse equivalent, and as the dragon-peaked

craft glided swiftly onward there rose into view a long

coast-line, flat and covered with white sand in the

foreground, while a dense forest spread over the rising

ground in the rear.



"Markland [land of forest] let it be called," cried Leif.

"This must be the land which Biarni first saw. We will not

be like him, but will set foot on its promising shores."



They landed, but tarried not long. Soon they took ship

again, and sailed for two days out of sight of land. Then

there came into view an island, with a broad channel between

it and the mainland. Up this channel they laid their course,

and soon came to where a river poured its clear waters into

the sea. They decided to explore this stream. The boat was

lowered and the ship towed up the river, until, at a short

distance inland, it broadened into a lake. Here, at Leif's

command, the anchor was cast, and their good ship, the

pioneer in American discovery, came to rest within the

inland waters of the New World.



Not many minutes passed before the hardy mariners were on

shore, and eagerly observing the conditions of their

new-discovered realm. River and lake alike were full of

salmon, the largest they had ever seen, a fact which

agreeably settled the question of food. The climate seemed

deliciously mild, as compared with the icy shores to which

they were used. The grass was but little withered by frost,

and promised a winter supply of food for cattle. Altogether

they were so pleased with their surroundings that Leif

determined to spend the winter at that place, exploring the

land so far as he could.



For some time they dwelt under booths, passing the nights in

their leather sleeping-bags; but wood was abundant, axes and

hands skilful to wield them were at hand, and they quickly

went to work to build themselves habitations more suitable

for the coming season of cold.



No inhabitants of the land were seen. So far as yet

appeared, it might be a region on which human foot had never

before been set. But Leif was a cautious leader. He bade his

men not to separate until the houses were finished. Then he

divided them into two parties, left one to guard their homes

and their ship, and sent the other inland to explore.



"Beware, though," he said, "that you risk not too much. We

know not what perils surround us. Go not so far inland but

that you can get back by evening, and take care not to

separate."



Day after day these explorations continued, the men plunging

into the forest that surrounded them and wandering far into

its hidden recesses, each evening bringing back with them

some story of the marvels of this new land, or some sample

of its productions strange to their eyes.



An evening came in which one of the explorers failed to

return. He had either disobeyed the injunctions of Leif and

gone too far to get back by evening, or some peril of that

unknown land had befallen him. This man was of German birth,

Tyrker by name, a southerner who had for years dwelt with

Eirek and been made the foster-father of Leif, who had been

fond of him since childhood. He was a little,

wretched-looking fellow, with protruding forehead, unsteady

eyes, and tiny face, yet a man skilled in all manner of

handicraft.



Leif, on learning of his absence, upbraided the men bitterly

for losing him, and called on twelve of them to follow him

in search. Into the forest they went, and before long had

the good fortune to behold Tyrker returning. The little

fellow, far from showing signs of disaster, was in the

highest of spirits, his face radiant with joy.



"How now, foster-father!" cried Leif. "Why are you so late?

and why have you parted from the others?"



Tyrker was too excited to answer. He rolled his eyes wildly

and made wry faces. When words came to him, he spoke in his

native German, which none of them understood. Joy seemed to

have driven all memory of the language of the north from his

mind. It was plain that no harm had come to him. On the

contrary, he seemed to have stumbled upon some landfall of

good luck. Yet some time passed before they could bring him

out of his ecstasy into reason.



"I did not go much farther than you," he at length called

out, in their own tongue "and if I am late I have a good

excuse. I can tell you news."



"What are they?"



"I have made a grand discovery. See, I have found vines and

grapes," and he showed them his hands filled with the purple

fruit. "I was born in a land where grapes grow in plenty.

And this land bears them! Behold what I bring you!"



The memory of his childhood had driven for the time all

memory of the Norse language from his brain. Grapes he had

not seen for many years, and the sight of them made him a

child again. The others beheld the prize with little less

joy. They slept where they were that night, and in the

morning followed Tyrker to the scene of his discovery, where

he gladly pointed to the arbor-like vines, laden thickly

with wild grapes, a fruit delicious to their unaccustomed

palates.



"This is a glorious find," cried Leif. "We must take some of

this splendid fruit north. There are two kinds of work now

to be done. One day you shall gather grapes the next you

shall cut timber to freight the ship. We must show our

friends north what a country we have found. As for this

land, I have a new name for it. Let it be called Vineland,

the land of grapes and wine."



After this discovery there is little of interest to record.

The winter, which proved to be a very mild one, passed away,

and in the spring they set sail again for Greenland, their

ship laden deeply with timber, so useful a treasure in their

treeless northern home, while the long-boat was filled to

the gunwale with the grapes they had gathered and dried.



Such is the story of the first discovery of America, as told

in the sagas of the North. Leif the Lucky was the name given

the discoverer from that time forward. He made no more

visits to Vineland, for during the next winter his father

died, and he became the governing head of the Greenland

settlements.



But the adventurous Northmen were not the men to rest at

ease with an untrodden continent so near at hand. Thorvald,

Leif's brother, one of the boldest of his race, determined

to see for himself the wonders of Vineland. In the spring of

1002 he set sail with thirty companions, in the pioneer ship

of American discovery, the same vessel which Biarni and Leif

had made famous in that service. Unluckily the records fail

to give us the name of this notable ship.



Steering southward, they reached in due time the lake on

whose shores Leif and his crew had passed the winter. The

buildings stood unharmed, and the new crew passed a winter

here, most of their time being spent in catching and drying

the delicious salmon which thronged river and lake. In the

spring they set sail again, and explored the coast for a

long distance to the south. How far they went we cannot

tell, for all we know of their voyage is that nearly

everywhere they found white sandy shores and a background of

unbroken forest. Like Leif, they saw no men.



Back they came to Vineland, and there passed the winter

again. Another spring came in the tender green of the young

leafage, and again they put to sea. So far fortune had

steadily befriended them. Now the reign of misfortune began.

Not far had they gone before the vessel was driven ashore by

a storm, and broke her keel on a protruding shoal. This was

not a serious disaster. A new keel was made, and the old one

planted upright in the sands of the coast.



"We will call this place Kial-ar-ness" [Keel Cape], said

Thorvald.



On they sailed again, and came to a country of such

attractive aspect that Thorvald looked upon it with longing

eyes.



"This is a fine country, and here I should like to build

myself a home," he said, little deeming in what gruesome

manner his words were to be fulfilled.



For now, for the first time in the story of these voyages,

are we told of the natives of the land,--the Skroelings, as

the Norsemen called them. Passing the cape which Thorvald

had chosen for his home, the mariners landed to explore the

shore, and on their way back to the ship saw, on the white

sands, three significant marks. They were like those made by

a boat when driven ashore. Continuing their observation,

they quickly perceived, drawn well up on the shore, three

skin-canoes turned keel upward. Dividing into three parties,

they righted these boats, and to their surprise saw that

under 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 and these savages the warlike blood of Eirek

manifested itself in a woman of his race. For Freydis, his

daughter, when pursued and likely to be captured by the

natives, snatched up a sword which had been dropped by a

slain Greenlander, and faced them so valiantly that they

took to their heels in affright and fled precipitately to

their canoes.



One more story, and we are done. In the spring of 1010

Thorfinn sailed north with the two ships which he still had.

One of them reached Greenland in safety. The other,

commanded by Biarni Grimolfson, was driven from its course,

and, being worm-eaten, threatened to sink.



There was but one boat, and this capable of holding but half

the ship's company. Lots were cast to decide who should go

in the boat, and who stay on the sinking ship. Biarni was of

those to whom fortune proved kindly. But he was a man of

noble strain, fit for deeds of heroic fortitude and

self-sacrifice. There was on board the ship a young

Icelander, who had been put under Biarni's protection, and

who lamented bitterly his approaching fate.



"Come down into the boat," called out the noble-hearted

Viking. "I will take your place in the ship; for I see that

you are fond of life."



So the devoted chieftain mounted again into the ship, and

the youth, selfish with fear, took his place in the boat.

The end was as they had foreseen. The boat reached land,

where the men told their story. The worm-eaten ship must

have gone down in the waves, for Biarni and his comrades

were never heard of again. Thus perished one of the world's

heroes.



Little remains to be told, for all besides is fragment and

conjecture. It is true that in the year 1011 Freydis and her

husband voyaged again to Vineland, though they made no new

discoveries; and it is probable that in the following

centuries other journeys were made to the same land. But as

time passed on Greenland grew colder; its icy harvest

descended farther and farther upon its shores; in the end

its colonies disappeared, and with them ended all

intercourse with the grape-laden shores of Vineland.



Just where lay this land of the vine no one to-day can tell.

Some would place it as far north as Labrador; some seek to

bring it even south of New England; the Runic records simply

tell us of a land of capes, islands, rivers, and vines. It

is to the latter, and to the story of far-reaching

forest-land, and pasturage lasting the winter through, that

we owe the general belief that the Vikings reached New

England's fertile shores, and that the ship of Biarni and

Leif, with its war-loving crews, preceded by six centuries

the Mayflower, with its peaceful and pious souls.









FROBISHER AND THE NORTHWEST PASSAGE.





Hardly had it been learned that Columbus was mistaken in his

belief, and that the shores he had discovered were not those

of India and Cathay, when vigorous efforts began to find

some easy route to the rich lands of the Orient. Balboa, in

1513, crossed the continent at its narrow neck, and gazed,

with astounded eyes, upon the mighty ocean that lay

beyond,--the world's greatest sea. Magellan, in 1520, sailed

round the continent at its southern extremity, and turned

his daring prows into that world of waters of seemingly

illimitable width. But the route thus laid out was far too

long for the feeble commerce of that early day, and various

efforts were made to pass the line of the continent at some

northern point. The great rivers of North America, the

James, the Hudson, and others, were explored in the eager

hope that they might prove to be liquid canals between the

two great seas. But a more promising hope was that which

hinted that America might be circumnavigated at the north as

well as at the south, and the Pacific be reached by way of

the icy channel of the northern seas.



This hope, born so long ago, has but died out in our own

days. Much of the most thrilling literature of adventure of

the nineteenth century comes from the persistent efforts to

traverse these perilous Arctic ocean wastes. Let us go back

to the oldest of the daring navigators of this frozen sea,

the worthy knight Sir Martin Frobisher, and tell the story

of his notable efforts to discover a Northwest Passage, "the

only thing left undone," as he quaintly says, "whereby a

notable mind might become famous and fortunate."



As an interesting preface to our story we may quote from

that curious old tome, "Purchas his Pilgrimage," the

following quaintly imaginative passage,--



"How shall I admire your valor and courage, yee Marine

Worthies, beyond all names of worthinesse; that neither

dread so long either presense nor absence of the Sunne, nor

those foggie mists, tempestuous windes, cold blasts, snowes

and haile in the aire; nor the unequal Seas, where the

Tritons and Neptune's selfe would quake with chilling feare

to behold such monstrous Icie Islands, mustering themselves

in those watery plaines, where they hold a continuall civill

warre, rushing one upon another, making windes and waves

give back; nor the rigid, ragged face of the broken landes,

sometimes towering themselves to a loftie height, to see if

they can finde refuge from those snowes and colds that

continually beat them, sometimes hiding themselves under

some hollow hills or cliffes, sometimes sinking and

shrinking into valleys, looking pale with snowes and falling

in frozen and dead swounes: sometimes breaking their neckes

into the sea, rather embracing the waters' than the aires'

crueltie," and so on with the like labored fancies. "Great

God," he concludes, "to whom all names of greatnesse are

little, and lesse than nothing, let me in silence admire thy

greatnesse, that in this little heart of man (not able to

serve a Kite for a break-fast) hast placed such greatness of

spirit as the world is too little to fill."



Thus in long-winded meed of praise writes Master Samuel

Purchas. Of those bold mariners of whom he speaks our worthy

knight, Sir Martin, is one of the first and far from the

least.



An effort had been made to discover a northwest passage to

the Pacific as early as 1527, and another nine years later;

but these were feeble attempts, which ended in failure and

disaster, and discovered nothing worthy of record. It was in

1576 that Frobisher, one of the most renowned navigators of

his day, put into effect the project he had cherished from

his youth upward, and for which he had sought aid during

fifteen weary years, that of endeavoring to solve the

ice-locked secret of the Arctic seas.



The fleet with which this daring adventure was undertaken

was a strangely insignificant one, consisting of three

vessels which were even less in size than those with which

Columbus had ventured on his great voyage. Two of these were

but of twenty tons burden each, and the third only of ten,

while the aggregate crews numbered but thirty-five men. With

this tiny squadron, less in size than a trio of

fishing-smacks, the daring adventurer set out to traverse

the northern seas and face the waves of the great Pacific,

if fortune should open to him its gates.



On the 11th of July, 1576, the southern extremity of

Greenland was sighted. It presented a more icy aspect than

that which the Norsemen had seen nearly six centuries

before. Sailing thence westward, the land of the continent

came into view, and for the first time by modern Europeans

was seen that strange race, now so well known under the name

of Eskimo. The characteristics of this people, and the

conditions of their life, are plainly described. The captain

"went on shore, and was encountered with mightie Deere,

which ranne at him, with danger of his life. Here he had

sight of the Savages, which rowed to his Shippe in Boates of

Seales Skinnes, with a Keele of wood within them. They eate

raw Flesh and Fish, or rather devoured the same: they had

long black hayre, broad faces, flat noses, tawnie of color,

or like an Olive."



His first voyage went not beyond this point. He returned

home, having lost five of his men, who were carried off by

the natives. But he brought with him that which was sure to

pave the way to future voyages. This was a piece of

glittering stone, which the ignorant goldsmiths of London

confidently declared to be ore of gold.



Frobisher's first voyage had been delayed by the great

difficulty in obtaining aid. For his new project assistance

was freely offered, Queen Elizabeth herself, moved by hope

of treasure, coming to his help with a hundred and

eighty-ton craft, the "Ayde," to which two smaller vessels

were added. These being provisioned and manned, the bold

navigator, with "a merrie wind" in his sails, set out again

for the desolate north.



His first discovery here was of the strait now known by his

name, up which he passed in a boat, with the mistaken notion

in his mind that the land bounding the strait to the south

was America, and that to the north was Asia. The natives

proved friendly, but Frobisher soon succeeded in making them

hostile. He seized some of them and attempted to drag them

to his boat, "that he might conciliate them by presents."

The Eskimos, however, did not approve of this forcible

method of conciliation, and the unwise knight reached the

boat alone, with an arrow in his leg.



But, to their great joy, the mariners found plenty of the

shining yellow stones, and stowed abundance of them on their

ships, deeming, like certain Virginian gold-seekers of a

later date, that their fortunes were now surely made. They

found also "a great dead fish, round like a porepis

[porpoise], twelve feet long, having a Horne of two yardes,

lacking two ynches, growing out of the Snout, wreathed and

straight, like a Waxe-Taper, and might be thought to be a

Sea-Unicorne. It was reserved as a Jewell by the Queens'

commandment in her Wardrobe of Robes."



A northwest wind having cleared the strait of ice, the

navigators sailed gayly forward, full of the belief that the

Pacific would soon open to their eyes. It was not long

before they were in battle with the Eskimos. They had found

European articles in some native kyacks, which they supposed

belonged to the men they had lost the year before. To

rescue or revenge these unfortunates, Frobisher attacked the

natives, who valiantly resisted, even plucking the arrows

from their bodies to use as missiles, and, when mortally

hurt, flinging themselves from the rocks into the sea. At

length they gave ground, and fled to the loftier cliffs,

leaving two of their women as trophies to the assailants.

These two, one "being olde," says the record, "the other

encombred with a yong childe, we took. The olde wretch, whom

divers of our Saylors supposed to be eyther the Divell, or a

witch, had her buskins plucked off, to see if she were

cloven-footed; and for her ougly hewe and deformitie, we let

her goe; the young woman and the childe we brought away."



This was not the last of their encounters with the Eskimos,

who, incensed against them, made every effort to entrap them

into their power. Their stratagems consisted in placing

tempting pieces of meat at points near which they lay in

ambush, and in pretending lameness to decoy the Englishmen

into pursuit. These schemes failing, they made a furious

assault upon the vessel with arrows and other missiles.



Before the strait could be fully traversed, ice had formed

so thickly that further progress was stopped, and, leaving

the hoped-for Cathay for future voyagers, the mariners

turned their prows homeward, their vessels laden with two

hundred tons of the glittering stone.



Strangely enough, an examination of this material failed to

dispel the delusion. The scientists of that day declared

that it was genuine gold-ore, and expressed their belief

that the road to China lay through Frobisher Strait. Untold

wealth, far surpassing that which the Spaniards had obtained

in Mexico and Peru, seemed ready to shower into England's

coffers. Frobisher was now given the proud honor of kissing

the queen's hand, his neck was encircled with a chain of

gold of more value than his entire two hundred tons of ore,

and, with a fleet of fifteen ships, one of them of four

hundred tons, he set sail again for the land of golden

promise. Of the things that happened to him in this voyage,

one of the most curious is thus related. "The Salamander

(one of their Shippes), being under both her Courses and

Bonets, happened to strike upon a great Whale, with her full

Stemme, with suche a blow that the Shippe stood still, and

neither stirred backward or forward. The whale thereat made

a great and hideous noyse, and casting up his body and

tayle, presently sank under water. Within two days they

found a whale dead, which they supposed was this which the

Salamander had stricken."



Other peril came to the fleet from icebergs, through the

midst of which they were driven by a tempest, but they

finally made their way into what is now known as Hudson

Strait, up which, filled with hope that the continental

limits would quickly be passed and the route to China open

before them, they sailed some sixty miles. But to their

disappointment they found that they were being turned

southward, and, instead of crossing the continent, were

descending into its heart.



Reluctantly Frobisher turned back, and, after many

buffetings from the storms, managed to bring part of his

fleet into Frobisher Bay. So much time had been lost that it

was not safe to proceed. Winter might surprise them in those

icy wilds. Therefore, shipping immense quantities of the

"fools' gold" which had led them so sadly astray, they

turned their prows once more homeward, reaching England's

shores in early October.



Meanwhile the "ore" had been found to be absolutely

worthless, the golden dreams which had roused England to

exultation had faded away, and the new ship-loads they

brought were esteemed to be hardly worth their weight as

ballast. For this disappointment the unlucky Frobisher, who

had been appointed High Admiral of all lands and waters

which he might discover, could not be held to blame. It was

not he that had pronounced the worthless pyrites gold, and

he had but obeyed orders in bringing new cargoes of this

useless rubbish to add to the weight of Albion's rock-bound

shores. But he could not obtain aid for a new voyage to the

icy north, England for the time had lost all interest in

that unpromising region, and Frobisher was forced to employ

in other directions his skill in seamanship.



With the after-career of this unsuccessful searcher for the

Northwest Passage we have no concern. It will suffice to say

that fortune attended his later ventures upon the seas, and

that he died in 1594, from a wound which he received in a

naval battle off the coast of France.



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