CHAPTER XXI
A VOYAGE
The sun was up when Felix awoke, and as he raised himself the beauty ofthe Lake before him filled him with pleasure. By the shore it was socalm that the trees were perfectly reflected, and the few willow leavesthat had fallen floated without drifting one way or the other. Fartherout the islands were lit up with the sunlight, and the swallows skimmedthe water, following the outline of their shores. In the Lake beyondthem, glimpses of which he could see through the channel or passagebetween, there was a ripple where the faint south-western breeze touchedthe surface. His mind went out to the beauty of it. He did not questionor analyse his feelings; he launched his vessel, and left that hard andtyrannical land for the loveliness of the water.
Paddling out to the islands he passed through between them, and reachedthe open Lake. There he hoisted the sail, the gentle breeze filled it,the sharp cutwater began to divide the ripples, a bubbling sound arose,and steering due north, straight out to the open and boundless expanse,he was carried swiftly away.
The mallards, who saw the canoe coming, at first scarcely moved, neverthinking that a boat would venture outside the islands, within whoseline they were accustomed to see vessels, but when the canoe continuedto bear down upon them, they flew up and descended far away to one side.When he had sailed past the spot where these birds had floated, the Lakewas his own. By the shores of the islands the crows came down formussels. Moorhens swam in and out among the rushes, water-rats nibbledat the flags, pikes basked at the edge of the weeds, summer-snipes ranalong the sand, and doubtless an otter here and there was inconcealment. Without the line of the shoals and islets, now that themallards had flown, there was a solitude of water. It was far too deepfor the longest weeds, nothing seemed to exist here. The verywater-snails seek the shore, or are drifted by the currents into shallowcorners. Neither great nor little care for the broad expanse.
The canoe moved more rapidly as the wind came now with its full forceover the distant woods and hills, and though it was but a lightsoutherly breeze, the broad sail impelled the taper vessel swiftly.Reclining in the stern, Felix lost all consciousness of aught but thathe was pleasantly borne along. His eyes were not closed, and he wasaware of the canoe, the Lake, the sunshine, and the sky, and yet he wasasleep. Physically awake, he mentally slumbered. It was rest. After themisery, exertion, and excitement of the last fortnight it was rest,intense rest for body and mind. The pressure of the water against thehandle of the rudder-paddle, the slight vibration of the wood, as thebubbles rushed by beneath, alone perhaps kept him from really fallingasleep. This was something which could not be left to itself; it must befirmly grasped, and that effort restrained his drowsiness.
Three hours passed. The shore was twelve or fifteen miles behind, andlooked like a blue cloud, for the summer haze hid the hills, more thanwould have been the case in clearer weather.
Another hour, and at last Felix, awakening from his slumberouscondition, looked round and saw nothing but the waves. The shore he hadleft had entirely disappeared, gone down; if there were land more loftyon either hand, the haze concealed it. He looked again; he couldscarcely comprehend it. He knew the Lake was very wide, but it had neveroccurred to him that he might possibly sail out of sight of land. This,then was why the mariners would not quit the islands; they feared theopen water. He stood up and swept the horizon carefully, shading hiseyes with his hand; there was nothing but a mist at the horizon. He wasalone with the sun, the sky, and the Lake. He could not surely havesailed into the ocean without knowing it? He sat down, dipped his handoverboard and tasted the drops that adhered; the water was pure andsweet, warm from the summer sunshine.
There was not so much as a swift in the upper sky; nothing but slenderfilaments of white cloud. No swallows glided over the surface of thewater. If there were fishes he could not see them through the waves,which were here much larger; sufficiently large, though the wind waslight, to make his canoe rise and fall with their regular rolling. Tosee fishes a calm surface is necessary, and, like other creatures, theyhaunt the shallows and the shore. Never had he felt alone like this inthe depths of the farthest forest he had penetrated. Had he contemplatedbeforehand the possibility of passing out of sight of land, when hefound that the canoe had arrived he would probably have been alarmed andanxious for his safety. But thus stumbling drowsily into the solitude ofthe vast Lake, he was so astounded with his own discovery, so absorbedin thinking of the immense expanse, that the idea of danger did notoccur to him.
Another hour passed, and he now began to gaze about him more eagerly forsome sight of land, for he had very little provision with him, and hedid not wish to spend the night upon the Lake. Presently, however, themist on the horizon ahead appeared to thicken, and then became blue, andin a shorter time than he expected land came in sight. This arose fromthe fact of its being low, so that he had approached nearer than he knewbefore recognising it. At the time when he was really out of sight ofthe coast, he was much further from the hilly land left behind than fromthe low country in front, and not in the mathematical centre, as he hadsupposed, of the Lake. As it rose and came more into sight, he alreadybegan to wonder what reception he should meet with from the inhabitants,and whether he should find them as hard of heart as the people he hadjust escaped from. Should he, indeed, venture among them at all? Orshould he remain in the woods till he had observed more of their waysand manners? These questions were being debated in his mind, when heperceived that the wind was falling.
As the sun went past the meridian the breeze fell, till, in the hottestpart of the afternoon, and when he judged that he was not more thaneight miles from shore, it sank to the merest zephyr, and the waves bydegrees diminished. So faint became the breeze in half-an-hour's time,and so intermittent, that he found it patience wasted even to hold therudder-paddle. The sail hung and was no longer bellied out; as the idlewaves rolled under, it flapped against the mast. The heat was now sointolerable, the light reflected from the water increasing thesensation, that he was obliged to make himself some shelter by partlylowering the sail, and hauling the yard athwart the vessel, so that thecanvas acted as an awning. Gradually the waves declined in volume, andthe gentle breathing of the wind ebbed away, till at last the surfacewas almost still, and he could feel no perceptible air stirring.
Weary of sitting in the narrow boat, he stood up, but he could notstretch himself sufficiently for the change to be of much use. The longsummer day, previously so pleasant, now appeared scarcely endurable.Upon the silent water the time lingered, for there was nothing to markits advance, not so much as a shadow beyond that of his own boat. Thewaves having now no crest, went under the canoe without chafing againstit, or rebounding, so that they were noiseless. No fishes rose to thesurface. There was nothing living near, except a blue butterfly, whichsettled on the mast, having ventured thus far from land. The vastness ofthe sky, over-arching the broad water, the sun, and the motionlessfilaments of cloud, gave no repose for his gaze, for they were seeminglystill. To the weary gaze motion is repose; the waving boughs, thefoam-tipped waves, afford positive rest to look at. Such intensestillness as this of the summer sky was oppressive; it was like livingin space itself, in the ether above. He welcomed at last the gradualdownward direction of the sun, for, as the heat decreased, he could workwith the paddle.
Presently he furled the sail, took his paddle, and set his face for theland. He laboured steadily, but made no apparent progress. The canoe washeavy, and the outrigger or beam, which was of material use in sailing,was a drawback to paddling. He worked till his arms grew weary, andstill the blue land seemed as far off as ever.
But by the time the sun began to approach the horizon, his efforts hadproduced some effect, the shore was visible, and the woods beyond. Theywere still five miles distant, and he was tired; there was little chanceof his reaching it before night. He put his paddle down for refreshmentand rest, and while he was thus engaged, a change took place. A faintpuff of air came; a second, and a third; a tiny ripple ran along thesurf
ace. Now he recollected that he had heard that the mariners dependeda great deal on the morning and the evening--the land and theLake--breeze as they worked along the shore. This was the first breathof the Land breeze. It freshened after a while, and he re-set his sail.
An hour or so afterwards he came near the shore; he heard the thrushessinging, and the cuckoo calling, long before he landed. He did not stayto search about for a creek, but ran the canoe on the strand, which wasfree of reeds or flags, a sign that the waves often beat furiouslythere, rolling as they must for so many miles. He hauled the canoe up ashigh as he could, but presently when he looked about him he found thathe was on a small and narrow island, with a channel in the rear. Tiredas he was, yet anxious for the safety of his canoe, he pushed off again,and paddled round and again beached her with the island between her andthe open Lake. Else he feared if a south wind should blow she might bebroken to pieces on the strand before his eyes. It was prudent to takethe precaution, but, as it happened, the next day the Lake was still.
He could see no traces of human occupation upon the island, which was ofsmall extent and nearly bare, and therefore, in the morning, paddledacross the channel to the mainland, as he thought. But upon exploringthe opposite shore, it proved not to be the mainland, but merely anotherisland. Paddling round it, he tried again, but with the same result; hefound nothing but island after island, all narrow, and bearing nothingexcept bushes. Observing a channel which seemed to go straight in amongthese islets, he resolved to follow it, and did so (resting atnoon-time) the whole morning. As he paddled slowly in, he found thewater shallower, and weeds, bulrushes, and reeds became thick, exceptquite in the centre.
After the heat of midday had gone over, he resumed his voyage, and stillfound the same; islets and banks, more or less covered with hawthornbushes, willow, elder, and alder, succeeded to islets, fringed roundtheir edges with reeds and reed canary-grass. When he grew weary ofpaddling, he landed and stayed the night; the next day he went on again,and still for hour after hour rowed in and out among these banks andislets, till he began to think he should never find his way out.
The farther he penetrated the more numerous became the waterfowl. Ducksswam among the flags, or rose with a rush and splashing. Coots andmoorhens dived and hid in the reeds. The lesser grebe sank at the soundof the paddle like a stone. A strong northern diver raised a wave as hehurried away under the water, his course marked by the undulation abovehim. Sedge-birds chirped in the willows; black-headed buntings sat onthe trees, and watched him without fear. Bearded titmice were there,clinging to the stalks of the sedges, and long-necked herons rose fromthe reedy places where they love to wade. Blue dragon-flies darted toand fro, or sat on water-plants as if they were flowers. Snakes swamacross the channels, vibrating their heads from side to side. Swallowsswept over his head. Pike "struck" from the verge of the thick weeds ashe came near. Perch rose for insects as they fell helpless into thewater.
He noticed that the water, though so thick with reeds, was as clear asthat in the open Lake; there was no scum such as accumulates in stagnantplaces. From this he concluded that there must be a current, howeverslight, perhaps from rivers flowing into this part of the Lake. He feltthe strongest desire to explore farther till he reached the mainland,but he reflected that mere exploration was not his object; it wouldnever obtain Aurora for him. There were no signs whatever of humanhabitation, and from reeds and bulrushes, however interesting, nothingcould be gained. Reluctantly, therefore, on the third morning, havingpassed the night on one of the islets, he turned his canoe, and paddledsouthwards towards the Lake.
He did not for a moment attempt to retrace the channel by which he hadentered; it would have been an impossibility; he took advantage of anyclear space to push through. It took him as long to get out as it had toget in; it was the afternoon of the fourth day when he at last regainedthe coast. He rested the remainder of the afternoon, wishing to startfresh in the morning, having determined to follow the line of the shoreeastwards, and so gradually to circumnavigate the Lake. If he succeededin nothing else, that at least would be something to relate to Aurora.
The morning rose fair and bright, with a south-westerly air rather thana breeze. He sailed before it; it was so light that his progress couldnot have exceeded more than three miles an hour. Hour after hour passedaway, and still he followed the line of the shore, now going a short wayout to skirt an island, and now nearer it to pass between sandbanks. Bynoon he was so weary of sitting in the canoe that he ran her ashore, andrested awhile.
It was the very height of the heat of the day when he set forth again,and the wind lighter than in the morning. It had, however, changed alittle, and blew now from the west, almost too exactly abaft to suit hiscraft. He could not make a map while sailing, or observe his positionaccurately, but it appeared to him that the shore trended towards thesouth-east, so that he was gradually turning an arc. He supposed fromthis that he must be approaching the eastern end of the Lake. The waterseemed shallower, to judge from the quantity of weeds. Now and then hecaught glimpses between the numerous islands of the open Lake, andthere, too, the weeds covered the surface in many places.
In an hour or two the breeze increased considerably, and travelling somuch quicker, he found it required all his dexterity to steer past theislands and clear the banks upon which he was drifting. Once or twice hegrazed the willows that overhung the water, and heard the keel of thecanoe drag on the bottom. As much as possible he bore away from themainland, steering south-east, thinking to find deeper water, and to befree of the islets. He succeeded in the first, but the islets were nowso numerous that he could not tell where the open Lake was. The fartherthe afternoon advanced, the more the breeze freshened, tilloccasionally, as it blew between the islands, it struck his mast almostwith the force of a gale. Felix welcomed the wind, which would enablehim to make great progress before evening. If such favouring breezeswould continue, he could circumnavigate the waters in a comparativelyshort time, and might return to Aurora, so far, at least, successful.Hope filled his heart, and he sang to the wind.
The waves could not rise among these islands, which intercepted thembefore they could roll far enough to gather force, so that he had allthe advantage of the gale without its risks. Except a light haze allround the horizon, the sky was perfectly clear, and it was pleasant nowthe strong current of air cooled the sun's heat. As he came round theislands he constantly met and disturbed parties of waterfowl, mallards,and coots. Sometimes they merely hid in the weeds, sometimes they rose,and when they did so passed to his rear.
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