As Burnet drew nearer to the river, the grasses and reed-like plants of the marsh grew taller and thicker. Immense white lilies and other flowering plants showed their blossoms here and there; water-birds of all kinds, disturbed by the passage of the horse, flew out in all directions, among them a stately pelican or two, indignant at being molested in their solitary retreats. Encompassed by these dense masses of vegetation, Burnet was effectually hidden from his pursuers, who could only follow his trail; and he felt a joyous confidence that their horses were not likely to be so clever as his own. At last, the river came suddenly into view--or rather, the remains of an ancient embankment a few feet above the surface of the marsh, covered thick with creeping plants. A touch on the horse's flank sent the animal bounding up the embankment, and then Burnet reined up and looked back over the waving sea of grass and reeds. He was just able to descry the heads of the pursuers, at least a mile away. Burnet looked to right and left, seeking a convenient place for crossing the river, here about two hundred yards wide. There was the risk that if he descended the embankment too hastily, he might find himself embogged in the thick mud that bordered the stream. Riding along southward, he came at length to a deep wady or channel running into the marsh, where the descent seemed fairly easy. He gave the horse a minute or two to recover breath, then rode into the river at the spot where the wady left it. The animal took the water readily enough, but showed a disinclination to go beyond its depth, until Burnet slipped from the saddle and swam along with his hand on the bridle.