Erling the Bold, R. M. Ballantyne [best black authors txt] 📗
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Book online «Erling the Bold, R. M. Ballantyne [best black authors txt] 📗». Author R. M. Ballantyne
“My men,” said he, in a voice which had already lost much of its deep richness of tone, “we will land on the next point. My days are run out. I go to Odin’s halls, and I am glad, for it becomes not an old warrior to die in his bed, which I had begun to fear was going to be my fate; besides, now that Norway is to be no longer a free land, it is time that the small kings should be going home. Ye will carry me to the top of yonder headland cliff, and leave me where I can see the setting sun, and the fords and fells of my native land. Would that my bones might have been burned, as those of my fathers were! but this may not be. Ye can lay beside me the comrades who have gone before, and then push off and leave me with the dead.”
There was a low murmur among the men as they again dipped their oars, but not a word was spoken in reply. Just as they reached the point a vessel came in sight behind them under sail.
“Too late!” muttered Guttorm bitterly, as he looked back; “we are pursued, and must hold on.”
“Not so,” answered one of his chief men; “that is Solve Klofe’s ship.”
“Is that so?” cried Guttorm, while the colour mounted to his pale cheek, and the fire shone in his old eyes; “then have I better luck than I had looked for. Quick, get to land! The breeze that brings Solve down will reach us soon. Get out your arms, and go hail Solve as he passes. Ye shall sail with him to-night. I will hie me out upon the sea.”
He spoke somewhat like his former self for a moment, but soon his voice sank, for the life-blood was draining fast away.
Ere many minutes had passed, the breeze freshened into a squall of considerable force. It came off the land, and swept down the fiord, lashing its waters into seething waves. Solve answered the hail of Guttorm’s men, and landed.
“What news?” he asked: “there is but short space for converse.”
The men told him that old Guttorm was dying in his ship. He walked up the plank that lay from the shore to the gunwale, and found the old warrior lying on the poop beside the helm, wrapped in his mantle, and giving directions to his men, who were piling brushwood on the deck.
“This is an ill sight,” said Solve, with much feeling, as he knelt beside the dying chief, who received him with a smile, and held out his hand.
“Ha! Solve, I am glad thou art here. My last battle has been fought, and it has been a good one, though we did get the tooth-ache. If it had only been a victory, I had recked little of this wound.”
“Can nothing be done for thee?” asked Solve. “Perchance I may be able to stop the bleeding.”
Guttorm shook his head, and pointed to the blood which had already flowed from him, and lay in a deep pool in the sides of the ship.
“No, no, Solve, my fighting days are over, and, as I have said, the last fight has been a good one! Ye see what I am about, and understand how to carry out my will. Go, relieve me of the trouble, and see that it is done well. I would rest now.”
Solve pressed the hand of his friend in silence, and then went forward to assist actively in the preparations already referred to. The men heaped up the funeral pile round the mast, fastened the stern ropes to the shore, plied the dead upon the deck, and, when all was ready, hoisted sail. The squall had increased so that the mast bent, and the ship strained at her stern ropes like an impatient charger. Then the men went on shore, and Solve, turning to Guttorm, bent over him, and spoke a few words in a low, earnest tone, but the old man’s strength was almost gone. He could only utter the single word “Farewell”, and wave his hand as if he wished to be left alone. Solve rose at once, and, applying a light to the pile, leaped ashore. Next moment the cables were cut; the brushwood crackled with a fierce noise as the fire leaped up and the “ocean steed” bounded away over the dark blue sea. Guttorm was still seated by the helm, his face pale as death, but with a placid smile on his mouth, and a strange, almost unearthly, fire in his eyes.
The longship rushed over the waves with the foam dashing on her bows, a long white track in her wake, and a dense black cloud curling overhead. Suddenly the cloud was rent by a fork of flame, which was as suddenly quenched, but again it burst upwards, and at last triumphed; shooting up into the sky with a mighty roar, while below there glowed a fierce fiery furnace, against which was strongly depicted the form of the grand old Sea-king, still sitting motionless at the helm. Swiftly the blazing craft dashed over the waves, getting more and more enveloped in smoke and flame. Ere long it could be seen in the far distance, a rushing ball of fire. Gradually it receded, becoming less and less, until at last it vanished, like a setting star, into the unknown waste of the great western sea.
Meanwhile the family at Haldorstede had made a narrow escape, and some members of it were still in great peril. When Hilda and Ada were sent thither, with the females of Ulfstede, under the charge of Christian the hermit, as already related, they found Dame Herfrida and her maidens busily engaged in making preparations for a great feast.
“I prithee,” said Dame Astrid, in some surprise, “who are to be thy guests to-night?”
“Who should be,” replied Herfrida, with a smile, “but the stout fellows who back my husband in the fight to-day! Among them thine own goodman, Dame Astrid, and his house-carles; for if no one is left at Ulfstede there can be no supper there for them; and as the poor lads are likely to be well worn out, we must have something wherewith to cheer them.”
“But what if ill luck betide us?” suggested Astrid.
“Ill luck never betides us,” replied Herfrida, with an expression of bland assurance on her handsome face. “Besides, if it does, we shall be none the worse for having done our part.”
“Some people are always forecasting evil,” muttered Ingeborg, with a sour look, as she kneaded viciously a lump of dough which was destined to form cakes.
“And some other people are always forecasting good,” retorted Ada, with a smile, “so that things are pretty well balanced after all. Come now, Ingeborg, don’t be cross, but leave the dough, and let us go to thy room, for I want to have a little gossip with thee alone.”
Ingeborg was fond of Ada, and particularly fond of a little gossip, either public or private. She condescended, therefore, to smile, as it were under protest, and, rubbing the dough from her fingers, accompanied her friend to her chamber, while the others broke into several groups, and chatted more or less energetically as they worked, or idled about the house.
“Is there any fear of our men losing the day?” asked Hilda of the hermit, who stood looking out of a window which commanded a view of the fiord, where the ships of the opposing fleets could be seen engaged in the battle, that had just begun.
Poor Hilda asked the question with a look of perplexity in her face; for hitherto she had been so much accustomed to success attending the expeditions of her warlike father and friends, that she had never given much thought to the idea of defeat and its consequences.
“It is not easy to answer that question,” replied the hermit; “for the success or failure of thy father’s host depends on many things with which I am not acquainted. If the forces on both sides are about equal in numbers, the chances are in his favour; for he is a mighty man of valour, as well as his son, and also thy father. Besides, there are many of his men who are not far behind them in strength and courage; but they may be greatly outnumbered. If so, defeat is possible. I would say it is probable, did I not know that the Ruler of events can, if He will, give victory to the weak and disaster to the strong. Thy father deems his cause a righteous one—perhaps it is so.”
“Well, then,” said Hilda, “will not God, who, you say, is just and good, give victory to the righteous cause?”
“He may be pleased to do so; but He does not always do so. For His own good and wise ends He sometimes permits the righteous to suffer defeat, and wrongdoers to gain the victory. This only do I know for certain, that good shall come out of all things to His people, whether these things be grievous or joyful; for it is written, ‘All things work together for good to them that love God, to them that are the called according to His purpose.’ This is my consolation when I am surrounded by darkness which I cannot understand, and which seems all against me. That things often pass my understanding does not surprise me; for it is written, ‘His ways are wonderful—past finding out.’”
“Past finding out indeed!” said Hilda thoughtfully. “Would that I had faith like thine, Christian; for it seems to enable thee to trust and rejoice in darkness as well as in sunshine.”
“Thou mayst have it, daughter,” answered the hermit earnestly, “if thou wilt condescend to ask it in the name of Jesus; for it is written, ‘Faith is the gift of God;’ and again it is written, ‘Whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, He will give it you.’ One of our chief sins consists in our desire to produce, by means of our own will, that faith which God tells us we cannot attain to by striving after, but which He is willing to bestow as a free gift on those who ask.”
The conversation was interrupted here by the old house-carle Finn the One-eyed, who said in passing that he was going down to the cliffs to see and hear what was doing, and would return ere long to report progress. For an hour after that, the people at Haldorstede continued to watch the fight with intense interest; but although they could see the motion of the ships on the fiord, and could hear the shout of war, as it came floating down on the breeze like a faint murmur, the distance was too great to permit of their distinguishing the individual combatants, or observing the progress of the fight. That it was likely to go ill with their friends, however, was soon made known by Finn, who returned in hot haste to warn them to prepare for flight.
“Be sure,” said Dame Herfrida, “that there is no need to flee until Haldor or Erling come to tell us to get ready.”
“That may be so,” said Finn; “but if Haldor and Erling should chance to be slain, ill will it be for you if ye are not ready to fly.”
“Now it seems to me,” said Dame Astrid, who was of an anxious temperament, “that thou art too confident, Herfrida. It would be wise at all events to get ready.”
“Does anyone know where Alric is?” asked Ingeborg.
As everyone professed ignorance on this point, his mother said that she had no doubt he was safe enough; for he was a bold little man, and
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