opposite
side, the larboard or ladderboard. There were ten oars to a side, and a
single large triangular sail.

Long and narrow, hardly ten feet above the water-line at her lowest, her
curved prow glancing over the waves like the head of a swimming snake,
she was no more like the tumbling cargo-ships than a shark is like a
porpoise. When they were two days out, Nils said to Thorolf,

"A Viking in such a galley would sail to the end of the world. By the
way, did the Skroelings in Greenland understand that language the
Wind-wife spoke?"

"I was not there long enough to find out. I once asked a man who knows
their talk well, and he said it was no tongue that ever he heard."

The Greenland folk welcomed them heartily. Finding that the white men
had not after all been forgotten by their own people, the natives drew
off and gave them no more trouble. The Northmen spent the winter in
sleep, talk, song, and hunting with native guides. Besides the old man
in white fur, as the polar bear was respectfully called, Arctic foxes,
walrus, whales and seal abounded. Many of the new-comers became skilful
in the making and the use of the skin-covered native boats called
Kayaks. Nils had some skill in carving wood and stone, and could write
in the Runic script of Elfdal. In the long evenings when winds from the
cave of the Great Bear buffeted the low huts, he taught Thorolf and
Anders what he knew, and talked with the Skroelings. But none of them
understood the runes of the Wind-wife. Their speech was quite different.

Spring came with brief, hot sunshine, and the creeping birches budded on
the pebbly shore. Encouraged by the reports from Greenland, new
colonists ventured out, and house-building went on briskly. One day
Thorolf was summoned to Knutson's headquarters.

"Erlandsson," began the Chevalier, "they say that you have information
about Vinland[3] and the Skroelings there, from an old woman who lived
among them. What can you tell me?"

Thorolf told the story of the Wind-wife. Knutson looked interested but
doubtful.

"I have talked with the oldest colonists," he said, "and they know
nothing of any Skroelings but those hereabouts. They say also that
Vinland is hard to come at. Boats venturing south return with tales of
heavy winds, dense fogs and dangerous cliffs and skerries--or do not
return at all. One was caught and crushed in the ice, and the crew were
found on the floe half starved and gnawing bits of hide. In the saga