arriving soon after, as if for certain victory, was struck with
astonishment at this Erling catastrophe; and being now without any
leader of authority, made not the least attempt at battle; but, full
of discouragement and consternation, thankfully allowed Olaf to sail
away on his northward voyage, at discretion; and themselves went off
lamenting, with Erling's dead body.

This small victory was the last that Olaf had over his many enemies at
present. He sailed along, still northward, day after day; several
important people joined him; but the news from landward grew daily
more ominous: Bonders busily arming to rear of him; and ahead, Hakon
still more busily at Trondhjem, now near by, "--and he will end thy
days, King, if he have strength enough!" Olaf paused; sent scouts to
a hill-top: "Hakon's armament visible enough, and under way
hitherward, about the Isle of Bjarno, yonder!" Soon after, Olaf
himself saw the Bonder armament of twenty-five ships, from the
southward, sail past in the distance to join that of Hakon; and, worse
still, his own ships, one and another (seven in all), were slipping
off on a like errand! He made for the Fjord of Fodrar, mouth of the
rugged strath called Valdal,--which I think still knows Olaf and has
now an "Olaf's Highway," where, nine centuries ago, it scarcely had a
path. Olaf entered this fjord, had his land-tent set up, and a cross
beside it, on the small level green behind the promontory there.
Finding that his twelve poor ships were now reduced to five, against a
world all risen upon him, he could not but see and admit to himself
that there was no chance left; and that he must withdraw across the
mountains and wait for a better time.

His journey through that wild country, in these forlorn and straitened
circumstances, has a mournful dignity and homely pathos, as described