He was lucky enough to find a spot where it sloped gently into the sea. He swam in on a wave, and as it subsided, he clung to the rock.
The broken surface of the rock was covered with barnacles, which cut his hands; but he held on. They also scratched his knees through his torn clothing, as he climbed up to the smoother rocks above.
The slant to the water was such that he could not, in the darkness, judge of his elevation above the sea-level; nor could he determine, from that, whether he had been thrown upon "The Old Cow" or "The Calf."
Yet everything depended upon the answer to that question. If on the greater rock, he was comparatively safe; if on the smaller, his respite would be brief—he might expect the next tide to carry him off.
Groping about on the jagged summit, trying to identify the rock by its form, his foot plashed in a pool of water. He paused, startled by the thought that here was a means of deciding his fate.
No doubt, much sea-spray dashed upon the back even of "The Old Cow," in rough weather. But copious rains had succeeded the last gale; and so, if that little pool was on the large rock, the water it held could not be very salt. If on the back of "The Calf," it was the leavings of the last tide. He felt that his doom was in the taste of that water.
He hesitated, heaving a sigh of dread; then he stooped quickly and put his hand into the pool. He lifted the wet fingers to his lips, and immediately grew faint—the water was bitterly salt.
Still, after a little reflection, he would not give up all hope. The sea must have broken clear over "The Cow's" back, in the last storm; and the rain might have had little effect in freshening the contents of the basin. He thought of another test.
Barnacles live in the sea, or in receptacles of sea-water replenished at every tide. If he was upon the back of "The Old Cow," the pool would be free from them; if on "The Calf," there would be the usual incrustations about its edges.
Once more he put down his groping hand; and then he uttered a despairing wail.