brilliant court, the rocks frequently rising from the water's edge in
perpendicular masses. None of the lakes of this remarkable region possess
a greater variety of scenery than that of Geneva, which changes from the
smiling aspect of fertility and cultivation, at its lower extremity, to
the sublimity of a savage and sublime nature at its upper. Vévey, the
haven for which the Winkelried was bound, lies at the distance of three
leagues from the head of the lake, or the point where it receives the
Rhone; and Geneva, the port from which the reader has just seen her take
her departure, is divided by that river as it glances out of the blue
basin of the Leman again, to traverse the fertile fields of France, on its
hurried course towards the distant Mediterranean.

It is well known that the currents of air, on all bodies of water that lie
amid high and broken mountains, are uncertain both as to their direction
and their force. This was the difficulty which had most disturbed Baptiste
during the delay of the bark, for the experienced waterman well knew it
required the first and the freest effort of the wind to "drive the breeze
home," as it is called by seamen, against the opposing currents that
frequently descend from the mountains which surrounded his port. In
addition to this difficulty, the shape of the lake was another reason why
the winds rarely blow in the same direction over the whole of its surface
at the same time. Strong and continued gales commonly force themselves
down into the deep basin, and push their way, against all resistance, into
every crevice of the rocks; but a power less than this, rarely succeeds in
favoring the bark with the same breeze, from the entrance to the outlet of
the Rhone.

As a consequence of these peculiarities, the passengers of the Winkelried
had early evidence that they had trifled too long with the fickle air. The
breeze carried them up abreast of Lausanne in good season, but here the