I bore her to the stream. Tall as she was, I found her marvellously
light, her bones were so delicate, and so little covered them. I grew
yet more hopeful when I found her so far from stiff that I could carry
her on one arm, like a sleeping child, leaning against my shoulder. I
went softly, dreading even the wind of my motion, and glad there was no
other.
The water was too hot to lay her at once in it: the shock might scare
from her the yet fluttering life! I laid her on the bank, and dipping
one of my garments, began to bathe the pitiful form. So wasted was it
that, save from the plentifulness and blackness of the hair, it was
impossible even to conjecture whether she was young or old. Her eyelids
were just not shut, which made her look dead the more: there was a crack
in the clouds of her night, at which no sun shone through!
The longer I went on bathing the poor bones, the less grew my hope that
they would ever again be clothed with strength, that ever those eyelids
would lift, and a soul look out; still I kept bathing continuously,
allowing no part time to grow cold while I bathed another; and gradually
the body became so much warmer, that at last I ventured to submerge it:
I got into the stream and drew it in, holding the face above the water,
and letting the swift, steady current flow all about the rest. I noted,
but was able to conclude nothing from the fact, that, for all the heat,
the shut hand never relaxed its hold.
After about ten minutes, I lifted it out and laid it again on the bank,
dried it, and covered it as well as I could, then ran to the forest for
leaves.
The grass and soil were dry and warm; and when I returned I thought it
had scarcely lost any of the heat the water had given it. I spread the
leaves upon it, and ran for more--then for a third and a fourth freight.
I could now leave it and go to explore, in the hope of discovering
some shelter. I ran up the stream toward some rocky hills I saw in that
direction, which were not far off.
When I reached them, I found the river issuing full grown from a rock
at the bottom of one of them. To my fancy it seemed to have run down a
stair inside, an eager cataract, at every landing wild to get out, but
only at the foot finding a door of escape.
It did not fill the opening whence it rushed, and I crept through into a
little cave, where I learned that, instead of hurrying tumultuously down
a stair, it rose quietly from the ground at the back like the base of
a large column, and ran along one side, nearly filling a deep, rather
narrow channel. I considered the place, and saw that, if I could find
a few fallen boughs long enough to lie across the channel, and large
enough to bear a little weight without bending much, I might, with
smaller branches and plenty of leaves, make upon them a comfortable
couch, which the stream under would keep constantly warm. Then I ran
back to see how my charge fared.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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