all the slack was utilized and the ship neared such an anchor point, the pulley could be quickly removedand placed farther up the trail, even while the ship continued to creep forward.
It was nearly noon when the
Norsemaiden
reached a level spot, and Landsverk called a halt. Spirits were high. There may have been some doubt initially about the possibility of actually hauling the ship around the rapids, though doubters had remained silent. Now, there was confident exuberance. It could be seen that it
was
possible, this scheme of Landsverk’s. Had they not already come nearly a third the distance?
In the afternoon, the terrain was more difficult. The trail was rocky and uneven. Some rocks could be removed, but others were too large. It was constantly necessary to reposition the rollers, while men strained at the ropes and pry poles to hold the ship steady. There were also the stumps of the trees that had been cut, jutting out of the ground like jagged teeth, ready to tear the underside of the
Norsemaiden
.
Crossing one small ravine, it was necessary to bridge across with two tree trunks, and use the rollers to support the ship’s belly. At the deepest point, the hull was a man’s height above the floor of the gully. It was a bit frightening to stand below and see the ship towering above, where a ship should not be. Nils wondered how they could possibly handle the ship if she started to roll.
No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than there was a creaking sound of protest from deep within the
Norse-maiden’s
belly.
“She’s slipping sideways!” someone yelled.
Men rushed to support the hull as a rope snapped and the severed end came whistling through the party like a cracking whip. A couple of men were slashed cruelly by the whipping rope’s end, but scrambled back to their positions, oblivious of their bleeding welts. Svenson thrust his pry pole between a roller and the shifting hull. This seemed to slow the movement, and someone else followed suit. It seemed an eternity before the motion was completely controlled. Someone retrieved the broken rope to use for a temporary lashing while the pulleys were readjusted andthe ship steadied. Men began to relax as the crisis appeared past.
There was a cry of pain now from underneath the ship’s hull. Kyrre Rafn was trapped in a half-standing position, his hand crushed between the hull and one of the rollers. Unfeeling at first because of the rapidity of the accident, now the pain flowed back into the injured member. Rafn screamed, and then again as he looked and realized that his hand was crushed and held. He could not stand up under the hull, but neither could he sit or lie down. He remained, half hanging by the trapped hand while he screamed in pain and terror.
Nils squatted to evaluate the situation. To move the ship at all would be risky. She still balanced precariously, creaking unsteadily against her fetters. She could still slip or roll with disastrous results. It might take some time to be sure that they were ready to proceed. Even then, they could not roll the vessel forward. That would draw Rafn’s arm farther into the roller, crushing the forearm and elbow. No, they would have to reverse direction, give up the last hour of progress, to roll the ship backward. It was the only way to free the crippled hand.
“We’ll get you out, Kyrre,” Nils encouraged the young man.
He turned to report the situation to Landsverk, who was elbowing his way forward. Landsverk stepped down and squatted, evaluating the scene quickly.
“We’ll have to roll it backward,” Nils spoke.
Helge Landsverk did not answer. He stood and looked quickly around the circle of onlookers. Then he stepped over and grasped an ax from the hand of one of the woodcutters.
“No!” cried Kyrre Rafn.
The ax swung, its powerful arc flashing in the mottled sunlight of the clearing, Rafn screamed at the top of his lungs, muffling the sodden thud of the ax into the log roller. He dropped
It was nearly noon when the
Norsemaiden
reached a level spot, and Landsverk called a halt. Spirits were high. There may have been some doubt initially about the possibility of actually hauling the ship around the rapids, though doubters had remained silent. Now, there was confident exuberance. It could be seen that it
was
possible, this scheme of Landsverk’s. Had they not already come nearly a third the distance?
In the afternoon, the terrain was more difficult. The trail was rocky and uneven. Some rocks could be removed, but others were too large. It was constantly necessary to reposition the rollers, while men strained at the ropes and pry poles to hold the ship steady. There were also the stumps of the trees that had been cut, jutting out of the ground like jagged teeth, ready to tear the underside of the
Norsemaiden
.
Crossing one small ravine, it was necessary to bridge across with two tree trunks, and use the rollers to support the ship’s belly. At the deepest point, the hull was a man’s height above the floor of the gully. It was a bit frightening to stand below and see the ship towering above, where a ship should not be. Nils wondered how they could possibly handle the ship if she started to roll.
No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than there was a creaking sound of protest from deep within the
Norse-maiden’s
belly.
“She’s slipping sideways!” someone yelled.
Men rushed to support the hull as a rope snapped and the severed end came whistling through the party like a cracking whip. A couple of men were slashed cruelly by the whipping rope’s end, but scrambled back to their positions, oblivious of their bleeding welts. Svenson thrust his pry pole between a roller and the shifting hull. This seemed to slow the movement, and someone else followed suit. It seemed an eternity before the motion was completely controlled. Someone retrieved the broken rope to use for a temporary lashing while the pulleys were readjusted andthe ship steadied. Men began to relax as the crisis appeared past.
There was a cry of pain now from underneath the ship’s hull. Kyrre Rafn was trapped in a half-standing position, his hand crushed between the hull and one of the rollers. Unfeeling at first because of the rapidity of the accident, now the pain flowed back into the injured member. Rafn screamed, and then again as he looked and realized that his hand was crushed and held. He could not stand up under the hull, but neither could he sit or lie down. He remained, half hanging by the trapped hand while he screamed in pain and terror.
Nils squatted to evaluate the situation. To move the ship at all would be risky. She still balanced precariously, creaking unsteadily against her fetters. She could still slip or roll with disastrous results. It might take some time to be sure that they were ready to proceed. Even then, they could not roll the vessel forward. That would draw Rafn’s arm farther into the roller, crushing the forearm and elbow. No, they would have to reverse direction, give up the last hour of progress, to roll the ship backward. It was the only way to free the crippled hand.
“We’ll get you out, Kyrre,” Nils encouraged the young man.
He turned to report the situation to Landsverk, who was elbowing his way forward. Landsverk stepped down and squatted, evaluating the scene quickly.
“We’ll have to roll it backward,” Nils spoke.
Helge Landsverk did not answer. He stood and looked quickly around the circle of onlookers. Then he stepped over and grasped an ax from the hand of one of the woodcutters.
“No!” cried Kyrre Rafn.
The ax swung, its powerful arc flashing in the mottled sunlight of the clearing, Rafn screamed at the top of his lungs, muffling the sodden thud of the ax into the log roller. He dropped
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