Chapter 8 No.8

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.