Having concluded our preparations, we sat down to dinner, over which we discussed our chances for the morrow, and arranged our plan of action. There were two ways of crossing over—either we might swim over on horseback, or put our clothes and things on the horses and make them swim over first, and then follow ourselves as soon as they had safely arrived on the opposite shore.
The objection to the first method was that the horses' strength might possibly give way in the middle of the river, or that by some accident we might be unseated at a distance from the shore, in either of which cases, encumbered with our clothes, etc., we were almost certain to be drowned. The difficulty which presented itself in connection with the second method was the doubt we felt as to whether we should be able to stand a long immersion in the icy-cold water without succumbing to cramp and exhaustion, especially taking into consideration the weak state our late poor diet had reduced us to. After a long discussion, we finally adopted the plan of swimming over on horseback.
We went to bed early, but it was a long time before I could fall asleep; I was too excited with the thoughts of the coming struggle. At last I was to try conclusions with the river, which had so long baffled me. If successful, four nights from then I should be at Sandy Point, sure of my steamer, relieved from the hardships I was now suffering, and soon to be restored to civilisation, for which I was longing as ardently as an Indian, confined to the close, noisy streets of a populous town, might long for the breezy solitudes of the pampa. In my dreams that night I must have crossed the river twenty times at least, and I was splashing in the midst of its cold current for the twenty-first time, when Guillaume woke me up, to tell me it was time to get ready.
Day was just breaking, and the weather was cloudy and cold. We ate a hurried breakfast, saddled our horses, and rode down towards the pass, which was about six miles from where we were camping. On the way we had to cross the open, and came full under the blast of the bitter wind, which was especially sharp at that early hour; and we were blue and shivering long before we got to the river. There was unfortunately no sun, though I would have given anything for a sight of his cheering face to keep up my morale, which, I must confess, at the prospect of a cold and dangerous plunge on that wintry morning, had sunk extremely low. Presently we reached the river, and never, I thought, had it seemed so broad or looked so unpleasantly dark and treacherous as now. Its eddying current slid past us with a rapidity which made me giddy to watch long. The water foamed viciously as it broke into waves, and showers of spray, swept up by occasional gusts of wind, flew over its troubled surface.
Without further delay, we said good-bye to Isidoro, tightened our saddle-girths, and rode towards the point from which we intended starting. There we paused a moment before taking the decisive step forward—a moment of extreme nervous tension for both of us. I felt an oppressive contraction of the throat and chest, which, to be candid, I must attribute to a passing feeling of fear that came over me at the last moment, now that I was about to commit myself, not without serious misgivings as to the consequences, to the mercies of the broad torrent which had so long baffled my progress. However, remembering that the longer one looks at a leap the less one likes to take it, I called out to Guillaume that I was ready, and with spur and whip we urged our horses down the steep bank towards the water.
For a moment, rearing and snorting, they instinctively recoiled from the dangerous element, but the pebbly bank giving way under their feet, they could not stop themselves, and down we went—plunge!—head over ears into the cold water. I came to the surface snapping for breath, but still in the saddle, though the water, dripping over my eyes, for a second or two quite blinded me.
After a little urging, the horses at first struck out right enough, but I found that to keep my seat the greatest exertions were required. Till then I had never swum on horseback, and had no idea how difficult it is to remain in the saddle during the process. The water insinuates itself cunningly between your knees and thighs, imperceptibly you lose your grip, and, before you know it, you are gently lifted from your seat, and find yourself afloat, especially when dealing with a current as strong as the one in question.
In the meantime, our horses went all right till they came to the middle current, which swept down with great force. The moment they felt it they suddenly swerved, and made for the bank we had just left. I tried to make my horse turn again, but it became quite unmanageable, and Guillaume in a similar attempt was unseated, and was only able to regain his saddle after a severe struggle, which I watched with intense anxiety, as I was unable to go to his rescue, being myself in difficulties.
Breathless and dripping, and humiliated with the consciousness of our failure, we finally got to shore again, and, after a hasty council, resolved to make another attempt the following day, as, after the facer we had just received, our nerves were not equal to another ordeal for the present. As long as the excitement of the danger lasted, we had felt neither wet nor cold, but now that it was over Nature re-asserted herself, and, drenched to the skin as we were, and exposed to the blasts of a savagely inclement wind, we were completely prostrated, quaking, and shivering, and in such a state that it would have been mere foolhardiness to go into the water again. The six-miles' ride back to the camp in our wet clothes was another disagreeable trial. By the time we got there we were perfectly numbed, and had to warm our stiffened fingers a long time by the fire before they were sufficiently supple to enable us to undress. Having stripped, I rolled myself in my capa, and, thanks to that never-sufficiently-to-be-praised covering, warmth and circulation were soon restored to my chilled limbs. We had, unfortunately, no maté left, though on this occasion we stood more than ever in need of its stimulating and restorative aid.