Then I looked at the iron shore, and saw the
long lines of cruel cliffs with the white foam at their feet,
seeming endless. There may have been a cove in sight, but I could
not make it out, and anywise it must have been too far for us.
Then I looked at Gerda, and saw that there was some trouble in her
face as she looked forward. Once she smiled as if to cheer the
hermit brothers, and at that I felt the lift of the boat that comes
with a fresh life set into the swing on the oar, and that told me
somewhat. Fergus was failing. Behind me, Phelim, the younger and
stronger man, was still breathing deeply and easily, and I had no
fear of his failing yet.
Then I grew certain that the enemy was gaining. We had held our own
up till this time, but barely. Gerda's lips tightened, and she had
to meet the pull of Bertric and Phelim, lest they should overpower
us. I did my best and she knew it, and kept the balance for a
while, until I must needs speak.
"Bertric," I said quietly, and in the Norse, "the bow oar is
failing. Pull easy on your side for a little."
He did so, and the enemy crept nearer.
"Half a mile more," said Gerda. "Only half a mile--and we can hail
the ships."
Bertric looked back, and his face brightened.
"We may do it yet," he said; "and they are English-built ships.
Pages:
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217