A Sea Queen's Sailing

by Charles W. Whistler

I looked across, past the tall, black cross to where Gerda's hut stood, and it was as I had last seen it. The folds of the curtain at the door had not been moved, and Phelim's crook stood where he set it. The pigs were shut up somewhere even yet. Then the bell on the roof of the little chapel rang once or twice, and I went near. But this morning there was a closed door before me, the only door in all the place. I know now that it was the hour of the morning mass, but wondered at the time why the door was closed and why the bell rang.

My going out woke Bertric, and he joined me, saying, half to himself, that he should have been in time for the service. He, too, looked all the better for the rest, and I dare say that the help of the comb, which Fergus lent us in sheer compassion overnight, had worked no small change in that direction.

We wandered down to the shore and looked at the wreck. The ship had broken up in the night, and nothing but her gaunt ribs stood in a deep pool on the wet sands. On the beach at our feet lay the gilded and green dragon's head from her stem, and all along were strewn oars and planking, and the like. It was pitiful enough. But the brothers had toiled till light failed them, for they had saved the other boat and the sledges, and also the sail, together with smaller things, among which was the cauldron of our first meals, which was a treasure to them. Inside it, on the sand hill, was the little silver cup from the penthouse, too, and the empty wine pitcher lay hard by.

"There are men who would pray for a wreck like this every week," said Bertric, with a short laugh. "But it will be all that we can do to get these good men to keep what they have saved, even if the things are of any use to them. They need little and covet naught."

Presently he heaved a great sigh, and half turned from the sea, as if impatient.

"As good a little ship as ever was framed," he said. "And to come to such an end. Mishandled on a lee shore."

"Why, there is no blame to us," I said. "We were helpless."

"It lies heavy on my mind that we ought to have weathered the point yonder; I held on too long. At best I knew where she was strained, and should have gone on the other tack first. And the canvas we got on her! We might have done better than that."

"It did not seem so at the time," I answered, laughing. "It is easy to think now of what might have been done."

"So it is. But for all my days I shall feel it in my bones that I threw the ship away. I shall dream that I am weathering the island. Two ships I have lost running."