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He had not, however, gone far before he found that, instead of following Burdale's direction to turn neither to the right nor left, he had by some means got off the track. His horse began to flounder, and the more he floundered the more difficult it was to extricate himself. Deeper and deeper he sank into the mire, till Jack, fearing that he might lose him altogether, shouted out to Burdale.
Jack, however, got a board for a desk, and, sitting down near a port on the deck, wrote to Ned Burdale's widow, according to the address given him, telling her of her husband's death, and directing her how at once to apply for her pension.
"Their king must look upon himself as fortunate, for he has got a large number of subjects; but they're not so bad as the midges. If you were to cross where we are on a hot day, with the sun broiling down on your head, you would wish you had a thick net over your face, for they do bite mortal hard!" Burdale's horse seemed better accustomed to the country than was Jack's.
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