It was not that Niels was experienced, even as much as a fisher lad his age. He had only been on a few short trips before this one. But he was quick to learn, eager to ask; he dreamed of a berth on a better vessel and maybe, maybe, in a far tomorrow, if God willed, a captaincy of his own. What shipmates could or would not explain, he got from other men when in port, his friendly manner making them glad to oblige him. In this present peril, he observed more keenly than ever, and from this he also learned, fast.
Thus, too busy to notice it, he found himself skipper. If he had any thoughts to spare before tumbling into what little sleep offered itself, they were of Eyjan. She readily smiled at him. A few times she gave him a quick hug or kiss, when something had gone well, and his spirit soared on gull wings to the sun. But there had been no further lovemaking-scant moments for it, and belike the merman’s children with no heart for it, so soon after their brother’s death.
Early on, Niels decided to work north. In the neighborhood of Iceland they should get a favoring current, and improve the chance of a wind fair for their goal. Indeed, erelong they were making good speed. Cheer lightened weariness.
Then the tempest smote.
Darkness raved. Ingeborg knew day must be aloft-in Heaven, if no place else, where the Lord sat in judgment on sinners—for she was not altogether blind. Nonetheless, vision barely reached the length of the hull.
She had no duties left on deck; any fire in the clay hearth upon ; it was doused at once and food became a swallow of salt flesh, , dry cheese, stockfish, sodden flatbread, wormy biscuit. At last, however, the gloom and stench of the hold grew unendurable, and she groped her way topside. Wind and hail harried her into what shelter was beneath the poop. There she waited alone, since the helm was lashed and Niels slumbered exhausted below.
When the weather first turned menacing, he had had a sea anchor built and cast out and the sail struck. To run before the blast could all too well mean piling into a reef or island of the many that ring northern Scotland… unless a following billow came over the stem and broke the vessel asunder. His device would keep her bow on, for the least possible damage, and he could ray for an end to the blow before she drifted to her doom. Meanwhile, he and his crew would not be idle. They must man the pumps for hours each day as seams opened, they must hasten to make repairs or make things fast afresh when the waters ham-mered and hauled, they must maintain what lookout they were able against the dread sight of breakers.
Time had gone on, measureless as a nightmare.
Ingeborg took hold of the tiller to steady herself against wild
leaps and plunges. The gale struck inward, plastered the drenched garments to her skin, dragged at her like a river in spate. She was drowned in its clamor, in the earthquake rumble of waves and their roars when they burst, in cold that bit through her very numbness.
Straining ahead, she saw the mast reel across murk, amidst hail and scud. Its top whipped. Though the yard was down, secured on deck, how long could wood and rope take that strain? Combers boomed ahead, onrushing mountains, black and iron-gray under the jaggedness of their crests. Spray she’eted when they passed the bow; the hull shuddered. Brawling onward, they loomed above the rails. Often and often Berning did not respond soon enough to her tether, and fury cataracted across her main deck. Hatch coarnings sprung, the hold had become swamp-wet.
Through driving spindrift and ice, Ingeborg made out Tauno and Eyjan, shadowy at the forecastle. They seemed to be in con-verse. (How?) Abruptly Ingeborg choked on a scream. Tauno had vaulted overboard.
But he is the son of a merman! she swore to herself. He can live in that. Yes, he’s spoken of a nether, eternal peace. .. . Mary, ward him. . . . .