ly westward, and up the shore line outside
it, until she was lost to sight among the wild waves, for she was very
low in the water.

"Cheer up, men," my father said, as he saw that; "we are not ashore yet,
nor will be so long as the tide takes that current along shore. We shall
stop dragging directly."

And so it was, for when the ship slowly came to the place where the boat
had changed her course, the anchor held once more for a while until the
gathering strength of the tide forced it to drag again. Now, however, it
was not toward the shore that we drifted, but up the Humber, as the boat
had gone; and as we went the sea became less heavy, for we were getting
into the lee of the Spurn headland.

Soon the clouds began to break, flying wildly overhead with patches of
blue sky and passing sunshine in between them that gladdened us. The
wind worked round to the eastward at the same time, and we knew that the
end of the gale had come. But, blowing as it did right into the mouth of
the river, the sea became more angry, and it would be worse yet when the
tide set again outwards. Already we had shipped more water than was
good, and we might not stand much more. It seemed best, therefore, to my
father that we should try to run as far up the Humber as we might while
we had the chance, for the current that held us safe might change as
tide altered in force and depth.

So we buoyed the cable, not being able to get the anchor in this sea,
and then stepped the yard in the mast's place, and hoisted the peak of
the sail corner-wise as best we might; and that was enough to heel us
almost gunwale under as the cable was slipped and the ship headed about
up the river mouth. We shipped one or two more heavy seas as she paid
off before the wind, but we were on the watch for them, and no harm was
done.

After that the worst was past, for every mile we flew over brought us
into safer waters; and now we began to wonder where the boat with its
strange cargo had gone, and we looked out for her along the shore as we
sailed, and at last saw her, though it was a wonder that we did so.

The tide had set her into a little creek that opened out suddenly, and
there Arngeir saw her first, aground on a sandbank, with the lift of
each wave that crept into the haven she had found sending her higher on
it. And my father cried to us that we had best follow her; and he put
the helm over, while we sheeted home and stood by for the shock of
grounding.