He was quite sure that he had not been unconscious long, as the appearance of the sky was unchanged.  The bushes among which he had lain were short but tough, and had run their roots down deeply into the sand.  They were friendly bushes.  He remembered how glad he had been to grasp them when he made that run from the surf, and to some extent they had protected him from the cold wind when he lay among them like one dead.

The big rollers, white at the top, were still thundering on the beach, and directly in front of him he saw a lowering hulk, that of the schooner.  The slaver’s wicked days were done, as every wave drove it deeper into the sand, and before long it must break up.  Robert felt that it had been overtaken by retributive justice, and, despite the chill that was shaking him, he was shaken also by a great thrill of joy.  Wet and cold and on a desolate shore, he was, nevertheless, free.

He began to run back and forth with great vigor, until he felt the blood flowing in a warm, strong current through his veins again, and he believed that in time his clothes would dry upon him.  He took off the greatcoat, and hung it upon the bushes where the wind would have a fair chance at it, and he believed that in the morning it would be dry, too.  Then, finding his powder untouched by the water, he withdrew the wet charges from the pistols and reloaded them.

If he had not been seasoned by a life in the wilderness and countless hardships he probably would have perished from exhaustion and cold, but his strong, enduring frame threw off the chill, and he did not pause for three full hours until he had made a successful fight for his life.  Then very tired but fairly warm he stopped for a while, and became conscious that the wind had died to a great extent.  The rollers were not half so high and the hulk of the ship showed larger and clearer than ever.  He believed that when the storm ceased he could board her and find food, if he did not find it elsewhere.  Meanwhile he would explore.

Buckling on his pistols and sword, but leaving the greatcoat to continue its process of drying, he walked inland, finding only a desolate region of sand, bushes and salt marshes, without any sign of human habitation.  He believed it was the Jersey coast, and that he could not be any vast distance from New York.  But it seemed hopeless to continue in that direction and being worn to the bone he returned to his greatcoat, which had become almost dry in the wind.

Now he felt that he must address himself to the need of the moment, which was sleep, and he hunted a long time for a suitable lair.  A high bank of sand was covered with bushes larger and thicker than the others, and at the back of the bank grew a tree of considerable size with two spreading roots partly above ground.  The sand was quite dry, and he heaped it much higher along the roots.  Then he lay down between them, being amply protected on three sides, while the bushes waved over his head.  He was not only sheltered, he was hidden also, and feeling safe, with the greatcoat, now wholly dry, wrapped around him, and the pistols and sword beside him, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.