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. Fearfully I parted this with my hands, and there, in front, lay a rippling sheet of water, fully as wide as the river I had just crossed. With a thump my heart went down into my boots, and the little devil of despair whispered that I must be near the mouth of the river, on an island, a prisoner of my own making. (In truth, this was very nearly the case, for, as I feared, I was very far north, this accounting for the volume and width of the river.) This stretch of water was totally unexpected. Had I been fresh and known my whereabouts, it would have formed a formidable enough obstacle; as it was, I had already done more than my share of bathing for that night, and knew that I was in a totally unfit condition to attempt another long-distance swim.