The storm was now subsiding, and a steady breeze succeeded, blowing from the north, which helped that much-tried hero in his struggle for life.  Yet for two days and two nights he battled with the waves, and when day broke on the third day he found himself close under a frowning wall of cliffs, at whose foot the sea was breaking with a noise like thunder.  Odysseus ceased swimming, and trod the water, looking anxiously round for an opening in the cliffs where he might land.  While he hesitated, a great foaming wave came rushing landward, threatening to sweep him against that rugged shore; but Odysseus saw his danger in time, and succeeded in gaining a rocky mass which stood above the surface just before him, and clutching it with hands and knees, contrived to keep his hold until the huge billow was past.  In another moment he was caught by the recoil of the wave, and flung back into the boiling surf, with fingers torn and bleeding.  With desperate exertions he fought his way out into the comparatively calm water, outside the line of breakers, and swam parallel to the shore, until he saw with delight a sheltered inlet, whence a river flowed into the sea.  Murmuring a prayer to the god of the river he steered for land, and a few strokes brought him to a smooth sandy beach, where he lay for a long time without sense or motion.  All his flesh was swollen by his long immersion in the water, the skin was stripped from his hands, and when his breath came back to him he felt as weak as a child.  Then a deadly nausea came over him, and the water which he had swallowed gushed up through his mouth and nostrils.  Somewhat relieved by this, he rose to his feet, and tottering to the river’s brink loosed the veil from his waist, and dropped it into the flowing water.  For he remembered the request of Ino, to whom he owed his life.

He had indeed escaped the sea; but his position seemed almost hopeless.  There he lay, naked, and more dead than alive, without food or shelter, in a strange land, without a sign of human habitation in view.  Crawling painfully to a bed of rushes he lay down and considered what was best for him to do.  He could not remain where he was, for it was an exposed place, with no protection from the dew, and open to the chill breeze from the river, which blows at early dawn.  A few hours of such a vigil would certainly kill him in his exhausted state.  If, on the other hand, he sought the shelter of the woods, he feared that he would fall a prey to some prowling beast.

At last he determined to face the less certain peril, and made his way into a thicket not far from the river side.  Searching for a place where he might lie he soon came upon two dense bushes of olive, whose leaves and branches were so closely interwoven that they formed a sort of natural arbour, impenetrable by sun, or rain, or wind.  “In good time!” murmured Odysseus, as he crept beneath that green roof, and scooped out a deep bed for himself in the fallen leaves.  There he lay down, and piled the leaves high over him.  And as a careful housewife in some remote farmhouse, where there are no neighbours near, covers up a burning brand among the ashes, so that it may last all night, and preserve the seed of fire; so lay Odysseus, nursing the spark of life, in his deep bed of leaves.  And soon he forgot all his troubles in a deep and dreamless sleep.