Leif had given up all hope now; morose and aggrieved, he surrendered himself to the power of chance. He sat most of the days on the gunwale with his legs dangling outside, singing from sheer despair. Only now and then he interrupted his song to hurl a violent succession of sanguinary curses in a penetrating, angry voice into the damp, foggy air.
With every day that passed, Ingolf became more silent and introspective. What was the obstacle in their way? Were the gods so much opposed to this journey that they were absolutely determined to prevent it?
He did not like being questioned regarding the number of days he had marked off. The days were quite bad enough without making them more by talking about them. And at last he flatly refused to answer questions regarding the number of the days. For long periods he would sit silent looking at his stick, forgetting to mark the days, with his mind full of inward longing and powerful exorcisms.
He heard that the crew were talking about drawing lots for a sacrifice. Ingolf was not narrow-minded. But he remembered the offerings which before his journey he had made to Odin, as well as the vows he had made of further offerings if the journey prospered. Odin had often fulfilled his wishes for less sacrifices than those. He really did not understand what was the matter with Odin this time.
Hallveig and Helga were the only ones on board who, to some extent, kept up their spirits. To Hallveig it seemed quite natural; they were very well off, and the fog and the calm must some time come to an end. Every morning she awoke with the firm conviction that that day the fog would lift. Helga, on the other hand, had to pull herself together, in order not to be infected by the depression of the rest. Yet she was accustomed to do this, and on this occasion she had, besides, Hallveig's good-humour to support her. But their good temper seemed almost to put the crew into a still worse humour. Even Ingolf—not to speak of Leif—could sometimes be impatient at their unconcern. And one day, in answer to a cheerful remark of Hallveig's, he very curtly drew her attention to the fact that the water-casks were seriously near becoming empty. Hallveig looked at him steadily and a little astonished. Ingolf had never before seen that look in her eyes. She went to her hut without saying anything more.
Ingolf looked round for Helga. She stood by the gunwale, playing with Leif's hair. When Ingolf had thus ascertained that Hallveig was alone in the hut, he followed her into it. Hallveig was sitting and looking before her when he came. She did not meet his glance as usual, but remained sitting and staring into space with a troubled expression on her serious face. Ingolf stopped before her and laid his hand on her shoulder. Then Hallveig looked up at him. "It can do no good to give up," she said seriously; "that will not make things better. Have you not noticed how the men follow you with their eyes, and are disturbed by your looks? There is nothing left us, Ingolf, but to take things as they come. The fog may lift some time. And since it has not rained for a long time, it may soon rain, so that we can again have the water-casks filled. And we have also beer and wine on board, so that we can get along for some time."
"What makes me uneasy," answered Ingolf, "is that we seem to be pursued by misfortune, and that I don't know at all where we are. It might almost seem as if the gods had forgotten us, or as if we had fallen under their displeasure. If the fog and the calm continue, and there is no rain for some time, it will soon be all over with us. You and Helga ought never to have been taken with us on this journey. I have also heard that the crew are beginning to talk among themselves of casting lots. Perhaps a sacrifice will be necessary."
Hallveig was silent for a long time. At last she sighed deeply and said: "I have never been able properly to understand how the gods can desire human sacrifices. Perhaps, however, I would have agreed on this occasion if I was quite sure that the lot would not fall on you. But I cannot rely on the gods so absolutely. Let us rather wait awhile, Ingolf."
Ingolf left her with the firm resolve henceforth to alter his outward demeanour. He saw that the first and foremost thing was his duty and obligation to exhibit to the crew a calm and untroubled face, be the outlook never so hopeless. The first man he met he greeted with a cheerful remark, and after that day he was altogether more lively and communicative.
When the crew saw what an alteration had taken place in Ingolf, they thought in themselves that he must in some way or another have received a token from the gods. Their desire for a sacrifice and drawing of lots ceased. Ingolf's altered demeanour inspired them with hope and courage.