Suddenly almost overhead they were aware of a great white headland, on the summit of which the sun shone on grass.
Leif gave a shout.

"My skill has riot failed me," he cried.

"We enter the Frankish firth.

See, there is the butt of England!" After that the helms were swung round, and a course laid south by west.
And then the mist came again, but this time it was less of a shroud, for birds hovered about their wake, so that they were always conscious of land.

Because of the strength of the tides the rowers made slow progress, and it was not till the late afternoon of the seventeenth day that Leif approached Ironbeard with a proud head and spoke a word.