of the country early in the eleventh century, and
made Irish unpopular with the vikings.

It cannot be concealed that our predecessors
in ruling the waves were a terrible set of
ruffians. Not content with simple plunder, they
butchered alike those who submitted to their
outrages, and those who resented them, showing
mercy neither to age nor sex. Believing themselves
the avengers of Odin against disciples of
all other religions, they were especially severe
on the clergy, putting them to death with tortures,
and burning their churches, as Scott says,
"to light the way to their barks again."

Doubly terrible was the viking when
"berserker." This was a violent kind of frenzy
with which he was liable to be seized, attributed
by various writers to intense excitement
of the imagination, or to the use of stimulating
drugs or drinks. In this state he became
dangerous to friends and foes; he would
foam at the mouth and vent his fury against
trees and rocks; he would swallow red-hot
coals and throw himself into the fire. If at sea
when the fit came on, he would often slaughter
half his crew and destroy his shipping before
his companions could land him at some desert
island, there to tear up the trees by the roots
and commit all manner of havoc upon inanimate
nature until, his strength exhausted, he would
lie senseless and prostrate, then wake up
recovered. Almost all the great vikings became
"berserker " at times. Indeed, when a sea-
king received any deadly insult from an enemy
that he could not avenge, it seems to have
been a point of honour that he should become
"berserker" on the spot.

Halfdan was a king of Sweden and a viking
besides. He had seized the crown from Sivald,
and slain Sivald and his five sons, all in a state
of " berserk " madness. When Hartben the
sea-king came up with twelve champions to
attack him, Halfdan offered to fight him and his
entire crew single handed. This insolent
proposal inflamed Hartben with such awful fury
that he immediately became " berserker," and
killed six of his own champions in the fit.
He then rushed on Halfdan with the remaining
six, but he and they all fell dead beneath the
terrific blows of Halfdan's mace.

The viking's first vessel was nothing better
than the trunk of a large tree hollowed
out by fire like Robinson Crusoe's boat, and
called " holk," a word still surviving in our
language as " hulk." The British Museum contains
a specimen of one of these ancient holks,
found on the Sussex coast. But in process
of time the viking became master of a much
larger vessel, carved and painted and fashioned
into the form of some fantastic monster, usually
that of a dragon. Such was Rolf's famous ship
called the " Dragon Grimsnoth." Often as their
vessels were wrecked in the fierce North Sea
storms, the hardy pirates who survived would
yet defy the tempest, and even the gods them-
selves, holding on their course, as the Sagas
say, " along the track of the swans."

A viking would marry occasionally three or
four wives; but would seldom waste time on
courtship. He evidently regarded it professionally.
When he heard of a lady possessed of
beauty and wealth, he would fit out his vessel
and demand her of her father. Should the
misguided parent refuse the honour of becoming
his father-in-law, the viking burnt him out of
his house, and returned with his bride, his
vessel laden with all the spoil he could
conveniently lay hands upon, by way of dowry. An
unwilling father had no alternative but consent
or fight. Regnald, a Norwegian king, who had
refused the peremptory demand of Gunnar the
Swedish viking, for his daughter Moalda, not
only set himself instantly on the defensive, but
hid the princess and all his treasures in a mountain
cavern, determined to baffle his enemy, even
if beaten. But Gunnar came with a fleet of
vessels, and, after a fierce battle, killed the
king, and contrived to find out the place of
Moalda's retreat. He returned to Sweden with
his bride and her treasures, and the Skalds sang
his praises in the Kianesinga Saga.

Here is a love story from the Volsunga Saga.
Hagbarth and his three brothers, all of them
sea-kings and sons of the King of Drontheim,
sailing together in the North Sea, met the fleet
of the sons of the Danish king Sigar. They
fought, of course. The battle lasted all day,
and at night was still undecided. A circumstance
of frequent occurrence among the vikings
then happened: each contending party
becoming suddenly impressed with the bravery
of his opponent, the weapons fell from their
hands in mutual approbation of each other's
valour; and, having sworn eternal fidelity—
ratifying the treaty by mingling blood drawn
from each other's veins in token of
indissoluble union—the Danish princes invited
their enemies of an hour before to visit the
court of their father. Hagbarth and his
brothers enjoyed the hospitality of King Sigar
for many days; but, during their sojourn in
Zealand, Hagbarth gained the heart of the
king's daughter, the Princess Signa. The
Danish princes, however, refused him her
hand, contrary to their father's inclination, on
the ground that he was not their equal in birth.
Hagbarth and his three brothers, in defiance of
their treaty, immediately hewed the Danish
princes in pieces before their father's eyes, and
fled. But Hagbarth found existence insupportable
separated from her to whom he had
pledged his troth. Disguised as an old woman,
he returned to Zealand, and obtained
admission to Signa's chamber. He swore to live or
die only by her side. A courtier recognised
him as Hagbarth, and, notwithstanding his
becoming " berserker " and performing
prodigies of valour, he was overpowered by
numbers and taken prisoner. Some of the
council of nobles who tried him were for sparing
his life, and proclaiming him the husband of
Signa, on account of his bravery; but by
sentence of the majority he was condemned to be
hanged, and that by a rope made of " widdie"
(twigs), for the greater disgrace. They brought