Tracks of a Rolling Stone

by Henry J. Coke

‘My turn was now to come. At first, the right, or western, bank being within sixty or seventy yards, being also my proper goal, I struck out for it with mere eagerness to land as soon as possible. The attempt proved unsuccessful. Very well, then, I would take it quietly—not try to cross direct, but swim on gently, keeping my head that way. By degrees I got within twenty yards of the bank, was counting joyfully on the rest which a few more strokes would bring me, when—wsh—came a current, and swept me right into the middle of the stream again.

‘I began to be alarmed. I must get out of this somehow or another; better on the wrong side than not at all. So I let myself go, and made for the shore we had started from.

‘Same fate. When well over to the left bank I was carried out again. What! was I too to be drowned? It began to look like it. I was getting cold, numb, exhausted. And—listen! What is that distant sound? Rapids? Yes, rapids. My flannel shirt stuck to, and impeded me; I would have it off. I got it over my head, but hadn’t unbuttoned the studs—it stuck, partly over my head. I tugged to tear it off. Got a drop of water into my windpipe; was choking; tugged till I got the shirt right again. Then tried floating on my back—to cough and get my breath. Heard the rapids much louder. It was getting dark now. The sun was setting in glorious red and gold. I noticed this, noticed the salmon rolling like porpoises around me, and thought of William with his rod. Strangest of all, for I had not noticed her before, little Cream was still struggling for dear life not a hundred yards below me; sometimes sinking, sometimes reappearing, but on her way to join her master, as surely as I thought that I was.

‘In my distress, the predominant thought was the loneliness of my fate, the loneliness of my body after death. There was not a living thing to see me die.

‘For the first time I felt, not fear, but loss of hope. I could only beat the water with feeble and futile splashes. I was completely at its mercy. And—as we all then do—I prayed—prayed for strength, prayed that I might be spared. But my strength was gone. My legs dropped powerless in the water. I could but just keep my nose or mouth above it. My legs sank, and my feet—touched bottom.

‘In an instant, as if from an electric shock, a flush of energy suffused my brain and limbs. I stood upright in an almost tranquil pool. An eddy had lodged me on a sandbank. Between it and the land was scarcely twenty yards. Through this gap the stream ran strong as ever. I did not want to rest; I did not pause to think. In I dashed; and a single spurt carried me to the shore. I fell on my knees, and with a grateful heart poured out gratitude for my deliverance.

. . . . . . .

‘I was on the wrong side, the side from which we started. The river was yet to cross. I had not tasted food since our early meal. How long I had been swimming I know not, but it was dark now, starlight at least. The nights were bitterly cold, and my only clothing a wet flannel shirt. And oh! the craving for companionship, someone to talk to—even Samson. This was a stronger need than warmth, or food, or clothing; so strong that it impelled me to try again.

‘The poor sandy soil grew nothing but briars and small cactuses. In the dark I kept treading on the little prickly plants, but I hurried on till I came in sight of Samson’s fire. I could see his huge form as it intercepted the comfortable blaze. I pictured him making his tea, broiling some of William’s trout, and spreading his things before the fire to dry. I could see the animals moving around the glow. It was my home. How I yearned for it! How should I reach it, if ever? In this frame of mind the attempt was irresistible. I started as near as I could from opposite the two islands. As on horseback, I got pretty easily to the first island. Beyond this I was taken off my feet by the stream; and only with difficulty did I once more regain the land.

My next object was to communicate with Samson. By putting both hands to my mouth and shouting with all my force I made him hear. I could see him get up and come to the water’s edge; though he could not see me, his stentorian voice reached me plainly. His first words were: