Whenever he came up for air, he listened for a moment.

Shots were still being fired below him, and he knew that the attention of all upon the shores was still directed towards the centre of the stream, and that there was but small chance of anyone leaning over to gaze down into the water close to their feet.
His hopes rose, as every minute placed him further from his pursuers.

He could no longer hear voices above him when he rose, but he swam on, for upwards of a mile, and struggled up the bank well beyond the walls of the town.

He lay down a few minutes to rest himself, walked half a mile along the bank, and then, entering the river again, swam across, for the road he was to follow was on the south side of it.
He made his way across the country until he saw a small shed.

He entered this, and finding some hay in the loft, stripped off his wet clothes, and crept deep into the hay to warm himself, for the water was cold, and he was shivering from head to foot.
As soon as it was light, he again put on his clothes and started at a run, which he maintained until he was in a thorough glow, in spite of his wet clothing.