Sailing Away

: WILD ENGLAND

But the next morning Felix arose straight from his sleep resolved to

carry out his plan. Without staying to think a moment, without further

examination of the various sides of the problem, he started up the

instant his eyes unclosed, fully determined upon his voyage. The breath

of the bright June morn as he threw open the window-shutter filled him

with hope; his heart responded to its joyous influence. The excitement

w ich had disturbed his mind had had time to subside. In the still

slumber of the night the strong undercurrent of his thought resumed its

course, and he awoke with his will still firmly bent in one direction.



When he had dressed, he took his bow and the chest bound with the

leathern thongs, and went down. It was early, but the Baron had already

finished breakfast and gone out to his gardens; the Baroness had not yet

appeared. While he was making a hurried breakfast (for having now made

up his mind he was eager to put his resolve into execution), Oliver came

in, and seeing the chest and the bow, understood that the hour had

arrived. He immediately said he should accompany him to Heron Bay, and

assist him to start, and went out to order their horses. There were

always plenty of riding horses at Old House (as at every fortified

mansion), and there was not the least difficulty in getting another for

Felix in place of his old favourite.



Oliver insisted upon taking the wooden chest, which was rather heavy,

before him on the saddle, so that Felix had nothing to carry but his

favourite bow. Oliver was surprised that Felix did not first go to the

gardens and say good-bye to the Baron, or at least knock at the

Baroness's door and bid her farewell. But he made no remark, knowing

Felix's proud and occasionally hard temper. Without a word Felix left

the old place.



He rode forth from the North Barrier, and did not even so much as look

behind him. Neither he nor Oliver thought of the events that might

happen before they should again meet in the old familiar house! When the

circle is once broken up it is often years before it is reformed. Often,

indeed, the members of it never meet again, at least, not in the same

manner, which, perhaps, they detested then, and ever afterwards

regretted. Without one word of farewell, without a glance, Felix rode

out into the forest.



There was not much conversation on the trail to Heron Bay. The serfs

were still there in charge of the canoe, and were glad enough to see

their approach, and thus to be relieved from their lonely watch. They

launched the canoe with ease, the provisions were put on board, the

chest lashed to the mast that it might not be lost, the favourite bow

was also fastened upright to the mast for safety, and simply shaking

hands with Oliver, Felix pushed out into the creek. He paddled the canoe

to the entrance and out into the Lake till he arrived where the

south-west breeze, coming over the forest, touched and rippled the

water, which by the shore was perfectly calm.



Then, hoisting the sail, he put out the larger paddle which answered as

a rudder, took his seat, and, waving his hand to Oliver, began his

voyage. The wind was but light, and almost too favourable, for he had

determined to sail to the eastward; not for any specific reason, but

because there the sun rose, and that was the quarter of light and hope.

His canoe, with a long fore-and-aft sail, and so well adapted for

working into the wind, was not well rigged for drifting before a breeze,

which was what he was now doing. He had merely to keep the canoe before

the wind, steering so as to clear the bold headland of White Horse which

rose blue from the water's edge far in front of him. Though the wind was

light, the canoe being so taper and sharp at the prow, and the sail so

large in comparison, slipped from the shore faster than he at first

imagined.



As he steered aslant from the little bay outwards into the great Lake,

the ripples rolling before the wind gradually enlarged into wavelets,

these again increased, and in half an hour, as the wind now played upon

them over a mile of surface, they seemed in his canoe, with its low

freeboard, to be considerable waves. He had purposely refrained from

looking back till now, lest they should think he regretted leaving, and

in his heart desired to return. But now, feeling that he had really

started, he glanced behind. He could see no one.



He had forgotten that the spot where they had launched the canoe was at

the end of an inlet, and as he sailed away the creek was shut off from

view by the shore of the Lake. Unable to get to the mouth of the bay

because of the underwood and the swampy soil, Oliver had remained gazing

in the direction the canoe had taken for a minute or two, absorbed in

thought (almost the longest period he had ever wasted in such an

occupation), and then with a whistle turned to go. The serfs,

understanding that they were no longer required, gathered their things

together, and were shortly on their way home. Oliver, holding Felix's

horse by the bridle, had already ridden that way, but he presently

halted, and waited till the three men overtook him. He then gave the

horse into their charge, and turning to the right, along a forest path

which branched off there, went to Ponze. Felix could therefore see no

one when he looked back, and they were indeed already on their way from

the place.



He now felt that he was alone. He had parted from the shore, and from

all the old associations; he was fast passing not only out upon the

water, but out into the unknown future. But his spirit no longer

vacillated; now that he was really in the beginning of his long

contemplated enterprise his natural strength of mind returned. The

weakness and irresolution, the hesitation, left him. He became full of

his adventure, and thought of nothing else.



The south-west breeze, blowing as a man breathes, with alternate rise

and fall, now driving him along rapidly till the water bubbled under the

prow, now sinking, came over his right shoulder and cooled his cheek,

for it was now noon, and the June sun was unchecked by clouds. He could

no longer distinguish the shape of the trees on shore; all the boughs

were blended together in one great wood, stretching as far as he could

see. On his left there was a chain of islands, some covered with firs,

and others only with brushwood, while others again were so low and flat

that the waves in stormy weather broke almost over them.



As he drew near White Horse, five white terns, or sea-swallows, flew

over; he did not welcome their appearance, as they usually preceded

rough gales. The headland, wooded to its ridge, now rose high against

the sky; ash and nut-tree and hawthorn had concealed the ancient graven

figure of the horse upon its side, but the tradition was not forgotten,

and the site retained its name. He had been steering so as just to clear

the promontory, but he now remembered that when he had visited the

summit of the hill, he had observed that banks and shoals extended far

out from the shore, and were nearly on a level with the surface of the

Lake. In a calm they were visible, but waves concealed them, and unless

the helmsman recognised the swirl sufficiently early to change his

course, they were extremely dangerous.



Felix bore more out from the land, and passing fully a mile to the

north, left the shoals on his right. On his other hand there was a sandy

and barren island barely a quarter of a mile distant, upon which he

thought he saw the timbers of a wreck. It was quite probable, for the

island lay in the track of vessels coasting along the shore. Beyond

White Horse, the land fell away in a series of indentations, curving

inwards to the south; an inhospitable coast, for the hills came down to

the strand, ending abruptly in low, but steep, chalk cliffs. Many

islands of large size stood out on the left, but Felix, not knowing the

shape of the Lake beyond White Horse, thought it best to follow the

trend of the land. He thus found, after about three hours, that he had

gone far out of his course, for the gulf-like curve of the coast now

began to return to the northward, and looking in that direction he saw a

merchant vessel under her one square sail of great size, standing across

the bay.



She was about five miles distant, and was evidently steering so as to

keep just inside the line of the islands. Felix, with some difficulty,

steered in a direction to interrupt her. The south-west wind being then

immediately aft, his sail did not answer well; presently he lowered it,

and paddled till he had turned the course so that the outrigger was now

on the eastern side. Then hoisting the sail again, he sat at what had

before been the prow, and steered a point or so nearer the wind. This

improved her sailing, but as the merchant ship had at least five miles

start, it would take some hours to overtake her. Nor on reflection was

he at all anxious to come up with her, for mariners were dreaded for

their lawless conduct, being, when on a voyage, beyond all jurisdiction.



On the one hand, if they saw an opportunity, they did not hesitate to

land and pillage a house, or even a hamlet. On the other, those who

dwelt anywhere near the shore considered it good sport to light a fire

and lure a vessel to her destruction, or if she was becalmed to sally

out in boats, attack, and perhaps destroy both ship and crew. Hence the

many wrecks, and losses, and the risks of navigation, not so much from

natural obstacles, since the innumerable islands, and the creeks and

inlets of the mainland almost always offered shelter, no matter which

way the storm blew, but from the animosity of the coast people. If there

was an important harbour and a town where provisions could be obtained,

or repairs effected, the right of entrance was jealously guarded, and no

ship, however pressed by the gale, was permitted to leave, if she had

anchored, without payment of a fine. So that vessels as much as possible

avoided the harbours and towns, and the mainland altogether, sailing

along beside the islands, which were, for the most part, uninhabited,

and anchoring under their lee at night.



Felix, remembering the character of the mariners, resolved to keep well

away from them, but to watch their course as a guide to himself. The

mainland now ran abruptly to the north, and the canoe, as he brought her

more into the wind, sprang forward at a rapid pace. The outrigger

prevented her from making any leeway, or heeling over, and the large

spread of sail forced her swiftly through the water. He had lost sight

of the ship behind some islands, and as he approached these, began to

ask himself if he had not better haul down his sail there, as he must

now be getting near her, when to his surprise, on coming close, he saw

her great square sail in the middle, as it seemed, of the land. The

shore there was flat, the hills which had hitherto bounded it suddenly

ceasing; it was overgrown with reeds and flags, and about two miles away

the dark sail of the merchantman drifted over these, the hull being

hidden. He at once knew that he had reached the western mouth of the

straits which divide the southern and northern mainland. When he went to

see the channel on foot through the forest, he must have struck it a

mile or two more to the east, where it wound under the hills.



In another half hour he arrived at the opening of the strait; it was

about a mile wide, and either shore was quite flat, that on the right

for a short distance, the range of downs approaching within two miles;

that on the left, or north, was level as far as he could see. He had now

again to lower his sail, to get the outrigger on his lee as he turned to

the right and steered due east into the channel. So long as the shore

was level, he had no difficulty, for the wind drew over it, but when the

hills gradually came near and almost overhung the channel, they shut off

much of the breeze, and his progress was slow. When it turned and ran

narrowing every moment to the south, the wind failed him altogether.



On the right shore, wooded hills rose from the water like a wall; on the

left, it was a perfect plain. He could see nothing of the merchantman,

although he knew that she could not sail here, but must be working

through with her sweeps. Her heavy hull and bluff bow must make the

rowing a slow and laborious process; therefore she could not be far

ahead, but was concealed by the winding of the strait. He lowered the

sail, as it was now useless, and began to paddle; in a very short time

he found the heat under the hills oppressive when thus working. He had

now been afloat between six and seven hours, and must have come fully

thirty miles, perhaps rather more than twenty in a straight line, and he

felt somewhat weary and cramped from sitting so long in the canoe.



Though he paddled hard he did not seem to make much progress, and at

length he recognised that there was a distinct current, which opposed

his advance, flowing through the channel from east to west. If he ceased

paddling, he found he drifted slowly back; the long aquatic weeds, too,

which he passed, all extended their floating streamers westward. We did

not know of this current till Felix Aquila observed and recorded it.



Tired and hungry (for, full of his voyage, he had taken no refreshments

since he started), he resolved to land, rest a little while, and then

ascend the hill, and see what he could of the channel. He soon reached

the shore, the strait having narrowed to less than a mile in width, and

ran the canoe on the ground by a bush, to which, on getting out, he

attached the painter. The relief of stretching his limbs was so great

that it seemed to endow him with fresh strength, and without waiting to

eat, he at once climbed the hill. From the top, the remainder of the

strait could be easily distinguished. But a short distance from where he

stood, it bent again, and proceeded due east.