darted hither and thither in search of an approaching
enemy and discovered only how quickly the darkness grew upon him. He welcomed the streams
now for their warmth.
It was this that first suggested to him a possible protection against the increasing cold.
There was really no use in going farther; for all he knew he might as well be walking
towards danger as away from it. All was danger; he was no safer travelling than resting.
Beside some stream it might be warm enough to lie. He shuffled on to find another gully,
and went so far that he began to think he had got out of the region of them. He had almost
determined to turn back when the ground began falling steeply;. he slipped, recovered and
found himself on the bank of a torrent. The trees - for as 'trees' he could not help
regarding them - did not quite meet overhead, and the water itself seemed to have some
faintly phosphorescent quality, so that it was lighter here. The fall from tight to left
was steep. Guided by some vague picnicker's hankering for a 'better' place, he went a few
yards upstream. The valley grew steeper, and he came to a little cataract. He noticed
dully that the water seemed to be descending a little too slowly for the incline, but he
was too tired to speculate about it. The water was apparently hotter than that of the
lake - perhaps nearer its subterranean source of heat. What he really wanted to know was
whether he dared drink it. He was very thirsty by now; but it looked very poisonous, very
unwatery. He would try not to drink it; perhaps he was so tired that thirst would let him
sleep. He sank on his knees and bathed his hands in the warm torrent; then he rolled over
in a hollow close beside the fall, and yawned.
The sound of his own voice yawning - the old sound heard in night nurseries, school
dormitories and in so many bedrooms - liberated a flood of self-pity. He drew his knees
up and hugged himself; he felt a sort of physical, almost a filial, love for his own body.
He put his wristwatch to his ear and found that it had stopped. He wound it. Muttering,
half whimpering to himself; he thought of men going to bed on the far-distant planet Earth -
men in clubs, and liners, and hotels, married men, and small children who slept with nurses
in the room, and warm, tobacco-smelling men tumbled together in forecastles and dug-outs.
The tendency to talk to himself was irresistible... 'We'll look after you, Ransom... we'll
stick together, old man.' It occurred to him that one of those creatures with snapping jaws
might live in the stream. 'You're quite right, Ransom,' he answered mumblingly. 'It's not
a safe place to spend the night. We'll just rest a bit till you feel better, then we'll go
on again. Not now. Presently.'
IX
----
IT WAS thirst that woke him. He had slept warm, though his clothes were damp, and found
himself lying in sunlight, the blue waterfall at his side dancing and coruscating with
every transparent shade in the whole gamut of blue and flinging strange lights far up to
the underside of the forest leaves. The realization of his position, as it rolled heavily
back upon consciousness, was unbearable. If only he hadn't lost his nerve the sores would
have killed him by now. Then he remembered with inexpressible relief that there was a man
wandering in the wood - poor devil he'd be glad to see him. He would come up to him and say,
'Hullo, Ransom,' - he stopped, puzzled. No, it was only himself: he was Ransom. Or was he?
Who was the man whom he had led to a hot stream and tucked up in bed, telling him not to drink
the strange water? Obviously some newcomer who didn't know the place as well as he. But
whatever Ransom had told him, he was going to drink now. He lay down on the bank and plunged
his face in the warm rushing liquid. It was good to drink. It had a strong mineral flavour,
but it was very good. He drank again and found himself greatly refreshed and steadied. All
that about the other
enemy and discovered only how quickly the darkness grew upon him. He welcomed the streams
now for their warmth.
It was this that first suggested to him a possible protection against the increasing cold.
There was really no use in going farther; for all he knew he might as well be walking
towards danger as away from it. All was danger; he was no safer travelling than resting.
Beside some stream it might be warm enough to lie. He shuffled on to find another gully,
and went so far that he began to think he had got out of the region of them. He had almost
determined to turn back when the ground began falling steeply;. he slipped, recovered and
found himself on the bank of a torrent. The trees - for as 'trees' he could not help
regarding them - did not quite meet overhead, and the water itself seemed to have some
faintly phosphorescent quality, so that it was lighter here. The fall from tight to left
was steep. Guided by some vague picnicker's hankering for a 'better' place, he went a few
yards upstream. The valley grew steeper, and he came to a little cataract. He noticed
dully that the water seemed to be descending a little too slowly for the incline, but he
was too tired to speculate about it. The water was apparently hotter than that of the
lake - perhaps nearer its subterranean source of heat. What he really wanted to know was
whether he dared drink it. He was very thirsty by now; but it looked very poisonous, very
unwatery. He would try not to drink it; perhaps he was so tired that thirst would let him
sleep. He sank on his knees and bathed his hands in the warm torrent; then he rolled over
in a hollow close beside the fall, and yawned.
The sound of his own voice yawning - the old sound heard in night nurseries, school
dormitories and in so many bedrooms - liberated a flood of self-pity. He drew his knees
up and hugged himself; he felt a sort of physical, almost a filial, love for his own body.
He put his wristwatch to his ear and found that it had stopped. He wound it. Muttering,
half whimpering to himself; he thought of men going to bed on the far-distant planet Earth -
men in clubs, and liners, and hotels, married men, and small children who slept with nurses
in the room, and warm, tobacco-smelling men tumbled together in forecastles and dug-outs.
The tendency to talk to himself was irresistible... 'We'll look after you, Ransom... we'll
stick together, old man.' It occurred to him that one of those creatures with snapping jaws
might live in the stream. 'You're quite right, Ransom,' he answered mumblingly. 'It's not
a safe place to spend the night. We'll just rest a bit till you feel better, then we'll go
on again. Not now. Presently.'
IX
----
IT WAS thirst that woke him. He had slept warm, though his clothes were damp, and found
himself lying in sunlight, the blue waterfall at his side dancing and coruscating with
every transparent shade in the whole gamut of blue and flinging strange lights far up to
the underside of the forest leaves. The realization of his position, as it rolled heavily
back upon consciousness, was unbearable. If only he hadn't lost his nerve the sores would
have killed him by now. Then he remembered with inexpressible relief that there was a man
wandering in the wood - poor devil he'd be glad to see him. He would come up to him and say,
'Hullo, Ransom,' - he stopped, puzzled. No, it was only himself: he was Ransom. Or was he?
Who was the man whom he had led to a hot stream and tucked up in bed, telling him not to drink
the strange water? Obviously some newcomer who didn't know the place as well as he. But
whatever Ransom had told him, he was going to drink now. He lay down on the bank and plunged
his face in the warm rushing liquid. It was good to drink. It had a strong mineral flavour,
but it was very good. He drank again and found himself greatly refreshed and steadied. All
that about the other
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