Clarence began with his departure from McGregor, the climb up and beyond Pictured Rocks, his long ride on the river, his encounter with the gypsies, his friendship for Ben, his long talks and walks with Dora, his troubles with Pete and his shrewish wife, his frequent swims in the river.
“And,” he continued, “when I made up my mind to get away somehow or other, I was hard as nails; I could swim for any length of time, it seemed to me, without losing my wind or my strength; and I could eat like a horse.”
“We all know that,” said the Infirmarian.
“And how did you manage to escape?”
“It came about just the way I wanted. Yesterday afternoon we pitched camp at a place right opposite a long island. I went in swimming and began to brag purposely to Ezra about what I could do. I let him know that I thought I could beat him. As a matter of fact, I really think I can. Ezra bit. He challenged me to race him to the island. That was just what I wanted. The old hag, Pete’s wife, came over and cursed me, just before Ben gave us the signal to go. But I didn’t mind that. Curses, like chickens, come home to roost, you know.
“Well, at Ben’s word we plunged into the water, and I kept under till I thought I’d burst. When I came up, I was some distance down stream; and all the way over I kept drifting down. Of course, it looked as if it were not done on purpose—at least I think it did. By the time Ezra was within a few yards of the island almost straight across from where he had started, I was away down near the end of the island, almost or quite half a mile away. Then I began to pretend I was trying to swim upstream and couldn’t do it. When within five yards or so of the very end of the island where there were lots of willows and bushes, I started to splashing wildly as though I had lost my head. I turned towards the shore, gave one last look, and shouted, ‘Help! help!’ I’ll never forget what I saw in that moment. In front of the tent, Pete’s wife was standing with her hands—clawlike old talons—stretched out, palms down, as though she were trying to force me under water; near the edge of the river, Dora, in her white dress, was kneeling, and I could guess she was praying for me.”
Clarence paused a moment.
“Do you know,” he said gravely, “I feel now as I felt all last night, as though her prayers kept with me like an army of little angels. Tennyson says, ‘More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of.’ I knew the line over a year ago. Now I know the meaning. Anyhow, after giving that yell for help, I let myself sink and then, under the water, I got to those willows which I forgot to tell you were partly under water. It seemed to me as I felt my way from trunk to trunk that I’d explode if I didn’t get air. I’ve stayed under water many a time; but I never stayed under so long before. When I did come to the surface, I came up cautiously, came face upward, so as to get just my eyes, my mouth, and, because I couldn’t help it, my nose out of water. It was all right. Between me and the gypsies was that clump of willows and I was in a little bay surrounded on three sides by trees and bushes. I lay on my back just long enough to get my breath, and kicked myself down till I came near the end of the inlet. Then I took a deep breath, and dived so as to get out beyond the island in the main current. The dive was a success. When I came up, I lay on my back with only my nose sticking out of the water and let the current carry me along until it grew dark.”
“What were the gypsies doing?” asked the Brother Infirmarian.
“I don’t know. I suppose they took it for granted I was drowned. You see, I wasn’t such a bad actor, and I did my part all right; and besides, they are very superstitious and believe that Pete’s wife has all kinds of power. She told them I was to drown, and that made it doubly certain to them. From what I know of them, I guess Ben came over and searched for my body half the night.”