Max was the first to revive. He tried to lift himself, but found that he was not able to do so, because of the weight of Crouch's body on his chest. He fell back again, and lay for some time with opened eyes, staring upward at the sky.
He saw the colours change in the heavens. He heard the cries of the birds upon the marsh. Then, once again, he struggled to an elbow.
With difficulty he lifted Crouch; and then, looking into the captain's face, he wondered where he was, and how it had come about that they two were stranded, side by side, in the midst of surroundings with which he was wholly unfamiliar.
Then he remembered, by degrees. The struggle with the Arab in the back-water--his headlong rush throughout the length of the rapids--the vision he had had of Crouch, frantic on the bank. And then--the ravine, and at the end, the cataract--the thunder of the water--the rushing in his ears.
The truth was not difficult to guess; indeed, there was no other explanation. He tried to rise to his feet, but could not do so. At that, he lay back again, to rest, and gave silent thanks in his heart to Divine Providence by means of which he had been saved as by a miracle. He had undergone the sensations of death, and yet he lived.
He had lain quite still and motionless, it may have been for an hour, when Crouch sat up and looked about him. And when he had taken in the scene, he let fall the following irrelevant remark--
"I've lost my pipe," said he.
He then got to his feet, and walking to the water's edge--which was but a few feet distant--he knelt down, scooped the water in his hands, and drank.
Then he returned to Max, and seated himself by his side.
"Feeling queer?" he asked.