When Wilderness was King: A Tale of the Illinois CountryParrish, Randall
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When Wilderness was King: A Tale of the Illinois Country
Parrish, Randall
Illinois -- Fiction
Desperate as the chance was, it was still a chance, and to my mind the
only one. I glanced behind; a dim figure or two dotted the white sand,
and my heart lifted a silent prayer to God for guidance. A second later
I was beyond my depth, breasting the unknown waters, swimming steadily
toward the place where that mysterious spark had glimmered. Once again
it flashed, the barest glimpse of light through the intense gloom; and
I pressed on with new vigor, certain now it was a real beacon. But I
was so weakened by wounds and spent from exertion, and such desperate
work is swimming fully clad, that my progress proved slow; and twice I
was compelled to pause, paddling slowly on my back, in the buffeting of
the waves, in order to gain strength to renew the struggle. I almost
lost heart in the black loneliness, as the swirling water swept me back
and confused me with its ever-tossing motion. Once I went down from
sheer weakness, choking in a cloud of spray that swept my face; and
doubtless I should have let the struggle end in despair even then, had
not the spark leaped up once more through the deep haze; and this time
so close was it that my ears caught the clashing of the flint and steel.
With the new hope of life thus given me, I pushed grimly forward, using
the silent Indian stroke that never tires, my eyes at the surface level
where the light of the moon glimmered feebly. At last I saw it,--the
black lumpy shadow of the boat. I must have splashed a little in my
weakness and excitement, for I plainly perceived the figure of a man
hastily leap to his feet, with an oar-blade uplifted threateningly
above his head.
"Don't strike, Burns!" I managed to cry aloud. "It's Wayland."
The next moment, with scarce so much as a breath remaining in my
battered body, I laid hand upon the boat's side, and clung there
panting and well-nigh spent. I felt his hands pressed under my arms,
and then, with the exercise of his great strength, he drew me steadily
up, inch by inch, until I topped the rail, and fell forward into the
bottom of the boat. An instant I rested thus, with tightly closed eyes,
my head reeling, my breath coming in sobs of pain, every muscle of my
strained body throbbing in misery. Scarcely conscious of what was being
done about me, I could still realize that arms touched my neck, that
my head was gently lifted to a softer resting-place, and that a hand,
strangely tender, brushed back from my forehead the wet tangled hair.
The touch was thrilling; and I unclosed my wearied eyes, looking up
into the sympathetic face of Mademoiselle. The faint moonlight rested
upon it gently, touching her crown of hair with silver; and within the
dark depths of her eyes I read clearly the message I had waited for so
long.
"Toinette!" I murmured, half conscious.
She bowed her head above me, and I felt a sudden plash of tears that
could not be restrained.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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