s. But when they came to trade, hearing a
bull bellow, with a great squalling they all ran away and left their
packs on the ground, nor did they show their faces again for three
weeks. Snorre, the son of Thorfin Karlsefne, born in Vinland, was three
years old when the Northmen left that land. They had found the winter
hard and cold, and in a fight with the Skroelings many had been killed,
so that they took ship and returned to Iceland.

"They had gone but a little way when one of the ships, which was
commanded by Bjarni Grimulfsson, lagged so far behind that it lost sight
of the others. The men then discovered that shipworms[4] had bored the
hull so that it was about to sink. None could hope to be saved but in
the stern boat, and that would not hold half of them.

"Then stood Bjarni Grimulfsson forth, and said to his men that in this
matter there should be no advantage of rank, but they would draw lots,
who should go in the boat and who remain in the ship. When this had been
done it was Bjarni's lot to go in the boat. After all had gone down into
the boat who had the right, an Icelander who had been Bjarni's companion
made outcry dolefully saying, 'Bjarni, Bjarni, do you leave me here to
die in the sea? It was not so you promised me when I left my father's
house.' Then said Bjarni, for the lot was fairly cast, 'What else can be
done?' Then said the Icelander, 'I think that you should come up into
the ship and let me go down into the boat.' And indeed no other way
might be found for him to live. Then answered Bjarni making light of the
matter, 'Let it be so, since I see that you are so anxious to live and
so afraid of death; I will return to the ship.' This was done, and the
men rowing away looked back and saw the ship go down in a great swirl of
waves with Bjarni and those who remained.

"This tale my grandmother heard from her father, and he from his, and so
on until the time of that Thorolf Erlandsson who sailed with Bjarni
Grimulfsson and went down into the sea by his side singing, for he
feared nothing but to be a coward."

Thorolf's eyes were as proud and his head as high as were his Viking
forefather's when the worm-riddled galley went to her grave with more
than half her crew, three hundred and forty years before. In the little
silence which followed the fire crackled and whistled, the gusty
rain-drenched wind beat upon the little hut. And then Nils repeated
musingly the ancient saying from the Runes of Odin,