CHAPTER V
THE LAKE
There now only remains the geography of our country to be treated ofbefore the history is commenced. Now the most striking differencebetween the country as we know it and as it was known to the ancients isthe existence of the great Lake in the centre of the island. From theRed Rocks (by the Severn) hither, the most direct route a galley canfollow is considered to be about 200 miles in length, and it is ajourney which often takes a week even for a vessel well manned, becausethe course, as it turns round the islands, faces so many points of thecompass, and therefore the oarsmen are sure to have to labour in theteeth of the wind, no matter which way it blows.
Many parts are still unexplored, and scarce anything known of theirextent, even by repute. Until Felix Aquila's time, the greater portion,indeed, had not even a name. Each community was well acquainted with thebay before its own city, and with the route to the next, but beyond thatthey were ignorant, and had no desire to learn. Yet the Lake cannotreally be so long and broad as it seems, for the country could notcontain it. The length is increased, almost trebled, by the islands andshoals, which will not permit of navigation in a straight line. For themost part, too, they follow the southern shore of the mainland, which isprotected by a fringe of islets and banks from the storms which sweepover the open waters.
Thus rowing along round the gulfs and promontories, their voyage isthrice prolonged, but rendered nearly safe from the waves, which risewith incredible celerity before the gales. The slow ships of commerce,indeed, are often days in traversing the distance between one port andanother, for they wait for the wind to blow abaft, and being heavy,deeply laden, built broad and flat-bottomed for shallows, and bluff atthe bows, they drift like logs of timber. In canoes the hunters, indeed,sometimes pass swiftly from one place to another, venturing farther outto sea than the ships. They could pass yet more quickly were it not forthe inquisition of the authorities at every city and port, who not onlylevy dues and fees for the treasury of the prince, and for their ownrapacious desires, but demand whence the vessel comes, to whom shebelongs, and whither she is bound, so that no ship can travel rapidlyunless so armed as to shake off these inquisitors.
The canoes, therefore, travel at night and in calm weather many milesaway from the shore, and thus escape, or slip by daylight among thereedy shallows, sheltered by the flags and willows from view. The shipsof commerce haul up to the shore towards evening, and the crews,disembarking, light their fires and cook their food. There are, however,one or two gaps, as it were, in their usual course which they cannotpass in this leisurely manner; where the shore is exposed and rocky, ortoo shallow, and where they must reluctantly put forth, and sail fromone horn of the land to the other.
The Lake is also divided into two unequal portions by the straits ofWhite Horse, where vessels are often weather-bound, and cannot make wayagainst the wind, which sets a current through the narrow channel. Thereis no tide; the sweet waters do not ebb and flow; but while I thusdiscourse, I have forgotten to state how they came to fill the middle ofthe country. Now, the philosopher Silvester, and those who seek aftermarvels, say that the passage of the dark body through space caused animmense volume of fresh water to fall in the shape of rain, and alsothat the growth of the forests distilled rain from the clouds. Let usleave these speculations to dreamers, and recount what is known to be.
For there is no tradition among the common people, who are extremelytenacious of such things, of any great rainfall, nor is there anymention of floods in the ancient manuscripts, nor is there any largerfall of rain now than was formerly the case. But the Lake itself tellsus how it was formed, or as nearly as we shall ever know, and thesefacts were established by the expeditions lately sent out.
At the eastern extremity the Lake narrows, and finally is lost in thevast marshes which cover the site of the ancient London. Through these,no doubt, in the days of the old world there flowed the river Thames. Bychanges of the sea level and the sand that was brought up there musthave grown great banks, which obstructed the stream. I have formerlymentioned the vast quantities of timber, the wreckage of towns andbridges which was carried down by the various rivers, and by none moreso than by the Thames. These added to the accumulation, which increasedthe faster because the foundations of the ancient bridges held it likepiles driven in for the purpose. And before this the river had becomepartially choked from the cloacae of the ancient city which poured intoit through enormous subterranean aqueducts and drains.
After a time all these shallows and banks became well matted together bythe growth of weeds, of willows, and flags, while the tide, ebbing lowerat each drawing back, left still more mud and sand. Now it is believedthat when this had gone on for a time, the waters of the river, unableto find a channel, began to overflow up into the deserted streets, andespecially to fill the underground passages and drains, of which thenumber and extent was beyond all the power of words to describe. These,by the force of the water, were burst up, and the houses fell in.
For this marvellous city, of which such legends are related, was afterall only of brick, and when the ivy grew over and trees and shrubssprang up, and, lastly, the waters underneath burst in, this hugemetropolis was soon overthrown. At this day all those parts which werebuilt upon low ground are marshes and swamps. Those houses that wereupon high ground were, of course, like the other towns, ransacked of allthey contained by the remnant that was left; the iron, too, wasextracted. Trees growing up by them in time cracked the walls, and theyfell in. Trees and bushes covered them; ivy and nettles concealed thecrumbling masses of brick.
The same was the case with the lesser cities and towns whose sites areknown in the woods. For though many of our present towns bear theancient names, they do not stand upon the ancient sites, but are two orthree, and sometimes ten miles distant. The founders carried with themthe name of their original residence.
Thus the low-lying parts of the mighty city of London became swamps, andthe higher grounds were clad with bushes. The very largest of thebuildings fell in, and there was nothing visible but trees and hawthornson the upper lands, and willows, flags, reeds, and rushes on the lower.These crumbling ruins still more choked the stream, and almost, if notquite, turned it back. If any water ooze past, it is not perceptible,and there is no channel through to the salt ocean. It is a vast stagnantswamp, which no man dare enter, since death would be his inevitablefate.
There exhales from this oozy mass so fatal a vapour that no animal canendure it. The black water bears a greenish-brown floating scum, whichfor ever bubbles up from the putrid mud of the bottom. When the windcollects the miasma, and, as it were, presses it together, it becomesvisible as a low cloud which hangs over the place. The cloud does notadvance beyond the limit of the marsh, seeming to stay there by someconstant attraction; and well it is for us that it does not, since atsuch times when the vapour is thickest, the very wildfowl leave thereeds, and fly from the poison. There are no fishes, neither can eelsexist in the mud, nor even newts. It is dead.
The flags and reeds are coated with slime and noisome to the touch;there is one place where even these do not grow, and where there isnothing but an oily liquid, green and rank. It is plain there are nofishes in the water, for herons do not go thither, nor the kingfishers,not one of which approaches the spot. They say the sun is sometimeshidden by the vapour when it is thickest, but I do not see how any cantell this, since they could not enter the cloud, as to breathe it whencollected by the wind is immediately fatal. For all the rottenness of athousand years and of many hundred millions of human beings is therefestering under the stagnant water, which has sunk down into andpenetrated the earth, and floated up to the surface the contents of theburied cloacae.
Many scores of men have, I fear, perished in the attempt to enter thisfearful place, carried on by their desire of gain. For it can scarcelybe disputed that untold treasures lie hidden therein, but guarded byterrors greater than fiery serpents. These have usually made theirendeavours to enter in severe and continued frost, o
r in the height of adrought. Frost diminishes the power of the vapour, and the marshes canthen, too, be partially traversed, for there is no channel for a boat.But the moment anything be moved, whether it be a bush, or a willow,even a flag, if the ice be broken, the pestilence rises yet stronger.Besides which, there are portions which never freeze, and which may beapproached unawares, or a turn of the wind may drift the gas towards theexplorer.
In the midst of summer, after long heat, the vapour rises, and is in adegree dissipated into the sky, and then by following devious ways anentrance may be effected, but always at the cost of illness. If theexplorer be unable to quit the spot before night, whether in summer orwinter, his death is certain. In the earlier times some bold andadventurous men did indeed succeed in getting a few jewels, but sincethen the marsh has become more dangerous, and its pestilent character,indeed, increases year by year, as the stagnant water penetrates deeper.So that now for very many years no such attempts have been made.
The extent of these foul swamps is not known with certainty, but it isgenerally believed that they are, at the widest, twenty miles across,and that they reach in a winding line for nearly forty. But the outsideparts are much less fatal; it is only the interior which is avoided.
Towards the Lake the sand thrown up by the waves has long since formed apartial barrier between the sweet water and the stagnant, rising up towithin a few feet of the surface. This barrier is overgrown with flagsand reeds, where it is shallow. Here it is possible to sail along thesweet water within an arrow-shot of the swamp. Nor, indeed, would thestagnant mingle with the sweet, as is evident at other parts of theswamp, where streams flow side by side with the dark or reddish water;and there are pools, upon one side of which the deer drink, while theother is not frequented even by rats.
The common people aver that demons reside in these swamps; and, indeed,at night fiery shapes are seen, which, to the ignorant, are sufficientconfirmation of such tales. The vapour, where it is most dense, takesfire, like the blue flame of spirits, and these flaming clouds float toand fro, and yet do not burn the reeds. The superstitious trace in themthe forms of demons and winged fiery serpents, and say that whitespectres haunt the margin of the marsh after dusk. In a lesser degree,the same thing has taken place with other ancient cities. It is truethat there are not always swamps, but the sites are uninhabitablebecause of the emanations from the ruins. Therefore they are avoided.Even the spot where a single house has been known to have existed, isavoided by the hunters in the woods.
They say when they are stricken with ague or fever, that they must haveunwittingly slept on the site of an ancient habitation. Nor can theground be cultivated near the ancient towns, because it causes fever;and thus it is that, as I have already stated, the present places of thesame name are often miles distant from the former locality. No soonerdoes the plough or the spade turn up an ancient site than those who workthere are attacked with illness. And thus the cities of the old world,and their houses and habitations, are deserted and lost in the forest.If the hunters, about to pitch their camp for the night, should stumbleon so much as a crumbling brick or a fragment of hewn stone, they atonce remove at least a bowshot away.
The eastward flow of the Thames being at first checked, and finallyalmost or quite stopped by the formation of these banks, the waterturned backwards as it were, and began to cover hitherto dry land. Andthis, with the other lesser rivers and brooks that no longer had anyultimate outlet, accounts for the Lake, so far as this side of thecountry is concerned.
At the western extremity the waters also contract between the steepcliffs called the Red Rocks, near to which once existed the city ofBristol. Now the Welsh say, and the tradition of those who dwell in thatpart of the country bears them out, that in the time of the old worldthe River Severn flowed past the same spot, but not between thesecliffs. The great river Severn coming down from the north, with Englandon one bank and Wales upon the other, entered the sea, widening out asit did so. Just before it reached the sea, another lesser river, calledthe Avon, the upper part of which is still there, joined it passingthrough this cleft in the rocks.
But when the days of the old world ended in the twilight of theancients, as the salt ocean fell back and its level became lower, vastsandbanks were disclosed, which presently extended across the most partof the Severn river. Others, indeed, think that the salt ocean did notsink, but that the land instead was lifted higher. Then they say thatthe waves threw up an immense quantity of shingle and sand, and thatthus these banks were formed. All that we know with certainty, however,is, that across the estuary of the Severn there rose a broad barrier ofbeach, which grew wider with the years, and still increases westwards.It is as if the ocean churned up its floor and cast it forth upon thestrand.
Now when the Severn was thus stayed yet more effectually than theThames, in the first place it also flowed backwards as it were, till itsoverflow mingled with the reflux of the Thames. Thus the inland sea offresh water was formed; though Silvester hints (what is most improbable)that the level of the land sank and formed a basin. After a time, whenthe waters had risen high enough, since all water must have an outletsomewhere, the Lake, passing over the green country behind the RedRocks, came pouring through the channel of the Avon.
Then, farther down, it rose over the banks which were lowest there, andthus found its way over a dam into the sea. Now when the tide of theocean is at its ebb, the waters of the Lake rush over these banks withso furious a current that no vessel can either go down or come up. Ifthey attempted to go down, they would be swamped by the meeting of thewaves; if they attempted to come up, the strongest gale that blows couldnot force them against the stream. As the tide gradually returns,however, the level of the ocean rises to the level of the Lake, theoutward flow of water ceases, and there is even a partial inward flow ofthe tide which, at its highest, reaches to the Red Rocks. At this stateof the tide, which happens twice in a day and night, vessels can enteror go forth.
The Irish ships, of which I have spoken, thus come into the Lake,waiting outside the bar till the tide lifts them over. The Irish ships,being built to traverse the ocean from their country, are large andstout and well manned, carrying from thirty to fifty men. The Welshships, which come down from that inlet of the Lake which follows theancient course of the Severn, are much smaller and lighter, as not beingrequired to withstand the heavy seas. They carry but fifteen or twentymen each, but then they are more numerous. The Irish ships, on accountof their size and draught, in sailing about the sweet waters, cannotalways haul on shore at night, nor follow the course of the ships ofburden between the fringe of islands and the strand.
They have often to stay in the outer and deeper waters; but the Welshboats come in easily at all parts of the coast, so that no place is safeagainst them. The Welsh have ever been most jealous of the Severn, andwill on no account permit so much as a canoe to enter it. So thatwhether it be a narrow creek, or whether there be wide reaches, or whatthe shores may be like, we are ignorant. And this is all that is withcertainty known concerning the origin of the inland sea of sweet water,excluding all that superstition and speculation have advanced, andsetting down nothing but ascertained facts.
A beautiful sea it is, clear as crystal, exquisite to drink, aboundingwith fishes of every kind, and adorned with green islands. There isnothing more lovely in the world than when, upon a calm evening, the sungoes down across the level and gleaming water, where it is so wide thatthe eye can but just distinguish a low and dark cloud, as it were,resting upon the horizon, or perhaps, looking lengthways, cannotdistinguish any ending to the expanse. Sometimes it is blue, reflectingthe noonday sky; sometimes white from the clouds; again green and darkas the wind rises and the waves roll.
Storms, indeed, come up with extraordinary swiftness, for which reasonthe ships, whenever possible, follow the trade route, as it is called,behind the islands, which shelter them like a protecting reef. They dropequally quickly, and thus it is not uncommon for the morning to be calm,the midday raging in waves das
hing resistlessly upon the beach, and theevening still again. The Irish, who are accustomed to the salt ocean,say, in the suddenness of its storms and the shifting winds, it is moredangerous than the sea itself. But then there are almost always islands,behind which a vessel can be sheltered.
Beneath the surface of the Lake there must be concealed very manyancient towns and cities, of which the names are lost. Sometimes theanchors bring up even now fragments of rusty iron and old metal, orblack beams of timber. It is said, and with probability, that when theremnant of the ancients found the water gradually encroaching (for itrose very slowly), as they were driven back year by year, theyconsidered that in time they would be all swept away and drowned. Butafter extending to its present limits the Lake rose no farther, not evenin the wettest seasons, but always remains the same. From the positionof certain quays we know that it has thus remained for the last hundredyears at least.
Never, as I observed before, was there so beautiful an expanse of water.How much must we sorrow that it has so often proved only the easiestmode of bringing the miseries of war to the doors of the unoffending!Yet men are never weary of sailing to and fro upon it, and most of thecities of the present time are upon its shore. And in the evening wewalk by the beach, and from the rising grounds look over the waters, asif to gaze upon their loveliness were reward to us for the labour of theday.
After London; Or, Wild England Page 5