And then the maddening boom of a world of frogs began again. He cursed them without a voice, for now his voice was gone, and he put his fingers in his ears and ran a little, and came right out of the saplings.
He stayed, glaring, and then, turning, sat down on the ground. Oh, these horrible, horrible delusions! What had he done to be so tormented? For that time he had seen water, a deep, deep creek of cool water.
"No, no," he cried to himself, "it's the devil's country, and devil's water, and all of a piece with the frogs."
He turned round again slowly, trembling as he turned. And then he crawled on his hands and knees, and at last he rose and fell again, with his mouth in thick mud, and water on his burning brow. He pushed forward six inches, and drank.
He pushed forward six inches, and drank.
No! it was not a delusion. It was water after all.
He lay and drank like an animal, and then, feeling his brain reel, he twisted round and blindly clawed his way back up the bank. For he felt dimly that, if he became insensible there, he would drown like a thirsty fly. And when he was in safety his senses did leave him for a space.
When he came to, he felt for a long time as weak as a child, but he was sane, quite sane, and the strange and horrible delusions of the thirsty bush had vanished. He remembered that poor Mandeville was dying. Perhaps, he said, he is even now dead. At the thought of that, he sprang to his feet, but went blind, and fell on his knees. When he next rose he could walk, but he filled his water-bag with trembling hands. He turned to go, but, staying, wondered if this was a creek, or only a water-hole. Perhaps there was some motion in the water. He threw in a twig to try, and found it did move slowly to the south. It was a creek, and so would be easier to discover again.