Occasionally I found a log tangled in the
reeds, and I pulled myself up on it into the sun. If I had not been
able to do that I could not have gone on.
With chill and fever and pain I had light-headed intervals. These came
as the afternoon waned, and while they lasted I thought that the woman
was in the Seneca camp, and that I must get back to her. Then I would
turn and swim with the current, losing in a few minutes as much as I
had gained in double the time. Fortunately these seizures were brief,
but they would leave me sick and shaken and grasping the reeds for
support. Another illusion came at this time: I would hear the woman
calling, calling my name. Sometimes she cried that I had forsaken her.
That left me weaker than the fever of my wound.
It was impossible to see where I was going, for the reeds were high
above my head, but so long as my reason lasted I steered by the sun. I
presume that I doubled many times, and lost much space, but that I do
not know, for toward the end I traveled like an automaton. I could not
fix my mind on where I was going or why, but I kept repeating to myself
that I must push against the current, and so, though I lost the idea at
times, and found myself drifting, I think that I went some distance
after my brain had ceased to direct.
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