CHAPTER XIV
THE STRAITS
The passage contracted there to little over half a mile, but thesenarrows did not continue far; the shores, having approached thus neareach other, quickly receded, till presently they were at least two milesapart. The merchant vessel had passed the narrows with the aid of hersweeps, but she moved slowly, and, as it seemed to him, with difficulty.She was about a mile and a half distant, and near the eastern mouth ofthe strait. As Felix watched he saw her square sail again raised,showing that she had reached a spot where the hills ceased to shut offthe wind. Entering the open Lake she altered her course and sailed awayto the north-north-east, following the course of the northern mainland.
Looking now eastwards, across the Lake, he saw a vast and beautifulexpanse of water, without island or break of any kind, reaching to thehorizon. Northwards and southwards the land fell rapidly away, skirtedas usual with islets and shoals, between which and the shore vesselsusually voyaged. He had heard of this open water, and it was hisintention to sail out into and explore it, but as the sun now began todecline towards the west, he considered that he had better wait tillmorning, and so have a whole day before him. Meantime, he would paddlethrough the channel, beach the canoe on the islet that stood farthestout, and so start clear on the morrow.
Turning now to look back the other way, westward, he was surprised tosee a second channel, which came almost to the foot of the hill on whichhe stood, but there ended and did not connect with the first. Theentrance to it was concealed, as he now saw, by an island, past which hemust have sailed that afternoon. This second or blind channel seemedmore familiar to him than the flat and reedy shore at the mouth of thetrue strait, and he now recognised it as the one to which he hadjourneyed on foot through the forest. He had not then struck the truestrait at all; he had sat down and pondered beside this deceptive inletthinking that it divided the mainlands. From this discovery he saw howeasy it was to be misled in such matters.
But it even more fully convinced him of the importance of thisuninhabited and neglected place. It seemed like a canal cut on purposeto supply a fort from the Lake in the rear with provisions and material,supposing access in front prevented by hostile fleets and armies. Acastle, if built near where he stood, would command the channel; arrows,indeed, could not be shot across, but vessels under the protection ofthe castle could dispute the passage, obstructed as it could be withfloating booms. An invader coming from the north must cross here; formany years past there had been a general feeling that some day such anattempt would be made. Fortifications would be of incalculable value inrepelling the hostile hordes and preventing their landing.
Who held this strait would possess the key of the Lake, and would bemaster of, or would at least hold the balance between, the kings andrepublics dotted along the coasts on either hand. No vessel could passwithout his permission. It was the most patent illustration of theextremely local horizon, the contracted mental view of the petty kingsand their statesmen, who were so concerned about the frontiers of theirprovinces, and frequently interfered and fought for a single palisadedestate or barony, yet were quite oblivious of the opportunity of empireopen here to any who could seize it.
If the governor of such a castle as he imagined built upon the strait,had also vessels of war, they could lie in this second channel shelteredfrom all winds, and ready to sally forth and take an attacking forceupon the flank. While he pondered upon these advantages he could notconceal from himself that he had once sat down and dreamed beside thissecond inlet, thinking it to be the channel. The doubt arose whether, ifhe was so easily misled in such a large, tangible, and purely physicalmatter, he might not be deceived also in his ideas; whether, if tested,they might not fail; whether the world was not right and he wrong.
The very clearness and many-sided character of his mind often hinderedand even checked altogether the best founded of his impressions, themore especially when he, as it were, stood still and thought. Inreverie, the subtlety of his mind entangled him; in action, he wasalmost always right. Action prompted his decision. Descending from thehill he now took some refreshment, and then pushed out again in thecanoe. So powerful was the current in the narrowest part of the straitthat it occupied him two hours in paddling as many miles.
When he was free of the channel, he hoisted sail and directed his coursestraight out for an island which stood almost opposite the entrance. Butas he approached, driven along at a good pace, suddenly the canoe seemedto be seized from beneath. He knew in a moment that he had grounded onsoft mud, and sprang up to lower the sail, but before he could do so thecanoe came to a standstill on the mud-bank, and the waves followingbehind, directly she stopped, broke over the stern. Fortunately theywere but small, having only a mile or so to roll from the shore, butthey flung enough water on board in a few minutes to spoil part of hisprovisions, and to set everything afloat that was loose on the bottom ofthe vessel.
He was apprehensive lest she should fill, for he now perceived that hehad forgotten to provide anything with which to bale her out. Somethingis always forgotten. Having got the sail down (lest the wind should snapthe mast), he tried hard to force the canoe back with his longer paddle,used as a movable rudder. His weight and the resistance of the adhesivemud, on which she had driven with much force was too great; he could notshove her off. When he pushed, the paddle sank into the soft bottom, andgave him nothing to press against. After struggling for some time, hepaused, beginning to fear that his voyage had already reached an end.
A minute's thought, more potent than the strength of ten men, showed himthat the canoe required lightening. There was no cargo to throwoverboard, nor ballast. He was the only weight. He immediatelyundressed, and let himself overboard at the prow, retaining hold of thestem. His feet sank deep into the ooze; he felt as if, had he let go, heshould have gradually gone down into this quicksand of fine mud. Byrapidly moving his feet he managed, however, to push the canoe; she roseconsiderably so soon as he was out of her, and, although he had hold ofthe prow, still his body was lighter in the water. Pushing, struggling,and pressing forward, he, by sheer impact, as it were, for his feetfound no hold in the mud, forced her back by slow degrees.
The blows of the waves drove her forward almost as much as he pushed herback. Still, in time, and when his strength was fast decreasing, she didmove, and he had the satisfaction of feeling the water deeper beneathhim. But when he endeavoured to pull himself into the canoe over theprow, directly his motive power ceased, the waves undid the advance hehad achieved, and he had to resume his labour. This time, thinkingagain, before he attempted to get into the canoe he turned her sidewaysto the wind, with the outrigger to leeward. When her sharp prow androunded keel struck the mud-bank end on she ran easily along it. But,turned sideways, her length found more resistance, and though the wavessent her some way upon it, she soon came to a standstill. He clamberedin as quickly as he could (it is not easy to get into a boat out of thewater, the body feels so heavy), and, taking the paddle, without waitingto dress, worked away from the spot.
Not till he had got some quarter of a mile back towards the mainland didhe pause to dry himself and resume part of his clothing; the canoe beingstill partly full of water, it was no use to put on all. Resting awhileafter his severe exertions, he looked back, and now supposed, from thecolour of the water and the general indications, that these shallowsextended a long distance, surrounding the islands at the mouth of thechannel, so that no vessel could enter or pass out in a direct line, butmust steer to the north or south until the obstacle was rounded. Afraidto attempt to land on another island, his only course, as the sun wasnow going down, was to return to the mainland, which he reached withoutmuch trouble, as the current favoured him.
He drew the canoe upon the ground as far as he could. It was not a goodplace to land, as the bottom was chalk, washed into holes by the waves,and studded with angular flints. As the wind was off the shore it didnot matter; if it had blown from the east, his canoe might very likelyhave been much damaged. The sho
re was overgrown with hazel to withintwenty yards of the water, then the ground rose and was clothed with lowash-trees, whose boughs seemed much stunted by tempest, showing howexposed the spot was to the easterly gales of spring. The south-westwind was shut off by the hills beyond. Felix was so weary that for sometime he did nothing save rest upon the ground, which was but scantilycovered with grass. An hour's rest, however, restored him to himself.
He gathered some dry sticks (there were plenty under the ashes), struckhis flint against the steel, ignited the tinder, and soon had a fire. Itwas not necessary for warmth, the June evening was soft and warm, but itwas the hunter's instinct. Upon camping for the night the hunter, unlessBushmen are suspected to be in the neighbourhood, invariably lights afire, first to cook his supper, and secondly, and often principally, tomake the spot his home. The hearth is home, whether there be walls roundit or not. Directly there are glowing embers the place is no longerwild, it becomes human. Felix had nothing that needed cooking. He tookhis cowhide from the canoe and spread it on the ground.
A well-seasoned cowhide is the first possession of every hunter; itkeeps him from the damp; and with a second, supported on three shortpoles stuck in the earth (two crossed at the top in front, forming afork, and fastened with a thong, the third resting on these), heprotects himself from the heaviest rain. This little tent is alwaysbuilt with the back to windward. Felix did not erect a second hide, theevening was so warm and beautiful he did not need it, his cloak would beample for covering. The fire crackled and blazed at intervals, just farenough from him that he might feel no inconvenience from its heat.
Thrushes sang in the ash wood all around him, the cuckoo called, and thechiff-chaff never ceased for a moment. Before him stretched the expanseof waters; he could even here see over the low islands. In the sky astreak of cloud was tinted by the sunset, slowly becoming paler as thelight departed. He reclined in that idle, thoughtless state whichsucceeds unusual effort, till the deepening shadow and the sinking fire,and the appearance of a star, warned him that the night was really here.Then he arose, threw on more fuel, and fetched his cloak, his chest, andhis boar spear from the canoe. The chest he covered with a corner of thehide, wrapped himself in the cloak, bringing it well over his face onaccount of the dew; then, drawing the lower corners of the hide over hisfeet and limbs, he stretched himself at full length and fell asleep,with the spear beside him.
There was the possibility of Bushmen, but not much probability. Therewould be far more danger near the forest path, where they might expect atraveller and watch to waylay him, but they could not tell beforehandwhere he would rest that night. If any had seen the movements of hiscanoe, if any lighted upon his bivouac by chance, his fate was certain.He knew this, but trusted to the extreme improbability of Bushmenfrequenting a place where there was nothing to plunder. Besides, he hadno choice, as he could not reach the islands. If there was risk, it wasforgotten in the extremity of his weariness.
After London; Or, Wild England Page 20