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 athwart 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 endurable.  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, over-arching 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.