So I roused Beorn, and showed him how to bestow himself out of my way, and made sail, as one might say.  At once the boat seemed to come to life, flying from wave to wave before the wind, and I made haste to ship the long oar, so that I could steer her with it.

And when I went aft, there, in the sharp hollow of the stern that I had uncovered, lay two great loaves and a little breaker of water.  Now I could not tell, and do not know even to this day, what kindly man hid these things for us, but I blessed him for his charity, for now our case was better than Lodbrok’s in two ways, that we had no raging gale and sea to wrestle against, and the utmost pangs of hunger and thirst we were not to feel.  Three days and two nights had he been on his voyage.  We might be a day longer with this breeze, but the bread, at least, we need not touch till tomorrow.  But Beorn slept heavily again, and I told him not of this store as yet, for I thought that he would but turn from it just now.  Which was well, for he could not bear a fast as could I.

So the long day wore through, and ever the breeze held, and the boat flew before it.  Night fell, and the dim moon rose up, and still we went east and north swiftly.  The long white wake stretched straight astern of us, and Beorn slept deeply, worn out; and the sea ran evenly and not very high, so that at last I dared to lash the oar in its place and sleep in snatches, waking now and then to the lift of a greater wave, or catching the rushing in my ears as some heavier-crested billow rose astern of us.  But the boat was swift as the seas, and there was nothing to fear.  Nor was the cold great at any time, except towards early morning before the first light of dawn.  Moreover, the boat sailed in better trim with two men in her.

Gray morning came, and the seas were longer and deeper, for we were far on the wide sea.  All day long was it the same, wave after wave, gray sky overhead, and the steady breeze ever bearing us onward.  Once it rained, and I caught the water in the bailer and drank heartily, giving his fill to Beorn, and with it I ate some of my loaf, and he took half of his.  Then slowly came night, and at last I waxed lonely, for all this while I had kept a hope that I might see the sail of Halfden’s ship, but there was no glint of canvas between sky and sea, and my hope was gone as the darkness fell.

So I sang, to cheer myself, raising my voice in the sea song that I had made and that Lodbrok had loved.  And when that was done I sang the song of Bosham bell, with the ending that the gleeman on Colchester Hill had made.

Thereat Beorn raised his head and, snarling at me like an angry dog, bade me cease singing of shipwreck.  But I heeded him not, and so I sang and he cursed, until at last he wept like an angry child, and I held my peace.

I did not dare sleep that night, for the wind freshened, and at times we might see naught but sky above us and the waves ahead and astern of the boat, though to one who knew how to handle his craft there was no danger in them.  But from time to time Beorn cried out as the boat slid swiftly down the slope of a great wave, hovered, and rose on the next, and I feared that he would leap up in his terror and end all.