Now all his wild Norse nature asserted itself.

He forgot everything but that he was eluding his pursuers, and as the chase grew hotter, closer, more exciting, his enthusiasm carried him far beyond all prudence.
He began to shout or chant to his wild efforts some old Norse death-song, and just as they gained on him he shot into the "race" and defied them.

Oars were useless there, and they watched him fling them far away and stand up with outstretched arms in the little skiff.

The waves tossed it hither and thither, the boiling, racing flood hurried it with terrific force towards the ocean.

The tall, massive figure swayed like a reed in a tempest, and suddenly the half despairing, half defying song was lost in the roar of the bleak, green surges.