So we found a sheltered hollow whence we could look across the beach to the ship, and there gathered a great pile of driftwood and lit a fire, starting it with dry grass and the tinder which Bertric kept, seamanlike, with his flint and steel in his leathern pouch, secure from even the sea.
Then we sat round it and dried ourselves more or less, while the tide reached its full, left the bare timbers of the ship's stem standing stark and swept clean of the planking, and having done its worst, sank swiftly, leaving her dry at its lowest.
So soon as we could, Bertric and I climbed on board over the bows, and took what food we could find unspoiled by the water, ashore.
"Neither of the boats is harmed," we told Gerda.

"And presently we can leave this island for the mainland.

And we can save all the goods we stowed amidships before the tide rises again.

But your good little ship will never sail the seas more." "It is as well," she answered sadly.

"This should have been her last voyage in another way than this, and her time had come.