Then, gradually, the song ran into a minor key, as Thorir’s pitiful crew landed upon the sand.  Haggard and worn and almost too weak to walk, they clung to the brawny arms of their rescuers; and the horrors of their privations were written in pitiless letters on Gudrid’s fair white face.  The rejoicing and laughter sank into wondering questions and pitiful murmuring.

While Thorir told the Red One briefly of their sufferings, the throng listened as to their favorite ballad, and shuddered and suffered with him.  Then, in words that still rang with joy and gratitude, Thorir told of their rescue by Leif Ericsson.

Strongly speeding arrows need only aim to make them reach their target.  Flights of wildest enthusiasm had been going up on every side.  Now Thorir gave these a mark and an aim.  Curiosity and triumph, pity and rejoicing, all merged into one great impulse and rose in a passion of hero-worship.  Toward the boat that was bringing the Lucky One to land, they turned, face and heart, and laid their homage at his feet.  Never had Greenland glaciers heard such a tumult of acclaim as when the throng cheered and stamped and clashed their weapons.

It was a supreme moment.  Leif’s bronzed face was white, as he stood waiting for the noise to subside that be might answer them.  Yet never had his bearing been statelier than when at last he stepped forward and faced them.

“I give you many thanks for your favor, friends,” he said, courteously.  “It is more than I could have expected, and I give you many thanks for it.  But I think it right to remind you that I am not one of those men who trust in their own strength alone.  What I have done I have been able to do by the help of my God whom you reject.  To Him I give the thanks and the glory.”

In that humility which is higher than pride, he raised the silver crucifix from his breast and bent his head before it.  Out of the hush that followed, a man’s voice rang strongly,—­the voice of one of Greenland’s foremost chiefs.

“Hail to the God. of Leif Ericsson!  The God that helped him must be all-powerful.  Henceforth I will believe that He and no one else is the only God.  Hail to the Cross!”

Before he had finished, another voice had taken up the cry—­and another—­and another; until there were not ten men who were not shouting it over and over, in a delirium of excitement.  Eric turned his face away and made over his breast the hammer sign of Thor, but there was only pride in his look when he turned back.

Leif stood motionless amid the tumult; looking upward with that strange absent look, as though his eyes would pierce the clouds that veiled Valhalla’s walls and search for one beloved face among the warriors upon the benches.

Under his breath he said to his English squire, “I pray God that Olaf Trygvasson hears this now, and knows that I have been as faithful to him in his death as I was in his life.”