Hardly had they come on board when the rest came in a rush, Thorleif being last of all.  Behind them the wharf was empty, save for one man whom an arrow out of the smoke caught up and smote.  Thorleif heard him fall, though in the turmoil of trampling feet I could not; and he turned back to him, and lifted him as if he had been a child, and bore him on board.  Then the gang planks rattled in, and the lines were cast off, and the ship began to move.

Still the wharf was empty.  I think the Saxons had been driven back for a while, and that they did not yet know, so thick was the smoke of the burning, that the barrier at the end of the lane was unguarded.

Now there were five yards between ship and shore—­then ten—­then twenty.  The oars took the water, and she headed for sea.  Out of the smoke came my people, and ran yelling across the open, and I seemed to wake up.

“Thrond,” I cried, “I take back my promise.  Let me go.”

“Eh!” he said, looking round.

I was then with my hands on the gunwale, in the act of leaping overboard, when he reached round and held me fast.

“Steady, fool!” he said; “you will have a dozen arrows through you.

“Here, hold him,” he said sharply.

And the men fell on me, binding me deftly with a few turns of a line, and then troubling themselves no more about me.

Next moment there was a sharp hiss, and an arrow from the shore stuck in the deck close to me, and another chipped the tail of the dragon and glanced into the sea.  I mind noting that many another such splinter had been taken from that stern post, and presently saw—­for I lay on my back, helpless—­that a flint arrowhead still showed itself through a new coat of paint.  It was too deeply bedded to be cut out, or else it was token of some honourable fight.  It at least had come from forward, whereas I thought that most of the chips had come from astern, as this new one did.  It is strange what little things one will notice when at one’s wits’ end.

The shouts ashore grew more faint, and at last were past.  The crew were very silent, but the oars swung steadily, and at last Thorleif came from the midship gangway and saw me.  The weary men laid in the oars at that moment, and threw themselves down to rest.

“Ho, Saxon!” he said, “on my word I had forgotten you.  Who had you tied up?”

“I did,” said Thrond.  “He said somewhat about taking back a promise, and wanted to go overboard.”

Thorleif stooped and unbound me, and I thanked him.

“Well, you won’t go overboard now,” he said, nodding toward the shore.

The great rock of Portland was broad off on our right, and maybe we were five miles from the nearest shore.  Astern—­for we were still heading out to sea—­the smoke of burning Weymouth hung black against the blue sky.  It was just such a day as yesterday, fair and warm, and the land I loved had never seemed so lovely.