It ran twenty yards up the shelving beach, and then went back with a rush and rattle of pebbles, leaving us nearly dry around the bows.

We might have three feet of water to struggle through at first for a few paces, but that was nothing.

Even Gerda could be no wetter than she was, and the one fear was that one might lose foothold when the next wave came.

It did not take long to decide what we had to do, therefore.
A wave came in, spent itself in rushing foam, and drew back.

I was over the bows with its first sign of ebb, and dropped into the water when it seemed well-nigh at its lowest, finding it neck-deep for the moment.