Chapter 7

"Clear, placid Leman I Thy contrasted lake
With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing
Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake
Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring.
This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing
To waft me from distraction; once I loved
Torn ocean's roar, but thy soft murmuring
Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved,
That I with stern delights should e'er have been so moved."

BYRON.

Day had fairly dawned before the young man, whom we have left in
the situation described in the last chapter, again opened his eyes.
This was no sooner done, than he started up, and looked about
him with the eagerness of one who suddenly felt the importance of
accurately ascertaining his precise position. His rest had been
deep and undisturbed; and when he awoke, it was with a clearness of
intellect and a readiness of resources that were very much needed
at that particular moment. The sun had not risen, it is true, but
the vault of heaven was rich with the winning softness that "brings
and shuts the day," while the whole air was filled with the carols
of birds, the hymns of the feathered tribe. These sounds first told
Deerslayer the risks he ran. The air, for wind it could scarce be
called, was still light, it is true, but it had increased a little
in the course of the night, and as the canoes were feathers on
the water, they had drifted twice the expected distance; and, what
was still more dangerous, had approached so near the base of the
mountain that here rose precipitously from the eastern shore, as
to render the carols of the birds plainly audible. This was not
the worst. The third canoe had taken the same direction, and was
slowly drifting towards a point where it must inevitably touch,
unless turned aside by a shift of wind, or human hands. In other
respects, nothing presented itself to attract attention, or to
awaken alarm. The castle stood on its shoal, nearly abreast of
the canoes, for the drift had amounted to miles in the course of
the night, and the ark lay fastened to its piles, as both had been
left so many hours before.

As a matter of course, Deerslayer's attention was first given to
the canoe ahead. It was already quite near the point, and a very
few strokes of the paddle sufficed to tell him that it must touch
before he could possibly overtake it. Just at this moment, too,
the wind inopportunely freshened, rendering the drift of the light
craft much more rapid than certain. Feeling the impossibility of
preventing a contact with the land, the young man wisely determined
not to heat himself with unnecessary exertions; but first looking

to the priming of his piece, he proceeded slowly and warily towards
the point, taking