Never had I felt so like a lost soul condemned to endless struggle for it knew not what.

For whether we were keeping a straight course, or were wandering round and round, we had no smallest idea, and we had not a single star to guide us.
It was terribly hard travelling.

When we struck on tussocks of the wiry grass we were grateful, but for the most part we were falling with bone-breaking jerks into miry pitfalls, or tumbling into space as we ran, and coming up with a splash and a struggle in some deep pool or wide-flowing ditch.
There is a limit, however, to human endurance, even where liberty is at stake.

We trod air one time, in that disconcerting way which jarred one more than many a mile of travel, and landed heavily in the slime below, and Le Marchant lay and made no attempt to rise.

I groped till I found him, and hauled him to solider ground, and he lay there coughing and choking, and at last sobbing angrily, not with weakness of soul but from sheer lack of strength to move.
"Go on! Go on!" he gasped, as soon as he could speak.