Then he came back to the knowledge that he was at least alive. Yet at first he was not even sure of that. He was only sure that he suffered, without knowing what it was that suffered. It seemed monstrous that he should be in such agony, in all his limbs and body and brain. But he could not distinguish between them for a long time after he was able to discern, with such curious eyes as an infant may possess, the fact that there were lights in the dim sky. That was the first thing he named. "Stars!" he said doubtfully. And then he knew that there was such a creature as a man! He gasped and drew in air again and with it life and more far-off knowledge. He remembered the Mill which was burnt in some ancient day, and Jenny, long since dust, of course. And then the past times marched up to him: he knew they were the present, and that he had lost Pitt River Pete in the river, and that he hung feebly to a capsized boat. The rest of his knowledge of himself was like an awful flood: it was overwhelming: it weakened him and made him cry. Tears ran down his face as he lifted his chin above the water. And still he floated seaward. A huge and totally insoluble problem oppressed him. He was aware now that water was not his element. This dawned on him gradually. At first all his remembered feelings were connected with water. He had, it seemed, been born in it. It was very natural to be floating in it. There was at least nothing to contradict its being natural. But now he felt for something with his feet, for he was conscious of them. What he wanted was land. Men walked on land. Houses, yes, houses and Mills were built on land. That was land over there! It was a million miles off. How did one get so far? To be sure, one swam! He shook his head feebly. One couldn't swim, one would have to let go the boat! He forgot all about the land far a very long time. When he remembered it again with a start it was much nearer, very much nearer. He saw individual trees, knew they were trees. Branches held out their arms to him. Though swimming, was impossible it was no longer wholly ridiculous. He remembered doing it himself. He even remembered learning swimming. He had won a race as a boy in Vermont. "To be sure," said Quin. The current swept him closer in shore. Something touched his feet. He drew them up sharply and shuddered. Pete was down there somewhere. Oh, yes, but he was dead! Dead men were disagreeable, especially when they had been drowned and not recovered for days in hot weather. He touched bottom again. It was very muddy. It was easy to get stuck in mud. One could drown in it. "Why, I may be drowned yet," said Quin. It was very surprising to think of! "No, I won't be drowned," said Quin. "I'll hang on to this boat. Why not?" Nevertheless the water was cold. It came down from the mountains, from much further off than Caribou and from the Eagle Range. There was snow there.