Joe still determined to wait for her; she
would come back again, undoubtedly. She did, indeed,
return, but farther to the eastward. Joe ran, gesticulated,
shouted--but all in vain! A strong breeze was sweeping
the balloon away with a speed that deprived him of all
hope.
For the first time, energy and confidence abandoned
the heart of the unfortunate man. He saw that he was
lost. He thought his master gone beyond all prospect of
return. He dared no longer think; he would no longer
reflect!
Like a crazy man, his feet bleeding, his body cut and
torn, he walked on during all that day and a part of the
next night. He even dragged himself along, sometimes
on his knees, sometimes with his hands. He saw the moment
nigh when all his strength would fail, and nothing would
be left to him but to sink upon the ground and die.
Thus working his way along, he at length found himself
close to a marsh, or what he knew would soon become
a marsh, for night had set in some hours before, and he fell
by a sudden misstep into a thick, clinging mire. In spite
of all his efforts, in spite of his desperate struggles, he felt
himself sinking gradually in the swampy ooze, and in a
few minutes he was buried to his waist.
"Here, then, at last, is death!" he thought, in agony,
"and what a death!"
He now began to struggle again, like a madman; but
his efforts only served to bury him deeper in the tomb
that the poor doomed lad was hollowing for himself; not
a log of wood or a branch to buoy him up; not a reed to
which he might cling! He felt that all was over! His
eyes convulsively closed!
"Master! master!--Help!" were his last words; but
his voice, despairing, unaided, half stifled already by the
rising mire, died away feebly on the night.
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