After London; Or, Wild England

by Richard Jefferies

  CHAPTER VI

  THE FOREST TRACK

  When the canoe was finished, Oliver came to help Felix launch it, andthey rolled it on logs down to the place where the stream formed a pool.But when it was afloat, as Oliver had foretold, it did not swim uprightin the water. It had not been shaped accurately, and one side was higherout of the water than the other.

  Felix was so disgusted at this failure that he would not listen toanything Oliver could suggest. He walked back to the spot where he hadworked so many weeks, and sat down with his face turned from the pool.It was not so much the actual circumstance which depressed him, as thelong train of untoward incidents which had preceded it for years past.These seemed to have accumulated, till now this comparatively littleannoyance was like the last straw.

  Oliver followed him, and said that the defect could be remedied byplacing ballast on the more buoyant side of the canoe to bring it downto the level of the other; or, perhaps, if some more wood were cut awayon the heavier side, that it would cause it to rise. He offered to dothe work himself, but Felix, in his gloomy mood, would not answer him.Oliver returned to the pool, and getting into the canoe, poled it up anddown the stream. It answered perfectly, and could be easily managed; thedefect was more apparent than real, for when a person sat in the canoe,his weight seemed to bring it nearly level.

  It was only when empty that it canted to one side. He came back again toFelix, and pointed this out to him. The attempt was useless; the boatmight answer the purpose perfectly well, but it was not the boat Felixhad intended it to be. It did not come up to his ideal.

  Oliver was now somewhat annoyed at Felix's sullen silence, so he drewthe canoe partly on shore, to prevent it from floating away, and thenleft him to himself.

  Nothing more was said about it for a day or two. Felix did not go nearthe spot where he had worked so hard and so long, but on the SaturdayPhilip came home as usual, and, as there was now no secret about thecanoe, went down to look at it with Oliver. They pushed it off, andfloated two or three miles down the stream, hauling it on the shore pastthe fallen fir tree, and then, with a cord, towed it back again. Thecanoe, with the exception of the trifling deficiency alluded to, was agood one, and thoroughly serviceable.

  They endeavoured again to restore Felix's opinion of it, and an ideaoccurring to Philip, he said a capital plan would be to add anoutrigger, and so balance it perfectly. But though usually quick toadopt ideas when they were good, in this case Felix was too much out ofconceit with himself. He would listen to nothing. Still, he could notbanish it from his mind, though now ashamed to return to it after soobstinately refusing all suggestions. He wandered aimlessly about in thewoods, till one day he found himself in the path that led to Heron Bay.

  Strolling to the shore of the great Lake, he sat down and watched avessel sailing afar off slowly before the east wind. The thoughtpresently occurred to him, that the addition of an outrigger in themanner Philip had mentioned would enable him to carry a sail. The canoecould not otherwise support a sail (unless a very small one merely forgoing before the breeze), but with such a sail as the outrigger wouldbear, he could venture much farther away from land, his voyage might bemuch more extended, and his labour with the paddle lessened.

  This filled him with fresh energy; he returned, and at once recommencedwork. Oliver, finding that he was again busy at it, came and insistedupon assisting. With his help, the work progressed rapidly. He used thetools so deftly as to accomplish more in an hour than Felix could in aday. The outrigger consisted of a beam of poplar, sharpened at bothends, and held at some six or seven feet from the canoe by two strongcross-pieces.

  A mast, about the same height as the canoe was long, was then set up; itwas made from a young fir-tree. Another smaller fir supplied the yard,which extended fore and aft, nearly the length of the boat. The sail, ofcoarse canvas, was not very high, but long, and rather broader at eachend where the rope attached it to the prow and stern, or, rather, thetwo prows. Thus arranged, it was not so well suited for running straightbefore the wind, as for working into it, a feat never attempted by theships of the time.

  Oliver was delighted with the appearance of the boat, so much so thatnow and then he announced his intention of accompanying Felix on hisvoyage. But after a visit to the town, and a glance at the PrincessLucia, his resolution changed. Yet he wavered, one time openlyreproaching himself for enduring such a life of inaction and ignominy,and at another deriding Felix and his visionary schemes. The canoe wasnow completed; it was tried on the pool and found to float exactly as itshould. It had now to be conveyed to Heron Bay.

  The original intention was to put it on a cart, but the rude carts usedon the estate could not very well carry it, and a sledge wassubstituted. Several times, during the journey through the forest, thesledge had to be halted while the underwood was cut away to permit ofits passing; and once a slough had to be filled up with branches hewnfrom fir trees, and bundles of fern. These delays made it evening beforethe shore of the creek was reached.

  It was but a little inlet, scarce a bowshot wide at the entrance andcoming to a point inland. Here the canoe was left in charge of threeserfs, who were ordered to build a hut and stay beside it. Someprovisions were sent next day on the backs of other serfs, and in theafternoon (it was Saturday) all three brothers arrived; the canoe waslaunched, and they started for a trial sail. With a south wind they ranto the eastward at a rapid pace, keeping close to the shore till withina mile of White Horse.

  There they brought to by steering the canoe dead against the wind; thentransferring the steering-paddle (a rather large one, made for thepurpose) to the other end, and readjusting the sail, the outrigger beingstill to leeward, they ran back at an equal speed. The canoe answeredperfectly, and Felix was satisfied. He now despatched his tools andvarious weapons to the hut to be put on board. His own peculiar yew bowhe kept to the last at home; it and his chest bound with hide would gowith him on the last day.

  Although, in his original purpose, Felix had designed to go forthwithout anyone being aware of his intention, the circumstances which hadarisen, and the necessary employment of so many men, had let out thesecret to some degree. The removal of the tools and weapons, thecrossbow, darts, and spear, still more attracted attention. But littleor nothing was said about it, though the Baron and Baroness could nothelp but observe these preparations. The Baron deliberately shut hiseyes and went about his gardening; he was now, too, busy with the firstmowing. In his heart, perhaps, he felt that he had not done altogetherright in so entirely retiring from the world.

  By doing so he had condemned his children to loneliness, and to beregarded with contempt. Too late now, he could only obstinately persistin his course. The Baroness, inured for so many, many years todisappointment, had contracted her view of life till it scarcelyextended beyond mere physical comfort. Nor could she realize the idea ofFelix's approaching departure; when he was actually gone, it would,perhaps, come home to her.

  All was now ready, and Felix was only waiting for the Feast of St. Jamesto pay a last visit to Aurora at Thyma Castle. The morning before theday of the Feast, Felix and Oliver set out together. They had not livedaltogether in harmony, but now, at this approaching change, Oliver feltthat he must bear Felix company. Oliver rode his beautiful Night, hewore his plumed hat and precious sword, and carried his horseman'slance. Felix rode a smaller horse, useful, but far from handsome. Hecarried his yew bow and hunting knife.

  Thyma Castle was situated fifteen miles to the south; it was the lastoutpost of civilization; beyond it there was nothing but forest, and thewild open plains, the home of the gipsies. This circumstance of positionhad given Baron Thyma, in times past, a certain importance more than wasdue to the size of his estate or the number of his retainers. During aninvasion of the gipsies, his castle bore the brunt of the war, and itsgallant defence, indeed, broke their onward progress. So many fell inendeavouring to take it, that the rest were disheartened, and onlyscattered bands penetrated beyond.

  For this service the
Baron received the grant of various privileges; hewas looked on as a pillar of the State, and was welcome at the court.But it proved an injury to him in the end. His honours, and the highsociety they led him into, were too great for the comparative smallnessof his income. Rich in flocks and herds, he had but little coin.High-spirited, and rather fond of display, he could not hold back; helaunched forth, with the usual result of impoverishment, mortgage, anddebt.

  He had hoped to obtain the command of an army in the wars that broke outfrom time to time; it was, indeed, universally admitted that he was inevery respect qualified for such a post. The courtiers and others,however, jealous, as is ever the case, of ability and real talent,debarred him by their intrigues from attaining his object. Prideprevented him from acquiescing in this defeat; he strove by display andextravagance to keep himself well to the front, flaunting himself beforethe eyes of all. This course could not last long; he was obliged toretire to his estate, which narrowly escaped forfeiture to hiscreditors.

  So ignominious an end after such worthy service was, however, preventedby the personal interference of the old Prince, who, from his privateresources, paid off the most pressing creditors. To the last, the oldPrince received him as a friend, and listened to his counsel. Thyma wasever in hopes that some change in the balance of parties would give himhis opportunity. When the young Prince succeeded, he was clever enoughto see that the presence of such men about his Court gave it astability, and he, too, invited Thyma to tender his advice. The Baron'shopes now rose higher than ever, but again he was disappointed.

  The new Prince, himself incapable, disliked and distrusted talent. Theyears passed, and the Baron obtained no appointment. Still he strainedhis resources to the utmost to visit the Court as often as possible;still he believed that sooner or later a turn of the wheel would elevatehim.

  There had existed between the houses of Thyma and Aquila the bond ofhearth-friendship; the gauntlets, hoofs, and rings were preserved byboth, and the usual presents passed thrice a year, at midsummer,Christmas, and Lady-day. Not much personal intercourse had taken place,however, for some years, until Felix was attracted by the beauty of theLady Aurora. Proud, showy, and pushing, Thyma could not understand thefeelings which led his hearth-friend to retire from the arena and busyhimself with cherries and water-wheels. On the other hand, Constansrather looked with quiet derision on the ostentation of the other. Thusthere was a certain distance, as it were, between them.

  Baron Thyma could not, of course, be ignorant of the attachment betweenhis daughter and Felix; yet as much as possible he ignored it. He neverreferred to Felix; if his name was incidentally mentioned, he remainedsilent. The truth was, he looked higher for Lady Aurora. He could not incourtesy discourage even in the faintest manner the visits of hisfriend's son; the knightly laws of honour would have forbidden so mean acourse. Nor would his conscience permit him to do so, remembering theold days when he and the Baron were glad companions together, and howthe Baron Aquila was the first to lead troops to his assistance in thegipsy war. Still, he tacitly disapproved; he did not encourage.

  Felix felt that he was not altogether welcome; he recognised the senseof restraint that prevailed when he was present. It deeply hurt hispride, and nothing but his love for Aurora could have enabled him tobear up against it. The galling part of it was that he could not in hissecret heart condemn the father for evidently desiring a better alliancefor his child. This was the strongest of the motives that had determinedhim to seek the unknown.

  If anything, the Baron would have preferred Oliver as a suitor for hisdaughter; he sympathized with Oliver's fiery spirit, and admired hisfeats of strength and dexterity with sword and spear. He had alwayswelcomed Oliver heartily, and paid him every attention. This, to doOliver justice, was one reason why he determined to accompany hisbrother, thinking that if he was there he could occupy attention, andthus enable Felix to have more opportunity to speak with Aurora.

  The two rode forth from the courtyard early in the morning, and passingthrough the whole length of the enclosure within the stockade, issued atthe South Barrier and almost immediately entered the forest. They ratherchecked their horses' haste, fresh as the animals were from the stable,but could not quite control their spirits, for the walk of a horse iseven half as fast again while he is full of vigour. The turn of thetrack soon shut out the stockade; they were alone in the woods.

  Long since, early as they were, the sun had dried the dew, for his beamswarm the atmosphere quickly as the spring advances towards summer. Butit was still fresh and sweet among the trees, and even Felix, thoughbound on so gloomy an errand, could not choose but feel the joyousinfluence of the morning. Oliver sang aloud in his rich deep voice, andthe thud, thud of the horses' hoofs kept time to the ballad.

  The thrushes flew but a little way back from the path as they passed,and began to sing again directly they were by. The whistling ofblackbirds came from afar where there were open glades or a runningstream; the notes of the cuckoo became fainter and fainter as theyadvanced farther from the stockade, for the cuckoo likes the woodlandsthat immediately border on cultivation. For some miles the track wasbroad, passing through thickets of thorn and low hawthorn-trees withimmense masses of tangled underwood between, brambles and woodbinetwisted and matted together, impervious above but hollow beneath; underthese they could hear the bush-hens running to and fro and scratching atthe dead leaves which strewed the ground. Sounds of clucking deeper inbetrayed the situation of their nests.

  Rushes, and the dead sedges of last year, up through which the greenfresh leaves were thrusting themselves, in some places stood beside theway, fringing the thorns where the hollow ground often held the waterfrom rainstorms. Out from these bushes a rabbit occasionally started andbounded across to the other side. Here, where there were so few trees,and the forest chiefly consisted of bush, they could see some distanceon either hand, and also a wide breadth of the sky. After a time thethorn bushes were succeeded by ash wood, where the trees stood closer tothe path, contracting the view; it was moister here, the hoofs cut intothe grass, which was coarse and rank. The trees growing so closetogether destroyed themselves, their lower branches rubbed together andwere killed, so that in many spots the riders could see a long waybetween the trunks.

  Every time the wind blew they could hear a distant cracking of branchesas the dead boughs, broken by the swaying of the trees, fell off andcame down. Had any one attempted to walk into the forest there theywould have sunk above the ankle in soft decaying wood, hidden from sightby thick vegetation. Wood-pigeons rose every minute from these ash-treeswith a loud clatter of wings; their calls resounded continually, nowdeep in the forest, and now close at hand. It was evident that a largeflock of them had their nesting-place here, and indeed their nests oftwigs could be frequently seen from the path. There seemed no otherbirds.

  Again the forest changed, and the track, passing on higher ground,entered among firs. These, too, had killed each other by growing sothickly; the lower branches of many were dead, and there was nothing buta little green at the tops, while in many places there was an open spacewhere they had decayed away altogether. Brambles covered the ground inthese open places, brambles and furze now bright with golden blossom.The jays screeched loudly, startled as the riders passed under them, andfluttered away; rabbits, which they saw again here, dived into theirburrows. Between the first the track was very narrow, and they could notconveniently ride side by side; Oliver took the lead, and Felixfollowed.