At about half-way down the incline he paused, and lifted the palm of his hand to screen his only eye. For some minutes he scanned the plain, and then on a sudden he gave vent to a loud cry of exultation, and bounded down the hill. Far in the distance, high and dry upon a mud-bank, he had caught sight of a small speck, which he knew for a human being.
It took him more than half an hour to reach this place. By then it was nearly dusk. Bending down over the drenched, motionless form, he thought at first that Max was dead. He could feel no beating of the heart.
Still, Crouch was not the man to despair. Moreover, in the days when he had sailed the seas, he had had experience in the resuscitation of the drowned.
Without delay he set to work. He lifted the body so that the water poured from the mouth of the unconscious man. He then seated himself upon the ground at Max's head, and worked both arms like the handles of a pump.
The sun set and a full moon arose, which traced a silvery pathway across the great wasteland that extended both to the east and to the west, as far as the eye could reach. Here and there lonely, stunted trees showed like sentinels upon the plain. The only sound that disturbed the stillness of the night was the dull, continuous roar of the cataract to the south. Here was no sign of animal life. In the daytime the marshland was thronged with birds, but these now were silent. It would be impossible to imagine a place more desolate and weird. It seemed not of the world, or, if it were, of some forgotten country, buried for ever beyond the reach of progress and the influence of man.
Hour after hour Crouch held to his task. The sweat poured from his forehead, the blood still issued from his wounds, but never for a moment did he cease.
At last he stopped, and placed an ear to Max's chest. Thereupon, he went on again, more feverishly than ever.
Soon after that, a quick cry escaped his lips. He had looked into Max's face, and seen the eyelids flicker; and presently, two eyes were staring in his face. And at that the little man just toppled forward in a faint, and lay upon his face across the body which his efforts had brought back to life.
Without doubt, the mind is master of the body, and the will is king of the mind. One had but to glance into the face of Captain Crouch to see that he was possessed of a will of iron. The strong brows, the firm mouth, the great hatchet chin--these had not been given him for naught. He may have had the strength of Hercules; yet he had never accomplished his journey down the river, had it not been for the indomitable strength of his mind. And now that he realized that the victory was his, that his efforts had been crowned with success, the will, on a sudden, relinquished its task, as a helmsman gives way to his successor at the wheel--and Crouch fell forward in a faint.
At dawn, the sun found them lying together on the mud, and by the warmth of its rays set the blood coursing more freely in their veins.