“Is that someone swimming in the water?” asked Erling, pointing as he spoke to an object which moved forward among the débris of oars, portions of clothing, and wreck, which was floating about everywhere.
One of the men at the bow oar stood up, and after a short glance, said that he thought it was a man.
“Look out on the starboard bow. Mind your oars and be ready, someone, to lean over the waist and catch hold of him.”
As he spoke, the cutter ranged up to the object, which appeared to be the dishevelled and blood-bespattered head of a man. He suddenly gave vent to a wild shout—“Come on, thou tyrant! Down with ye, dog—huzza!” At the last shout a pair of arms were swung wildly in the air, and the next moment the man’s voice was stifled in the water as he sank, while another head appeared beside him.
“That is the voice of Kettle Flatnose, or his wraith,” exclaimed Erling; “pull gently, lads; hold water.”
“Why, Ulf, is it thou?”
“Truly,” exclaimed Ulf, grasping the extended hand of Glumm, “I don’t feel quite sure! Haul gently, Glumm. I’ve got Kettle here. Another hand or two. Now then, heave together!”
Several stout men leaned over the side, and, acting in accordance with these instructions, hauled Ulf and Kettle out of the sea; the former in a state of great exhaustion, the latter almost dead, for his last dip had well-nigh choked him.
“It has been a long swim,” said Ulf, sitting down and leaning languidly against the bulwarks, while Glumm and Haldor proceeded to chafe the Irishman into a state of consciousness. “Once or twice I sank under him, for he was very wild when he came to himself, after I got hold of him, and struggled to be up and fight the King; but I held him fast. Yet methought once or twice,” added Ulf, with a smile, “that I had at last got into Valhalla.”
A horn of ale refreshed Ulf, and another of the same was shortly after given to Kettle, by which his wandering faculties were soon restored.