"September ninth: Swam the river and two canals. Crossed a large swamp. No rain but very cold. Think we are over the border. Very poor cover in a hedge. Wet to the skin. Clothes got soaked but in best of spirits and confident."
We went down to survey the river shortly before dusk and found it both broad and swift. We went back again and tore a gate from its hinges, carried it the five hundred yards down to the river and then stripped for the crossing. The gate was not big enough to carry us but answered for our clothes. Simmons swam ahead, guiding it, while I shoved from behind. We made the crossing without mishap but straightway fell into one of the worst experiences of the entire trip. We plunged into a swamp which took us five hours to get through. There were moments when we all but gave up and thought we should never get out. At times we sank in it up to our waists, particularly after leaping at the numerous tufts of grass which seemed to promise a footing that they never realised and which sometimes sent us in it to the armpits, so that we were sure we were doomed to be sucked down for good in the filthy mess.
The fearful odour that our plunging around stirred up, naturally aided our nervous imaginings and it was undoubtedly the worst trial we had yet met with on the journey. I cannot convey the black despair which took possession of our hearts at the seeming hopelessness of all our efforts to find firm footing or a break in the landscape which might indicate a change in the nature of the country, a light, a voice, anything that would help to lift from our hearts the feeling of utter isolation from all human assistance and the seeming certainty that a few bubbles would be the only indication that we had struggled there. The darkness of the night intensified these thoughts. The rain did not matter. In fact it helped; for we were covered with the worse than water of the morass.
We looked at one another. We dared not speak. Anyhow, to do so was not our custom at such times as these. But each knew. A dull anger took possession of us at the thought of so inglorious an end after all that we had suffered to attain our freedom. With a prayer in our hearts we cast ourselves forward and somehow, sometime, found at last that we were safe and so flung ourselves down in our stinking clothes to lie like dogs in a drunken stupour that recked not of time or of our enemies.