Fiery Vapours

: WILD ENGLAND

Felix tried to run, but his feet would not rise from the ground; his

limbs were numb as in a nightmare; he could not get there. His body

would not obey his will. In reality he did move, but more slowly than

when he walked. By degrees approaching the canoe his alarm subsided, for

although it burned it was not injured; the canvas of the sail was not

even scorched. When he got to it the flames had disappeared; like

Jack-o -the-lantern, the phosphoric fire receded from him. With all his

strength he strove to launch her, yet paused, for over the surface of

the black water, now smooth and waveless, played immense curling flames,

stretching out like endless serpents, weaving, winding, rolling over

each other. Suddenly they contracted into a ball, which shone with a

steady light, and was as large as the full moon. The ball swept along,

rose a little, and from it flew out long streamers till it was unwound

in fiery threads.



But remembering that the flames had not even scorched the canvas, he

pushed the canoe afloat, determined at any risk to leave this dreadful

place. To his joy he felt a faint air rising; it cooled his forehead,

but was not enough to fill the sail. He paddled with all the strength he

had left. The air seemed to come from exactly the opposite direction to

what it had previously blown, some point of east he supposed. Labour as

hard as he would, the canoe moved slowly, being so heavy. It seemed as

if the black water was thick and clung to her, retarding motion. Still,

he did move, and in time (it seemed, indeed, a time) he left the island,

which disappeared in the luminous vapours. Uncertain as to the

direction, he got his compass, but it would not act; the needle had no

life, it swung and came to rest, pointing any way as it chanced. It was

demagnetized. Felix resolved to trust to the wind, which he was certain

blew from the opposite quarter, and would therefore carry him out. The

stars he could not see for the vapour, which formed a roof above him.



The wind was rising, but in uncertain gusts; however, he hoisted the

sail, and floated slowly before it. Nothing but excitement could have

kept him awake. Reclining in the canoe, he watched the serpent-like

flames playing over the surface, and forced himself by sheer power of

will not to sleep. The two dark clouds which had accompanied him to the

shore now faded away, and the cooling wind enabled him to bear up better

against his parching thirst. His hope was to reach the clear and

beautiful Lake; his dread that in the uncertain light he might strike a

concealed sandbank and become firmly fixed.



Twice he passed islands, distinguishable as masses of visible darkness.

While the twisted flames played up to the shore, and the luminous vapour

overhung the ground, the island itself appeared as a black mass. The

wind became by degrees steadier, and the canoe shot swiftly over the

water. His hopes rose; he sat up and kept a keener look-out ahead. All

at once the canoe shook as if she had struck a rock. She vibrated from

one end to the other, and stopped for a moment in her course. Felix

sprang up alarmed. At the same instant a bellowing noise reached him,

succeeded by a frightful belching and roaring, as if a volcano had burst

forth under the surface of the water; he looked back but could see

nothing. The canoe had not touched ground; she sailed as rapidly as

before.



Again the shock, and again the hideous roaring, as if some force beneath

the water were forcing itself up, vast bubbles rising and turning.

Fortunately it was at a great distance. Hardly was it silent before it

was reiterated for the third time. Next Felix felt the canoe heave up,

and he was aware that a large roller had passed under him. A second and

a third followed. They were without crests, and were not raised by the

wind; they obviously started from the scene of the disturbance. Soon

afterwards the canoe moved quicker, and he detected a strong current

setting in the direction he was sailing.



The noise did not recur, nor did any more rollers pass under. Felix felt

better and less dazed, but his weariness and sleepiness increased every

moment. He fancied that the serpent flames were less brilliant and

farther apart, and that the luminous vapour was thinner. How long he sat

at the rudder he could not tell; he noticed that it seemed to grow

darker, the serpent flames faded away, and the luminous vapour was

succeeded by something like the natural gloom of night. At last he saw a

star overhead, and hailed it with joy. He thought of Aurora; the next

instant he fell back in the canoe firm asleep.



His arm, however, still retained the rudder-paddle in position, so that

the canoe sped on with equal swiftness. She would have struck more than

one of the sandbanks and islets had it not been for the strong current

that was running. Instead of carrying her against the banks this warded

her off, for it drew her between the islets in the channels where it ran

fastest, and the undertow, where it struck the shore, bore her back from

the land. Driving before the wind, the canoe swept onward steadily to

the west. In an hour it had passed the line of the black water, and

entered the sweet Lake. Another hour and all trace of the marshes had

utterly disappeared, the last faint glow of the vapour had vanished. The

dawn of the coming summer's day appeared, and the sky became a lovely

azure. The canoe sailed on, but Felix remained immovable in slumber.



Long since the strong current had ceased, it scarcely extended into the

sweet waters, and the wind only impelled the canoe. As the sun rose the

breeze gradually fell away, and in an hour or so there was only a light

air. The canoe had left most of the islets and was approaching the open

Lake when, as she passed almost the last, the yard caught the

overhanging branch of a willow, the canoe swung round and grounded

gently under the shadow of the tree. For some time the little wavelets

beat against the side of the boat; gradually they ceased, and the clear

and beautiful water became still. Felix slept till nearly noon, when he

awoke and sat up. At the sudden movement a pike struck, and two moorhens

scuttled out of the water into the grass on the shore. A thrush was

singing sweetly, whitethroats were busy in the bushes, and swallows

swept by overhead.



Felix drew a long deep breath of intense relief; it was like awakening

in Paradise. He snatched up a cup, dipped, and satisfied his craving

thirst, then washed his hands over the side, and threw the water over

his face. But when he came to stand up and move, he found that his limbs

were almost powerless. Like a child he tottered, his joints had no

strength, his legs tingled as if they had been benumbed. He was so weak

he crawled on all fours along to the mast, furled the sail kneeling, and

dragged himself rather than stepped ashore with the painter. The instant

he had fastened the rope to a branch, he threw himself at full length on

the grass, and grasped a handful of it. Merely to touch the grass after

such an experience was intense delight.



The song of the thrush, the chatter of the whitethroats, the sight of a

hedge-sparrow, gave him inexpressible pleasure. Lying on the sward he

watched the curves traced by the swallows in the sky. From the sedges

came the curious cry of the moorhen; a bright kingfisher went by. He

rested as he had never rested before. His whole body, his whole being

was resigned to rest. It was fully two hours before he rose and crept on

all fours into the canoe for food. There was only sufficient left for

one meal, but that gave him no concern now he was out of the marshes; he

could fish and use his crossbow.



He now observed what had escaped him during the night, the canoe was

black from end to end. Stem, stern, gunwale, thwart, outrigger, mast and

sail were black. The stain did not come off on being touched, it seemed

burnt in. As he leaned over the side to dip water, and saw his

reflection, he started; his face was black, his clothes were black, his

hair black. In his eagerness to drink, the first time, he had noticed

nothing. His hands were less dark; contact with the paddle and ropes had

partly rubbed it off, he supposed. He washed, but the water did not

materially diminish the discoloration.



After eating, he returned to the grass and rested again; and it was not

till the sun was sinking that he felt any return of vigour. Still weak,

but able now to walk, leaning on a stick, he began to make a camp for

the coming night. But a few scraps, the remnant of his former meal, were

left; on these he supped after a fashion, and long before the white owl

began his rounds Felix was fast asleep on his hunter's hide from the

canoe. He found next morning that the island was small, only a few

acres; it was well-wooded, dry, and sandy in places. He had little

inclination or strength to resume his expedition; he erected a booth of

branches, and resolved to stay a few days till his strength returned.



By shooting wildfowl, and fishing, he fared very well, and soon

recovered. In two days the discoloration of the skin had faded to an

olive tint, which, too, grew fainter. The canoe lost its blackness, and

became a rusty colour. By rubbing the coins he had carried away he found

they were gold; part of the inscription remained, but he could not read

it. The blue china-tile was less injured than the metal; after washing

it, it was bright. But the diamond pleased him most; it would be a

splendid present for Aurora. Never had he seen anything like it in the

palaces; he believe it was twice the size of the largest possessed by

any king or prince.



It was as big as his finger-nail, and shone and gleamed in the sunlight,

sparkling and reflecting the beams. Its value must be very great. But

well he knew how dangerous it would be to exhibit it; on some pretext or

other he would be thrown into prison, and the gem seized. It must be

hidden with the greatest care till he could produce it in Thyma Castle,

when the Baron would protect it. Felix regretted now that he had not

searched further; perhaps he might have found other treasures for

Aurora; the next instant he repudiated his greed, and was only thankful

that he had escaped with his life. He wondered and marvelled that he had

done so, it was so well known that almost all who had ventured in had

perished.



Reflecting on the circumstances which had accompanied his entrance to

the marshes, the migration of the birds seemed almost the most singular.

They were evidently flying from some apprehended danger, and that most

probably would be in the air. The gale at that time, however, was

blowing in a direction which would appear to ensure safety to them;

into, and not out of, the poisonous marshes. Did they, then, foresee

that it would change? Did they expect it to veer like a cyclone and

presently blow east with the same vigour as it then blew west? That

would carry the vapour from the inky waters out over the sweet Lake, and

might even cause the foul water itself to temporarily encroach on the

sweet. The more he thought of it, the more he felt convinced that this

was the explanation; and, as a fact, the wind, after dropping, did arise

again and blow from the east, though, as it happened, not with nearly

the same strength. It fell, too, before long, fortunately for him.

Clearly the birds had anticipated a cyclone, and that the wind turning

would carry the gases out upon them to their destruction. They had

therefore hurried away, and the fishes had done the same.



The velocity of the gale which had carried him into the black waters had

proved his safety, by driving before it the thicker and most poisonous

portion of the vapour, compressing it towards the east, so that he had

entered the dreaded precincts under favourable conditions. When it

dropped, while he was on the black island, he soon began to feel the

effect of the gases rising imperceptibly from the soil, and had he not

had the good fortune to escape so soon, no doubt he would have fallen a

victim. He could not congratulate himself sufficiently upon his good

fortune. The other circumstances appeared to be due to the decay of the

ancient city, to the decomposition of accumulated matter, to

phosphorescence and gaseous exhalations. The black rocks that crumbled

at a touch were doubtless the remains of ancient buildings saturated

with the dark water and vapours. Inland similar remains were white, and

resembled salt.



But the great explosions which occurred as he was leaving, and which

sent heavy rollers after him, were not easily understood, till he

remembered that in Sylvester's "Book of Natural Things" it was related

that "the ancient city had been undermined with vast conduits, sewers,

and tunnels, and that these communicated with the sea". It had been much

disputed whether the sea did or did not still send its tides up to the

site of the old quays. Felix now thought that the explosions were due to

compressed air, or more probably to gases met with by the ascending

tide.