Then the man looked up, smiling to me, lifted his hand in greeting, and then straightway laid in the steering oar.  Having found a bailing bowl in the stern sheets, he set to work to clear out the water that washed about in the bottom of the boat; then he replaced the floor boards, and all things being shipshape, sat down quickly in the stern, putting his head into his hands, and there bided without moving, as if worn out and fain to rest for a while.

Now it was like to be a hard matter to get the boat alongside in that sea, and we must needs wait till the man took in hand to help, so we watched him as he sat thus, wondering mostly at the boat, for it was a marvel to all of us.  Sharp were her bows and stern, running up very high, and her high stem post was carved into the likeness of a swan’s neck and head, and the wings seemed to fall away along the curve of the bows to the carved gunwale, that was as if feathered, and at last the stern post rose and bent like a fan of feathers to finish all.  Carved, too, were rowlocks and the ends of the thwarts, and all the feathered work was white and gold above the black of the boat’s hull.  Carved, too, was the baling bowl, and the loom of the oar was carved in curving lines from rowlock leather to hand.  And as I thought of the chances of our losing her as we crossed the bar among the following breakers, I was grieved, and would have asked my father to let us try to get her on deck if we could.

But now the man roused, and put his hands to his mouth, hailing us to ask if we would suffer him to come on board, and my father hailed him back to bid him do so.  Then it would seem that our men were ashamed, having once disobeyed my father whom they loved, not to finish the work that we had begun, and so, without waiting for the order, saw to getting the boat up to our quarter, so that it was but a minute or two before the man leapt on our deck, and the boat was once more astern at the length of her line.

“Thanks, comrades,” said the man; “out of Ran’s {i} net have you brought me, and ill fall me if I prove foe to you, as the old saw bodes.”

Now as one looked at this storm-beaten wanderer there was no doubt but that he was surely a prince among men, and I for one marvelled at his look and bearing after what he must have gone through.  Drenched and salt crusted were his once rich clothes, tangled and uncared for were his hair and beard, and worn and tired he showed both in face and body, yet his eyes were bright and his speech was strong and free as he swung to the roll of the ship with the step of a sea king.  His speech told us that he was a Dane, for though we of the East Angles had never, even before the coming of the great host of which I must tell presently, such great difference of tongue between our own and that of Dane and Frisian but that we could well understand them and speak therein, yet time and distance have given us a new way of handling our words, as one might say, and a new turn to the tones of our voices.  Often had I heard the Danish way of speech on board the ships from over sea in our haven, and had caught it up, as I was wont to try to catch somewhat of every tongue that I heard.