A hard thud jarred Darcy's form, awakening him from the entranced state in which he had spent the night. The tide had thrown him against a rock, nearly loosing his death grip on the oar, which was all that had kept him afloat through the nightmarish storm. He raised his eyes to see rocky cliffs. No sanctuary there. His spirits, which had been lifted by the sight of land, sank again. He surveyed the shore and thought the cliffs might give way to the south. Clutching the oar, he began to paddle wearily along the coast.
Darcy abandoned the oar and pushed himself onto the sandy shore, gasping for breath. Fighting the waves on his way to land had nearly done him in, and he clutched at the wet sand, silently thanking God for his return to land. Miserable pain was etched through his whole body, remnants of his night's struggle to stay alive in the tossing sea.
A wave crashed over him, and he scrambled up the beach to dry sand, fearful of being swept back into the brine. He forced himself to his feet and surveyed his surroundings. Sand gave way to bright green grass and a few scattered trees. He began to walk toward the green, fighting to move within his sodden clothes. As he crested the rise that separated sand from turf, he saw cattle, fine red and white cows, cropping the grass.
A sudden concern for his safety gripped him. Had he been swept all the way to France and was now in the hands of England's enemies? A child's cry seized his attention, "Maire! Maire! Un homme estrange est daouns la taïrre! Maire!"
Darcy drew breath and stood his ground as a man and woman approached. Whatever happened, at least he would not die at sea.
The coarse cloth felt odd against his skin, but he was grateful for the dryness and warmth. The woman brought him milk and black bread, which he eagerly devoured. Despite his long ordeal, he had not felt hunger until he was dry and knew himself to be safe. The man had told him he was on Alderney, a day's sail from Guernsey, and another of the empire's protected islands in the Channel.
As well as he could understand their strange dialect, the man had told him that he had sent word to town that an English gentleman had been washed ashore. Darcy was not sure what would follow, but as he lay down on cloth-covered straw and surrendered to sleep, the thought of Elizabeth still safe on board and protected by his name comforted him.