At first, the right, or western,
bank being within sixty or seventy yards, being also my
proper goal, I struck out for it with mere eagerness to land
as soon as possible.
The attempt proved unsuccessful. Very
well, then, I would take it quietly - not try to cross
direct, but swim on gently, keeping my head that way. By
degrees I got within twenty yards of the bank, was counting
joyfully on the rest which a few more strokes would bring me,
when - wsh - came a current, and swept me right into the
middle of the stream again.
'I began to be alarmed. I must get out of this somehow or
another; better on the wrong side than not at all. So I let
myself go, and made for the shore we had started from.
'Same fate. When well over to the left bank I was carried
out again. What! was I too to be drowned? It began to look
like it. I was getting cold, numb, exhausted. And - listen!
What is that distant sound? Rapids? Yes, rapids. My
flannel shirt stuck to, and impeded me; I would have it off.
I got it over my head, but hadn't unbuttoned the studs - it
stuck, partly over my head. I tugged to tear it off. Got a
drop of water into my windpipe; was choking; tugged till I
got the shirt right again. Then tried floating on my back -
to cough and get my breath.
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