Then he had floated on his back, paddling along with little but his face above the surface of the waves, until he had thought it safe to turn over and strike out for land.

It had been a long pull, and the surf had treated him badly, but he was safe on shore at last, and in a few minutes he was sound asleep, stretched upon the sand.
Toward the end of the afternoon he awoke and rose to his feet.

The warm sand, the desiccating air, and the sun had dried his clothes, and his nap had refreshed him.

He was a sharp-faced, quick-eyed man, a Scotchman, and the first thing he did was to shade his face with his hands and look out over the sea.

Then he turned, with a shrug of his shoulders and a grunt.
"She's gone," said he, "and I will be up to them caves." After a dozen steps he gave another shrug.