“My bundle, and follow!” I cried.
Yoritomo thrust my dunnage into my hands, and leaped overboard after me. Ten yards through knee-deep mud and water brought us to the foot of a sloping embankment. We climbed up it and stretched out upon its turf-covered crest, panting with the fatigue of our long battle against wind and wave, yet aglow with delight at our victory.
“Come,” said Yoritomo, after a short rest. “The rain has ceased. I will put on my robe and lead you to an inn or farmhouse.”
“Wait,” I replied. “The dawn must be near. We cannot leave the gig to be found by the first man who comes this way. We must sink her.”
Lightened of our weight, the gig had cleared and drifted in almost to the foot of the embankment. By rolling we sluiced enough water from her to set her afloat, and I set about knocking out the bungs of the breakers, while Yoritomo fetched heavy lumps of turf and clay from a break in the face of the embankment. As the boat sank deeper into the water with the filling of the breakers and the weight of the clay ballast, we thrust off into deeper water. At last I was satisfied, and shoving her out into the channel between the mud banks, I rocked under the gunwales until she filled and sank.
A few strokes brought me back into shallow water, and I soon regained the embankment. In the faintly gathering light I saw that Yoritomo had already put on not only his robe but also his leggings and sandals. He thrust my hat and revolvers into my hands and knelt to bind on my sandals and leggings.
“The clouds break,” he exclaimed. “It is a good omen. Let us hasten on.”
“On?” I said. “We cannot go far without rest.”
“Until we find a farmhouse or inn,” he urged. Springing up, he swung his dunnage upon his shoulder and led off inland.
A few steps brought us down the far side of the embankment into a shallow swamp. As we splashed through the oozy slush I felt tufts of soft grassy stems brushing against my ankles at regular intervals.