He held it up and looked admiringly at its well-shaped blade and jewelled handle. Pictures rare and beautiful adorned its sides. The [[300]]hilt was shaped like a prancing horse, the knob was the image of a mewing cat.
He looked long and lovingly at the blade and then handed it to Wainamoinen. “Take it, friend and brother,” he said. “It is worthy of you. Its name is Faultless. With it you can cleave the hardest rocks; with it you can vanquish all your foes; with it you can carve for yourself great honor and fame.”
Soon came the time for starting, and the courage of both began to waver. “We must have horses,” said the Minstrel. “The way is long, the paths are rough, the journey cannot be made on foot. Let us seek out steeds for ourselves.”
So into the fields they went, wondering whether any of Ilmarinen’s steeds had escaped the wolves and the hungry bears and the starving days of the drought. Long they sought, and at last they found among the bushes in the great marsh a wild colt, scarcely grown, and a gaunt, long-legged, yellow-maned steed which had once been the pride of Ilmarinen’s stable. With much labor they caught these beasts and bridled them, and upon their backs they threw rough blankets to serve in place of saddles. [[301]]
They mounted and rode through the woods, the Minstrel going first with his great sword drawn. They rode along the pathway which each had travelled once before, the pathway which followed the windings of the coast; for this they judged was the safest way. They rode slowly, for their horses were neither swift nor strong, and their eyes and ears were alert for every strange sight or unexpected sound.
Suddenly, as they were skirting the shore of a small secluded inlet, they heard what seemed to be the moaning of some one in great distress. They stopped and listened.
“What can it be?” asked the Smith.
“I know not,” answered the Minstrel. “It may be some child who has lost his way and is weeping by the shore. It may be some she-bear moaning for her dead cubs. It may be only a dove cooing among the branches of her nesting-tree. Let us ride along the beach and learn what we may.”
So they rode onward, close to the water-side, listening and looking and drawing nearer and nearer to the place from whence the strange sounds issued. Presently, in a little cove, they saw not a child nor a mother bear nor even a [[302]]dove, but a fine large boat with red hull and scarlet prow, and with oars and rowlocks and everything needed for a lengthy voyage. As the wavelets rippled against the sides of the pretty vessel and caused its keel to grate upon the sandy beach, it gave forth groans and lamentations like the cries of some living creature suffering from sorrow or pain.
“O little red vessel, why do you weep?” cried Wainamoinen. “Why do you complain so loudly, so grievously?”