As has been stated in a former chapter, poor Bjarni has been severely handled by Storm and most of the accepted authorities. The case for and against his voyage has been already dealt with, and it is hoped that some readers may have been persuaded that Bjarni has a solid claim to be regarded as the first seaman who sighted American shores. But, whether or no the personal claims of Bjarni can be substantiated, I submit that we have here a very clear and correct account of the way in which America was discovered, whether by Bjarni or another. The first discovery must necessarily have been accidental, and must almost certainly have been, as stated of Bjarni, from south to north, as subsequent exploration in a southerly direction would not otherwise have been encouraged. The northern part of America offered few attractions to the practical minds of early explorers, whose criterion was ‘that it would be a profitable country to visit’; Labrador or Newfoundland from the sea would seem at first sight to deserve Bjarni’s epithet ‘ogagnvaenligt’—good-for-nothing. Storm-driven mariners, with stores running short, would hardly have pursued investigations from north to south, while in the reverse direction discovery was forced upon them by circumstances, and their experience might well prompt further exploration on the part of the inhabitants of Greenland. Whatever criticisms have been passed upon Bjarni’s voyage by those who are unable to bring it into line with their theories, it seems to me that if all the rest of our material had been destroyed, this voyage would be regarded as in itself sufficient to substantiate the fact of Norse discovery.
Slight and sketchy as it is, it presents fewer real difficulties than any other. The chronicler, like his hero, was not interested in the lands seen, but in the adventures of the ship, and both courses and distances are given with perhaps greater precision and accuracy than any others in these sagas. Probably this arises from the fact that but few copies were ever made of this narrative. It was, as has been already hinted, of little interest to the general reader of a pre-Columbian age; it could appeal only to sailors and navigators, who would be more interested in the accurate preservation of the data supplied by it than would a mere scribe, wholly ignorant or misinformed as to the actual topographical details.
It is worth while noticing how full the narrative is of nautical phraseology and details of interest to sailors only. This confirms one’s impression of its genuineness, as of course the story, if true, must originally have been told by Bjarni or one of his sailors. The lowering and hoisting of sails, the necessity for reefing on the voyage home, together with such expressions as ‘distinguish the airts’ or, as in our translation, ‘get their bearings’, ‘left the land to port and let the sheet turn towards it’, ‘turned the bows from the land’, ‘the land was laid’, i.e. lost below the horizon (landit var vattnat), give this part of the story an extremely nautical colour, while they add little to the general interest of the tale. Moreover we get course and distance in the greatest detail, except during the period of fog, when the sailors themselves could have had no knowledge of what was happening.
The simplest way of dealing with this voyage is to plot it backwards from Greenland. The outward journey is but vaguely indicated, as that of a ship struggling unsuccessfully on a westerly course against northerly gales, and confused by fogs and many days of drifting. The ship was presumably provisioned for a dangerous voyage into unknown seas, yet appears to have been running short of water and other necessaries before the end; one is consequently justified in assuming a really long period for the duration of these adverse influences. The voyage home is, however, recorded with the utmost precision.
Taking the data arrived at in Chapter V for the length of a ‘dægr sigling’, we may plot the distance represented by this unit at about 150 miles. The wind, we are told, was south-west. Plot from Herjulfsness (Sermesok) in the south of Greenland four ‘dægr’ units in a south-westerly direction and then draw a land-form which will serve for the ‘island’ which was the third land seen, follow its coast to a point further south, to cover the coasting voyage described, then plot five more ‘dægr’ units south-west. Lastly mark land on the course at the end of the five days and also two days from the end. The result will be as shown on the shaded portions of the sketch. These indications are quite near enough to the truth to show pretty conclusively that the ‘lands’ were the Barnstable peninsula (Massachusetts), Nova Scotia, and Newfoundland respectively. It is true that if these lands are restored to their correct positions on the map, the courses are only roughly north-east, and the distance from Newfoundland to Greenland is lengthened, but during the last part of the voyage it must be remembered that the wind was much stronger, and the distance between either Cape Freels or Cape St. John in Newfoundland and Sermesok (Herjulfsness) in Greenland is under 720 miles, and could easily be covered in four days and nights under conditions as favourable as those of Thorar Nefjolfson’s voyage to Iceland discussed in Chapter V. The whole account so far is quite consistent and probable.
The problem may now be tackled in a different way. Bjarni, before reaching Greenland, is met by a strong northerly gale. He struggles against it for some time, and, delaying too long the moment for heaving to, is forced to run before the wind. He is driven to the Newfoundland Banks, where he runs into fog, and lowering sail, as we are told he did, he drifts for some time. The set of the current is in the direction of Cape Cod; the wind, working round with the sun as the weather improved, would tend to drive him in the same direction. There is accordingly no difficulty in supposing him to have first sighted land somewhere on the Barnstable peninsula in the neighbourhood of Cape Cod. The description given of this land, while not distinctive, is certainly not inconsistent with the conclusion arrived at.
Now Bjarni is entirely taken up with the idea of getting back to Greenland. Where is he? He has been sailing for a long time in an attempt to get westward; he is probably to the west of his destination. Moreover there is an unknown shore to the west or north of him, to which he must give a wide berth. The visible change in the altitude of the Pole-star or the mid-day sun, and the difference in the length of the day, are data which show an experienced sailor that he is a long way too far south. He must get away from the unknown coast into the open sea, and he must go east and north. Sailing therefore on a course slightly to the north of east, he sights in two days another land, the south-western projection of Nova Scotia, ‘low-lying, and covered with wood.’ This is not the least like Greenland: he sails away again on the same course. The shore, trending here to the northward, sinks out of sight, but after about 500 miles of open sea covered in three ‘dægr’ he sights some part of the south coast of the Avalon peninsula of Newfoundland. It is a bleak-looking coast, and there are icebergs about; moreover, though Bjarni’s reckoning still makes him too far south, the crew have already been grumbling, and it must be proved to their satisfaction that this is not Greenland. As regards the ice, I am of course aware that the saga uses the word ‘jökul’, which suggests glaciers, and it may well be that this is an embroidery on the part of the author, accustomed to associate glaciers with any desolate landscape. ‘Jökul’, however, can also mean merely ice, and is so used in Gretti’s Saga and elsewhere. Icebergs, according to the King’s Mirror, were known to Greenlanders as ‘falljöklar’. There may be some confusion here. Still, there would be bergs about, and the appearance of the country would be more Arctic; the place had better be explored a bit. Accordingly Bjarni follows the coast till he convinces himself and his crew that this place is merely an island. Probably he came to this conclusion on rounding the Avalon peninsula; possibly he sailed as far as Cape Freels or slightly further. It is less likely that he sailed through the Strait of Belle Isle, and so conclusively demonstrated the insular character of Newfoundland, for, if so, he could hardly have avoided sighting the Labrador coast, which he evidently never saw. That the Norsemen, without carrying their investigation so far, should have come to the conclusion that what they saw was an island is not in the least remarkable, when it is remembered that for nearly 100 years after its rediscovery Newfoundland was regarded, owing to the broken and indented character of its coastline, as an archipelago, and is so depicted on the earlier charts.[99]
Anyhow, Bjarni came to the conclusion that this ‘third land’ was an island. There is nothing conventional in the statement; it is not suggested of the other lands, and the fact that the island comes into the story in its proper place is a strong confirmation of its accuracy. Having satisfied himself and his crew that this was not Greenland, Bjarni could fall back with renewed confidence on his own reckoning, and so reach his destination. That he did so with speed and precision might give cause for surprise, were there not many well-authenticated instances in Icelandic literature of men who, after drifting about, the sport of adverse winds and fogs for a long time, retained to the last sufficient knowledge of their position to enable them to return home. It was a creditable feat of seamanship, and we may leave Bjarni with a greater feeling of respect than his contemporaries seem to have felt for him, whatever his shortcomings as an explorer may have been. One point alone in Bjarni’s voyage may at first sight be regarded with suspicion. This is the exact correspondence between the number of days sailed and the number of the land reached. They sail two days to the second land, three to the third, and four to the fourth. As has been shown, however, in working out the voyage, this is not an impossible coincidence. I think it is not without importance to note that what is called ‘the fourth land’ is not a land ejusdem generis with the others, but is Bjarni’s original objective, Greenland, which would naturally be so called. This looks to me rather as if the coincidence above referred to was noted, and used as a memoria technica for the time occupied on the voyage.
Leif’s voyage may be dealt with shortly. The description of Helluland is open to the suspicion that it has been coloured by the imagination of the saga-writer. Snowy hills in Labrador may account for the ‘great glaciers’, but it looks like a feature borrowed from Greenland to emphasize the forbidding character of the landscape. The reason given for the name, Helluland, may easily be founded upon the name itself. However, as stated in the preceding chapter, it does not much matter whether the landfall in Helluland was Labrador or Newfoundland, as, before the discovery of the Strait of Belle Isle, both would presumably be regarded as one country by an explorer coasting south. Leif’s Markland, as already suggested (p. 232), sounds much more like Nova Scotia than Newfoundland.
Now as to Wineland. The Flatey Book tells us that Leif, having arrived on the shores of Wineland, landed at once, and conducted no further exploration, except in the immediate vicinity. The passage recording the eagerness of the men to get to shore is very convincing, and we are probably justified in accepting it. In any case we have no evidence that Leif’s expedition proceeded further along the coast of Wineland after his arrival. In fact, the statement that it did not is to some extent confirmed by the opinion, attributed to Thorvald, that the new country had been insufficiently explored; it is also borne out by the circumstance that Karlsefni and his crew manifestly expected to find the locality of Leif’s camp somewhere in the neighbourhood of Keelness, where they first arrived, but were uncertain as to which side of this promontory it was situated. (See account of Karlsefni’s voyage in the Saga of Eric the Red.) We are told that Karlsefni divided his forces, one party sailing north of Keelness while the other proceeded in the opposite direction. Clearly therefore Keelness, as the point of departure selected, was supposed to be in the neighbourhood of Leif’s landfall, and this confirms the view indicated by the Flatey Book that Leif stayed at a point near that first sighted in Wineland.
It is difficult therefore to accept Mr. Babcock’s view that Leif conducted a long coasting voyage along the shores of the United States; at least it may be said that there is no positive evidence to support such a theory.
So far we may treat the Flatey account as correct. The report brought home by Leif, however, seems to have been more concerned with the discoveries made on land than with the details of the coast in the neighbourhood of his camp. Hence, as has been pointed out earlier, the Flatey Book, which erroneously supposed all landfalls in Wineland to be the same, proceeds to draw the description required from some abridged account of Karlsefni’s voyage. Hóp is quite clearly indicated, and this place we know was only reached by Karlsefni after a long coasting voyage.
When we come to the consideration of the situation of Hóp, in connexion with Karlsefni’s expedition (see next chapter), we shall, I think, be perfectly justified in supplementing the description of this place from what we are told of Leif’s landfall. The two places are obviously identical. But the fact that this is the case puts a full stop to any attempt to identify Leif’s camp in Wineland. If, as I think is the case, Thorvald’s voyage took place as narrated in the Flatey Book, it may throw some light on his predecessor’s discoveries, since Thorvald, having the benefit of his brother’s advice, and probably several members of the same crew, would be very likely to arrive at the same destination. If so, as will be seen later, some place in the neighbourhood of Chatham harbour on the heel of the Barnstable peninsula seems indicated. But of course such an identification involves a good deal of conjecture.
A word may be said here as to the account given of the discovery of the vines, which has been severely criticized. It may well have been touched up, but the very ignorance of the nature of vines which is attributed to the saga-writer makes part of the story inherently probable. The Greenlanders knew nothing of vines, and might not have recognized them on sight. If, on the other hand, they had with them a native of a wine country, the discovery is explained. This point has impressed Neckel, who goes so far as to say that Icelanders or Greenlanders of the period would certainly not have recognized grapes on seeing them. Preferring Hauk’s version to that of the Flatey Book, he is forced to the hypothesis that the original discoverer was the priest who accompanied Leif on his missionary journey, and who may have been a foreigner from a wine country, though as Olaf drew largely for such men on the British Isles, Neckel’s conjecture is rather a wild one. Now the difficulty is one which may strike a modern commentator, though it does not seem to have troubled many of them, but it does not appear to me at all likely that a writer of the saga period considered the question so deeply as to invent a German to account for the discovery. Tyrker in fact meets a difficulty which is only apparent to a critical type of mind not then in existence. Tyrker is therefore probable; in any case such a man was better qualified than half-naked Scots like Hake and Hekja, whose forte was rather activity than botany.
As to Tyrker’s drunkenness, the circumstance that he spoke German, which happened to be his native tongue, would not perhaps be considered conclusive at Bow Street, yet possibly the saga-writer may have meant to indicate intoxication. Nor is such intoxication necessarily a figment of the historian. We must remember that Thorhall the Hunter, as one gathers from his satiric verses, had evidently been promised a drink in Wineland, and it therefore seems likely that some crude sort of wine was actually made. This again calls for the presence of someone with experience of wine-making, an art for which the priest, one would think, would possess neither the capacity nor the inclination. The task would not, however, be difficult. As Mr. Babcock has reminded us (p. 93), the Historie of Travaile into Virginia asserts that at a later date ‘twenty gallons at one time have sometimes been made, without any other help than crushing the grapes in the hand, which letting to settle five or six days hath in the drawing forth proved strong and heady.’ In further support of the theory that wine was made, one may refer to the words of Adam of Bremen,—‘producing the best wine.’ Who more likely to have tried the method alluded to above than Tyrker of the vineyards? And he may well have kept the experiment dark till he had put his brew to a practical test.
But none of this really matters; the bare fact of the discovery of grapes, which is abundantly corroborated, is the important thing.
Whether or no Thorvald Ericson was the leader of an independent expedition, as stated in the Flatey Book, or a companion of Karlsefni, as the rival versions make him, there can be no doubt that the voyage on which he met with his death is described in all the accounts in language which shows substantial agreement as to the topographical facts. It is therefore possible, and even advisable, to deal with Thorvald’s explorations as if no question of their connexion with Karlsefni’s expedition had in fact arisen.
Thorvald’s base appears to have been situated on a coast facing approximately south, along which, we are told, two voyages of exploration were conducted. The first of these, according to the Flatey Book, was carried out in a small boat, and lay to the west of the camp. The expression used, ‘fyrir vestan landit’, might also be understood to mean off or along a coast facing west, but this interpretation is excluded by the fact that an island lying to the west (vestarliga) was visited, and also by the absence of any coast fulfilling the required conditions on the eastern seaboard of America, except the Nova Scotian border of the Bay of Fundy. This last does not suit in any way, for we are told ‘there were many islands and many shoals’, a circumstantial statement unlikely to have been invented, and therefore reliable. Very shallow water indeed is indicated in a report derived from persons in a small boat, whose draught must have been insignificant. Now the name Bay of Fundy is said to be a corruption of Baya Fonda (deep bay), and the details given in the Coast Pilot confirm the appropriateness of such a name. Champlain moreover states explicitly, on passing Cape Fourchu northwards, that ‘this coast is clear, without islands, rocks or shoals; so that in our judgment vessels can securely go there.’
The only other feature in the description of the saga, ‘well-wooded sandy shores’, is hardly more appropriate to a coast which is mainly bold and rocky.
We are safe, then, in assuming a starting-point on a coast facing south. To the east of the base the land must soon have turned towards the north, to fulfil the conditions required by Thorvald’s second voyage. So far there are two possibilities presented by the narrative: the south coast of Nova Scotia, and that of the United States to the west of Cape Cod. The latter exactly fulfils the conditions demanded by the first or westerly voyage. In the words of the Coast Pilot, ‘from the southern and principal entrance to Chatham harbour, the coast is low and sandy, with well-wooded hills in the background, taking a generally westward direction.’ It is, as the chart shows, a mass of shoals, and there are a considerable number of quite important islands, including Nantucket, Martha’s Vineyard, and the Elizabeth Islands, in the vicinity. In fact it would be hard to find a place more accurately fitting the description given. The voyage, being conducted in a small boat, was probably not a very long one.
As regards Nova Scotia, there are along this coast also many islands and a considerable number of shoals, but the coast itself, treated as a whole, is decidedly less appropriate to the description in the saga.
In considering Thorvald’s final voyage, we may take the descriptions of both authorities together. We should aim, in fact, at finding a locality embodying the highest common factor of both versions. To the point of Keelness both stories agree, the Flatey version saying that Thorvald sailed ‘fyrir austan’, i.e. either turned eastward from his camp or followed an eastward-facing coastline. Both may be true if we consider the starting-point to have lain somewhere on the heel of the Barnstable peninsula. Thorvald would first turn east and then follow the eastern coastline of Cape Cod, to reach ‘the more northerly part of the country’ which, we are told, was his next objective. Eric’s Saga says they sailed north to Keelness, which comes to the same thing. Then, according to the Flatey version, they were wrecked on the point of Keelness, and, after a long stay to carry out the necessary repairs, they turned eastward into a closely adjacent fjord. The fact that it was closely adjacent is important. Eric’s Saga states that on rounding Keelness they bore along to the west of it, which, as Dieserud points out—though with a different intention—should be taken with the phrase which follows, ‘nordr aptr’ (back north), and therefore means a voyage southwards along the west coast of the promontory, not a voyage westwards. Apart from the clue given by the expression ‘back north’, the Icelandic would bear either interpretation.
The same version of the narrative then mentions that they came to a river flowing from east to west, and lay by its southern bank. Now, if we consider Keelness to be Cape Cod, both versions are roughly correct, though the Flatey Book is slightly more so than Eric’s Saga. From the extreme point of Cape Cod the course would lie eastward to the mouth of the Pamet river, which flows westward, but, broadly speaking, the expedition would be following the west coast of the peninsula. In the time of the Pilgrim Fathers all this coast was densely wooded. As to its being a beautiful spot for a home, this may have been Thorvald’s opinion, or an embellishment by the story-teller, who has apparently introduced some fictitious touches here of bodings and warnings. Such a detail need not trouble us. The only objection to the theory is that the Saga of Eric the Red says that they had sailed a long time; if this, however, means from Straumsfjord and not merely from Keelness, it may well be literally true.
The alternative theory, which carries this voyage round Cape Breton Island, in addition to difficulties about the scenery, and such objections as apply to Nova Scotia generally, is open to the criticism that it has altogether to reject the easterly course from the end of the promontory which is mentioned in the Flatey Book. As a rule, in spite of all that is alleged by Storm, the Flatey version, as I have endeavoured to show, is more accurate in its courses than the alternative record; the objection, however, if it stood alone, would no doubt be of small weight. The rejection of the Nova Scotia theory, in fact, involves consideration of the arguments adduced against it throughout, rather than those which apply to this particular point.
It is perhaps worth while to draw attention here to the inconsistency with which the uniped episode is interpolated. The explorers are by the southern bank of a river running from east to west. The uniped comes from the north, and retires in that direction. Consequently the obstacle of a navigable river-mouth lies between this creature and the pursuit which we are told, both in the text and the incorporated verses, immediately took place. The fact appears to be that the river is part of one story (Thorvald’s) and the uniped belongs to another, which some one has tried to edit into conformity, with but slender success.
There seems, in fact, to be a double interpolation here. After Karlsefni has been brought to Straumsfjord with the intention of returning home, the author feels that it is his last chance of working in any odd scraps which he has collected from various sources. Hence, having a description of the death of a son of Eric not previously or otherwise known to him, which seems to have occurred in Wineland, he attributes it to Karlsefni’s expedition, and combines it with a separate anecdote, properly belonging to Karlsefni—but no part of the main saga—which refers to the pursuit of a supposed uniped. Possibly the sole source referring to the uniped on which the author’s imagination worked was the verse incorporated here.
The apparently corrupt but much-discussed passage about the mountains at Hóp and those seen elsewhere will be dealt with later on: it is, I believe, part of the original Karlsefni matter, and has no relation to the voyage of Thorvald. (See next chapter, p. 277.)