The ship took a heavy list, and some sea broke on board, but though
it was rising fast, there was not yet enough to do much harm. The
floating bights of canvas hove us round broadside to the run of the
waves, and needs must that we cleared away the wreck as soon as
might be.
There were two axes slung at the foot of the mast in case of such
chances as this, and with them we cut the mast adrift from the
shattered gunwale, and got it overboard, so that the ship recovered
herself somewhat. The yard lay half on deck, and I climbed out on
it, and cleared it from the mast without much trouble, cutting away
all the rigging at the masthead, and letting the mast itself go to
leeward as the waves would take it.
After that we had some hard work in getting the sail on board
again, but it was done at last, and by that time the squall was
over, while the wind had flown back to its old quarter--the
northeast--and seemed likely to bide there. Overhead the scud was
flying with more wind than we could feel, and we had cause to be
anxious. The sea would get up, and unless we could set some sort of
sail which would at least serve to keep her head to it, we should
fare badly. Moreover, it was likely enough that the ship was
strained with the wrench of the falling mast.
There was no spare sail on board which we could use in the way of
storm canvas, and the sails of the boat were too small to be of any
use. Nor was there a spar which we could use as mast, save the yard
itself. It must be that or nothing, and time pressed.
I suppose that we might have done better had we the chance, but
what we did now in the haste which the rising sea forced on us, was
to lash the forward end of the yard to the stump of the mast,
without unbending the sail from it. Then we set it up as best we
might with the running rigging, and so had a mightily unhandy
three-cornered sail of doubled canvas. But when we cast off the
lashings which had kept the sail furled while we worked, and
sheeted it home, it brought the ship's head to the wind, and for a
time we rode easily enough.
Then we baled out the water we had shipped, and sought for any leak
there might be. There was none of any account, though the upper
planking of the ship was strained, and the wash of the sea found
its way through the seams now and then. We could keep that under by
baling now and again if it grew no worse.
But in about an hour it was plain that a gale was setting in from
the northeast, and the sea was rising. We must run before it
whether we would or no, and the sooner we put about the better,
crippled as we were. We must go as the gale drove us, and make what
landfall we might, though where that would be we could not tell,
for there was no knowing how far we were from the Norway shore, or
whither we had drifted in the fog.
So we put the ship about, shipping a sea or two as we did so, and
then, with our unhandy canvas full and boomed out as best we could
with two oars lashed together, we fled into the unknown seas to
south and west, well-nigh hopeless, save that of food and water was
plenty.
I have no mind to tell of the next three days. They were alike in
gray discomfort, in the ceaseless wash of the waves that followed
us, and in the fall of the rain. We made terribly heavy weather of
it, though the gale was not enough to have been in any way perilous
for a well-found ship. We had to bale every four hours or so, and
at that time we learned that Gerda knew how to steer. Very brave
and bright was she through it all, and maybe that is the one
pleasant thing to look back on in all that voyage. We rigged the
sail of the boat across the sharp, high gunwales of the stern as
some sort of shelter for her, and she was content.
It was on the morning of the fourth day when we had at last a sight
of land. Right ahead of us, across the tumbling seas, showed the
dim, green tops of mountains, half lost in the drifting rain. We
thought they might be the hills of the western islands of Scotland,
but could not tell, so utterly had we lost all reckoning.
Whatever the land might be we had to find out presently, for in no
way could we escape from a lee shore. Nor was it long before we
found that here was no island before us, such an we expected, but a
long range of coast, which stretched from east to west, as far as
we could see, in a chain of hills. All I could say for certain was
that these hills were none which I knew, and so could not be those
of the northern Scottish coasts, which I had sailed past many a
time.
There was more sun this morning, for the clouds were breaking. Once
or twice the light fell on the far hilltops, bringing them close to
us, as it were, and then passing. Out to seaward astern of us it
gleamed on the white wavetops, hurried after us, and cheered us for
a time, and so swept on to the land that waited our coming, with
what welcome we could not say. Presently a gleam lit on a small
steady patch of white far astern of us, which did not toss with the
nearer waves, and did not shift along the skyline. It was the first
sail we had seen since we had lost sight of Heidrek, and it, too,
cheered us in a way, for the restless, gray and white sea was no
longer so lonely. Yet we could look for no help from her, even if
she sighted us and was on the same course. We could not heave to
and wait her, and by the time she overhauled us, we were likely to
be somewhat too near the shore for safety.
For the mountains hove up from the sea very fast now. Some current
had us in its grip, setting us shoreward swiftly. Soon we could see
the lower hills along the coast, with sheer, black cliffs, and a
fringe of climbing foam at their feet, which was disquieting enough
as we headed straight for them. We forgot the other ship in that
sight, as we looked in vain for some gap in the long wall which
stretched across our course. Only in one place, right ahead, the
breakers seemed nearer, and as if there might be shelving shore on
which they ran, rather than shattering cliffs on which they beat.
And presently we knew that between us and the shore lay an island,
low and long, rising to a green hill toward the mainland, but
seeming to end to the seaward in a beach which might have less
dangers for us than the foot of the cliffs beyond. So far as we
could make out from the deck, the strait between this island and
the mainland might be two miles wide, or a little less.
"If only we could get under the lee of that island we were safe,"
said Bertric to me. "It would be calm enough to anchor."
"We can but try it," I answered.
And with that we luffed a little, getting the island on our port
bow, but it was of no use. The unhandy canvas set us to leeward,
and, moreover, the water gained quickly as the strained upper
planking was hove down with the new list of the ship. I went to the
open space amidships whence we baled, and watched for a few
minutes, and saw that we could do nothing but run, unless the other
tack would serve us.
That we tried, but now we were too far from the eastern end of the
island, and it was hopeless to try to escape from the breakers.
"Stem on it must be, and take the chances," said my comrade. "It
does seem as if the water were deep up to the beach, and we may not
fare so badly. Well, there is one good point about these gifts
which Gerda has given us, and that is that we shall have withal to
buy hospitality. There are folk on the island."
"I saw a wisp of smoke a while ago," I said; "but I took it that it
was on the mainland. There is no sign of a house."
"That may lie in some hollow out of the wind," he said. "I am sure
of its being here."
Then I said that if we were to get on shore safely, which by the
look of the beach as we lifted on the waves seemed possible, it
might be better that we were armed.
"Aye, and if not, and we are to be drowned, it were better," he
said grimly. "One would die as a warrior, anywise."
Now, all this while Dalfin sat with Gerda under the shelter of the
boats forward, having stayed there to watch the water in the hold
after we had tried to weather the island. Now and again Dalfin rose
up and slipped into the bilge and baled fiercely, while Gerda
watched the shore and the green hills, which looked so steady above
the tumbling seas, wistfully.
I went to them and told them that we must needs face the end of the
voyage in an hour or so, and that we would arm ourselves in case
the shore folk gave trouble.
"They will do no harm," he said; "but it may be as well."
"One cannot be too sure of that," I answered; but saying no more,
as I would not alarm Gerda with talk of wreckers.
"Bad for them if they do," he said. "We will not leave one alive to
talk of it."
I laughed, for he spoke as if he had a host at his heels.
"No laughing matter," he said, rising up; "but it is not to be
thought of that a prince of Maghera should be harmed in his own
land."
"What is that? Your own land?"
"Of course," he said, staring at me. "Will you tell me that you two
seamen did not know that yonder lies Ireland? Why, that hill is--"
I cannot mind the names, but he pointed to two or three peaks which
he knew well, and I had to believe him. He said that we were some
way to the westward of a terrible place which he called the Giant's
Causeway, too far off for us to see.
"Why did you not tell us this before?" I asked, as we took the mail
from the courtmen's chest where we had laid it.
"You never asked me, and therefore I supposed you knew," he
answered gaily. "Now, where you suppose you are going to find a
haven I cannot say, but I hope there is one of which I never
heard."
Then I told him of our case, and he listened, unmoved, arming
himself the while. Only, he said that it would be hard to be
drowned with the luck of the O'Neills round his neck, and therefore
did not believe that we should be so. But he knew nothing of the
island, nor whether it was inhabited. He had seen it from the hills
yonder once or twice, when he was hunting, and the chase had led
him to the shore.
I think that in his joy at seeing his own land again he was going
to tell me some story of a hunt on those hills; but I left him and
bade him help Bertric to arm while I took the helm. The shore was
not two miles from us at that time, and Bertric hastened, whistling
a long whistle in answer to me, when I told him Dalfin's news. Then
Gerda came aft and stood by me.
"Is there danger ahead, Malcolm?" she asked very quietly.
"We hope, little; but there is a great deal of risk. We may be able
to beach the ship safely, though she will be of no use thereafter."
"And if not?"
"She must break up, and all we can hope for is that she will not be
far from shore. We shall have to take to the boat or swim."
"I can swim well," she said. "I have heard you laugh at the prince
because he cannot do so. What of him?"
But those two joined us at this time, and I did not answer, at
least directly. Only, I told Dalfin that he had better get hold of
somewhat, which might stand him in as good stead as had Heidrek's
steersman's bench, in case it was wanted. Whereon he laughed, and
said that the luck of the O'Neills would be all that he needed,
while Bertric went without a word and cut the lashing of the ship's
oars, and set two handy on the after deck.
Now we could see the beach and the white ranks of breakers which
lay between us and it. Bertric looked long as we neared the first
line of them, and counted them, and his face brightened.
"Look at the beach," he said to me. "It is high water, and spring
tide, moreover. There will be water enough for our light draught.
Get Gerda forward, for the sea will break over the stern the moment
we touch the ground."
I looked at him, and he nodded and smiled.
"It will be nothing," he said, knowing what I meant. "One is
sheltered here under this high stern. I shall take no harm. Nay, I
am ship master, and I bid you care for the lady. There are no signs
of rocks."
For I hesitated, not altogether liking not to stand by him at the
last. However, he was right, and I went forward with Gerda, bidding
Dalfin get one of the oars and follow us.
Now, what that beach may have been like in a winter gale I can only
guess. Even now the breakers were terrible enough, as we watched
them from the high bows, though the wind was, as I have said, not
what one would trouble about much in the open sea, in a well-found
ship. But naught save dire necessity would make a seaman try to
beach his ship here at any time, least of all when half a gale was
piling the seas one over the other across the shallows. Only, we
could see that no jagged reef waited us under the surges.
Gerda stood with her arm round the dragon head which stared
forward. I minded at that moment how I had ever heard that one
should unship the dragon as the shore was neared, lest the gentle
spirits of the land, the Landvaettnir, should be feared. But that
was too late now, and I do not think that I should have troubled
concerning it in any wise, on a foreign coast. The thought came and
went from me, but I set Gerda's cloak round her loosely, so that if
need was it would fall from her at once; and I belted my mail
close, and tried to think how I might save her, if we must take to
the water perforce. I could swim in the mail well enough, and she
could swim also. There might be a chance for her. I feared more for
Dalfin.
Now we flew down on the first line of breakers, lifted on the
crest, half blinded with the foam, and plunged across it. I held my
breath as the bows swooped downward into the hollow of the wave,
fearing to feel the crash of the ship's striking, but she lifted
again to the next roller, while the white foam covered the decks as
the broken gunwale aft lurched amid it. So we passed four great
surges safely, and we were not an arrow flight from land. The water
was deep enough for us so far. Then we rose on the back of the
fifth roller, and it set us far before we overtook its crest and
passed it. The sharp bows leapt through the broken water into the
air, and hung for a long moment over the hollow, until the stern
lifted and they were flung forward and downward. Then came a sharp
grating and a little shock, gone almost as it was felt, but it told
of worse to come, maybe. We had felt the ground.
But the next roller hove us forward swiftly, and we hardly overran
it, so that it carried us safely. Now we were so near the shore
that a stone would have reached it, and but two ranks of breakers
were to be passed. I bade my two companions hold on for their
lives, and set my arm round Gerda before the crash should come, and
we lifted to the first of them, but it was almost as swift as we,
and it carried us onward bravely.
Then the keel grated on the ground, and we lost way. The surge
overtook us and drove us forward, crashing on the stones of the
beach, but hardly striking with any force. The bows lifted, and I
saw the rattling pebbles beneath us as the sea sucked them back. A
great sea rolled in, hissing and roaring round the high stern, and
breaking clear over it and Bertric as he stood at the helm, and it
lifted us once more as if we were but a tangle of seaweed, and
hurled us upward on the stony slope, canting the stern round as it
reached us. We were ashore and safely beached, and the danger was
past. The ship took the ground on her whole length as the wave went
back.
Out of the smother of water and foam astern, as the next wave broke
over the ship, Bertric struggled forward to us, laughing as he
came. The sea ran along the deck knee deep round him as far as the
foot of the mast, but it did not reach us here in the bows, though
the spray flew over us, and our ears were full of the thunder of
the surf on the beach. But the sharp bows were firmly bedded in the
shingle, and we were in no danger of broaching to as wave after
wave hurled itself after us.
Bertric had stayed to take the casket of gold from the place in the
stern where we had set it.
"I had no mind to see the stern go to pieces and take this with
it," he said, setting the load at his feet. "The tide has not
reached its height yet, and she will be roughly handled. We had
best get ashore while we can. We may do it between the breakers."
I watched the next that came roaring past us. It ran twenty yards
up the shelving beach, and then went back with a rush and rattle of
pebbles, leaving us nearly dry around the bows. We might have three
feet of water to struggle through at first for a few paces, but
that was nothing. Even Gerda could be no wetter than she was, and
the one fear was that one might lose foothold when the next wave
came. It did not take long to decide what we had to do, therefore.
A wave came in, spent itself in rushing foam, and drew back. I was
over the bows with its first sign of ebb, and dropped into the
water when it seemed well-nigh at its lowest, finding it neck-deep
for the moment. It sank to my waist, and Dalfin was alongside me,
spluttering. Then Bertric helped Gerda over the gunwale, and I took
her in my arms, holding her as high as I could, and turning at once
shoreward. I tried to hurry, but I could not go fast, for the water
sucked me back, while Dalfin waded close behind me. Then I heard
Bertric shout, and I knew what was coming. The knee-deep water
gathered again as the next roller stayed its ebb, swirled and
deepened round me, and then with a sudden rush and thunder the wave
came in, broke, and for a moment I was buried in the head of it,
and driven forward by its weight. I felt Gerda clutch me more
tightly, and Dalfin was thrown against me, gasping, and he steadied
me.
It passed, and I could see again, and struggled on. Then the
outward flow began again, and wrestled with me so that I could not
stem it, and together Dalfin and I, he with one arm round my
shoulder, and in the other hand the oar which he held and used as a
staff, fought against it until it was spent. The rounded pebbles
slipped and rolled under my feet as they were torn back to the sea,
but the worst was past. Up the long slope through the yeasty foam
we went, knee deep, and then ankle deep, ever more swiftly with
every pace, and the next wave broke far behind us, and its swirl of
swift water round my waist only helped me. Through it we climbed to
the dry stretches of the beach, and were safe.
I heard Gerda speak breathless words of thanks as I set her down,
and then I looked round for Bertric. He was two waves behind us, as
one may say, and I was just in time to see a breaker catch him up,
smite his broad shoulders, and send him down on his face with
whirling arms into its hollow, where the foam hid him as it curled
over. He, too, had an oar for support, but it had failed him, and
as he fell I caught the flash of somewhat red slung like a sack
across his back.
Gerda cried out as she saw him disappear, but Dalfin and I laughed
as one will laugh at the like mishap when one is bathing. That was
for the moment only, however, for he did not rise as soon as he
might, and then I knew what had kept him so far behind us, and what
was in the red cloak I had seen. He had stayed to bring the gold
and jewels in their casket, and now their weight was holding him
down. So I went in and reached him through a wave, and set him on
his feet again, gasping, and trying to laugh, and we went back to
shore safely enough. I grumbled at the risk he had run, but he said
that his burden was not so heavy as mine had been.
For a few minutes we sat on the beach and found our breath again,
Gerda trying to tell us what she felt concerning what we had done,
and then giving up, because, I suppose, she could not find the
right words; which was a relief, for she made too much of it all.
Then the four of us went up the beach to the shelter of the low,
grassy sand hills above it, and there Dalfin turned and faced us
with a courtly bow, saying gravely:
"Welcome to Ireland, Queen Gerda, and you two good comrades. There
would have been a better welcome had we come in less hurry, but no
more hearty one. The luck of the O'Neills has stood us in good
stead."
"If it had not been for the skill of these two friends, it seems to
me that even the luck of the torque had been little," said Gerda
quietly. "You must not forget that."
"It is part of the said luck that they have been here," answered
Dalfin, with his eyes twinkling as he bowed to us. "All praise to
their seamanship."
Then he sat down suddenly as if his knees had given way, and looked
up as if bewildered.
"Is this silly island also afloat?" he asked, "for it feels more
like a ship than any other dry land I was ever on.
"It will do so for a time," I said. "Wait till you lose the swing
of the decks and find your shore legs again."
"Look yonder," Bertric said. "There is the other ship."
We had forgotten her for a time in our own perils. She had followed
our course, though for what reason we could not tell. Now she had
borne up and was heading away westward, some four miles from shore,
and sailing well and swiftly, being a great longship. Soon a gray
wall of rain swept over her and hid her, and when it cleared in
half an hour's time she was beyond our sight.
It seemed pretty certain by this time that there could be no people
on this side of the island at least, or they would have been here.
We climbed to the highest of the sand hills, and looked over what
we could see of the place, but there was no sign of hut or man.
Beyond the sand hills there was a stretch of open moorland, which
rose to the hill across by the strait between us and the mainland,
and both hill and moor were alike green and fresh--or seemed so to
us after the long days at sea. It was not a bad island, and Dalfin
said that there should be fishers here, though he was in no way
certain. All round us the sea birds flitted, scolding us for our
nearness to their nests among the hills and on the edge of the
moor, and they were very tame, as if unused to the sight of man. I
thought we could make out some goats feeding on the hill side, but
that was all. So far as we could judge, the island may have been a
mile long, or less, and a half mile across.
We went back to the lee of the sand hills after seeing that there
was no better shelter at hand. There it seemed warm after the long
days on the open sea, but we were very wet. So we found a sheltered
hollow whence we could look across the beach to the ship, and there
gathered a great pile of driftwood and lit a fire, starting it with
dry grass and the tinder which Bertric kept, seamanlike, with his
flint and steel in his leathern pouch, secure from even the sea.
Then we sat round it and dried ourselves more or less, while the
tide reached its full, left the bare timbers of the ship's stem
standing stark and swept clean of the planking, and having done its
worst, sank swiftly, leaving her dry at its lowest.
So soon as we could, Bertric and I climbed on board over the bows,
and took what food we could find unspoiled by the water, ashore.
"Neither of the boats is harmed," we told Gerda. "And presently we
can leave this island for the mainland. And we can save all the
goods we stowed amidships before the tide rises again. But your
good little ship will never sail the seas more."
"It is as well," she answered sadly. "This should have been her
last voyage in another way than this, and her time had come. I do
not think that it had been fitting for her to have carried any
other passenger, after he who lies in the sea depths had done with
her."
Bertric shook his head as one who doubts, being sore at the loss of
a vessel under his command, though there was no blame to him
therein. But I knew what Gerda felt, and thought with her.
By the great fire we made our first meal ashore since we left my
home in Caithness eight long days ago. Nor can I say that it was a
dismal feast by any means, for we had won through the many perils
we had foreseen, and were in safety and unhurt; and young enough,
moreover, to take things lightly as they came, making the best of
them.