But why be so anxious about the watch, when he was in despair of saving his own life? He said that to himself, as he searched every crevice and hollow of the slope where he had crawled out of the sea. It was fortunate that he had something thus to engage his wretched thoughts and benumbed hands. And a still better employment awaited him. He had some time before he heard a strange thumping and grinding sound, which he supposed must be caused by the motion of the “Calf’s tail.” The hunt for the watch had kept him from investigating it. But now that very search led him to make a different, but even more welcome discovery. The side where he had landed was in shadow. As he followed it around, just out of reach of the waves, he saw to his great joy something rising and falling in the black seaweed that grew below the gray girdle of barnacles, and bumping on the reef. It was his boat, which the wind had blown against the little island, and lodged not far from the “Calf’s tail.” It was lying on its side, and a heave of the sea threw up the dark gunwale into the moonlight that slanted across the surf-vexed end of the island. As the wave drew back, sucking heavily along with it the somber fringe of rockweed, Olly stepped cautiously down on this slippery footing, and, seizing the rail of the dory, held it fast. Then with the next swell he lifted the end upon the barnacled rocks and held it again, while its heavy freight of water spilled out over the side into the sea. Getting hold of the painter, he now had the boat safe, and, by a little management, he was able to haul it higher up the slope and tip the rest of the water out. The exertion warmed him, and success gave him new courage. True, he had no oars, and the thwart he had used for a paddle was lost. But there was a second thwart which he could detach. The dory appeared little the worse for the rough usage it had received, and he did not doubt but it would prove seaworthy when it should become necessary for him to intrust his life to it, in escaping from the rock. That might be some time yet, for it was now low water. With the turning of the tide, the wind might change or go down; and it would probably be near daylight before the “Calf” would be submerged. “The trouble will be,” he reflected, “to get the dory upon that highest part.” That was something more for him to do. He worked it along inch by inch, pulling seaweed from the rocks to put under it in order to make it slide easily over the barnacles. But this device came near causing him a sad accident. Once, when he released his hold of the boat to take breath after violently lifting, it broke away from him and started back down the descent, which the seaweed he had placed there made slippery. He sprang to seize the painter, which was dragging on the rocks, but it pulled him after, and boy and boat barely escaped plunging together into the brine.