But how much time would elapse before that release would be completed? Six hours.
In six hours it would be near midnight. What means would there be of attempting to start at such an hour? What channel could he find among all those breakers, so full of dangers even by day? How was he to risk his vessel in the depth of black night in that inextricable labyrinth, that ambuscade of shoals?
There was not help for it. He must wait for the morrow. These six hours lost, entailed a loss of twelve hours at least.
He could not even advance the labour by opening the mouth of the gorge. His breakwater was necessary against the next tide.
He was compelled to rest. Folding his arms was almost the only thing which he had not yet done since his arrival on the rocks.
This forced inaction irritated, almost vexed him with himself, as if it had been his fault. He thought “what would Déruchette say of me if she saw me thus doing nothing?”
And yet this interval for regaining his strength was not unnecessary.
The sloop was now at his command; he determined to pass the night in it.
He mounted once more to fetch his sheepskin upon the Great Douvre; descended again, supped off a few limpets and châtaignes de mer, drank, being very thirsty, a few draughts of water from his can, which was nearly empty, enveloped himself in the skin, the wool of which felt comforting, lay down like a watch-dog beside the engine, drew his red cap over his eyes and slept.
His sleep was profound. It was such sleep as men enjoy who have completed a great labour.