"
But their mishaps were not over yet. They were hardly out of Stronsay
Frith when they saw the witch-whale again, following them up, rolling and
spouting and breaching in most uncanny wise. Some said that they saw a
gray woman on his back; and they knew--possibly from the look of the sky,
but certainly from the whale's behavior--that there was more heavy weather
yet coming from the northward.
From that day forward the whale never left them, nor the wild weather
neither. They were beaten out of all reckoning. Once they thought they saw
low land to the eastward, but what or where who could tell? and as for
making it, the wind, which had blown hard from northeast, backed against
the sun and blew from west; from which, as well as from the witch-whale,
they expected another gale from north and round to northeast.
The men grew sulky and fearful. Some were for trying to run the witch down
and break her back, as did Frithiof in like case, when hunted by a whale
with two hags upon his back,--an excellent recipe in such cases, but
somewhat difficult in a heavy sea. Others said that there was a doomed man
on board, and proposed to cast lots till they found him out, and cast him
into the sea, as a sacrifice to Aegir the wave-god. But Hereward scouted
that as unmanly and cowardly, and sang,--
"With blood of my bold ones,
With bale of my comrades,
Thinks Aegir, brine-thirsty,
His throat he can slake?
Though salt spray, shrill-sounding,
Sweep in swan's-flights above us,
True heroes, troth-plighted,
Together we'll die.
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