"Look!" cried another, pointing.
Men were standing on the flat top of that island. They were letting a boat down the steep side with ropes. When it struck the water, they made a rope fast to the rock and slid down it into the ship and sailed off.
"Some robber vikings from Scotland or Ireland," laughed Leif. "It is a good hiding place for treasure."
Soon Ingolf and his men got into their ship and were off. Old Sighvat grumbled.
"Is this land not new enough and empty enough and far enough? I am tired of sea, sea, sea, and nothing else."
"We started for Iceland," said Ingolf, "and I will not stop before I come there. I have a vow. Did you make none, Sighvat?"
Then they were on the water again for weeks with no sight of land.
"Oh! I would give my right hand to see a dragon pawing the water off there and to fling a word to its men," Sighvat said.
"No hope of that," replied Ingolf. "Only three dragons before ours have ever swept this water, and men are not sailing this way for pleasure or riches."
So only the desolate sea stretched around them. Sometimes it was smooth and shining under the sun. Often it was torn by winds, and a gray sky hung over it, and the men were drenched with rain. Once they ran into a fog. For three days and nights they could not see sun or stars to steer by. They forgot which way was north. When after three days the fog lifted, they found that they had been going in the wrong direction, and they had to turn around and sail all that weary way over again. But at last one afternoon they saw a white cloud resting on the water far off. As they sailed toward it, it grew into long stretches of black, hilly shore with a blue ice mountain rising from it. The sun was going down behind that mountain, and long lines of pink and of shining green, and great purple shadows streaked the blue.