 Part 2, Chapter 20 of After London. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Ruth Golding. After London, by Richard Jeffries. Part 2, Wild England. Chapter 20, In Danger. Hope died within Felix when he thus suddenly found himself so near the executioner. He had known so many butchered without cause that he had indeed reason to despair. Towards the sunset he felt sure he should be dragged forth and hanged on the oak used for the purpose and which stood near where the track from A.C. joined the camp. Such would most probably have been his fate had he been alone concerned in this affair, but by good fortune he was able to escape so miserable an end. Still he suffered as much as if the rope had finished him, for he had no means of knowing what would be the result. His heart swelled with bitterness. He was filled with inexpressible indignation, his whole being rebelled against the blundering as it were of events which had thus thrown him into the jaws of death. In an hour or two, however, he sufficiently recovered from the shock to reflect that most probably there would give him some chance to speak for himself. There would not be any trial who would waste time in trying so insignificant a wretch, but there might be some opportunity of speaking, and he resolved to use it to the utmost possible extent. He would arraign the unskillful generalship of the king. He would not only point out his errors, but how the enemy could be defeated. He would prove that he had ideas and plans worthy of attention. He would, as it were, vindicate himself before he was executed, and he tried to collect his thoughts and put them into form. Every moment the face of Aurora seemed to look upon him lovingly and mournfully. But beside it he saw the dusty and distorted features of the corpse he had seen drawn by the horse through the camp. Thus, too, his tongue would protrude and lick the dust. He endured in a word those treble agonies which the highly wrought and imaginative inflict upon themselves. The hours passed, and still no one came near him. He called, and the guard appeared at the door but only to see what was the matter, and finding his prisoner safe at once resumed his walk to and fro. The soldier did not, for his own sake, dare to enter into conversation with a prisoner under arrest for such an offence. He might be involved or suspected. Had it been merely theft or any ordinary crime he would have talked freely enough and sympathised with the prisoner. As time went on Felix grew thirsty, but his request for water was disregarded, and there he remained till four in the afternoon. They then marched him out. He begged to be allowed to speak, but the soldier he did not reply, simply hurrying him forward. He now feared that he should be executed without the chance being afforded him to say a word. But to his surprise he found in a few minutes that they were taking him in the direction of the king's quarters. New fears now seized him, for he had heard of men being turned loose, made to run for their lives, and hunted down with hounds for the amusement of the court. If the citizen's wealth had made him many enemies, men whom he had befriended and who hoped if they could but see him executed to escape the payment of their debts, on the other hand it had made him as many friends, that is, interested friends, who trusted by doing him service to obtain advances. These latter had lost no time, for greed is quite as eager as hate, and carried the matter at once to the king. What they desired was that the case should be decided by the monarch himself, and not by his chancellor or a judge appointed for the purpose. The judge would be nearly certain to condemn the citizen, and to confiscate whatever he could lay hands on. The king might pardon, and would be content with a part only, where his ministers would grasp all. These friends succeeded in their object. The king, who hated all judicial affairs, as they involved the trouble of investigation, shrugged his shoulders at the request, and would not have granted it had it not come out that the citizen's servant had declared him to be an incapable commander. At this the king started. We are indeed fallen low, said he, when a miserable trader's nave calls us incapable. We will see this impudent rascal. He accordingly ordered that the prisoner should be brought before him after dinner. Felix was led inside the entrenchment, unbound, and commanded to stand upright. There was a considerable assembly of the greater barons anxious to see the trial of the moneylender, who though present, was kept apart from Felix, lest the two should arrange their events. The king was sleeping on a couch outside the booth in the shade. He was lying on his back, breathing loudly with open mouth. How different his appearance to the time when he sat on his splendid charger, and reviewed his knights. A heavy meal had been succeeded by as heavy a slumber. No one dared to disturb him. The assembly moved on tiptoe and conversed in whispers. He experienced, divined, that the prisoners were certain to be condemned, for the king would wake within digestion, and vent his uneasy sensations upon them. Full an hour elapsed before the king awoke with a snort, and called for a draught of water. How Felix envied that draught. He had neither eaten nor drunk since the night previous. It was a hot day, and his tongue was dry and parched. The citizen was first accused. He denied any treasonable designs or expressions whatever. As for the other prisoner, till the time he was arrested he did not even know he had been in his service. He was some stroller whom his grooms had unconsciously engaged the lazy scoundrels to assist them. He had never even spoken to him. If the knave told the truth he must acknowledge this. How now, said the king, turning to Felix, what do you say? It is true, replied Felix. He has never spoken to me nor I to him. He knew nothing of what I said. I said it on my own account, and I say it again. And pray, sir knave, said the king, sitting up on his couch, for he was surprised to hear one so meanly dressed, speak so correctly, and so boldly face him. What was it you did say? If your majesty will order me a single drop of water, said the prisoner, I will repeat it word for word, but I have had nothing the whole day, and I can hardly move my tongue. Without a word the king handed him the cup from which he had himself drunk. Never surely was water so delicious. Felix drained it to the bottom, handed it back, an officer took it, and with one brief thought of Aurora he said, Your majesty, you are an incapable commander. Go on, said the king sarcastically, why am I incapable? You have attacked the wrong city. These three are all your enemies, and you have attacked the first. They stand in a row. They stand in a row, repeated the king, and we will knock them over like three nine-pins. But you have begun with the end one, said Felix, and that is the mistake. For after you have taken the first, you must take the second, and still after that the third. But you might have saved much trouble and time if—if what?—if you had assaulted the middle one first. For then, while the siege went on, you would have been able to prevent either of the other two towns from sending assistance. And when you had taken the first, and put your garrison in it, neither of the others could have stirred or reaped their corn, nor could they even communicate with each other, since you would be between them, and in fact you would have cut your enemies in twain. By St John, swore the king, it is a good idea. I begin to think, but go on, you have more to say. I think too, Your Majesty, that by staying here, as you have done this fortnight past without action, you have encouraged the other two cities to make more desperate resistance. And it seems to me that you are in a dangerous position, and may at any moment be overwhelmed with disaster. For there is nothing whatever to prevent either of the other two from sending troops to burn the open city of Aesir in your absence. And that danger must increase every day as they take courage by your idleness. Idleness! There shall be idleness no longer. The man speaks the truth. We will consider further of this. We will move on Adlinton, turning to his barons. If it please Your Majesty," said Baron Ingolf, this man invented a new trigger for our carriage crossbows, but he was lost in the crowd, and we have sought for him in vain. My sergeant here has this moment recognised him. Why did you not come to us before, fellow? said the king. Let him be released. Let him be entertained at our expense. Give him clothes and a sword. We will see you further. Overjoyed at this sudden turn of fortune, Felix forgot to let well alone. He had his audience with him for a moment. He could not resist as it were following up his victory. He thanked the king and added that he could make a machine which would knock the walls yonder to pieces without it being necessary to approach nearer than half a bow-shot. What is this? said the king. Ingolf, have you ever heard of such a machine? There is no such thing! said the Baron, beginning to feel that his professional reputation as the master of the artillery was assailed. There is nothing of the kind known. It will shoot stones as big as heavy as a man can lift," said Felix eagerly, and easily knocked ours to fragments. The king looked from one to another. He was incredulous. The Baron smiled scornfully. Ask him, Your Majesty, how these stones are to be thrown? No, bow could do it. How are the stones to be thrown? said the king sharply. Beware how you play with us. By the force of twisted ropes, Your Majesty. They all laughed. The Baron said, You see, Your Majesty, there is nothing of the kind. This is some jester. The twisted rope should be a halter, said another courtier, one of those who hoped for the rich man's downfall. It can be done, Your Majesty, cried Felix, alarmed. I assure you, a stone of two hundred weight might be thrown a quarter of a mile. The assembly did not repress its contempt. The man is a fool, said the king, who now thought that Felix was a jester who had put a trick upon him. But your joke is out of joint. I will teach such fellows to try tricks on us. Beat him out of camp. The provost's men seized him, and in a moment he was dragged off his feet and bodily carried outside the entrenchment. Thence they pushed him along, beating him with the butts of their spears, to make him run the faster. The groups they passed laughed and jeered, the dogs barked and snapped at his ankles. They hurried him outside the camp, and thrusting him savagely with their spear-butts, sent him headlong. There they left him, with the caution which he did not hear, being insensible, that if he ventured inside the lines he would be at once hanged. Like a dead dog they left him on the ground. Some hours later, in the dusk of the evening, Felix stole from the spot, skirting the forests like a wild animal, afraid to venture from its cover, till he reached the track which led to Aisy. His one idea was to reach his canoe. He would have gone through the woods, but that was not possible. Without ax or woodknife to hew away, the tangled brushwood he knew to be impossible, having observed how thick it was when coming. Aking and trembling in every limb, not so much with physical suffering as that kind of inward fever which follows unmerited injury, the revolt of the mind against it, he followed the track as fast as his weary frame would let him. He had tasted nothing that day but the draft from the King's Cup, and a second draft when he recovered consciousness from the stream that flowed past the camp, yet he walked steadily on without pause. His head hung forward, and his arms were listless, but his feet mechanically plodded on. He walked, indeed, by his will, and not with his sinews. Thus, like a ghost, for there was no life in him, he traversed the shadowy forest. The dawn came, and still he kept onwards. As the sun rose higher, having now travelled fully twenty miles, he saw houses on the right of the trail. They were evidently those of retainers or workmen employed on the manor, for a castle stood at some distance. An hour later he approached the second or open city of Acy, where the ferry was across the Channel. In his present condition he could not pass through the town. No one there knew of his disgrace, but it was the same to him as if they had. Avoiding the town itself, he crossed the cultivated fields, and upon arriving at the channel he at once stepped in and swam across to the opposite shore. It was not more than sixty yards, but weary as he was, it was an exhausting effort. He sat down, but immediately got up and struggled on. The church tower on the slope of the hill was a landmark by which he easily discovered the direction of the spot where he had hidden the canoe. But he felt unable to push through the belt of brushwood, reeds and flags beside the shore, and therefore struck through the furs, following a cattle-track which doubtless led to another grazing ground. This ran parallel with the shore, and when he judged himself about level with the canoe he left it and entered the wood itself. For a little way he could walk, but the thick fur branches soon blocked his progress, and he could progress only on hands and knees creeping beneath them. There was a hollow space under the lower branches free from brushwood. Thus he painfully approached the lake, and descending the hill, after an hour's weary work, emerged among the rushes and reeds. He was within two hundred yards of the canoe, for he recognized the island opposite it. In ten minutes he found it undisturbed and exactly as he had left it, except that the breeze had strewn the dry reeds with which it was covered with willow leaves, yellow and dead they fall while all the rest are green, which had been whirled from the branches. Throwing himself upon the reeds beside the canoe he dropped asleep as if he had been dead. He awoke as the sun was sinking and sat up hungry in the extreme but much refreshed. There were still some stores in the canoe of which he ate ravenously. But he felt better now. He felt at home beside his boat. He could hardly believe in the reality of the hideous dream through which he had passed. And when he tried to stand, his feet cut and blistered, only too painfully assured him of its reality. He took out his hunter's hide and cloak and spread himself a comfortable bed. Though he had slept so long, he was still weary. He reclined in a semi-unconscious state, his frame slowly recovering from the strain it had endured, till by degrees he fell asleep again. Sleep, nothing but sleep, restores the overtaxed mind and body. A voyage. The sun was up when Felix awoke, and as he raised himself, the beauty of the lake before him filled him with pleasure. By the shore it was so calm that the trees were perfectly reflected and the few willow leaves that had fallen floated without drifting one way or the other. Farther out the islands were lit up with the sunlight, and the swallows skimmed the water following the outline of their shores. In the lake beyond them, glimpses of which he could see through the channel or passage between, there was a ripple where the faint southwestern breeze touched the surface. His mind went out to the beauty of it. He did not question or analyze his feelings. He launched his vessel and left that hard and tyrannical land for the loveliness of the water. Paddling out to the islands, he passed through between them and reached the open lake. There he hoisted the sail. The gentle breeze filled it. The sharp cut water 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 Malards, who saw the canoe coming, at first scarcely moved, never thinking that a boat would venture outside the islands, within whose line they were accustomed to sea vessels. But when the canoe continued to 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 lake was his own. By the shores of the islands the crows came down for mussels. More hens swam in and out among the rushes. Water rats nibbled at the flags, pikes basked at the edge of the weeds. Summer snipes ran along the sand, and doubtless and otter here and there was in concealment. Without the line of the shoals and islands, now that the Malards had flown, there was a solitude of water. It was far too deep for the longest weeds, nothing seemed to exist here. The very water snails seek the shore, or are drifted by the currents into shallow corners. Neither great nor little care for the broad expanse. The canoe moved more rapidly as the wind came now with its full force over the distant woods and hills, and though it was but a light southerly breeze, the broad sail impelled the taper vessel swiftly. Reclining in the stern, Felix lost all consciousness of ought but that he was pleasantly born along. His eyes were not closed, and he was aware of the canoe, the lake, the sunshine and the sky, and yet he was asleep. Physically awake, he mentally slumbered. It was rest. After the misery, exertion and excitement of the last fortnight, it was rest, intense rest for body and mind. The pressure of the water against the handle of the rudder paddle, the slight vibration of the wood as the bubbles rushed by beneath, alone perhaps kept him from really falling asleep. This was something which could not be left to itself, it must be firmly grasped, and that effort restrained his drowsiness. Three hours passed. The shore was twelve or fifteen miles behind, and looked like a blue cloud, for the summer haze hid the hills more than would have been the case in clearer weather. The hour and at last Felix, awakening from his slumberous condition, looked round and saw nothing but the waves. The shore he had left had entirely disappeared, gone down. If there were land more lofty on either hand, the haze concealed it. He looked again, he could scarcely comprehend it. He knew the lake was very wide, but it had never occurred 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 the open water. He stood up and swept the horizon carefully, shading his eyes with his hand. There was nothing but a mist at the horizon. He was alone with the sun, the sky and the lake. He could not surely have sailed into the ocean without knowing it. He sat down, dipped his hand overboard, and tasted the drops that adhered. The water was pure and sweet, warm from the summer sunshine. There was not so much as a swift in the upper sky. Nothing but slender filaments of white cloud. No swallows glided over the surface of the water. If there were fishes, he could not see them through the waves, which were here much larger, sufficiently large, though the wind was light, to make his canoe rise and fall with their regular rolling. To see fishes a calm surface is necessary, and, like other creatures, they haunt the shallows and the shore. Never had he felt alone like this, in the depths of the farthest forest he had penetrated. Had he contemplated beforehand the possibility of passing out of sight of land, when he found that the canoe had arrived, he would probably have been alarmed and anxious for his safety. But thus stumbling drowsily into the solitude of the vast lake, he was so astounded with his own discovery, so absorbed in thinking of the immense expanse, that the idea of danger did not occur to him. Another hour passed, and he now began to gaze about him more eagerly for some sight of land, for he had very little provision with him, and he did not wish to spend the night upon the lake. Presently, however, the mist on the horizon ahead appeared to thicken, and then became blue, and in a shorter time than he expected, land came in sight. This arose from the fact of its being low, so that he had approached nearer than he knew before recognising it. At the time when he was really out of sight of the coast, he was much further from the hilly land left behind, than from the low country in front, and not in the mathematical centre, as he had supposed, of the lake. As it rose and came more into sight, he already began 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 had just escaped from. Should he indeed venture among them at all, or should he remain in the woods till he had observed more of their ways and manners? These questions were being debated in his mind when he perceived that the wind was falling. As the sun went past the meridian, the breeze fell, till, in the hottest part of the afternoon, and when he judged that he was not more than eight miles from shore, it sank to the merest zephyr, and the waves by degrees diminished. So faint became the breeze in half an hour's time, and so intermittent, that he found it patience wasted even to hold the rudder paddle. The sail hung, and was no longer bellied out. As the idle waves rolled under, it flapped against the mast. The heat was now so intolerable, the light reflected from the water increasing the sensation, that he was obliged to make himself some shelter by partly lowering the sail and hauling the yard a-thwart the vessel, so that the canvas acted as an awning. Gradually the waves declined in volume, and the gentle breathing of the wind ebbed away, till at last the surface was almost still, and he could feel no perceptible air stirring. Weary of sitting in the narrow boat he stood up, but he could not stretch himself sufficiently for the change to be of much use. The long summer day, previously so pleasant, now appeared scarcely and durable. Upon the silent water the time lingered, for there was nothing to mark its advance, not so much as a shadow beyond that of his own boat. The waves having now no crest went under the canoe without chafing against it or rebounding, so that they were noiseless. No fishes rose to the surface. There was nothing living near except a blue butterfly which settled on the mast, having ventured thus far from land. The vastness of the sky overarching the broad water, the sun and the motionless filaments of cloud gave no repose for his gaze, for they were seemingly still. To the weary gaze motion is repose. The waving boughs, the foam-tipped waves, afford positive rest to look at. Such intense stillness as this of the summer sky was oppressive. It was like living in space itself in the ether above. He welcomed at last the gradual downward direction of the sun, for as the heat decreased he could work with the paddle. Presently he felled the sail, took his paddle, and set his face for the land. He laboured steadily, but made no apparent progress. The canoe was heavy, and the outrigger or beam, which was of material use in sailing, was a drawback to paddling. He worked till his arms grew weary, and still the blue land seemed as far off as ever. But by the time the sun began to approach the horizon his efforts had produced some effect. The shore was visible, and the woods beyond. They were still five miles distant, and he was tired. There was little chance of his reaching it before night. He put his paddle down for refreshment and rest, and while he was thus engaged a change took place. A faint puff of air came, a second and a third, a tiny ripple ran along the surface. Now he recollected that he had heard that the mariners depended a great deal on the morning and the evening the land and the lake breeze as they worked along the shore. This was the first breath of the land breeze. It freshened after a while, and he reset his sail. An hour or so afterwards he came near the shore. He heard the thrushes singing and the cuckoo calling long before he landed. He did not stay to search about for a creek, but ran the canoe on the strand, which was free of reeds or flags, a sign that the waves often beat furiously there, rolling as they must for so many miles. He hauled the canoe up as high as he could, but presently when he looked about him he found that he was on a small and narrow island with a channel in the rear. Tired as 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 and the open lake. Else he feared if a south wind should blow she might be broken to pieces on the strand before his eyes. It was prudent to take the 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 of small extent and nearly bare, and therefore in the morning paddled across the channel to the mainland as he thought. But upon exploring the opposite shore it proved not to be the mainland but merely another island. Paddling round it he tried again, but with the same result he found nothing but island after island, all narrow and bearing nothing except bushes. Observing a channel which seemed to go straight in among these islets he resolved to follow it and did so, resting at noontime, the whole morning. As he paddled slowly in he found the water shallower and weeds, bulrushes and reeds became thick except quite in the centre. After the heat of midday had gone over he resumed his voyage and still found the same. Islets and banks more or less covered with hawthorn bushes, willow, elder and alder succeeded to islets fringed round their edges with reeds and reed canary grass. When he grew weary of paddling he landed and stayed the night. The next day he went on again and still, for hour after hour, rode in and out among these banks and islets, till he began to think he should never find his way out. The farther he penetrated the more numerous became the waterfowl. Ducks swam among the flags or rose with a rush and splashing. Coots and mohens dived and hid in the reeds. The lesser greed sank at the sound of the paddle like a stone. A strong northern diver raised away as he hurried away under the water his course marked by the undulation above him. Sedgebirds chirped in the willows. Black-headed buntings sat on the trees and watched him without fear. Bearded titmice were there clinging to the stalks of the sedges and long-necked herons rose from the reedy places where they loved to wade. Blue dragonflies darted to and fro or sat on water plants as if they were flowers. Snakes swam across the channels vibrating their heads from side to side. Swallows swept over his head. Pike struck from the verge of the thick weeds as he came near. Perch rose for insects as they fell helpless into the water. He noticed that the water, though so thick with reeds, was as clear as that in the open lake. There was no scum such as accumulates in stagnant places. From this he concluded that there must be a current, however slight, perhaps from rivers flowing into this part of the lake. He felt the strongest desire to explore farther till he reached the mainland, but he reflected that mere exploration was not his object. It would never obtain Aurora for him. There were no signs whatever of human habitation, and from reeds and bulrushes, however interesting, nothing could be gained. Reluctantly, therefore, on the third morning, having passed the night on one of the islets, he turned his canoe and paddled southwards towards the lake. He did not for a moment attempt to retrace the channel by which he had entered. It would have been an impossibility. He took advantage of any clear space to push through. It took him as long to get out as it had to get in. It was the afternoon of the fourth day when he at last regained the coast. He rested the remainder of the afternoon, wishing to start fresh in the morning, having determined to follow the line of the shore eastwards, and so gradually to circumnavigate the lake. If he succeeded in nothing else, that at least would be something to relate to Aurora. The morning rose fair and bright, with a southwesterly air rather than a breeze. He sailed before it. It was so light that his progress could not have exceeded more than three miles an hour. Hour after hour passed away, and still he followed the line of the shore, now going a short way out to Skirtan Island, and now nearer it to pass between sandbanks. By noon he was so weary of sitting in the canoe that he ran her ashore and rested a while. 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 a little, and blew now from the west, almost to exactly a bath to suit his craft. He could not make a map while sailing, or observe his position accurately, but it appeared to him that the shore trended towards the southeast, so that he was gradually turning an arc. He supposed from this that he must be approaching the eastern end of the lake. The water seemed shallower to judge from the quantity of weeds. Now and then he caught glimpses between the numerous islands of the open lake, and there, too, the weeds covered the surface in many places. In an hour or two the breeze increased considerably, and travelling so much quicker he found it required all his dexterity to steer past the islands and clear the banks upon which he was drifting. Once or twice he grazed the willows that overhung the water, and heard the keel of the canoe drag on the bottom. As much as possible he bore away from the mainland, steering southeast, thinking to find deeper water and to be free of the islets. He succeeded in the first, but the islets were now so numerous that he could not tell where the open lake was. The farther the afternoon advanced, the more the breeze freshened, till occasionally as it blew between the islands it struck his mast almost with the force of a gale. Felix welcomed the wind, which would enable him to make great progress before evening. If such favouring breezes would continue he could circumnavigate the waters in a comparatively short 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 them before they could roll far enough to gather force, so that he had all the advantage of the gale without its risks. Except a light haze all round the horizon the sky was perfectly clear, and it was pleasant now the strong current of air cooled the sun's heat. As he came round the islands 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. CHAPTER XXII This little circumstance of the mallards always flying over him and away behind when flushed presently made Felix speculate on the cause, and he kept a closer watch. He now saw, what had indeed been going on for some time, that there was a ceaseless stream of waterfowl, mallards, ducks, coots, moorhens, and lesser grebes, coming towards him, swimming to the westward. As they met him they parted and let him through, or rose and went over. Next he noticed that the small birds on the islands were also travelling in the same direction, that is against the wind. They did not seem in any haste, but flitted from islet to islet, bush to tree, feeding and gossiping as they went. Still the movement was distinct. Finches, linets, blackbirds, thrushes, wrens, and white-throats, and many others, all passed him, and he could see the same thing going on to his right and left. Felix became much interested in this migration, all the more singular as it was the nesting time, and hundreds of these birds must have left their nests with eggs or young behind them. Nothing that he could think of offered an adequate explanation. He imagined he saw shoals of fishes going the same way, but the surface of the water being ruffled, and the canoes sailing rapidly, he could not be certain. About an hour after he first observed the migration, the stream of birds ceased suddenly. There were no waterfowls in the water, and no finches in the bushes. They had evidently all passed. Those in the van of the migratory army were no doubt scattered and thinly distributed, so that he had been meeting the flocks a long while before he suspected it. The nearer he approached their centre, the thicker they became, and on getting through that he found a solitude. The weeds were thicker than ever, so that he had constantly to edge away from where he supposed the mainland to lie, but there were no waterfowls and no birds on the islands. Suddenly, as he rounded a large island, he saw what for the moment he imagined to be a line of white surf, but the next instant he recognised a solid mass, as it were, of swallows and martins flying just over the surface of the water, straight towards him. He had no time to notice how far they extended before they had gone by him with a rushing sound. Turning to look back, he saw them continue directly west in the teeth of the wind. Like the water and the islands, the sky was now cleared of birds, and not a swallow remained. Felix asked himself if he were running into some unknown danger, but he could not conceive any. The only thing that occurred to him was the possibility of the wind rising to a hurricane. That gave him no alarm, because the numerous islands would afford shelter. So complete was the shelter in some places, that as he passed along his sail drew above, while the surface of the water, almost surrounded with bushes and willows, was smooth. No matter to how many quarters of the compass the wind might veer, he should still be able to get under the lee of one or other of the banks. The sky remained without clouds, there was nothing but a slight haze, which he sometimes fancy looked thicker in front or to the eastward. There was nothing whatever to cause the least uneasiness. On the contrary, his curiosity was aroused, and he was desirous of discovering what it was that had startled the birds. After a while, the water became rather more open, with sand-banks instead of islands, so that he could see around him for a considerable distance. By a large bank, behind which the ripple was stilled, he saw a low wave advancing towards him, and moving against the wind. It was followed by two others at short intervals, and though he could not see them, he had no doubt shoals of fishes were passing, and had raised the undulations. The sedges on the sand-banks appeared brown and withered, as if it had been autumn instead of early summer. The flags were brown at the tip, and the aquatic grasses had dwindled. They looked as if they could not grow, and had reached but half their natural height. From the low willows the leaves were dropping faded and yellow, and the thorn-bushes were shriveled and covered with the white cocoons of caterpillars. The farther he sailed, the more desolate the banks seemed, and trees ceased altogether. Even the willows were fewer and stunted, and the highest thorn-bush was not above his chest. His vessel was now more exposed to the wind, so that he drove past the banks and scattered islands rapidly, and he noticed that there was not so much as a crow on them. Upturned muscle-shells glittering in the sunshine showed where crows had been at work, but there was not one now visible. Felix thought that the water had lost its clearness and had become thick, which he put down to the action of the wavelets disturbing the sand in the shallows. Ahead the haze or mist was now much thicker and was apparently not over a mile distant. It hid the islands and concealed everything. He expected to enter it immediately, but it receded as he approached. Along the strand of an island he passed there was a dark line like a stain, and in still water under the lee the surface was covered with a floating scum. Felix on seeing this at once concluded that he had unknowingly entered a gulf and had left the main lake, for the only place he had ever seen scum before was at the extremity of a creek near home where the water was partly stagnant on a marshy level. The water of the lake was proverbial for its purity and clearness. He kept, therefore, a sharp look-out, expecting every moment to sight the end of the gulf or creek in which he supposed himself sailing, so that he might be ready to lower his sail. By degrees the wind had risen till it now blew with fury, but the numerous sand-flats so broke up the waves that he found no inconvenience from them. One solitary gull passed over at a great height, flying steadily westwards against the wind. The canoe now began to overtake fragments of scum drifting before the wind and rising up and down on the ripples. Once he saw a broad piece rise to the surface together with a quantity of bubbles. None of the sand-banks now rose more than a foot or so above the surface, and were entirely bare, mere sand and gravel. The mist ahead was sensibly nearer, and yet it eluded him. It was of a faint yellow, and though so thin, obscured everything where it hovered. From out of the mist there presently appeared a vast stretch of weeds. They floated on the surface and undulated to the wavelets, a pale yellowish-green expanse. Felix was hesitating whether to lower his sail or attempt to drive over them, when, as he advanced and the mist retreated, he saw open water beyond. The weeds extended on either hand as far as he could see, but they were only a narrow band, and he hesitated no longer. He felt the canoe graze the bottom once as he sailed over the weeds. The water was free of sand-banks beyond them, but he could see large islands looming in several directions. Glancing behind him, he perceived that the faint yellow mist had closed in, and now encircled him. It came within two or three hundred yards, and was not affected by the wind, rough as it was. Quite suddenly he noticed that the water on which the canoe floated was black. The wavelets which rolled alongside were black, and the slight spray that occasionally flew on board was black, and stained the side of the vessel. This greatly astonished and almost shocked him. It was so opposite and contrary to all his ideas about the lake, the very mirror of purity. He leaned over, and dipped up a little in the palm of his hand. It did not appear black in such a small quantity. It seemed a rusty brown, but he became aware of an offensive odour. The odour clung to his hand, and he could not remove it to his great disgust. It was like nothing he had ever smelt before, and not in the least like the vapor of marshes. By now, being some distance from any island, the wavelets increased in size, and spray flew on board, wetting everything with this black liquid. Instead of level marshes and the end of the gulf, it appeared as if the water were deep, and also as if it widened. Exposed to the full press of the gale, Felix began to fear that he should not be able to return very easily against it. He did not know what to do. The horrid blackness of the water disposed him to turn about and tack out. On the other hand, having set out on a voyage of discovery, and having now found something different to the other parts of the lake, he did not like to retreat. He sailed on, thinking to presently pass these loathsome waters. He was now hungry and indeed thirsty, but was unable to drink because he had no water-barrel. No vessel sailing on the lake ever carried a water-barrel since such pure water was always under their boughs. He was cramped, too, with long sitting in the canoe, and the sun was perceptibly sloping in the west. He determined to land and rest, and with this purpose steered to the right under the lee of a large island, so large indeed that he was not certain it was not part of the mainland or one side of the gulf. The water was very deep close up to the shore, but to his annoyance the strand appeared black as if soaked with the dark water. He skirted along somewhat farther and found a ledge of low rocks stretching out into the lake, so that he was obliged to run ashore before coming to these. On landing the black strand to his relief was fairly firm, for he had dreaded sinking to the knees in it, but its appearance was so unpleasant that he could not bring himself to sit down. He walked on towards the ledge of rocks, thinking to find a pleasanter place there. They were stratified, and he stepped on them to climb up when his foot went deep into the apparently hard rock. He kicked it, and his shoe penetrated it as if it had been soft sand. It was impossible to climb up the reef. The ground rose inland, and curious to see around him as far as possible, he ascended the slope. From the summit, however, he could not see farther than on the shore for the pale yellow mist rose up round him and hid the canoe on the strand. The extreme desolation of the dark and barren ground repelled him. There was not a tree, bush, or living creature, not so much as a buzzing fly. He turned to go down, and then for the first time noticed that the disk of the sun was surrounded with a faint blue rim, apparently caused by the yellow vapor. So much were the rays shorn of their glare that he could now look at the sun without any distress, but its heat seemed to have increased, though it was now late in the afternoon. Descending towards the canoe, he fancied the wind had veered considerably. He sat down in the boat and took some food. It was without relish as he had nothing to drink, and the great heat had tired him. Wearily and without thinking, he pushed off the canoe. She slowly floated out, when, as he was about to hoist up the sail, a tremendous gust of wind struck him down on the thwarts, and nearly carried him overboard. He caught the mast as he fell, or over he must have gone into the black waves. Before he could recover himself, she drifted against the ledge of rocks, which broke down and sank before the bow, so that she passed over, uninjured. Felix got out of paddle, and directed the canoe as well as he could. The fury of the wind was irresistible, and he could only drive before it. In a few minutes, as he was swept along the shore, he was carried between it and another immense reef. Here, the waves being broken and less powerful, he contrived to get the heavy canoe ashore again, and jumping out dragged her up as far as he could on the land. When he had done this, he found to his surprise that the gale had ceased. The tremendous burst of wind had been succeeded by a perfect calm, and the waves had already lost their violent impetus. This was a relief, for he had feared that the canoe would be utterly broken to pieces, but soon he began to doubt if it were an unmixed benefit, as without a wind he could not move from this dismal place that evening. He was too weary to paddle far. He sat on the canoe to rest himself, and whether from fatigue or other causes, fell asleep. His head heavily dropping on his chest partly woke him several times, but his lassitude overcame the discomfort, and he slept on. When he got up he felt dazed and unrefreshed, as if sleeping had been hard work. He was extremely thirsty and oppressed with the increasing heat. The sun had sunk, or rather was so low that the high ground hid it from sight. End of Part 2 Chapter 22. Part 2 Chapter 23 of After London. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Ruth Golding. After London, or Wild England, by Richard Jeffries. Part 2 Wild England. Chapter 23. Strange Things. The thought struck Felix that perhaps he might find a spring somewhere in the island, and he started at once up over the hill. At the top he paused. The sun had not sunk, but had disappeared as a disc. In its place was a billow of blood, for so it looked, a vast upheaved billow of glowing blood surging on the horizon. Over it flickered a tint of palest blue, like that seen in fire. The black waters reflected the glow, and the yellow vapour around was suffused with it. Though momentarily startled, Felix did not much heed these appearances, he was still dazed and heavy from his sleep. He went on looking for a spring, sometimes walking on firm ground, sometimes sinking to the ankle in a friable soil like black sand. The ground looked indeed as if it had been burnt, but there were no charred stumps of timber such as he had seen on the sites of forest fires. The extreme dreariness seemed to oppress his spirits, and he went on and on in a heavy waking dream. Descending into a plain he lost sight of the flaming sunset and the black waters. In the level plain the desolation was yet more marked. There was not a grass-blade or plant. The surface was hard, black, and burned, resembling iron, and indeed in places it resounded to his feet, though he supposed that was the echo from hollow passages beneath. Several times he shook himself, straightened himself up, and endeavored to throw off the sense of drowsy weight which increased upon him. He could not do so. He walked with bent back, and crept, as it were, over the iron land which radiated heat. A shimmer like that of water appeared in front. He quickened his pace, but could not get to it, and realized presently that it was a mirage which receded as he advanced. There was no pleasant summer twilight. The sunset was succeeded by an indefinite gloom, and while this shadow hung overhead the yellow vapour around was faintly radiant. Felix suddenly stopped, having stepped as he thought on a skeleton. Another glance, however, showed that it was merely the impression of one. The actual bones had long since disappeared. The ribs, the skull, and limbs were drawn on the black ground in white lines, as if it had been done with a broad piece of chalk. Close by he found three or four more intertangled and superimposed, as if the unhappy beings had fallen partly across each other, and in that position had moulded away, leaving nothing but their outline. From among the variety of objects that were scattered about, Felix picked up something that shone. It was a diamond bracelet of one large stone, and a small square of blue china tile, with a curious heraldic animal drawn on it. Evidently these had belonged to one or other of the party who had perished. Though startled at the first sight, it was curious that Felix felt so little horror. The idea did not occur to him that he was in danger as these had been. Inhaling the gaseous emanations from the soil and contained in the yellow vapour, he had become narcotised, and moved as if under the influence of opium while wide awake and capable of rational conduct. His senses were deadened, and did not carry the usual vivid impression to the mind. He saw things as if they were afar off. Accidentally looking back he found that his footmarks, as far as he could see, shone with a phosphoric light like that of touchwood in the dark. Near at hand they did not shine, the appearance did not come till some few minutes had elapsed. His track was visible behind till the vapour hid it. As the evening drew on the vapour became more luminous and somewhat resembled an aurora. Still anxious for water he proceeded as straight ahead as he could, and shortly became conscious of an indefinite cloud which kept pace with him on either side. When he turned to look at either of the clouds the one looked at disappeared. It was not condensed enough to be visible to direct vision, yet he was aware of it from the corner of his eye. Shapeless and threatening, the gloomy thickness of the air floated beside him like the vague monster of a dream. Sometimes he fancied that he saw an arm or a limb among the folds of the cloud or an approach to a face. The instant he looked it vanished. Marching at each hand these vapours bore him horrible company. His brain became unsteady and flickering things moved about him, yet though alarmed he was not afraid. His senses were not acute enough for fear. The heat increased. His hands were intolerably hot as if he had been in a fever. He panted but did not perspire. A dry heat like an oven burned his blood in his veins. His head felt enlarged and his eyes seemed alight. He could see these two globes of phosphoric light under his brows. They seemed to stand out so that he could see them. He thought his path straight. It was really curved. Nor did he know that he staggered as he walked. Presently a white object appeared ahead, and on coming to it he found it was a wall, white as snow, with some kind of crystal. He touched it when the wall fell immediately with a crushing sound as if pulverised, and disappeared in a vast cavern at his feet. Beyond this chasm he came to more walls like those of houses such as would be left if the roofs fell in. He carefully avoided touching them, for they seemed as brittle as glass, and merely a white powder having no consistency at all. As he advanced, these remnants of buildings increased in number so that he had to wind in and out round them. In some places the crystallized wall had fallen of itself, and he could see down into the cavern, for the house had either been built partly underground, or which was more probable the ground had risen. Whether the walls had been of bricks or stone or other material he could not tell. They were now like salt. Soon wearying of winding round these walls, Felix returned and traced his steps till he was outside the place, and then went on towards the left. Not long after, as he still walked in a dream and without feeling his feet, he descended a slight slope, and found the ground change in colour from black to a dull red. In his dazed state he had taken several steps into this red before he noticed that it was liquid, unctuous and slimy, like a thick oil. It deepened rapidly and was already over his shoes. He returned to the black shore and stood looking out over the water, if such it could be called. The luminous yellow vapour had now risen a height of ten or fifteen feet, and formed a roof both over the land and over the red water, under which it was possible to see for a great distance. The surface of the red oil or viscid liquid was perfectly smooth, and indeed it did not seem as if any wind could rouse a wave on it, much less that a swell should be left after the gale had gone down. Disappointed in his search for water to drink, Felix mechanically turned to go back. He followed his luminous footmarks, which he could see a long way before him. His trail curved so much that he made many shortcuts across the winding line he had left. His weariness was now so intense that all feeling had departed. His feet, his limbs, his arms and hands were numbed. The subtle poison of the emanations from the earth had begun to deaden his nerves. It seemed a full hour or more to him till he reached a spot where the skeletons were drawn in white upon the ground. He passed a few yards to one side of them, and stumbled over a heap of something which he did not observe as it was black like the level ground. It emitted a metallic sound, and looking he saw that he had kicked his foot against a great heap of money. The coins were black as ink. He picked up a handful and went on. Here the two Felix had accepted all that he saw as something so strange as to be unaccountable. During his advance into this region in the canoe he had, in fact, become slowly stupefied by the poisonous vapour he had inhaled. His mind was partly in abeyance. It acted, but only after some time had elapsed. He now at last began to realise his position. The finding of the heap of blackened money touched a cord of memory. These skeletons were the miserable relics of men who had ventured in search of ancient treasures into the deadly marshes to the site of the mightiest city of former days. The deserted and utterly extinct city of London was under his feet. He had penetrated into the midst of that dreadful place of which he had heard many a tradition. How the earth was poison, the water poison, the air poison, the very light of heaven falling through such an atmosphere, poison. There were said to be places where the earth was on fire and belched forth sulphurous fumes, supposed to be from the combustion of the enormous stores of strange and unknown chemicals collected by the wonderful people of those times. Upon the surface of the water there was a greenish yellow oil to touch which was death to any creature. It was the very essence of corruption. Sometimes it floated before the wind, and fragments became attached to reeds or flags far from the place itself. If a moor hen or duck chanced to rub the reed and but one drop stuck to its feathers it forthwith died. Of the red water he had not heard nor of the black into which he had unwittingly sailed. Ghastly beings haunted the site of so many crimes, shapeless monsters hovering by night and weaving a fearful dance. Frequently they caught fire as it seemed and burned as they flew or floated in the air. Remembering these stories which in part at least now seemed to be true Felix glanced aside where the cloud still kept pace with him and involuntarily put his hands to his ears lest the darkness of the air should whisper some horror of old times. The earth on which he walked, the black earth leaving phosphoric footmarks behind him, was composed of the moulded bodies of millions of men who had passed away in the centuries during which the city existed. He shuddered as he moved. He hastened yet could not go fast. His numbed limbs would not permit him. He dreaded lest he should fall and sleep and wake no more like the searches after treasure, treasure which they had found only to lose for ever. He looked around supposing that he might see the gleaming head and shoulders of the half-buried giant of which he recollected he had been told. The giant was punished for some crime by being buried to the chest in the earth. Fire incessantly consumed his head and played about it, yet it was not destroyed. The learned thought, if such a thing really existed, that it must be the upper part of an ancient brazen statue, kept bright by the action of acid in the atmosphere and shining with reflected light. Felix did not see it. And shortly afterwards surmounted the hill and looked down upon his canoe. It was on fire. End of Part 2, Chapter 23. Part 2, Chapter 24 of After London. This Librivox recording is in the public domain, recording by Ruth Golding. After London, or Wild England, by Richard Jeffries. Part 2, Wild England Chapter 24. Fiery Vapours. 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 Jacker 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 de-magnetised. 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 sand-bank 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 sand-banks 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 islands 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 canoes 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 moorheads scuttled out of the water into the grass on the shore. A thrush was singing sweetly. White throats 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 snapped 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 white throats, the sight of a hedge-sparrow gave him inexpressible pleasure. Lying on the sword 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, gunnel, 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 discolouration. 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 Isle 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 nor 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 discolouration 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 believed it was twice the size of the largest possessed by any king or prince. It was as big as his fingernail, 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 time a 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 marveled 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 vigor 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 dark as 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 keys. Felix now thought that the explosions were due to compressed air, or more probably to gases met with by the ascending tide. End of Part 2 Chapter 24 Part 2 Chapter 25 of After London This Librivox recording is in the public domain, recording by Ruth Golding. After London, or Wild England, by Richard Jeffries, Part 2 Wild England, Chapter 25 The Shepherds. For four days Felix remained on the island, recovering his strengths. By degrees the memory of the scenes he had witnessed grew less vivid, and his nerves regained their tone. The fifth morning he sailed again, making due south with a gentle breeze from the west, which suited the canoe very well. He considered that he was now at the eastern extremity of the lake, and that by sailing south he should presently reach the place where the shore turned to the east again. The sharp prow of the canoe cut swiftly through the waves, a light spray flew occasionally in his face, and the wind blew pleasantly. In the cloudless sky swallows and swifts were wheeling, and on the water half a dozen mallards moved aside to let him pass. About two hours after he started he encountered a mist, which came softly over the surface of the water with the wind, and in an instant shut out all view. Even the sun was scarcely visible. It was very warm and left no moisture. In five minutes he passed through, and emerged again in the bright sunlight. These two dry warm mists are frequently seen on the lake in summer, and are believed to portend a continuance of fine weather. Felix kept a good distance from the mainland, which was hilly and wooded, and with few islands. Presently he observed in the extreme distance on his right hand a line of mountainous hills, which he supposed to be the southern shore of the lake, and that he was sailing into a gulf or bay. He debated with himself whether he should alter his course and work across the mountains, or to continue to trace the shore. Unless he did trace the shore he could scarcely say that he had circumnavigated the lake, as he would leave this great bay unexplored. He continued therefore to sail directly south. The wind freshened towards noon, and the canoe flew at a great pace. Twice he passed through similar mists. There were now no islands at all, but a line of low chalk cliffs marked the shore. Considering that it must be deep and safe to do so, Felix bore in closer to look at the land. Woods ran along the hills right to the verge of the cliff, but he saw no signs of inhabitants, no smoke, boat, or house. The sound of the surf beating on the beach was audible, though the waves were not large. High over the cliff he noted a kite soaring with forked tail at a great height. Immediately afterwards he ran into another mist or vapor, thicker, if anything, and which quite obscured his view. It seemed like a great cloud on the surface of the water, and broader than those he had previously entered. Suddenly the canoe stopped with a tremendous jerk which pitched him forward on his knees. The mast cracked, and there was a noise of splitting wood. As soon as he could get up Felix saw to his bitter sorrow that the canoe had split longitudinally. The water came up through the split, and the boat was held together only by the beams of the outrigger. He had run aground on a large sharp flint embedded in a chalk floor which had split the poplar wood of the canoe like an axe. The voyage was over, for the least strain would cause the canoe to part in two, and if she were washed off the ground she would be waterlogged. In half a minute the mist passed, leaving him in the bright day shipwrecked. Felix now saw that the waters were white with suspended chalk, and sounding with the paddle found that the depth was but a few inches. He had driven at full speed on a reef. There was no danger for the distance to the shore was hardly two hundred yards, and judging by the appearance of the water it was shallow all the way. But his canoe, the product of so much labour, and in which he had voyaged so far, his canoe was destroyed. He could not repair her. He doubted whether it could have been done successfully even at home with Oliver to help him. He could sail no farther. There was nothing for it but to get ashore and travel on foot. If the wind rose higher the waves would soon break clean over her and she would go to pieces. With a heavy heart Felix took his paddle and stepped overboard. Feeling with the paddle he plumbed the depth in front of him, and as he expected walked all the way to the shore no deeper than his knees. This was fortunate as it enabled him to convey his things to land without loss. He wrapped up the tools and manuscripts in one of his hunter's hides. When the whole cargo was landed he sat down sorrowfully at the foot of the cliff, and looked out at the broken mast and sail still flapping uselessly in the breeze. It was a long time before he recovered himself and set to work mechanically to bury the crossbow, hunter's hides, tools and manuscripts under a heap of pebbles. As the cliff, though low, was perpendicular, he could not scale it, else he would have preferred to conceal them in the woods above. To pile pebbles over them was the best he could do for the present. He intended to return for them when he discovered a path up the cliff. He then started taking only his bow and arrows. But no such path was to be found. He walked on and on till weary, and still the cliff ran like a wall on his left hand. After an hour's rest he started again, and as the sun was declining came suddenly to a gap in the cliff where a grassy sword came down to the shore. It was now too late and he was too weary to think of returning for his things that evening. He made a scanty meal and endeavoured to rest. But the excitement of losing the canoe, the long march since, the lack of good food, all tended to render him restless. Weary he could not rest nor move farther. The time passed slowly, the sun sank, the wind ceased. After an interminable time the stars appeared, and still he could not sleep. He had chosen a spot under an oak on the green slope. The night was warm and even sultry, so that he did not miss his covering, but there was no rest in him. Towards the dawn which comes very early at that season he at last slept with his back to the tree. He awoke with a start in broad daylight to see a man standing in front of him armed with a long spear. Felix sprang to his feet, instinctively feeling for his hunting-knife, but he saw in an instant that no injury was meant, for the man was leaning on the shaft of his weapon, and of course could, if so he had wished, have run him through while sleeping. They looked at each other for a moment. The stranger was clad in a tunic, and wore a hat of plaited straw. He was very tall and strongly built, his single weapon a spear of twice his own length. His beard came down on his chest. He spoke to Felix in a dialect the latter did not understand. Felix held out his hand as a token of amity which the other took. He spoke again. Felix, on his part, tried to explain his shipwreck, when a word the stranger uttered, recalled to Felix's memory, the peculiar dialect used by the shepherd race on the hills in the neighbourhood of his home. He spoke in this dialect, which the stranger in part at least understood, and the sound of which at once rendered him more friendly. By degrees they comprehended each other's meaning the easier as the shepherd had come the same way and had seen the wreck of the canoe. Felix learned that the shepherd was a scout sent on ahead to see that the road was clear of enemies. His tribe were on the march with their flocks, and to avoid the steep woods and hills which their blocked their course, they had followed the level and open beach at the foot of the cliff, aware, of course, of the gap which Felix had found. While they were talking, Felix saw the cloud of dust raised by the sheep as the flocks wound round a jutting buttress of cliff. His friend explained that they marched in the night and early morning to avoid the heat of the day. Their proposed halting place was close at hand. He must go on and see that all was clear. Felix accompanied him and found within the wood at the summit a grassy coom where a spring rose. The shepherd threw down his spear and began to dam up the channel of the spring with stones, flints and sods of earth in order to form a pool at which the sheep might drink. Felix assisted him and water speedily began to rise. The flocks were not allowed to rush tumultuously to the water. They came in about fifty at a time, each division with its shepherds and their dogs, so that confusion was avoided and all had their share. There were about twenty of these divisions besides eighty cows and a few goats. They had no horses, their baggage came on the backs of asses. After the whole of the flocks and herds had been watered several fires were lit by the women, who in stature and hardy-hood scarcely differed from the men. Not till this work was over did the others gather about Felix to hear his story. Finding that he was hungry they ran to the baggage for food and pressed on him a little dark bread, plentiful cheese and butter, dried tongue and horns of meat. He could not devour a fiftieth part of what these hospitable people brought him. Having nothing else to give them he took from his pocket one of the gold coins he had brought from the site of the ancient city and offered it. They laughed and made him understand that it was of no value to them, but they passed it from hand to hand and he noticed that they began to look at him curiously. From its blackened appearance they conjectured whence he had obtained it. One, two, pointed to his shoes which were still blackened and appeared to have been scorched. The whole camp now pressed on him their wonder and interest rising to a great height. With some trouble Felix described his journey over the site of the ancient city, interrupted with constant exclamations, questions and excited conversation. He told them everything except about the diamond. Their manner towards him perceptibly altered. From the first they had been hospitable. They now became respectful and even reverent. The elders and their chief, not to be distinguished by dress or ornament from the rest, treated him with ceremony and marked deference. The children were brought to see and even to touch him. So great was their amazement that anyone should have escaped from these pestilential vapours that they attributed it to divine interposition and looked upon him with some of the awe of superstition. He was asked to stay with them altogether and to take command of the tribe. The latter, Felix, declined. To stay with them for a while at least he was of course willing enough. He mentioned his hidden possessions and got up to return for them, but they would not permit him. Two men started at once. He gave them the bearings of the spot and they had not the least doubt but that they should find it, especially as the wind being still the canoe would not yet have broken up and would guide them. The tribe remained in the green coom the whole day, resting from their long journey. They wearied Felix with questions, still he answered them as copiously as he could. He felt too grateful for their kindness not to satisfy them. His bow was handled, his arrows carried about so that the quiver for the time was empty and the arrows scattered in twenty hands. He astonished them by exhibiting his skill with the weapon, striking a tree with an arrow at nearly three hundred yards. Though familiar, of course, with the bow, they had never seen shooting like that, nor indeed any archery except at short quarters. They had no other arms themselves but spears and knives. Seeing one of the women cutting the bows from a fallen tree, dead and dry and therefore preferable for fuel, Felix naturally went to help her and taking the axe soon made a bundle which he carried for her. It was his duty as a noble to see that no woman, not a slave, laboured. He had been bred in that idea and would have felt disgraced had he permitted it. The women looked on with astonishment, for in these rude tribes the labour of the women was considered valuable and appraised like that of a force. Without any conscious design Felix thus in one day conciliated and won the regard of the two most powerful parties in the camp, the chief and the women. By his refusing the command the chief was flattered and his possible hostility prevented. The act of cutting the wood and carrying the bundle gave him the hearts of him. They did not indeed think their labour in any degree oppressive, still to be relieved of it was pleasing. The two men who had gone for Felix's buried treasure did not return till breakfast next morning. They stepped into the camp, each with his spear reddened and dripping with fresh blood. Felix no sooner saw the blood than he fainted. He quickly recovered, but he could not endure the sight of the spears which were removed and hidden from his view. He had seen blood enough spilt at the siege of Iwas, but this came upon him in all its horror unrelieved by the excitement of war. The two shepherds had been dogged by gypsies and had been obliged to make a round to escape. They took their revenge by climbing into trees and as their pursuers passed under thrust them through with their long spears. The shepherds, like all their related tribes, had been at feud with the gypsies for many generations. The gypsies followed them to and from their pastures, cut off stragglers, destroyed or stole their sheepened cattle, and now and then overwhelmed a whole tribe. Of late the contest had become more sanguinary and almost ceaseless. Mounted on swift though small horses, the gypsies had the advantage of the shepherds. On the other hand, the shepherds, being men of great stature and strength, could not be carried away by a rush if they had time to form a circle, as was their custom of battle. They lost many men by the javelins thrown by the gypsies, who rode up to the edge of the circle, cast their darts, and retreated. If the shepherds left their circle, they were easily ridden over. While they maintained formation, they lost individuals, but saved the mass. Battles were of rare occurrence. The gypsies watched for opportunities and executed raids, the shepherds retaliated, and thus the endless war continued. The shepherds invariably posted sentinels and sent forward scouts to ascertain if the way were clear. Accustomed to the horrid scenes of war from childhood, they could not understand Felix's sensitiveness. They laughed and then petted him like a spoilt child. This galled him exceedingly. He felt humiliated and eager to reassert his manhood. He was willing to stay with them there for a while. Nothing would have induced him to leave them now till he had vindicated himself in their sight. The incident happened soon after sunrise, which is very early at the end of June. The camp had only waited for the return of these men, and on their appearance began to move. The march that morning was not a long one, as the sky was clear and the heat soon wearied the flocks. Felix accompanied the scout in advance, armed with his bow, eager to encounter the gypsies. End of Part 2, Chapter 25