I quickly gained the spot, and saw, to my horror, that my companion had fallen upon the soft, black mud which extended for many acres on each side of the island, and that he was slowly sinking, in spite of his frantic efforts to reach the bridge, which was about six feet from his outstretched arms.
"Save me!" he cried, in despairing accents, and just then the moon, as though in mockery of his request, shone out brighter than ever.
He made an almost superhuman effort to sustain himself, and keep from sinking, but I saw, with horror, that he was settling slowly and surely, and that all his struggles only hastened his end.
"Can you do nothing for me?" he shrieked. "For God's sake, don't let me die such a horrid death as this. Try and save me."
I thought of a dozen different ways to assist him, but none of them were practicable, and I was obliged to conjure up others.
"Can you reach my hand?" I asked, stretching it towards him, first taking the precaution of twisting my left hand in a clump of dried grass, so that I, too, should not be dragged into the bog.
The poor fellow made a frantic effort to do so, but he could not reach within six inches.
"Lean a little more towards me," he shrieked, but I did not dare to, for I should have shared his fate, and both of us would have smothered, and our friends would never have learned our fate.
My companion uttered a groan, and for a moment was silent. During the brief period, I heard, with awful distinctness, the sound of the pickaxe, as it was struck against the rocks upon the island, worked, I had no doubt, by supernatural hands.