The Sworn Brothers: A Tale of the Early Days of Iceland

by Gunnar Gunnarsson

The question irritated Leif. There was no talk of choice; it was merely a question where a piece of driftwood should decide their landing.

"I have already for my part chosen the west," he answered firmly, and at the same time as quietly as he could, and not without a certain satisfaction at the effect of his words.

But it was not only on Ingolf that Leif's answer had the effect of a well-directed blow. Both Hallveig and Helga felt that here was something evil and dangerous going on. Quite involuntarily Helga called Hjor-Leif's name in a supplicating tone. She had no idea of wishing to influence him in the least degree. She knew him, and was aware that it was hopeless. The word fell like a prayer from her gentle and anxious soul. In one hot wave the blood mounted to Hjor-Leif's head when he heard Helga's voice. "You can remain with your brother, since you prefer that to following me." The bitter words leapt from his mouth. Helga broke down in a heavy and despairing fit of weeping. Leif sat motionless, and apparently un-moved. But in his breast there tore and tugged a fierce and intolerable pain which was not far from making him powerless. It was not at all, as it now appeared, a sudden whim which caused him not to wish to have Helga on board again. It was the scene by night with the serf, Duftak, which from the beginning had given rise to the thought in him that Helga would be really safer on Ingolf's ship. Some vague and groundless presentiment or other, which made him still more sensitive and impatient, told him that there was danger in the journey for him and Helga. It was nothing but pure tenderness for Helga which made him resolve that they should part before they were all quite on shore. This time he had not thought of parting from Ingolf. But in a moment Hjor-Leif was completely in the power of his restless temperament which, as so often before, distorted his words and actions and drove him to hasty resolves. To separate from the others, and seek another landing-place, with the prospect perhaps of not seeing them for a whole year, was for him a much greater trial than for Ingolf, to whose equable temperament a year's separation contained nothing unthinkable or alarming. Hjor-Leif could really not imagine how he could hold out merely a month, much less a whole year, without them.

And if he now chose to land in another place than Ingolf, each for the present would have to remain where he landed. But it was completely impossible for him to expose his dependence and pain at parting. He could neither humble himself nor subdue his spirit so far as to enable them to discuss matters reasonably. As soon as the fateful words were out of his mouth he was helplessly in their power.

While thoughts and feelings were rushing like violent streams through Hjor-Leif's lacerated soul, Ingolf had already succeeded in reviewing the matter reasonably. In separation there was the advantage that the one who first found a landing-place could, by kindling a fire on his point, inform the other, who perhaps would be seeking a landing-place in vain, where he could look for one. Ingolf, with a seaman's practised eye, had long before discovered that the coast here was difficult, not to say impossible to land on. It confronted the open sea. The heavy swells, which were certainly almost always prevalent here, would shatter any ship that tried to land on the sands. It was by no means unlikely that the character of the coast near the two points might be equally difficult. And it was impossible to know if the coast east or south of the points was better. Since Leif now wished it, Ingolf had for his part nothing against their separation, for some days or for a year, as it might happen. He therefore quietly proposed that whoever first succeeded in landing should kindle a fire on his point as a signal to the other. The latter could then make for that place, if he had not found another harbour before, or in the contrary case might answer with a fire on his point.

Hjor-Leif briefly agreed to this arrangement. It was he who had settled that they should separate, and yet it was a severe disappointment to him that it was now finally decided on. "I may come southward in the spring, if I have not by that time found my pillars," said Ingolf quietly, when the matter of the fires had been settled. "But if I should not come, I will send you a messenger, if I have not heard from you before."

Hjor-Leif nodded curtly. It was incomprehensible to him that Ingolf could sit there and talk so quietly, as if nothing had happened between them and everything was all right.

"If you find my pillars," Ingolf continued, with the same immovable calm, "take good care of them, and let me know of the discovery as soon as possible."