The Thrall of Leif the Lucky
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Ottilie A. Liljencrantz >> The Thrall of Leif the Lucky
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Then, gradually, the song ran into a minor key, as Thorir's pitiful crew
landed upon the sand. Haggard and worn and almost too weak to walk, they
clung to the brawny arms of their rescuers; and the horrors of their
privations were written in pitiless letters on Gudrid's fair white face.
The rejoicing and laughter sank into wondering questions and pitiful
murmuring.
While Thorir told the Red One briefly of their sufferings, the throng
listened as to their favorite ballad, and shuddered and suffered with
him. Then, in words that still rang with joy and gratitude, Thorir told
of their rescue by Leif Ericsson.
Strongly speeding arrows need only aim to make them reach their target.
Flights of wildest enthusiasm had been going up on every side. Now
Thorir gave these a mark and an aim. Curiosity and triumph, pity and
rejoicing, all merged into one great impulse and rose in a passion of
hero-worship. Toward the boat that was bringing the Lucky One to land,
they turned, face and heart, and laid their homage at his feet. Never
had Greenland glaciers heard such a tumult of acclaim as when the throng
cheered and stamped and clashed their weapons.
It was a supreme moment. Leif's bronzed face was white, as he stood
waiting for the noise to subside that be might answer them. Yet never
had his bearing been statelier than when at last he stepped forward and
faced them.
"I give you many thanks for your favor, friends," he said, courteously.
"It is more than I could have expected, and I give you many thanks for
it. But I think it right to remind you that I am not one of those men
who trust in their own strength alone. What I have done I have been able
to do by the help of my God whom you reject. To Him I give the thanks
and the glory."
In that humility which is higher than pride, he raised the silver
crucifix from his breast and bent his head before it. Out of the hush
that followed, a man's voice rang strongly,--the voice of one of
Greenland's foremost chiefs.
"Hail to the God. of Leif Ericsson! The God that helped him must be
all-powerful. Henceforth I will believe that He and no one else is the
only God. Hail to the Cross!"
Before he had finished, another voice had taken up the cry--and
another--and another; until there were not ten men who were not shouting
it over and over, in a delirium of excitement. Eric turned his face away
and made over his breast the hammer sign of Thor, but there was only
pride in his look when he turned back.
Leif stood motionless amid the tumult; looking upward with that strange
absent look, as though his eyes would pierce the clouds that veiled
Valhalla's walls and search for one beloved face among the warriors upon
the benches.
Under his breath he said to his English squire, "I pray God that Olaf
Trygvasson hears this now, and knows that I have been as faithful to him
in his death as I was in his life."
He did not feel it when Alwin bent and touched the scarlet cloak-hem
with his lips, nor did he hear the fervent murmur, "So faithful will I
be to you hereafter."
THE END
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