We now went a little up-stream, and I stripped off some of my clothes and waded down into the river. It was so cold that it took away all feeling from my feet. I had my precious rifle with me as well as a dear old shot-gun. The strip of water I was about to cross was quite narrow. I thought of leaving the guns behind me, but that would have meant another crossing of the river, which was so cold that it seemed to burn like fire.
I had not reached the middle when my left foot went into a hole, the current caught me, and the banks began to run backwards. As long as the water was deep I stuck to the two guns, but a little down-stream the river ran through boulders just awash, and among these I got rather knocked about. I dropped the shot-gun and clung to the Mauser, which was to us the more valuable of the two. Lower down the river was a shallow waterfall, studded with rocks and boulders. My knee caught between two rocks, and as I was afraid of having my leg broken, and had sustained rather a bad knock on the back of the head, I let the rifle go, and, with the help of my hands, got clear. I was washed down the fall into deeper water, where swimming was possible. The current carried me a yard down-stream for every inch I made across it, but in time I reached the end of the bank of shingle before mentioned.
After all, disappointment awaited me, for I found the second branch of the river, beyond the shingle bank, was running so furiously that, unless I had the help of a rope, crossing it would be too dangerous. Barckhausen could not follow me in any case, as he was unable to swim, so that eventually I was obliged to cross back again and rejoin him. On regaining the shore my plight was sufficiently miserable. I had kept on my shirt and jersey to save me from the stones, but of course they were soaking. It was six o'clock in the evening, the sun had lost its power, a cold wind was blowing, and I had nothing to pass the night in save some oilskins and my wet clothes; besides, I was rather badly cut about the head and knees.
I must explain that during my swim Barckhausen had succeeded in driving the horses into the river, and they were come to anchor on the shingle island in mid-stream. Our bedding was upon the back of one of them, and the river was still rising rapidly. We therefore decided to return to the camp, as being more sheltered. Barckhausen kindly lent me his shirt, as he had his vest, coat and great-coat, which were dry. We started once more to climb that weary two hundred feet of barranca, and were much beset by rolling stones and sliding sand. Scarcely had we reached the top when the horses, after standing for an hour and a half on their mid-stream island, took it into their heads to turn about and swim back, so we scrambled down our cliff-side again and made a camp amongst the sand and bushes. Here I saw a wild cat with young, the only one I met with in Patagonia.
REST-AND-BE-THANKFUL CAMP
We now reviewed our sleeping accommodation. The blankets were too wet to be of any service. Barckhausen luckily was in the habit of carrying a portion of his bedding upon his saddle, and this had escaped the water and was dry. I had a horse-rug and a small blanket. It came on a bone-wet night, the most miserable we had either of us spent.
Besides, I was very anxious about the possible condition of things at Horsham Camp, for the two smokes must have meant something serious, and yet we were unable to go to the help of our comrades. We made some thin porridge for supper and turned in. All night long the river continued to rise, we could hear it gulping and swallowing at the sand and shingle of the bank. I determined to try the higher ford, by which we had originally crossed, in the morning.
I find the following in my diary, written while the porridge was cooking: