For the first half-hour everything went smoothly. Then the stream widened out and its clay bottom gave place to one of mud, which made the walking much more difficult. At last I struck the mangrove belt, which always warns you that you are approaching the coast.
As long as I kept in the centre of the channel, I was out of the way of the network of roots; but now the channel was getting deeper and my progress becoming more labored. It was impossible to reach the bank, for the mangroves on either side had grown so thick and dense as to be impenetrable.
When I had perhaps achieved half the distance, the thought suddenly crossed my mind--how very awkward it would be to meet a crocodile in such a place! One couldn't run, that was certain, and as for fighting, that would be a lost cause from the first.
Right in the midst of these unpleasant cogitations I heard a quiet splash in the water, not far behind, that sent my heart into my mouth. In a moment I had scrambled on to a mangrove root and had turned to look for the cause of my fears.
For perhaps a minute I saw nothing, and was trying to convince myself that my previous thoughts had made me fanciful, when, not many yards off, I saw distinctly the form of a huge crocodile swimming rapidly toward me. I needed no second look, but dashed away over the roots.
Before I had gone half a dozen yards I was down sprawling in the mud. I got entangled, and my terror made me totally unable to act with any judgment. Despair nerved me and I turned at bay with my long hunting-knife in my hand. How I longed for even my revolver!
Whatever the issue, it could not be long delayed. The uncouth, hideous form, which as yet I had only seen dimly, was plain now. I took my stand on one of the largest roots, steadied myself by clasping another with my left hand, and waited.
My chances, if it did not seem a mockery to call them such, were small indeed. I might, by singular good luck, deprive my adversary of sight; but hemmed in as I was by a tangled mass of roots, I felt that even then I should be but little better off.
All manner of thoughts came unbidden to my mind. I could see Inchi Mohamed propped up on cushions in the launch reading "A Little Book of Profitable Tales" that had just been sent me by its author. I started to smile at the tale of The Clycopeedy. Then I caught sight of the peak of Mount Ophir through a notch in the jungle and all sorts of absurd hypotheses in regard to its authenticity flashed through my mind. All this takes time to relate, but those who have stood in mortal peril will know how short a time it takes to think.