t seemed almost
as far distant as it had been at first. Instinctively I looked back,
and there, only a little way behind me, was the shore I had just left.
I must admit that the sight was not encouraging. Well--hanging on to a
waterlogged bundle and swallowing tadpoles would not help matters, so
I settled down to business, swimming steadily on my side, but often
changing the stroke, and heading a little up-stream to counteract the
force of the current.

Ever so gradually the water became calmer and the shore more clearly
defined, until I could see a fringe of weeds similar to the one I had
left. Vaguely I wondered if it would be really worth the extra effort
required to actually reach it. It seemed so easy to give up. Just as I
felt my remaining strength slipping away at each stroke I touched some
soft warm mud. Mud as a rule does not have a stimulating effect on
one, but then the very touch of it put new life into me. Dragging my
bundle, I made a final effort to get ashore, but fell in the shallow
water, where I lay utterly exhausted, hardly conscious of my
surroundings, my head sinking gradually lower and lower. It must have
been the objectionable taste of the muddy water which brought me to my
senses sufficiently to enable me to leave the river for a more
congenial resting place, namely, some grass at the edge of a field.
When at last I got up, feeling very cold, and untied the bundle I
found that everything was absolutely soaking. Assuredly there are many
more enjoyable pastimes than putting on wet clothes in a cold wind in
the dark.

When everything was ready for the night's tramp, I discovered that my
cap was missing, and after a short fruitless search, decided to leave
it behind. Tired, shivering, and hatless, I started off into the West,
reckoning that now the frontier could not be much more than a night's
march away. No sooner had I crossed the little stubble field than I
came to a ridge, beyond which the ground dropped several feet in a
steep slope. As I moved down this incline towards what appeared to be
a hedge, the ground became quite wet. Suspiciously I looked ahead into
the darkness towards what seemed to be only an expanse of lower
ground. Near the hedge the water rose over my ankles, but I forged on,
determined to know the worst. I was not long in suspense, for the
hedge in front rustled (a thing that well-trained hedges do not do),
and I knew that it was another long line of high reed-grass. Fearfull