On the arrival of Einar, his conduct proved that he to had not overrated his own powers. Over two pirate chiefs, who had, since the death of Sigurd, held the dominion of the islands, he triumphed; he governed the inhabitants by his wisdom, no less than protected them by his valour; and joined with his firmness such moderation that he became exceedingly popular with his people. His celebrity inspired with envy the sons of king Harald, who equally hated his father: that father was burnt to death, with many of his companions[[2]]; and a fate no less tragical was reserved for Einar. In 894, Halfdan, one of his sons by the Finnish lady (he had three of the name[[3]]), reached the Orkneys unexpected by Einar, who, being wholly unprepared for defence, fled into Caithness. In his turn, Halfdan was surprised by the jarl, and compelled to hide himself; but he was discovered and put to death, in revenge alike for the unprovoked aggression and for the murder of Rognevald. In this act of retribution, as it might be considered by a pagan, there was much temerity. The monarch armed to punish it, and, in 895, again appeared off the coast with a powerful armament. Unable to resist, Einar again fled into Caithness, a portion, if not the whole of which, was entirely subject to the jarls of the Orkneys. He had certainly formidable means of defence; so formidable, indeed, as to make Harald listen to overtures of accommodation. Probably, too, as a pagan, he made considerable allowance for the act of Einar, who, in avenging the death of a father, had done what religion dictated. At length he professed his readiness both to pardon the islanders, and to leave the jarl in the government, if sixty golden merks were paid him. This sum, moderate as it may seem, they were unable to raise; but Einar agreed to pay it for them, on the condition that their lands should be considered his until they found the means of redemption. Relieved from this formidable enemy, Einar resumed with his usual success the duties of government. By posterity he was called Turf-Einar, from his introducing, we are told, the use of that article. It is, however, scarcely to be credited that the islanders should, in his time, be ignorant of it. They had no wood; and sea-weed alone could not have sufficed them through the long and dreary winter. Probably he introduced some improvement into the manner of preparing it; and thus earned a title to their gratitude.
|936 to 946.|
On the death of Einar, the government of the Orkneys, and of the most northern counties of Scotland, devolved on two of his sons, Arnkel and Erlend. If they had the ambition they had not the wisdom of the father. When Eric of the Bloody Axe was expelled from Norway by Hako the Good[[4]], they received him with readiness, became his allies, and accompanied him in his predatory expedition against the Scottish and English coasts. For a time, indeed, fortune seemed to smile upon them. Eric became the governor of Northumbria, as the vassal of king Athelstane: they shared in his prosperity, and in the wealth which he acquired in his piratical expeditions to the coasts of Scotland and Ireland; but they also shared his tragical fate in the battle which the royal Edred waged against the northmen, and which for ever united Northumbria with the Anglo-Saxon crown.[[5]]
|946 to 980.|
These princes were succeeded by another brother, Thorfin Hausak-liufurs, whose administration, the result of his wisdom, was one of great prosperity. Not so that of his sons. Of these he left five. The eldest, Arnfin, married Ragnilda, the daughter of Eric Blodoxe and the infamous Gunhilda, and quite worthy of her parentage. Through her Arnfin, the victim of treachery, descended to an untimely grave. Havard, the next brother, succeeded to the government; and his conduct was so wise and prosperous, that he obtained the name of the Happy. But he had the folly to marry the widowed Ragnilda; and he suffered the deserved penalty of his weakness. She had transferred, we are told, her affection to Liot, the next brother; and with the view of obtaining the gratification of her wishes, had provoked a quarrel between Havard and a kinsman that proved fatal to the former. But such a woman could have no affection; and her motive to the deed was probably dislike of her husband’s ascendency. However this be, she became the wife of the third brother, who succeeded to the government. But Liot had little reason to congratulate himself on his elevation. The readiness with which he had become the instrument of a base and bloody woman roused the anger of Skuli, the next brother, who, being no less ambitious, resolved to dethrone him. Repairing to the court of the Scottish king, he offered to hold the islands as a fief of the crown, if, through the royal aid, he were raised to the dignity now held by Liot. The offer was accepted; and, at the head of a considerable force, he returned into Caithness, which declared for him. In the centre of that province the kinsmen met, and victory declared for Liot,—Skuli being left dead on the field. But the Scots now appeared in greater numbers; and though the jarl triumphed in a second engagement, he received a wound which brought him to his end in the year 980. The authority now passed into the hands of Laudver, the fifth brother. Of him we know only that he was addicted to piratical expeditions, that he married an Irish princess, and that he reigned sixteen years.
|980 to 1014.|
Sigurd, the son and successor of the last jarl, occupies more room in fable than in history. Rejecting the former, we may observe, that he had many great qualities; that he was valiant, generous, persevering; that he freed his people from the obligation which they had contracted to the jarls in the days of Turf-Einar, thus restoring the lands, which had lately been feudal, to their original allodial state; and that in addition to the Shetland Isles and the two Scottish counties, which had for nearly a century been under the jurisdiction of his predecessors, he held some fortresses, and, we are told, some extensive demesnes, in the heart of Scotland. Yet these might be held as a vassal of the Sottish monarch. But the most memorable event in his administration was the introduction of Christianity into the Orkneys. To this event we have before alluded[[6]], but it requires a more ample detail. Sigurd being summoned on board the vessel which carried Olaf Trygveson from Ireland to Norway, was told that if he did not immediately receive Christianity, cause his people to receive it, and do homage to Olaf as the heir of Harald Harfagre, he, and all who refused, should be put to death. At this moment Olaf had not ascended the throne of Norway, which was occupied by jarl Hako; and Sigurd might well hesitate to acknowledge him. Again, though he must have frequently heard of the religion which he was now required to embrace, he had been accustomed to despise it, because it was professed by the peaceable—that is, the cowardly—portion of mankind. He, therefore, began to make some excuse for his inability to comply with the demand; but none would be admitted; and as he had to choose between obedience and instant death, he naturally selected the former. He and his people, with one accord, submitted to the rite; and to secure his fidelity, he gave his son as hostage. On the death of that son, however, he renounced his allegiance to the Norwegian crown, and entered into a close connection with that of Scotland, by marrying a daughter of king Malcolm. Probably this new alliance prevented him from renouncing Christianity with as much facility as he had renounced his dependence on Norway. It certainly increased his power, and the consideration in which he was held by the chiefs of the age. He was one of the leaders in the war against the Irish king Brian; and, with many others, he was killed at the battle of Clontarf.[[7]] Such a man, in such an age, could not, of course, be permitted to fall in the ordinary way. If the scalds are to be credited, he had some presentiment of his fate before he left the islands; and he confided the administration to his three sons by the first wife, Einar, Sumerled, and Brusi. Connected with his death are two legends, which deserve a momentary notice. One of his friends, who wished to accompany him, he insisted on remaining, with the assurance that he should be the first man to whom intelligence of the battle should be communicated. One day the chief saw, as he thought, jarl Sigurd approaching at the head of a troop of horse. He instantly mounted, rode forward, met the jarl, embraced, and, in the view of several followers, afterwards disappeared with the jarl behind an eminence: neither, adds the legend, was again seen in this world. The other story has called forth the splendid effusion of Grey:—Darrod, a native of Caithness, saw twelve horsemen ride towards a hill, and immediately enter it. Hastening to the place, and looking through a small aperture, he perceived twelve gigantic women weaving and singing; the woof and the song no less supernatural than the singers.[[8]] This event, which is placed in the year 1014, illustrates the mental condition of the people, who, if they had outwardly embraced Christianity, were still pagans in superstition.
Of the Shetland Isles, during this period, we know nothing. They formed, as we have observed, a portion of the government of the Orkney jarls; and so did the Hebrides. But the connection between the governors and the governed must have been lax, and subject to frequent interruption. The Hebrides were frequently ravaged,—now by Norwegians, now by Danes, now by fierce adventurers from all parts of the north. The condition of Iona, the hallowed abode of St. Columba’s disciples, was mournful. In 793 the monastery was laid in ashes, and most of the inmates massacred; again in 797 and 801. In 805 sixty-eight more of the monks suffered the same fate. From that period to the year 875 the barbarian ravages were frequent. To escape destruction, the monks fled; and when the pirates were defeated, returned to the same hallowed spot, to quench the still smoking ruins, and to rebuild the house of their saint. After 875 the depredations of the northern rovers were much less frequent. We read, indeed, of no massacre until 985, when the abbot and fifteen of his monks obtained the martyr’s crown. This seems to have been the last disaster of the kind. Christianity, in a degree far greater than the governments of Norway and the Orkneys, was destroying the spirit of piracy. In 1093, as we shall hereafter have occasion to relate, the Western Isles, like Man and the Orkneys, were subdued by Magnus of Norway, and annexed to his crown.[[9]]
5. Iceland (861, &c.) was probably known to the Irish missionaries before it was discovered by the Norwegians. At least some articles were found there which missionaries only could have left; and these must have come from Iona or Ireland. “Before Iceland was discovered by the Norwegians,” says the Landnamabok, “men were there whom we call Papas, who professed the Christian religion, and who were believed to have come from the west.” The same authority also speaks of the books in the Irish and the Anglo-Saxon languages; of the bells, staves, and other articles left by preceding visitors. But if any colony had ever settled upon it, it had long been uninhabited when it was accidentally discovered by Naddod, in 861. That sea-rover left the Faroe Islands with the intention of steering directly for the west of Norway; but a storm arising, drove him far to the north-west, until he reached that largest of the European isles. But he knew not it was an island: he saw that it was covered with snow, and from that circumstance he denominated it Snoeland. Though he ascended several high mountains, he could discern no trace of human beings. On his return he acquainted his countrymen with the discovery. The following year it was again accidentally visited by a Swede, Gardar Swafarson, who sailed round it, and ascertaining it to be an island, gave it the name of Gardarsholm. The season was too advanced for him to return; and he passed the whole winter on the coast, living chiefly on the fish which he caught in abundance. The third person that visited it was the Norwegian Floki, surnamed Rafna, or the Raven, from the manner in which, according to legend, he found the island. Sailing from the Faroes, he proceeded towards the north-west; but as he was uncertain of the exact direction in which Snoeland lay, he let fly three ravens, which he had previously dedicated to the gods. One of these flew back to the islands which he had left; another returned to the ship; the third proceeded in a right line, and was followed by Floki, until he reached the country which Naddod had discovered. Its name he changed from Snoeland to Iceland. He admired its boiling fountains and its burning lava; but the country was too barren for his subsistence: he was troubled at the mysterious quaking of the earth; and he soon bade adieu to a region which he had evidently designed to colonize, but which the gods had doomed to everlasting desolation. His companions, however, did not give so disheartening an account of the island. They praised its fish, its climate, its soil; and above all, they praised it because “it was a place where men might live in freedom, far away from kings and jarls.”
|874.|