He tried to settle more comfortably to steer and from his pain he knew he was not dead.
He saw the reflected glare of the lights of the city at what must have been around ten o'clock at night.
They were only perceptible at first as the light is in the sky before the moon rises.
Then they were steady to see across the ocean which was rough now with the increasing breeze.
He steered inside of the glow and he thought that now, soon, he must hit the edge of the stream.
Now it is over, he thought. They will probably hit me again. But what can a man do against them in the dark without a weapon?
He was stiff and sore now and his wounds and all of the strained parts of his body hurt with the cold of the night. I hope I do not have to fight again, he thought. I hope so much I do not have to fight again.
But by midnight he fought and this time he knew the fight was useless.
They came in a pack and he could only see the lines in the water that their fins made and their phosphorescence as they threw themselves on the fish.
He clubbed at heads and heard the jaws chop and the shaking of the skiff as they took hold below.