[Picture: Book cover]

 THE VOYAGE ALONE IN THE YAWL “ROB ROY, ”

 FROM LONDON TO PARIS, AND BY HARVE ACROSS THE CHANNEL TO THE ISLE OF WIGHT, SOUTH COAST, &c. , &c. 

 BY JOHN MACGREGOR, M. A. , CAPTAIN OF ‘THE ROYAL CANOE CLUB, ’ AUTHOR OF ‘A THOUSAND MILES IN THE ROB ROY CANOE, ’ ‘THE ROB ROY ON THE BALTIC, ’ ‘THE ROB ROY ON THE JORDAN, ’ &c. 

 _SIXTH EDITION_. 

 LONDON: SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & COMPANY _LIMITED_. St. Dunstan’s House, FETTER LANE, FLEET STREET, E. C. 1893

 (_All rights reserved_. )

 LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. 

 [Picture: Frontispiece: A tight squeeze. See page 159]

PREFACE. 

In the earlier part of this voyage, and where it was most wished for, along the dangerous coast of France, fine weather came. 

Next there was an amphibious interlude to the Paris Exhibition, while theRob Roy sailed inland. 

Thence her course over the sea brought the yawl across the broad Channel(100 miles) to Cowes and its Regattas, and to rough water in dark nightsof thunder, until once more in the Thames and up the Medway she was underbright skies again. 

Cooking and sleeping on board, the writer performed the whole journeywithout any companion; and perhaps this log of the voyage will show thatit was not only delightful to the lone sailor, but useful to others. 

BLACKHEATH, KENT, _May_, 1880. 

The Author’s profits from the preceding Editions were devoted to Prizesfor Boys in the following Training Ships:—

The ‘CHICHESTER’ in the _Thames_. The ‘ARETHUSA’ in the _Thames_. The ‘CUMBERLAND, ’ in the _Clyde_. The ‘INDEFATIGABLE, ’ in the _Mersey_. The ‘HAVANNAH, ’ in the _Severn_. 

The profits will again be devoted to similar Prizes as explained in theAppendix. 

CHAPTER I. 

Project—On the stocks—Profile—Afloat alone—Smartlads—Swinging—Anchors—Happy boys—Sea reach—Good looks—Peepbelow—Important trifles—In the well—Chart—Watch on deck—Eating anegg—Storm sail. 

It was a strange and pleasant life for me all the summer, sailingentirely alone by sea and river fifteen hundred miles, and with itstoils, perils, and adventures heartily enjoyed. 

The two preceding summers I had paddled alone in an oak canoe, firstthrough central Europe, and next over Norway and Sweden; but though bothof these voyages were delightful, they had still the drawback, thatprogress was mainly dependent on muscular effort, that food must be hadfrom shore, and that I could not sleep on the water. 

In devising plans to make the pleasure of a voyage complete then, manycogitations were had in the winter, and these resulted in a beautifullittle sailing-boat; and once afloat in this, the water was my road, myhome, my very world, for a long and splendid summer. 

The perfect success of these three voyages has been due mainly to thecareful preparation for them in the minute details which are too oftenneglected. To take pains about these is a pleasure to a man with aboating mind, but it is also a positive necessity if he would ensuresuccess; nor can we wonder at the fate of some who get swamped, smashed, stove-in, or turned over, when we see them go adrift in a craft which hadbeen huddled into being by some builder ignorant of what is wanted forthe sailor traveller, and is launched on unknown waters without duepreparation for what may come. 

I resolved to have a thoroughly good sailing-boat—the largest that couldbe well managed in rough weather by one strong man, and with every bolt, cleat, sheave, and rope well-considered in relation to the questions: Howwill this work in a squall?—on a rock?—in the dark?—or in a rushingtide?—a crowded lock; not to say in a storm?

The internal arrangements of my boat having been fully settled with theadvantage of the canoe experiences, the yacht itself was designed by Mr. John White, of Cowes—and who could do it better? She was to be first_safe_, next _comfortable_, and then _fast_. If, indeed, you have twomen aboard, one to pick up the other when he falls over, then you may putthe last of the above three qualities first, but not prudently when thereis only one man to do the whole. 

The Rob Roy was built by Messrs. Forrestt, of Limehouse, the builders forthe Royal National Lifeboat Institution, and so she is a lifeboat tobegin with. Knowing how much I might have to depend on oars now andthen, my inclination was to limit her length to about 18 ft. , but Mr. White said that 21 ft. Would “take care of herself in a squall. ”Therefore that length was agreed upon, and the decision was neverregretted; still I should by no means advise any increase of thesedimensions. 

One great advantage of the larger size, was that it enabled me to carryin the cabin of my yawl, another boat, a little dingey {3} or punt, to goashore by, to take exercise in, and to use for refuge in last resource ifshipwrecked, for this dingey also I determined should be a lifeboat, andyet only eight feet long. The childhood of this little boat was somewhatunhappy, and as she grew into shape she was quizzed unmercifully, and thepeople shook their heads very wisely, as they did at the first Rob Roycanoe. Now that we can reckon about three thousand of such canoes, andnow that this little dingey has proved a complete success and anunspeakable convenience, the laugh may be forgotten. However, ridiculeof new things often does good if it begets caution in changes, andstimulates improvement. Good things get even benefit from ridicule, which may shake off the plaster and paint, though it will not shiver thestone. 

Thoroughly to enjoy a cruise with only two such dumb companions as havebeen described, it is of importance that the man who is to be with themshould also be adapted for his place. He must have good health and goodspirits, and a passion for the sea. He must learn to rise, eat, drink, and sleep, as the water or winds decree, and not his watch. He must havewits to regard at once the tide, breeze, waves, chart, buoys, and lights;also the sails, pilot-book, and compass; and more than all, to scan thepassing vessels, and to cook, and eat, and drink in the midst of all. With such pressing and varied occupations, he has no time to feel“lonely, ” and indeed, he passes fewer hours in the week alone than many abusy man in chambers. Of all the people I have met with who havetravelled on land or sea alone, not one has told me it was “lonely, ”though some who have never tried the plan as a change upon life in acrowd, may fear its unknown pleasures. As for myself, on this voyage Icould scarcely “get a moment to myself, ” and there was always anaccumulation of things to be done, or read, or thought over, when avacant half-hour could be had. The man who will feel true loneliness, ishe who has one sailor with him, or a “pleasant companion” soon pumpeddry; for he has isolation without freedom all day (and night too), and atight cramp on the mind. With a dozen kindred spirits in a yacht, indeed, it is another matter; then you have freedom and company, and (ifyou are not the owner) you are not slaves of the skipper, but still youare _sailed_ and _carried_, as passive travellers, and perhaps after allyou had better be in a big steamer at once—the Cunard’s or the P. And O. , with a hundred passengers—real life and endless variety. However, eachman to his taste; it is not easy to judge for others, but let us hope, that after listening to this log of a voyage alone, you will not call it“lonely. ”

The Rob Roy is a yawl-rig, so as to place the sailor between the sailsfor “handiness. ” She is double-skinned to make her staunch and drybelow, and she is full-decked to keep out the sea above. She has an ironkeel and kelson to resist a bump on rocks, and with four water-tightcompartments to limit its effects if once stove in. Her cabin iscomfortable to sleep in, but only as arranged when anchored for thepurpose:—sleep at sea is forbidden to her crew. Her internalarrangements for cooking, reading, writing, provisions, stores, andcargo, are quite different from those of any other yacht; all of them arespecially devised, and all well done; and now on the 7th of June, at 3P. M. , she is hastily launched, her ton and a half of pig-iron is put onboard for ballast, the luggage and luxuries for a three months’ voyageare loaded in, her masts are stepped, the sails are bent, the flagsunfold to the breeze, the line to shore is slipped, and we are sailingfrom Woolwich, never to have any person aboard in her progress but thecaptain, until she returns to the builders’ yard. 

 [Picture: Drawing of the Rob Roy]

Often as a boy I had thought of the pleasure of being one’s own master inone’s own boat; but the reality far exceeded the imagination of it, andit was not a transient pleasure. Next day it was stronger, and so to theend, until at last, only duty forced me reluctantly from my floatingfreehold to another home founded on London clay, sternly immovable, andwith the quarter’s rent to pay. 

At Erith then the Royal Canoe Club held its first sailing match, whenfive little paddling craft set up their bamboo masts and pure whitesails, and scudded along in a rattling breeze, and twice crossed theThames. They were so closely matched that the winner was only by a fewseconds first. Then a Club dinner toasted the prizemen, and “farewell, ”“bon voyage” to the captain, who retired on board for the first sleep inhis yawl. 

The Sunday service on board the Training-ship ‘Worcester, ’ at Erith, is asight to see and to remember. The bell rings and boats arrive, some ofthem with ladies. Here in the ’tween decks, with airy ports open, andglancing water seen through them, are 100 fresh-cheeked manly boys, thefuture captains of Taepings and Ariels, and as fine specimens of thegentleman sailor-lad as any Englishman would wish to see. Such neatnessand order without nonsense or prim awe. Health and brightness ofboyhood, with seamen’s smartness and silence: I hope they do not get toomuch trigonometry. However, for the past week they have been skurryingup aloft “to learn the ropes, ” skylarking among the rigging for play, androwing and cricketing to expand muscle and limb; and now on the day ofrest they sing beautifully to the well-played harmonium, then quietlylisten to the clergyman of the “Thames Mission, ” who has been rowed downhere from his floating church, anchored then in another bay of his liquidparish, but now removed entirely. 

The Royal National Lifeboat Institution had most kindly presented to theRob Roy one of its best lifeboat compasses. The card of this compassfloats in a mixture of spirits, so as to steady its oscillations in aboat, and a deft-like lamp alongside will light it up for use by night. Only a sailor knows the peculiar feeling of regard and mystery with whichthe compass of his craft becomes invested, the companion in past orunknown future perils, his trusty guide over the wide waste of waters andthrough the night’s long blackness. 

Having so much iron on board, and so near this wondrous delicate needle, I determined to have the boat “swung” at Greenhithe, where the slack tideallows the largest vessels conveniently to adjust their compasses. Thisoperation consumed a whole day, and a day sufficed for the Russiansteamer alongside; but then the time was well bestowed, —it was asimportant to me to steer the Rob Roy straight as it could be to anyMuscovite that he should sail rightly in his ship of unpronounceablename. {10}

While the compass was thus made perfect for use at one end of the boat, her anchors occupied my attention at the other. 

It was necessary to carry an anchor heavy enough to hold well in strongtides, in bad weather, and through the long nights, so that I could sleepthen without anxiety. On the other hand, the anchor must be also lightenough to be weighed and stowed by one man, and this too in that precioustwenty seconds of time, when in weighing anchor, the boat, already loosedfrom the ground but not yet got hold of by the sails, is swept bodilyaway by the tide, and faces look cross from yachts around, being sure youwill collide, as a lubber is bound to do. 

After considering the matter of anchors a long time, and poising too thevarious opinions of numerous advisers, the Rob Roy was fitted with a50-lb. Galvanized Trotman anchor and 30 fathoms of chain, and also with a20-lb. Trotman and a hemp cable. 

The operation of anchoring in a new place and that of weighing anchor arecertainly among the most testing and risky in a voyage like this, wherethe circumstances are quite new on each occasion, and where all has to bedone by one man. 

You sail into a port where in less than a minute you must apprehend byone panoramic glance the positions of twenty vessels, the run of thetide, and set of the wind, and depth of the water; and this not only asthese are then existing, but in imagination, how they will be six hourshence, when the wind has veered, the tide has changed, and the vesselshave swung round, or will need room to move away, or new ones will havearrived. 

These being the _data_, you have instantly to fix on a spot where therewill be water enough to float your craft all night, and yet not so deepas to give extra work next morning; a berth, too, which you can reach asat present sailing, and from which you can start again to-morrow; onewhere there are no moorings of absent vessels to foul your anchor, andwhere the wind will not blow right into your sleeping cabin when themoonlight chills, and where the dust will not blind you from this limebarge, or the blacks begrime you from that coal brig as you spread theyellow butter on your morning tartine. 

The interest felt in doing this feat well is increased by seeing howwatchfully those who are already berthed will eye the stranger, oftenspeaking by their looks, and always feeling “hope he won’t come too near_me_;” while the penalty on failure in the proceeding is heavy and sharp, a smash of your spars, a hole in your side, or a sleepless night, or anhour of cable-clearing to-morrow, or all of them; and certainly inaddition, the objurgations of every yachtsman within the threatenedcircle. 

Undoubtedly the most unpleasant result of bad management is to havedamaged any other man’s boat; and I cannot but mention with the greatestsatisfaction, that after so often working my anchors—at least two hundredtimes—and so many days of sailing in crowded ports and rivers, on no oneoccasion did the Rob Roy even brush the paint off any other vessel. 

Not far from my yawl there was moored a fine old frigate, useless now forwar, but invaluable for peace—the “‘Chichester’ Training-ship forhomeless boys of London. ” It is for a class of lads utterly differentfrom those on the ‘Worcester, ’ but they are English boys still, and everyEnglishman ought to do something for English boys, if he cares for thepresent or the future of England. 

Pale and squalid, thin, heartless, and homeless, they were; but now, ruddy in the river breeze, neat and clean, alert with energy, happy intheir wooden home, with a kind captain and smart officers to teach them, life and stir around, fair prospects ahead, and a British seaman’s honestlivelihood to be earned instead of the miserable puling beggardom of thestreets, or the horrid company of the prison cell; which, that theyshould lie in the path of any child of our land, adrift on the rough tideof time at ten years old, is a glaring shame to the millions ofsovereigns in bankers’ books, and we shall have to answer heavily if welet it be thus still longer. {14}

The burgee flag of the Canoe Club flew always (white with our paddleacross Ɔ C in cipher) and another white flag on the mizen-mast had theyawl’s name inscribed. Six other gay colours were used as occasionrequired. These all being hoisted on a fine bright day, and my voyagereally begun, the ‘Chichester’ lads ‘boyed’ the rigging, and gave threeringing cheers as they shouted, “Take these to France, sir!” and thefrigate dipped her ensign in salute, my flag lieutenant smartlyresponding to the compliment as we bade “good-bye. ”

The Thames to seaward looks different to me every time I float on itsnoble flood. I have seen it from on board steamers large and small, froman Indiaman’s deck, the gunwale of a cutter, and the poop of an ironclad, as well as from rowboat and canoe, and have penetrated almost every nookand cranny on the water, some of them a dozen times, yet always it is newto see. 

Thames river life is a separate world from the land life in houses. Theday begins on the water full an hour before sunrise. Cheery voices andhearty faces greet you, and there seems to be no maimed, or sick, orpoor. From the simple fact that you are on the river, there is abrotherhood with every sailor. The _mode_ is supple as the water, notlike the stiff fashion of the land. Ships and shipmen soon become the“people. ” The other folks on shore are, to be sure, pretty numerous, butthen they are ashore. Undoubtedly they are useful to provide for us whoare afloat the butter, eggs, and bread they do certainly produce; and wegaze pleasantly on their grassy lawns and bushy trees, and can hear thelark singing on high, and peacocks screaming, and all are very pretty, and we are bound to try to sympathize with people thus pinned to thesoil, while we are free in the fine fresh breeze, and glide on thebounding wave. _N. B. _—These very people are all the while regarding _us_with humane pity, as the “poor fellows in that little ship there, cabined, cribbed, confined. ” Perhaps it is well for all of us that thestand-point of each, be it ever so bleak, becomes to him the centre ofcreation. 

As the country lane has charms for the botanist which will sadly delayone in a summer stroll with such a companion, so to the nautical mindevery reach on a full river has a constant flow of incidents quiteunnoticed by the landsmen. In the crowd of ships around us, no two arequite the same even to look at, nor are they doing the same thing, andthere are hundreds passing. What a feast for the eye that hath anappetite! The clink of an anchor-chain, the “Yo-ho!” of a well-timedcrew, the flapping of huge sails—I love all these sounds, yes, even theshrill squeal of a pulley thrills my ear with pleasure, and grateful tomy nostrils is the odour of tar. 

Meanwhile we are sailing on to Sheerness; and no wonder that the Rob Royfixes many a sailor’s eye, for the bright sun shines on her new whitesails, and her brilliant-coloured flags flutter gladly in the wind as thewaves glance and play about her polished mahogany sides, the last andleast addition to the yacht fleet of England. 

Rounding Garrison Point, at the mouth of the Medway, our anchor isdropped alongside the yacht ‘Whisper, ’ where the kind hospitality to theRob Roy from English, French, and Belgian, at once began, and it ceasedonly at the end of my voyage. 

After our tea and strawberries, and ladies’ chat (pleasant ashore and tentimes more afloat), the blue-jackets’ band on board the Guard-ship givesmusic, and the moon gives light, and around are the huge old war-hulks, beautiful, though bygone, and all at rest, with a newer, uglier frigate, that has no poetry in her look, but could speak forth loudly, no doubt, with a very heavy broadside, for her thundering salute made all thewindows shudder as she steamed in gallantly. 

The tide of visitors to my yawl began at Sheerness. Among them I caughta boy and made him grease the mast. His friends were so pleased withtheir visit, that when the Rob Roy came there again months afterwards, they brought me a present of fresh mussels, highly to be esteemed bythose who like to eat them—everybody does not; but then was it notgrateful to give them thus? and is not gratitude a precious and rare giftto receive?

The internal arrangements of the Rob Roy yawl are certainly peculiar, forthey were designed for a unique purpose, and as there is no description(at least that I can find) of a yacht specially made for one-man voyages, and proved to be efficient during so long a sail, it may be useful hereto describe the inside of the Rob Roy. Safety was the first point to beattained, as we have already mentioned, and this was provided for by herbreadth of beam (seven feet), her strongly bolted iron kelson, herwater-tight compartments, and her double skin, the outer one being ofpolished Honduras mahogany, and the inner of yellow pine, with canvasbetween them; also by her strong, firm deck, her undersized masts andsails, and her lifeboat dingey. 

Next we had to consider the capacity for comfort; not for the sake of anyluxurious ease which could be expected, but so as to take proper means topreserve health, maintain good spirits, and to economize the energy whichwould undoubtedly be largely taxed in downright physical muscular work, and which now would be liable any day to yield if overwrought bylong-continued anxiety, wakefulness, and exertion. 

For this purpose the actual labour bestowed upon maintaining the outwardforms of a (partially) civilized life must be a minimum, and the actionrequired in times of risk or danger must be as little encumbered aspossible; and as every arrangement came frequently under review, andimprovements were well considered in meditative hours, and many were putin practice during a stay at Cowes, where the very best workmen were atcommand, it may not unreasonably be asserted that for a solitary sailor’syacht the cabin of the Rob Roy is at least a very good specimen of themost recent model, and perhaps the best that has been devised as a basisfor the next advance. 

Although at present I have no radical improvements to suggest upon thegeneral plan, it is, of course, open to the refining experience ofothers; and I do not apologize for speaking of the fittings of a littleboat as if they were mere trifles because it held only _one_ man, whenthey may in any degree be useful to yachts of larger size, and thus tothat noble fleet of roaming craft which renew the nerve and energy of somany Englishmen by a manly and healthful enterprise, opening a whole newelement of nature, and nursing a host of loyal seamen to defend ourshores. 

From the sketch given at p. 23, and one partly in section at p. 41, itwill be understood that the Rob Roy is fully decked all over except anopen well near the stern which is three feet square, and about the samein depth; a strong combing surrounds both the well and the main hatchwayas a protection in the sea. {20} This well or after compartment isseparated from the next compartment by a strong bulkhead, sloping forward(p. 7) to give all the room possible for stretching one’s limbs and achange of posture, and also so as to form a comfortable sloping backinside in the cabin, while it supports a large soft pillow, the wholebeing used as a sofa to recline on while reading or writing, or finallybeing converted into a bolster by lowering it when the crew is piped tobed for the night, or at least such hours of it as the tide and wind mayallow for sleep. 

Fronting the seat the binnacle hangs with its tender thrilling compassinside, well protected by thick plate glass, and the lamp, which isalways ready to be lighted up should darkness need it; for experience hasshowed me only too plainly that it will not do to postpone anypreparation for night, or wind, or hunger, or shoal water, but that youshould be always quite prepared for them all. 

Above the binnacle is the chart; that is to say, a rectangular piece cutout from the larger sheet, and containing all that will be sailed in aday. The other parts, too, of the chart ought to be kept where they areaccessible for ready reference. 

Rain or the dashing of a wave or two soon softens the paper of the chart, and on one occasion it was so nearly melted away in this manner in arough sea that I had to learn its lines and figures quickly off by heart, and trust to memory for the rest of the day. 

To prevent another time such an awkward state of things, I made a framewith a glass front and movable back, and this allowed each portion of thechart to be placed inside, and to be well protected, an excellentarrangement when your hands are as wet as all other things around, andthe ordinary chart would be soaked in five minutes. 

The chart frame is also detachable from its place, as it is sometimesnecessary to hold it near a lamp at night so as to read the soundings. To aid still further to decipher the chart at night and in dullafternoons, there is a small mounted lens in a leather loop alongside, which has often to be used. The compass {22} itself is so placed thatyou can see it well while either sitting or standing up, or when lying atfull length on the deck, with the back against a pillow propped by themizen mast, the blight sun or moon overhead, and a turn or two of themainsheet cast about your body to keep the sleepy steersman from rollingover into the water, as shown next page. 

 [Picture: Watch on Deck]

This somewhat effeminate but decidedly comfortable attitude in which tokeep one’s watch on deck, was not invented until farther on in thecruise; and it seems odd that I should so long have continued to situpright for hours together (wriggling only a little at the constraint)for many a fine day before adopting for a change so obvious a posture, and thus effectually postponing any sense of weariness even in sailingfor a whole day and night. Still it is only for light airs, gentlewaves, or in deep rivers, or with long runs on the same tack, that thecaptain may do his duty while he lies on a sofa. In fresh breezes androlling seas, or in beating to windward with frequent boards, suchindulgence is soon cut short; and indeed the muscles and energies of thesailor are so braced up by the lively motion and refreshing blasts whenthere is plenty of wind, that no _ennui_ can come; and there is quiteenough play of limb and change of position caused by the working of theship, while he soon learns by practice to steer by the action of any partof his body from head to feet being in contact with the tiller, thatdelicate and true sensorium of a boat to which all feeling is conveyed. 

Sometimes I would sit low and out of sight, but with a glance now andthen at the compass, while the tiller pressed against my neck. At othersI would lie prone on the hatchway with my head upon both hands, and myelbows on the deck, and my foot on the tiller; while, again, every day itwas necessary to cook and eat, all the time steering; the most difficultoperation of all being to eat a boiled egg comfortably under theseconditions, because there is the egg and the spoon, each in a hand, andthe salt and the bread, each liable to be capsized with a direful result. 

Uncovered and handy for instant use there lies a sharp axe at the bottomof the well, by which any rope may be cut, and a blow may be given to theforelock of an anchor or other refractory point needing instantcorrection, and near this again is the sounding lead, with its line woundon a stick like that of a boy’s kite. I soon found that much the bestway to tell the fathoms, especially at night, was to measure the line asit was hauled in by opening my arms to the full stretch of one fathombetween my hands. 

In two large leather pockets fixed in the well, were sundry articles, such as a long knife, cords of various kinds, a foot measure of ivory(best to read off at night), and a good binocular glass by Steward in theStrand. {25}

Turning now to the left of the seat in the well, we open a door about afoot square, hinged so as to fall downwards and thus form a cook’s“dresser;” and now the full extent is visible of our kitchen range, at p. 41, or in nautical tongue here is the caboose of the Rob Roy. 

It is a zinc box with a frame holding a flat copper kettle, a pan inwhich to heat the tin of preserved meat for our dinner to-day, and thecopper frying-pan in which three eggs will be cooked _sur le plât_ forour breakfast to-morrow. 

The invaluable Rob Roy lamp {26} is below this frame, and a spare lampalongside—a fierce blast it has, and it will be needed if there is badweather, for then sometimes as a heavy sea is coming the kitchen ishastily closed lest the waves should invade it, but the lamp may still beheard roaring away inside all the same. An iron enamelled plate and aduster complete the furniture of our little scullery, all the rest of thethings we started with having been improved out of existence, forsimplicity is the heart of invention as brevity is the soul of wit. 

If we desire to get at the tubular wooden flag box that some gay coloursmay deck our mast in entering a new harbour, this will be found insidethe space aft of the caboose; and again, by reaching the arm stillfurther into the hollow behind our seat, it will grasp the _storm mizen_, a strongly made triangular sail, to be used only in untoward hours, andfor which we must prepare by lowering the lug mizen, and shifting thehalyard, tack, and sheet. Then the Rob Roy, with her mainsail and jibreefed, will be under snug canvas, as seen at page 57. 

But now it is bed-time, and the lecture on the furniture of the yawl maybe finished some other day. 

CHAPTER II. 

Sheerness—Governor—Trim—Earthquake—Upset—Wooden legs—On the Goodwin—Cutsand soars—Crossing the Straits—The ground at Boulogne—Nightmusic—Sailors’ maps—Ship’s papers—Weather—Toilette—Section. 

Sheerness is on the whole a tolerable port to land at, that is, as longas you refrain from going ashore. The harbour is interesting and morelively than it appears at first sight, but the streets and shops are justthe reverse. 

The Rob Roy ran into this harbour seven or eight times during her cruise, and there was always “something going on. ” The anchorage on the south ofthe pier is in mud of deep black colour, but not such good holding groundas it would seem to be, and then what comes up on the anchor runs likeblack paint upon your deck, and needs a good scrubbing to get rid of itfrom each palm of the anchor. Even after all seems to be cleared awaythoroughly, there may be a piece only the size of a nut, but perverseenough to fasten upon the white creamy folds of your jib newly washedout, and then the inky stain will be an eyesore for days, until, forpeace of mind, the sail must be scrubbed again. Trifles these are to theyachtsman who can leave all that to his crew, who sees only _results_, but when the captain alone is the crew, the realities of sea life must beendured as well as enjoyed, and yet surely he is the one to enjoy mostkeenly the luxury of a white spotless sail whose own hands have made itso. 

If any sailor henceforth has me for his captain, and he has to “tidy up”my yacht, he may be sure of having a very considerate if not indulgentmaster—“Governor, ” of course, I mean, for there are no “masters” anylonger now, they are all promoted to the rank of “Governor. ”

And the reason I should be considerate is that until you do it allyourself you cannot have any idea of the innumerable _minutiæ_ to beattended to in the proper care of a yacht. Mine, indeed, was inminiature; but the number of little things was still great, though eachlittle thing was more little. On the whole we should say that a yacht’screw, even in port, have full employment for all their working hours ifthe hull, spars, sails, ropes, and boats, besides the cabin and stores, are always kept in that condition of order, neatness, cleanliness, readiness, and repair which ought to be little short of perfection whenregarded with a critical eye. 

In like manner as you drive out in a carriage and return, and thecarriage and horses disappear into the stables for hours of careful workby the men who are there, so may the day’s sail in a yacht involve awhole series of operations on board afterwards. Inattention to these inthe extreme can be observed in the boats of fishermen, and attention inthe extreme in the perfect vessels of the Royal Squadron; but even a veryreasonable amount of smartness requires a large expenditure of labourwhich will not be effectual if it be hurried, and which is, of course, worse than useless if it is done by inferior hands. 

In perfect trim and “ship shape” now, we loosed from Sheerness, tocontinue the sail eastwards, and with a leading breeze and a lovelymorning. This part of the Thames is about the best conjunction of riverand sea one could find, with land easily sighted on both sides, yet finesalt waves, porpoises, and other attributes of the sea, and buoys, andbeacons, and light-ships to be attended to, and a definite line of coursedetermined on and followed by compass. A gale here is not to be trifledwith, though in fine weather you may pass it safely in a merecockle-shell, and the last time I had sailed here alone it was in an openboat, just ten feet long inside. Still the whole day may be summed upnow, as it was in the log of the Rob Roy, “Fine run to Margate;” thepleasures of it were just the same as so often afterwards were met, enjoyed, and thanked for, but which might be tedious to relate even once. 

The harbour here dries bare at low tide, and as seventeen years hadelapsed since we had sailed into it, this bad habit of the harbour wasforgotten, but more years than that may pass before it will be forgottenagain, for as evening came, and the water ebbed, and I reclinedunharnessed in the cabin, reading intently, there suddenly came a rudebumping shove upwards as from below, and then another—the Rob Roy hadgrounded. Soon there was a swaying this way and that, as if yetundecided, and at length a positive heel over to _that_; the whole of mylittle world within being canted to half a right angle, and a ridiculousdistortion of every single thing in my bedroom was the result. Thehumiliating sensation of being aground on hard unromantic mud is temperedby the ludicrous crooked appearance of the contents of your cabin and bythe absurd sensation of sleeping in a corner with everything askanceexcept the lamp flame, which, because it burns upright, looks most awryof all, and incongruously flares on the spout of the teapot in yourpantry. 

And why this _bouleversement_ of all things? Because I had omitted tobring a pair of “legs” with me, for a boat cannot stand upright on shorewithout legs any more than an animal. 

Next time the Rob Roy came to Margate we made one powerful leg for her bylashing the two oars to the iron shroud, and took infinite pains toincline the boat over to that side so as to be turned away from the windand screened from the tide, and I therefore weighted her down by placingthe dingey and heavy anchor on the lee gunwale, and then with misplacedcontentment proceeded to cook my dinner. At a solemn pause in therepast, the yawl, without other warning than a loud splash, perverselyturned over to the _wrong_ side, with deck to sea and wind, and everysingle thing exactly the contrary of what was proper. I had just time toplunge my hissing spirit-lamp into the sea, and thus to prevent the cryof “Ship on fire!” but had not time to put out my cabin-lamp, and thisinstantly bore its flame provokingly upright against the thick glass ofthe aneroid barometer, which duly told its fate by three sonorous“crinks, ” and at once three starred cracks shot through its crystalfront. 

The former experience of the night as spent when one is thus arbitrarily“inclined to sleep” made me wish to get ashore; but this idea was stifledpartly by pride and partly by the fact that there was not water enough toenable me to go ashore in a boat, and yet there was too much waterbesides soft mud to make it at all pleasant to set off and wade to bed. The recovery from this unwholesome state of things, with all the worldaskew, was equally notable, for when the tide rose again, in the latemidnight hours, the sea-dreams of disturbed slumber were arrested by agentle nudge, and then by a more decided heaving up of one’s bed in thedark, until at last it came level again as the boat floated, and all thethings that were right when she was wrong turned over now at wrongangles, because the boat had righted. {32}

An excellent cure for all such little mishaps is to “imagine it isto-morrow morning, ” for in the morning one is sure to forget all thenight’s troubles; and so with the fiery rising sun on the sails we arefloating out to sea. 

In such a sunny day the North Foreland is a very comfortable-lookingcliff, with pleasant country-houses on the top, and corn-fields growinground the lighthouse. Next there is Ramsgate, and then Dover pier. Butnow, and in weather like this, will be a proper occasion to practisemanœuvres which will certainly have to be performed in bad times, so westretched away out to the Goodwin Sands, where one is nearly always sureto find a sea running, and for several hours we worked assiduously atreefing the sails, and getting the little dingey out of the cabin andinto the water, and _vice versâ_. 

At least a short trial of my yacht in the Thames would have beenadvisable before starting on a long voyage, but as this was not possiblenow, it was of invaluable benefit to spend an afternoon at drill on theGoodwin; rightly assured that success in this journey could not beexpected haphazard, but might be hoped for after the _practice indaylight and fine weather of what had to be done afterwards in roughwater and darkness_. By this time, just a week in the Rob Roy, thelittle craft seemed quite an old friend. Her many virtues and her fewfaults were being found out. The happy life aboard had almost enchainedme, but still I left the yawl at Dover, and ran up to London for theannual inspection of the London Scottish Volunteers; and having led hisfine company of kilted Riflemen through Hyde Park, the Captain sheathedhis claymore to handle the tiller again, eager for the voyage. 

The new rough hairy ropes had chafed my hands abundantly, and they werered and black, and blistered, and swollen, and variously adorned by cuts, and bruises, and scars. When shall I ever get gloves on again, or be fitto appear at a dinner-table? These wounds, however, had taught me thislesson, “Do every act deliberately. Hasty smartness is slowest. Wheneach single thing from morning to night has to be done by your ownfingers, save them from bruises and chafes. Nothing is worse spent thanneedless muscular action. You will want every atom you have some day orother this week. Husband vital force. ”

The Sappho schooner was at Dover, and her owner, Mr. Lawton, one of theCanoe Club, took leave of the Rob Roy, and sailed away to Iceland, whileI started for Boulogne in the dawn, when all the scene around looked likea woodcut, pale and colourless, as I cooked hot breakfast at fiveo’clock. Nothing particular happened in this voyage across the Channel. It was simply a very pleasant sail, in a very fine day, and in a goodlittle boat. The sight of both shores at once, when you are in thewidest part of a passage, deprives it immediately of the romance andinterest of being entirely out of sight of land and ships, and all elsebut water, and so there is absent that deeper stir of feeling whichpowerfully seized me in the wider traverse afterwards from Havre toCowes. 

Indeed, when you know the under-water geography of the channel nearDover, it is impossible not to feel that you are sailing over shallowwaves; for though they seem to be deep and grand enough from Dover Castleor the Boulogne heights, the whole way might almost be spanned by piersand arches, and if you wished to walk over dry shod at the lowspring-tide, you need only lay from shore to shore a twenty miles’ sliceof undulated ground cut from the environs of London. The cellars of thehouses would be at the bottom of the sea, but the chimney-pots wouldstill be above it for stepping-stones. 

The wind fell as we neared France, and a fog came on, and the tidecarried us off in a wrong direction north to Cape Grisnez, where Ianchored with twenty fathoms, to wait for the reflux six or seven hours. Often as we had to do the same thing in after days, there was alwaysconstant employment for every hour of a long stoppage like this, with awell-furnished tool-box, and a busy mind ever making additions, experiments, improvements, and with books to read. Not one single momentof the voyage ever hung heavy on the Rob Roy. 

Trying to get into Boulogne at low water was an unprepared attempt, andmet its due reward; for the thing had to be done without the benefit ofmy “Pilot-book, ” which had been put away with such exceeding care, thatnow it could not anywhere be found—not after several rigorous searchesall over the boat. Finally, concluding that I must have taken the bookto London by mistake, we had to trust to nature’s light and go ahead. This does well enough for a canoe, but not for the sailing-boat, which, if once aground, and with a sea running, it would be utterly out of thepower of one man to save. {36}

In encountering the first roller off the pier at Boulogne, she thumpedthe ground heavily. At the second, again, the masts quivered, and allthe bottles rattled in my cellar. Instant decision turned her round fromthe third roller, and so after bumping the ground twice again in theretreat, we put out to sea, anchored, and got out the dingey, half-ashamed to be discomfited thus at the very first French port. Afteran hour or two spent in the dark, carefully sounding to discover theproper channel, and to get it well into my head, the anchor was weighed, and we entered in a poor sort of triumph upon midnight, slowly ascendingthe long harbour, but looking in vain for a proper berth. All was quiet, every one seemed to be in bed, until I came to the sluices at the end, which just then opened, and the rush of foaming water from these bore meback again in the most helpless plight, until I anchored near thewell-known “Etablissement, ” furled sails, rigged up hatch, and soondropped fast asleep. 

Now there is a peculiarity of the French ports which we may mention herefor once for all, but it applies to every one of them, and has to beseriously considered in all your calculations as a sailing-master. 

They are quiet enough up to a certain time of night, but as the tideserves, the whole port awakes, all the fishing vessels get ready tostart. The quays become vocal with shouts, yells, calls, whistles, andthe most stupid din and hubbub confounds the night, utterly destructiveof sleep. This chorus was in full cry about two o’clock A. M. Soon greatluggers came splashing along with shrieks from the crews, and sailsflapping, chains rattling, spars knocking about, as if a tempest were inrage. Several of these lubberly craft smashed against the pier, and themen screamed more wildly, and at length one larger and more inebriatedthan all the rest, dashed in among the small boats where the Rob Royslept, and swooping down on the poor little yawl, then wrapt in calmrepose, she heeled us over on our beam-ends, and after fastening herclumsy, rusty anchor in my mizen shrouds (which were of iron, anddeclined to snap), she bore me and my boat away far off, ignominiously, stern foremost. 

Certainly this was by no means a pleasant foretaste of what might beexpected in the numerous other ports we were to enter, and, at any rate, that night’s sleep was gone. But in a voyage of this sort a night’ssleep must be resigned readily, and the loss is easily borne by trying toforget it, which indeed you soon do when the sun rises, and a good cup oftea has been quaffed, or, if that will not suffice, then another. 

Vigorous health is at the bottom of the enthusiastic enjoyment ofyachting; but in a common sailor’s life sleep is not a regular thing aswe have it on shore, and perhaps that staid glazy and sedate-looking eye, which a hard-worked seaman usually has, is really caused by brokenslumber. He is never completely awake, but he is never entirely asleep. 

Boulogne is a much more agreeable place to reside at than one mightsuppose from merely passing through it. Once I spent a month there, andfound plenty to see and to do. Good walks, hotels, churches, andswimming-baths; the river to row in, the reading-room to sit in, thecliffs to climb, and the sands to see. 

At Dover the dock-people had generously charged me “nil” for dues. I hadletters for France from the highest authorities to pass the Rob Roy as anarticle entered for the Paris “Exhibition;” and when the _douane_ andpolice functionaries came in proper state at Boulogne to appraise hervalue, and to fill up the numerous forms, certificates, schedules, andother columned documents, I had hours of walking to perform, and mostcourteous and tedious attention to endure, and then paid for sanitarydues, “two sous per ton, ” that was threepence. Finally, there was thisinsurmountable difficulty, that though all my ship’s papers were _enrègle_, they must be signed “by two persons on board, ” so I offered tosign first as captain and then as cook. They never troubled me again inany other port, probably thinking the boat too small to have come from aforeign harbour. In France the law of their paternal Government preventsany Frenchman from sailing thus alone. 

The sun warmed a fine fresh breeze from the N. E. As we coasted fromBoulogne, and to sail with it was a luxury all day. The first pleasurewas the morning ablution, either by a wholesale dip under the waves, or amore particular toilette if the Rob Roy was then in full sail. 

To effect this we push the hatch forward, and open the interior of theboat. If the water we float on is clean (whether it be salt or fresh) wedip the tin basin at once, but if we are in a muddy river or doubtfulharbour we must draw from our zinc water tank, which holds water for oneweek. This tank is concealed by the figure of the cook kneeling in theopposite sketch, but it is next to my large portmanteau in the lowershelf. 

A large hole in the top of the tank allows it to be filled at intervalsthrough a tun-dish, while a long vulcanized tube through the cork to thebottom has an end hanging over. When I wish to draw water it is done byapplying the mouth for a moment with suction, and the clear stream thenflows by syphon action into a strong tin can of about eight inches cube, which holds fresh water for one day. By means of this tube, the end ofwhich hangs within an inch or two of my face when in bed, I can drink acool draught at night without trouble or chance of spilling a drop. Onthe tank top is soap, and also a clean towel, which to-morrow will bedegraded into a duster, and “relegated, ” the newspapers would say, to thekitchen, and from whence it will again be promoted backwards over thebulkhead to the washing-bag. This, you see, is the red-tape order ofdealing with towels on board the Rob Roy. 

 [Picture: Cooking in Rain]

On the left shelf of the cabin we find two boxes of japanned tin eachabout eighteen inches by six inches wide, as shown in the woodcut. Belowthe shelf is a portmanteau full of clothes. One of the boxes holds“Dressing, ” another “Reading and writing. ” The aneroid barometer, and mywatch are seen suspended alongside. The boxes on the other side, shownin section at a future page, are marked “Tools” and “Eating, ” while thepantry is beside them, with teapot, cup (saucer discarded), and tumbler, and a tray holding knife and fork, spoons, salt in a snuff-box (far thebest cellar after trials of many), pepper (coarse, or it is blown away), mustard, corkscrew, and lever-knife for preserved meat tins, etc. , etc. {42}

The north coast of France from Boulogne to Havre is well lighted atnight, but the navigation is dangerous on account of the numerous shoalsand the tortuous currents and tides. For about the first half of thedistance the shores are low, and the water, even far out, is shallow. Afterwards the land rises to huge red cliffs, rugged and steep sometimesfor miles, without any opening. 

The real matter of importance, however, in coasting here is the directionof the wind. Had it been unfavourable, that is S. W. , and with the fogsand sea which that wind brings, it would have been a serious delay tome—perhaps, indeed, a stopper on my voyage—seeing that I must sometimesenter a port at night so as to sleep in peace, for that could scarcely bepleasantly done if anchored ten miles from land, and with no one awake tokeep a look-out. Fortunately, we had good weather on the worst parts ofthe French coast, and my stormy days were yet to come. 

CHAPTER III. 

Russian lamp—Breakfast—Store rooms—Mast-light—Run down—Rule of theroad—Signal thoughts—Sinking sands—Pilot caution—French coast. 

After a wash and morning prayers the crew are piped to breakfast, so wemust now turn to the kitchen, which after constant use some hundred timesI cannot but feel is the most successful “hit” in the whole equipment. 

Much thought and many experiments were bestowed on this subject, because, first, it was well known that the hard and uneven strain of bone, muscle, and energy in a voyage of this sort needs to be maintained by generousdiet, that cold feeding is a delusion after a few days of it, and thatthe whole affairs would fail, or at any rate, enjoyment of the trip wouldcease, unless the Rob Roy had a caboose, easy to work, speedy in result, and capable of being used in rain, wind, and rough weather, and by nightas well as by day. 

Of course, all stoves with coal or coke, or similar fuel were out of thequestion, being hard to light, dusty when lighted, and dirty to clean. Various spirit lamps, Etnas, Magic stoves, Soyers, and others, wereexamined and tried, and all were defective in grand points. 

The wickless lamp used by the Alpine climber who occupies the responsiblepost of “Cook of the Canoe Club, ” and modified (after consultingProfessor Tyndall), is less than three inches each way, and it acts afterthe manner of a blow-pipe. It was also adopted in the Abyssinianexpedition. In two minutes after lighting it pours forth a vehementflame about a foot in height, which with a warming heat boils two largecups full in my flat copper kettle in five minutes, or a can of preservedmeat in six minutes. {44}

While the kettle is boiling we bring forward the box marked “Eating, ”take the loaf of bread out of its macintosh swathing, prepare the egg panwith two eggs, the teapot, and put sugar into the tea-cup, and a spoonfulof preserved milk (Amey’s is most convenient, being in powder; butBorden’s, in a kind of paste, is most agreeable); lastly, we overhaul thebutter tin, a pot of marmalade or anchovies. 

The healthful relish with which a plain hot breakfast of this sort isconsumed with the fresh air all round, and the sun athwart the east, andthe waves dancing while the boat sails merrily all the time, is enhancedby the pleasure of steering and buttering bread, and holding a hot eggand a tea-cup, all at once. 

Then, again, there is the satisfaction of doing all this without givingneedless trouble in cleaning up, for every whit of that work, too, is tobe yours. A crumb must not fall in the boat, because you will have tostoop down afterwards and pick it up, seeing that whatever happens, onething is insisted on—“the Rob Roy shall be always smart and clean. ”

All the breakfast things are cleared away and put by, each into itsproper place, and a general “mop up, ” has effaced the scene from ourdeck, but we can still take a look below and notice what is to be seen. 

Some of the articles chiefly important in the well of our boat have beenalready described, but only those on the left of the steersman sitting. Now, turning to the right we find a water-tight door, like that on theopposite side, to be opened by folding down, and it reveals to us, firstthe “Bread store, ” a fourpenny loaf wrapped in macintosh, which makes thebest of table cloths, as it may be laid on a wet deck, and can be washedand dried again speedily; next there is a butter keg (as in the coolestplace), and a box of biscuits, and a flask of rum—the “Storm supply”—onlyto be drawn upon when things of air and sea are in such a state that toopen the main hatch would be questionable prudence. 

Here are, also, ropes, blocks, and purchases, as well as a “fender, ” notto keep coals on the hearth, but to keep the mahogany sides of the RobRoy safe from the rude jostlings of other craft coming alongside. Abovethese odds and ends is the “Spirit room, ” a strong reservoir made ofzinc, with a tap and screw plug and internal division not to be renderedintelligible by mere description here, but of important use, as fromhence there is served out, two or three times daily, the fuel which is tocook for the whole crew. One gallon of the methylated spirits, costingfour shillings and sixpence, will suffice for this during six weeks. 

Above the spirit room will be found a blue light to be used in case ofdistress, and a box of candles, so that we may be enabled to rig up themast-light if darkness comes, when it will not do to open the cabin. This ship-light is therefore carried here. It is an article of someimportance, having to be strong and substantial, easily suspended andtaken down, and one that can be trusted to show a good steady light forat least eight hours, however roughly it may be tossed about when you arefast asleep below, in the full confidence that nobody who sees yourmast-light will run his great iron bows over your little mahoganybed-room. Yet I fear it does not do to examine into the grounds for anysuch confidence. Many vessels sail about in the dark without any lightswhatever to warn one of their approach, and not a few boats, even withproper lights in them, are “accidentally” run over and sunk in the riverThames; while out at sea, and in dark drizzly rain or fog, it is morethan can be expected of human nature that a “look-out man” should peerinto the thick blackness for an hour together, with the rain blindinghim, and the spray splash smarting his eyes, and when already he haslooked for fifty-nine minutes without anything whatever to see. It is inthat last minute, perhaps, that the poor little hatch-boat has come near, with the old man and a boy, its scanty crew, both of them nodding asleepafter long watches, and their boat-light swinging in the swell. There isa splash, a crash, and a spluttering, and the affair is over, and thedark is only the dark again. Nobody on the steamer knows that anythinghas occurred, and only the fishermen to-morrow on some neighbouring bankwill see a broken hull floating sideways, near some tangled nets. 

I fully believe that more care is taken for the lives of others bysailors at sea than in most cases on land where equal risks are run; butthere are dangers on the waves, as well as on the hills, the roads, andeven in the streets, which no foresight can anticipate, and no precautioncan avert. 

The principal danger of a coasting voyage, sailing alone, is that ofbeing run down, especially on the thickly traversed English coast, and atnight. 

As for the important question concerning the “rule of the road” at sea, which is every now and then raised, discussed and then forgotten againafter some collision on a crowded river in open day has frightened usinto a proper desire to prevent such catastrophes, it appears to me thatno rule whatever could possibly be laid down for even general obedienceunder such circumstances, without causing in its very observance morecollisions than it would avert, unless the traffic in the river were tobe virtually arrested. 

On land the “rule of the road” is well enough on a _road_, where vehiclesare moving in one of two directions, but how would it do if it were to beinsisted upon at the place where two streets cross? Now the Thames andother populous rivers are at times as much blocked and crowded by thecraft that sail and steam on the water as the crossing at Ludgate Hill isby vehicles at three o’clock, that is, considering fairly the relativesizes of the objects in motion, and the width of the path they must take, their means of stopping or steering, and, above all, the great additionalforces on the water which cannot be arrested—_wind_ and _tide_—moreover, at this London crossing the traffic has to be regulated by policemen, notby a rule for the drivers, but by an external arbitrary director. 

The wonderful dexterity of the cabmen, carmen, and coachmen of London isless wonderful than that of the men who guide the barges, brigs, andsteamers on the Thames, and it is perfectly amazing that huge massesweighing thousands of tons, and bristling with masts and spars, andrugged wheels projecting, should be every day led over miles of water indense crowds, round crooked points, along narrow guts, and over hiddenshoals while gusts from above, and whirling eddies below are allconspiring to confuse the clearest head, to baffle the strongest arm andto huddle up the whole mass into a general wreck. 

Consider what would be the result in the Strand if no pedestrian couldstop his progress within three yards, but by anchoring to a lamp-post, and even then swinging round with force. Why, there would be scarcely acoal-heaver who would not be whitened by collision with some baker’s boy. Ladies in full sail would be run down, and dandies would be sunk by thedozen. 

The fact is, that vessels on the wide sea are like travellers on a broadplain and not on a road at all, and the two cases do not admit of beingdealt with by the same rule, and it is not wonderful that there should bemany collisions in the open sea while there are so few in the Thames, thewater street of the world. We may learn some lessons from land for safetraffic on water. The cabman who “pulls up” is sure to signal first withhis whip to the omnibus astern of him, and the coachman who means tocross to the “wrong side” never does so without a warning to those he isbearing down upon. What is most wanted, then, on the open water, is someready, sure, and costless signal, to say, “I am going _that_ way” (rightor left); for nearly all collisions at sea are caused by one ship notbeing able to know what the other is going to do. {50}

This is my thought on the matter after many thoughts and some experience:meantime while we have ate, and talked and thought, our yawl has slippedover six miles of sea, and we must rouse up from a reverie to scan thechanging picture. 

Glance at the barometer—note the time. Trim the sails, and bear away tothat pretty fleet of fishing boats bobbing up and down as they trailtheir nets, or the men gather in the glittering fish, and munch theirrude breakfasts, tediously heated by smoky stoves, while they gaze on thewhite-sailed stranger, and mumble among themselves as to what in theworld _he_ can be. The sun mounts and the breeze presses till we are atthe bay of the Somme with its shifting sands, its incomprehensiblecurrents, and its low and treacherous coast, buoyed and beaconed enoughto puzzle you right into the shoals. The yacht, with my friend S--- inher, bound for Paris, has just been wrecked on that bank nearCayeux—unpleasant news now—and there is St. Valery, from whence KingWilliam the Conqueror sailed with his fleet for England, as may be seenon the curious tapestry at Bayeux worked by his Queen’s hands, and stillalmost as fresh as then. I never saw a place appear so differently fromsea and from land as this strange port, so I ran in just to reconnoitre, and spent some hours with chart, compass, lead-line, and Pilot-book, trying my best, to make out the currents, but all to no purpose except toconclude that a voyage along this coast in bad weather would be madness, unless with a man to help. 

But nearly all this part of the French coast is awkward ground to becaught in, especially where there are shifting or sinking sands, for ifthe vessel touches these, the tide stream instantly sucks the sand fromunder one side, while it piles it up on the other, and thus the hull isgradually worked in with a ridge on such side, and cannot be slewed off, but is liable to be wrecked forthwith. It was interesting to read herethe account of this coast given by my Pilot-book, which had at last beendug out of its hiding-place. The reader need not peruse this officialstatement, but to justify my remarks on the dangers it is given below ina note. {52}

CHAPTER IV. 

Thunder—In the squall—The dervish—Sailing consort—Poor littleboy!—Grateful presents—The dingey’s mission—Remedy—Rise and work. 

The aneroid barometer in my cabin pointed to “set fair” for many a day, and just, too, when we required it most to be fine, that is along theFrench coast. Had the Rob Roy encountered here the sort of weather shemet with afterwards on the south coast of England, we feel quite assuredshe must have been wrecked ashore or driven out to sea for a miserabletime. 

So it was best to keep moving on while fine weather lasted, for there wasno knowing when this might change, even with the wind as now in the goodN. E. The Pilot-book says, upon this (and pray listen to so good anauthority—my only one to consult with), “Gales from N. To N. E. Are alsoviolent, but they usually last only from 24 to 36 hours, and the winddoes not shift as it does with those from the westward. They cause aheavy sea on the flood stream, and during their continuance the Frenchcoast is covered with a white fog, which has the appearance of smoke. This is also the case with all easterly winds, which are sometimes oflong duration, and blow with great force. ”

In the evening, as a sort of practical comment on the text above, therewas sudden fall of the wind, and then a loud peal of thunder. Alert in amoment, we noticed, far away in the offing, the fishing boats dip theirsails and reef them, so we knew there would soon be a blow, and weresolved to reef, too, and just in time. My life-belt, {55} therefore, was at once strapped on, and two reefs put in the mainsail, and one inthe jib, and the storm mizen was set, all in regular order, when upsprung a fine west breeze, just as we were opposite Treport, a prettylittle bathing town under some cliffs, where my night-quarters were tobe. 

The book already referred to gave a rather serious account of thedifficulties of entering Treport, its shingle bar, and the high seas onit, and the cross tide and exceedingly narrow entrance; but in an hourmore the Rob Roy had come close to all these things, and rose and fell onthe rollers chasing each other ashore. 

The points to be kept in line for entering the harbour were all clearlyset forth in the book, and the signals on the pier were all faultlesslygiven, while a crowd gradually collected to see the little boat run in, or be smashed, and it was rather exciting to feel that one bump on thebar with such a sea, and—in two minutes the yawl would be a helplesswreck. 

 [Picture: Reefed in a squall]

Among the spectators, the only one who did not hold his hat on againstthe wind, was an extraordinary personage who capered about shouting. Long curly hair waved over his face; his dress was hung round with corksand tassels; he swung a long life-line round his head, and screamed at mewords which were of course utterly lost in the breeze. This dancingdervish was the “life saver, ” marine preserver, and general bore of theoccasion, and he seemed unduly annoyed to see me profoundly deaf to hisnoise as I stood on the after-deck to get a wider view, holding on by themizen-mast, steeling with my feet, and surveying the entrance with myglass. All the people ran alongside as the Rob Roy glided past the pierand smoothly berthed upon a great mud bank exactly as desired, and then Iapologized to the quaint Frenchman, saying that I could not answer himbefore, for really I had enough to do to steer my boat, at which all therest laughed heartily—but we made it up next day, and the dervish and RobRoy were good friends again. 

Here we found the ‘Onyx, ’ an English-built yacht, but owned by M. Charles, one of the few Frenchmen to be found who really seems to _like_yachting; plenty of them _affect_ it. 

He was enthusiastic in his hospitality, and I rested there next day, meeting also an interesting youth, an eager sailor, but who took seatrips for his health, and drove from some Royal Château to embark andfreshen the colour in his delicate face, so pale with languor. We couldnot but feel and express a deep sympathy with one who loved the sea, butwhose pallid looks were in such contrast to the rough brown hue andredundant health enjoyed so long by myself. 

All was ataunt again, and then the two yachts started in company for arun to Dieppe, which is only about thirteen miles distant. We came upona nest of twelve English yachts, all in the basin of this port, so myFrench comrade spent the rest of his time gazing at their beauty, theirstrength, their cleanliness, and that unnamed quality which distinguishesEnglish yachts and English houses, a certain fitness for their specialpurpose. These graceful creatures (is it possible that a fine yacht canbe counted as an inanimate thing?) reclined on the muddy bosom of thebasin, but I would not put the Rob Roy there, it seemed so pent up andtorpid a life, and with the curious always gazing down from the loftyquay right into your cabin, especially as next day I wished to have aquiet Sunday. 

Instead of a peaceful day of rest the Sunday at Dieppe was unusuallybustling from morning to night, for it was the “Fête Dieu” there. Thestreets were dressed in gala, and strewed with green herbs, while alongthe shop fronts was a broad festooned stripe of white calico, set off byroses here and there; the shipping, too, was decked in flag array, andguns, bells, and trombones ushered a long procession of schools andsoldiers and young people coming from their “first communion, ” who withtheir priests, and banners, and relics, halted round temporary altars inthe open air, to recite and chant, while a vast crowd followed to gaze. 

In a similar procession at St. Cloud, one division of the moving host wasof the tiniest little children, down to the lowest age that could manageto toddle along with the hand of a mother or sister to help, and theleader of them all was a chubby little boy, with no head-gear in the hotsun but his curly hair, and with his arms and body all bare, except wherea lamb-skin hung across. He carried a blue cross, too, and the prettychild looked bewildered enough. Some thought he was John the Baptist, many more pronounced it a ‘_sottise_. ’

In the canoe voyages {60} of the two preceding summers, I had found muchpleasure and interest in carrying a supply of books, pictures, andperiodicals, and illustrated stories in various languages, which weregiven as occasion admitted to all sorts of people, and everywhereaccepted with thanks, so that we could only regret the limit imposed onthe number to be carried in a canoe, where every ounce of weight added tothe muscular toil. 

Relieved now from this restriction, the Rob Roy yawl was able to loadseveral boxes of this literary cargo, most of them kindly granted for thespecial purpose of her voyage. 

These presents were given away from day to day, and especially on Sundayafternoons, among the sailors and water-population wherever the Rob Royroved. Thousands of seamen can read, and have time, but no books. Bargees lolling about, or prone in the sun, eagerly began a ‘Pilgrim’sProgress’ when thus presented, and sometimes went on reading for hours. Fishermen came off in boats to ask for them, policemen and soldiers, too, begged for a book, and then asked for another for ‘a child at school. ’Smart yachtsmen were most grateful of all, and some even offered to payfor them; the navvies, lock-keepers, ferrymen, watermen, porters, dockmen, and guard-men of lighthouses, piers, and hulks, as well as manya Royal Navy blue-jacket, gratefully accepted these little souvenirs withevery appearance of gratitude. 

The distribution of these was thus no labour, but a constant pleasure tome. Permanent and positive good may have been done by the reading oftheir contents; at any rate, they opened up conversation, gave scope tocourteous intercourse, often leading to kinder interest. They opened tome many new scenes of life, and some with darker passages and sorrowfulgroups in the evident but untold background. They were, in fact, thespeediest possible introductions by which to meet at once with largebodies of fellow-men too much unknown to us, therefore forgotten, andthen despised. The strata of society are not to be all crushed into apulpy mass, but a wholesome mingling betimes does good, both to the heavydregs below and to the ‘crême’ on the very top. 

Thus encouraged, we launch the little dingey on Sunday for three or fourhours’ rowing, and with a large leather bag well filled at starting butempty on its return; and instead of its contents we bring back in ourmemory a whole series of tales, characters, and incidents of water-craftlife, some tragic, others comic, many ‘hum-drum’ enough, but stillinstructive, suggestive, branching out into hidden lives one would liketo draw forth, and telling sorrows that are softened by being told. Ofthe French crews I began with here, not one of the first few could evenread, while five or six English steamboats took books for all their men. On a preceding Sunday (at Erith), I did not meet one man, even a bargeewho could not read, and all up the Seine only one in this predicament. Truly there is a sea-mission yet to be worked. Good news was told on thewater long ago, and by the Great Preacher from a boat. 

And while thus giving these books and papers to others, it may perhaps beallowed us also to add a few reflections suggested on returning from thescenes and people we have sailed amongst abroad. New scenes ought to beto the mind what fresh air is to the body, reviving it for work as wellas gladdening it with play; and perhaps one can do more for human miseryby withdrawing now and then from its close contact, than by constantaction in its midst. Yet it must be admitted that the first impressionson one’s return from such a long vacation as the Rob Roy had arepainfully acute. To come back and read up in an hour the diary of thethree months’ work of our “Boys’ Beadle” (the agent employed by theReformatory Union to look after and attend to the uncared-for streetchildren), is to resume one’s post of contemplation of the dreadfulpicture of woe which crowds an endless canvas with suffering figures, andeach case delineated in such a report means far more behind to the eyethat can realize. Again, to walk past St. George’s Hospital next day andobserve the stream of visitors with anxious steps going up the stairs, and those coming down with kind and thoughtful looks, as they leave theirdearest relatives, and confidingly, in strangers’ hands, and to thinkwhat is up there. To find in letters awaiting one’s return the gaps madeby death in the circle of acquaintance. These are salutary and suddenshocks to self-enjoyment of health and whole limbs, and they are loudcalls for more than a gush of sympathy or a song of thankfulness, but fordownright help by practical work. Still greater was the change frombounding along in florid health on merry waves of the wholesome sea, to awalk through the east end of London, —that morass of vice, and sighs, andsavagery, —what is forced on the senses in an hour being not a hundredthof what is sunk below. 

Perhaps it is well we do not always realize the amount of evil around us, of bad, I mean, that can be made good by efforts, some of which we arebound to make. If we knew how big the mountain is we might despair ofdigging it down by spadefuls, though the faith that digs is the one thatcan say with best hopes for obedience, “Be thou removed and cast into thesea. ” Few children would have courage to begin the alphabet as a step tolearning if they knew what a long and heavy road is to be trudged beyond. 

And it may be remarked that in returning to one’s post of duty after atime of “leave, ” there is at first a disposition rather to generalizeabout what ought to be done than to set to work and do it. It isnatural, indeed, that before putting on the harness once more we shouldtake a look at the collar and buckles, and at the load to be drawn, andit may be allowable to the soldier, while on his way to rejoin the ranks, to take just a glance at the line of march before he falls in. 

Theorizing is soon cut short, however, by the clamour of work waiting tobe done, and the absorbing interest felt in doing it, and perhaps toosoon we forget all doubts as to whether the direction of our labours isafter all the best, or whether time might not be saved by improving theinstruments of our work, the object of using them being still the same. 

Now there is a reflection suggested each time in frequent foreign travelwhich lasts longest on my mind after returning to England—“How is it thatour lowest classes seem to be lower than the lowest abroad?”

Whether they are so or not is another question; but in all our greattowns there is a mass of human beings whose want, misery, and filth aremore patent to the eye, and blatant to the ear, and pungent to thenostrils, than in almost any other towns in the world. Their personalliberty is greater, too, than anywhere else. Are these two facts relatedto each other? Is the positive piggery of the lowest stratum of ourfellows part of the price we pay for glorious freedom as guaranteed byour “British Constitution”? and do we not pay very dearly then? Must themasses be frowsy to be free?

The highest class of society can _enjoy_ the benefits of our mode ofgovernment, with their rank and wealth secured, and _prestige_ added. Inreturn they surrender indeed the pleasure of downright tyranny and asmall quota of their ample gold. 

The middle class also can _enjoy_ their freedom from oppression, and anominal share in politics, and they pay by hard work for this. 

But the wretched beings at the bottom of all, muddled, starved, andsqualid, cannot _enjoy_ freedom, and must not have “license. ” Theyseethe by thousands in ignorance and foulness, and, with our “BritishConstitution” standing by in all its glory, they rot and perish, amultitude dark and unclean. 

That all the luxury and congestion of wealth in the head of the bodycorporate, while its lowest limbs are in rags and pallid mortification, should be permitted by the head, blinded by plethora, and peacefullyendured by the limbs, dispirited by inanition, is an astounding marvel. But there are twinges of pain now and then. The very quiet is only thatof syncope, and any day it may be broken by a wild and furious paroxysm. Unless the permission of this evil by the head ceases, then the enduranceof it by the limbs will cease. 

If the rich are not mingled with the wretched, they are at leastentangled with them, and by knots that cannot be untied, and will not becut. The thief indeed, and the burglar, and more lately the lazyvagabond, and now the assassin, have _forced_ us to consider them; and weeven attend to the drunkard, provided he pleads for notice by rolling inour path. 

Perhaps at last the wretched also will arrest us. 

Is not the time come yet to rouse up head, and heart, and hand, to domore than we have even attempted, and to raise at the least theappearance of our lowest classes to the respectability now attained incountries we are apt to despise?

What is the specific? I have no new one, and no new reason for the oldone, but it is easy enough to find tools to work with in this field, ifonly we are persuaded that work has to be done and we are willing to takeour share. Numbers do this, and nobly, but far too few, and much isdone, but not half enough. Thousands are yet idle here, who will notlisten to God or their conscience or even their instinct in the matter, who live comfortably apart from the evil places, and so hear only now andthen a message from the dying wafted on the sable wings of cholera ortyphus. Is it not shabby this, to shirk their share of the work and thetrouble, and to leave it to be done by softer hearts and a nationalpurse?

It is these, who are moved neither by religion, nor humanity, norself-respect, that a downright scolding may perhaps stir up; and if wecan show them that the state of our lowest classes is a _national shame_, that we are beaten as in a battle and distanced in a race, then they willsoon find the means by which national honour is to be retrieved. Half-a-dozen Englishmen are in danger of death in Africa, and we spendmillions of money because they are Britons, and to sustain the Britishname; but thousands of Britons are living in wretchedness or dying inmisery just far enough from our doors not to be seen, and less heard ofthan if they were in Zululand—to leave them as they now are is ascandalous national disgrace which every true Englishman who knows thefacts is ashamed of and which, even if he ignores them at home, he isforced to feel abroad by the taunts of strangers. 

Already we wonder that we ever kept the Thames as a common sewer; oursons will wonder, some day, that their fathers had a great human sink inevery great town reeking out crime, disease, and disloyalty on the wholenation. I have seen the serfs in Russia, the slaves in Africa, the Jewsin Asia, and the negroes in America; but there are crowds of people inEngland in a far worse plight than these—their very nearness to light, and happiness, and comfort, makes their misery more disgraceful. 

National honour may be a lower motive to work with than love to Christ orlove to man; but it moves more minds than either of these, and on a scalelarge enough to relieve us from a national disgrace which will cling tothe nation until the nation rises in shamed earnest to shake it off. 

CHAPTER V. 

Cool—Fishwives—Iron-bound coast—Etretat—Ripples—Pilot-book—Hollowwater—Undecided—Stomach law—Becalmed—Cape la Hève—The breeze—Havre deGrâce—Crazy. 

So much for Sunday thoughts; but after the day had ended, there happenedto me an absurd misery, of the kind considered to be comical, and sobeyond sympathy, but which must be told, and it happened thus:—

The little yawl being anchored in the harbour had also a long rope to thequay, and by this I could draw her near the foot of an upright ladder ofiron bars fixed in the stones of the quay wall, an ordinary plan ofaccess in such cases. The pier-man promised faithfully to watch my boatas the tide sunk (it was every moment more and more under his very nose), and so to haul her about that she should not “ground” before my return;yet, when I came back at night, her keel had sunk and sunk until itreached the bottom, so she could not be moved with all our pulling. Moreover the tide had gone out so far as to prevent any boat at all fromcoming to the dock wall round the harbour. I tried to amuse myself foran hour while the tide might rise; but at length, impatient and sleepyand ready for bed, to be off to-morrow at break of day, I determined toget on board at once somehow or other. 

 [Picture: Descending to the boat]

Descending then by the iron bars until I reached the last of them, Iswung myself on the slack of the strong cable hanging from above (andattached at the other end to my yawl), and which the man received strictorders to “haul taut” at the critical moment. Alas! in his clumsy handsthe effect intended was exactly reversed; the rope was gently loosened, and I subsided in the most undignified, inevitable, and provokingly coolmanner quietly into the water at 10. 30 P. M. However, there was no use ingrumbling, so I spluttered and laughed, and then went to bed. 

Long before sunrise the Rob Roy was creeping out of the harbour of Dieppeagainst the strong wind at that point dead ahead; but I took the tow-linethrown down from the quay by some sturdy fishwives, who will readily tuga boat to the pier head for a franc or two, and thus save a goodhalf-hour of tedious rowing against wind and tide. This rope was of adeep black colour, very fine, thin, and yet strong. There was no time tofind out what it was made of, but it seemed to be plaited of human hair. As I was aft in my boat and steering, the line suddenly slipped anddisappeared, and the Rob Roy was in great danger of going adrift on theother pier head, but the excellent dames speedily regained their longblack tress, and coiled it and threw it to me again with great dexterity;and soon all was put right, and the sails were up, and the line cast off, and we plunged along in buoyant spirits. 

It was a fair wind now, and with a long day in front, and the freshnessof Monday after a good rest. Still this was a rather more anxious daythan the others, because in those though we had passed over the dangerson the coast of the Somme, they were hidden by water; and on a sunnymorning who can realize shoals that are so fatal in bad weather, but areconcealed by the smiling calm of a fine day? Not so with the greatbeetling cliffs of sharp red flint now glittering alongside my course formiles and miles far beyond what the eye could reach. These formed animpressive object ever in sight, and generally begetting, as it was seen, an earnest hope that the weather might be good “just to-day. ” This partof the coast, too, beside being iron-bound, has no port that is easy toenter, and the tides moreover are very powerful, so that, with either agale or a calm, there would be a danger to meet. 

It is obvious, of course, to the sailor who reads this that thedifficulty of navigation along such a coast was much increased by mybeing alone. An ordinary vessel would put well out to sea, and go onnight and day in deep water with a good offing, and its crew would takewatch and watch until they neared the land again close to theirdestination. 

But the course of the Rob Roy had to be within seven or eight miles ofthe shore, so as to keep within reach of a port at night, or at the worstnear some shallower spot for anchorage; else, in the attempt to sleep, Imight have been drifted twenty miles by the tide, perhaps out to sea, right away from our course, and perhaps ashore on the rocks. It had notyet become my plan to pass whole nights at sea as was necessary in thelatter part of this voyage. 

With these little drawbacks now and then, which threw rather a gravertone into the soliloquy of the lonely traveller, it was still a time ofexcessive enjoyment. The noble rocks towered up high on the left, andthe endless water opened out wide on the right with only some dot of asail, hull down, far far off on the horizon, a little lonely speck fixedin hard exile; but very probably the crew in that vessel too were happyin the breezy morn, and felt themselves and their craft to be the very“hub of the universe. ”

In a nook of the cliffs was Etretat, now the most fashionablebathing-place of Northern France. Long pointed pillars of rock stood inthe sea along this shore, one especially notable, and called the “Needleof Etretat. ” Others were like gates and windows, with the light shiningthrough. I thought of looking in here to escape the flood-tide which wasagainst me, but I was deterred by the Pilot-book telling in plain words, “The Eastern part of the beach at Etretat is bordered by rocks whichuncover at low water. ”

The Rob Roy’s previous behaviour in a sea made me quite at ease aboutwaves or deep water, but to strike on a rock would be a miserable delay, and somehow I became more cautious as to exposing my little craft todanger the more experience I acquired; certainly also she was valued moreand more each day. This increase together of experience and ofadmiration, begetting boldness and caution by turns, went on until itsettled down into a strange compromise, —extreme care in certaincircumstances, and undue boldness at other times. 

All over the British Channel there are patches of sand, shingle, or rock, which being deep down are not dangerous as regards any risk of strikingupon them, but still even without any wind they cause the tide-stream torush over them in great eddies, and confused babbling waves. The waterbelow is in action, just like a waterfall tumbling over a hill, and thewhirlings and seethings above look threatening enough until you becomethoroughly aware of the exact state of the case, being precisely thatwhich occurs above Schaffhausen, on the deeps of the Rhine, and which wehave described in the account of a canoe voyage there. 

These places are called by the French “ridèns, ” or in England “ridges, ”and in some charts, “ripples” or “overfalls, ” and while there is sure tobe a short choppy sea upon them, even in calm weather, the effect of agale is to make them boil and foam ferociously. 

A somewhat similar feature is the result when a low bank projects underwater from a cape round which the tide is rushing; and as I determinednot to risk going into Etretat, we had to face the tedious tossing aboutoff one of these banks, described thus in the Pilot-book:—

“Abreast Etretat the shoal bottom, with less than eight fathoms on it, projects a mile to the N. N. W. From the shore, and when the flood-streamis at its greatest strength it occasions a great eddy, named by themariners of the coast the _Hardières_, which extends to the northward asfar as the Vaudieu Rock, and makes the sea hollow and heavy when the windis fresh from the eastward. ”

It was just because the wind was fresh from the eastward that I couldhope to stem the tide and get through this place; but once in the middleof the hubbub, the wind went down almost to nothing, so that for three orfour hours I could only hold my place at most, and the wearisome monotonyhere of “up and down” on every wave, with a jerk of all my bones eachtime, was one of the few dull and disagreeable things of the wholevoyage. 

A sea that is “hollow” is abominable. However high a wave is, it maystill have a rounded and respectable shape, and it will then tilt youabout smoothly; but a “hollow” sea splashes and smacks and twists andscrews, and the tiring effects on the body, thus hit right and left withsudden blows, is quite beyond what would be anticipated from so triflinga cause. 

At length, as the tide yielded, the wind carried me beyond the Hardières, on and on to Fécamp, where the Rob Roy meant to stop for the night. But, willing though I was to rest there, the appearance of Fécamp from theoffing was by no means satisfactory. It did not look easy to get into, and how was I to get out of it to-morrow? The Pilot-book took a similarview of this matter. {77}

Yet we must put in somewhere, and this was the nearest port to the CapeAntifer, the only remaining point to be anxious about, and which we mightnow expect to round next day. On the other hand, there was the argument, “If the wind chops round to the west, we may be detained in Fécamp for aweek, whereas now it is favourable; and if we can possibly get roundto-day—Well what a load of anxiety would be done with if we could dothat!” The thought, quite new, seemed charming, and, yet undecided, Ithought it best to cook dinner at once and put the question to the voteat dessert. 

It is very puzzling what name to give to each successive meal in a daywhen the first one has been eaten at 2 A. M. If this is to be consideredas _breakfast_, then the next, say at nine o’clock, ought to be luncheon, which seems absurd, though the Americans call any supplemental feeding a“lunch, ” even up to eleven o’clock at night, and you may see in New Yorksignboards announcing “Lunch at 9 P. M. Clam Chowder. ” {78}

Now, as I had often to begin work by first frying at one or two o’clockin the moonlight, and as it would have a greedy sound if the next attackon eatables were to be called “second breakfast, ” the only true way ofsettling this point was to consider the first meal to be in fact a latesupper of yesterday, or at any rate to regard it as belonging to thebygone, and therefore beyond inquiry, and so to ignore this firstbreakfast altogether in one’s arrangements. The stomach quite approvedof this decision, and was always ready for the usual breakfast at six orseven o’clock, whatever had been discussed a few hours before. 

The matter as to Etretat was decided then. We two were to go on, and tohope the wind would do so to. Then away sped we merrily singing, withthe new and unexpected prospect of possibly reaching Havre that very day. From thence a month was to be passed in going up and down the Seine andat Paris; and what was to come after that? How come back to England?Why that problem must now be “blinked, ” as a future if not an insolublequestion, at any rate just as easy to solve a month hence as it is now. 

For a long time the wind was favourable, and precisely as strong as wasdesirable, and the formidable looking Cape Antifer, which at mid-dayseemed only a dark blue stripe on the distant horizon, gradually nearedus till we could see the foam eddying round its weather-wasted base. Then came the steep high wall of flint cliff with shingle débris at itsfoot, but no one approach from top to bottom, if any bad thinghappened, —no, not for miles. 

This was a time of alternate hope and fear, as the wind gradually lulledaway to nothing, and fog arose in the hot sun; the waves were tossing theRob Roy up and down, and flapping the sails in an angry petulant way, very distressing if you are sleepy. For four hours this hapless state ofthings continued, yet we were already within five miles of Cape de laHève, and, once round that, on the other side was Havre. How tantalizingto be so near, and yet still out of reach! If this calm ends in a westwind, we may be driven back anywhere by that and the tide. If it ends ina thunderstorm we shall have to put off to sea at once. 

See there the lighthouses up aloft on the crag—two of them are lighted. Soon it will be dark around, and we shall at this rate have to enterHavre by night. All this time we were close to the cliffs, but thesounding-lead showed plenty of water, and when the anchor was thrown outthe cable did not pull at all; we were not drifting but only rocked bythe incessant tumble and dash of the sea, which, though of all thingsglorious when careering in the breeze, is of all most tiresome whenrolling in a calm. 

At this time I felt lonely, exceedingly lonely and helpless, also sleepy, feverish, discontented, and miserable. The lonely feeling came onlytwice more in the voyage; the other bad feelings never again. 

Now, there are one or two sensations which after experience at sea seldomdeceive you as to what they prognosticate, though it is impossible togive reasons for their hold upon the mind. One is the feeling, “I amdrifting, ” another, “The water is shoaling, ” and the third, “Here comes abreeze. ” Each of these may be felt and recognised even with your eyesshut. It does not come in through one sense or another, but it seems tograsp the whole system; and it is a very great convenience to have thisfaculty alive in these three directions, and to know when to trust it asa true impression. 

On the unmistakable sensation that a breeze was coming, the rebound frominaction and grumbling, lying full-length on deck, to alert excitementwas instantaneous and most pleasing. The anchor was rattled up in aminute, and it was scarcely stowed away before the genial air arrived, with ripples curling under its soft breath, once more exactly favourable. 

Slowly the two lights above on the cliff seemed to wheel round as wedoubled the Cape. Slowly two little dots in the distance swelled up intobig vessels in full sail, and others rose from the far-off waters, allconverging to the same port with myself; their very presence beingcompanionship, and their community of purpose begetting a mutualinterest. For these craft deep in the water the navigation here israther intricate, though the excellent and uniform system of buoysemployed in France does all that is possible to make the course clear;but my little boat, drawing less than three feet of water, could runsafely even over the shallows, though, as a rule, I navigated her by theregular channels, as this gave me much additional interest in thebearings about every port. 

When the lights at Havre hove in sight the welcome flashing was a happyreward to a long day’s toil, and as the yawl sped forward cheerilythrough the intervening gloom, the kettle hummed over the lamp, and abumper of hot grog was served out to the crew. Soon we rounded into theharbour, quiet and calm, with everybody asleep at that late hour; and itwas some time more before the Rob Roy could settle into a comfortableberth, and her sails were all made up, and bed unrolled, and the wearysailor was snoring in his blanket. 

Next day the people on the quays were much amused by the curiousmanœuvres of my little dingey; its minute size, its novel form (generallypronounced to be like a half walnut-shell), its bright colour, and theextraordinary gyrations and whirlings which it could perform, forpractice taught some new feat in it almost every day. 

At night there was a strange sound, shrill and loud, which lasted forhours, and marred the calm eve and the quiet twinkling of the stars. This came from a hundred children collected by a crackbrained stranger(said to be English). These he gave cakes and toys to by day lavishly, and assembled them at night on the quay to sing chorus to his incoherentverses—a proceeding quite wonderful to be permitted by the police sostrict in France. 

CHAPTER VI. 

The Seine—A wetting—Pump—Locks—Long reach—Rouen—Steering—A mistake—Hornyhands—Henpecked—British flag—The captain’s wife. 

Havre was a good resting-place to receive and send letters, read up thenewspapers, get a long walk, and a hot bath, and fresh water andprovisions. Bacon I found, after many trials to cook it, was a delusion, so I gave mine to a steamboat in exchange for bread. Hung beef too wasdiscovered to be a snare—it took far too long to cook, and was toughafter all; so I presented a magnificent lump to a bargee, whose time wasless precious and his teeth more sharp. Then one mast had to come downin preparation for the bridges on the Seine; and therefore with thesethings to do, and working with tools and pen, all the hours were busilyemployed until, at noon on June 26, I hooked on to a steamer, ‘Porteur, ’with its stern paddles very common in France, to be towed up the river; along and troublesome voyage of about 300 miles, so winding is the courseto Paris by the Seine. 

This mode of progress was then new to me, and I had made but imperfectpreparations, so that when we rounded the pier to the west, and met theshort, snappish sea in the bay, every wave clashed over me, and in tenminutes I was wet to the skin, while a great deal of water entered thefore-compartment of the yawl through the hole for the chain-cable at thattime left open. {85} The surprising suddenness of this drenching was soabsurd that one could only laugh at it, nor was there time to don mywaterproof suit—the sou’wester from Norway ten years ago, the oilskincoat (better than macintosh) from Denmark last year, and the canvastrowsers. 

A good wetting can be calmly borne if it is dashed in by a heavy sea inhonest sailing, or is poured down upon you from a black cloud above; buthere it was in a mere river-mouth, and on a sunny day, and there was noopportunity to change for several hours, until we stopped at a village todischarge cargo. The river at that place was narrow, and all the swell Ithought was past; so, after a complete change of clothes, it was too badto find in a mile or two the same story over again, and another wettingwas the result. The evening rest was far from comfortable with mybedding all moist, and both suits of clothes wet through. One hastherefore to beware of the accompaniments of being towed. The boat hasno time to go over the waves, and, long rope or short, middle or side, steering ever so well, the water shipped when a heavy boat is swiftlytowed must be as well prepared for as if it were in a regular gale onopen sea. 

The Rob Roy had now in the hold a great deal of water, and for the firsttime I had to apply the pump, which, having been carefully fitted, actedwell. An india-rubber tube leading down to the keel was in such aposition that I could immediately screw on a copper barrel and work thepiston with one hand, so as to clear the stern compartment. By turning ascrew valve I could let the water come from the centre compartment, ifany was there, and then I went to the fore-compartment, about seven feetlong, which held the spare stores, and a curiosity in the shape of aregulation chimney-pot hat to be worn on state occasions, but which wasbrought out once a week merely to brush off the green mould. 

At noon the steamer set off again, dragging the yawl astern, and soonentered the first lock on the Seine, where the buildings around us, theneat stone barriers, and the dress and the very looks of the men forciblyrecalled to my mind the numerous river locks passed in my canoe trips, but in so different a manner, by running the boat round every one of themon the gravel or over the grass. 

The waste of time now in passing through each lock was prodigious. Whilenearing it the steamer sounded her shrill whistle to give warning, butstill the lock was sure to be full of barges and boats. Then ourcavalcade had to draw aside until the sluggish barges in front had allcome out, and we went into the great basin with bumps, and knocks, andjars, and shouting. It required active use of the boathook for me to getthe Rob Roy into the proper place in the lock, and then to keep herthere. The men were not clumsy nor careless, but still the polishedmahogany yawl had no chance with the heavy floats and barges in asqueezing and scratching match, and it was always sure to go to the wall. 

Time seemed no object to these people, they were no doubt paid by theday. The sun shone upon them and it was pleasant simply to exist and toloiter in life, so why make haste? Finally we ascended as the lockfilled, and then a second and a third joint cut off from our too longtail of barges had to be passed in also. After all, the captain andsometimes the whole crew deliberately adjourned to the lock-keeper’shouse for a “glass” and a chat; and when that was entirely done, andevery topic of the day discussed, they all came back and had anothersupplemental parliament on the steamer’s deck, like ladies saying “goodbye” at a morning visit; so that, perhaps, in an hour from beginning it, the work of ten minutes was accomplished, and the engine turned againonce more—a tedious progress. Thus it was that four nights and part offive days were passed in mounting the Seine. 

The scenery on the banks is in many places interesting, in a few it ispretty, and it is never positively dull. The traffic on the river isconsiderable above Rouen; but as there are two railways besides, fewpassengers go by water. The architecture and engineering on this fineriver are indeed splendid. The noble bridges, the vast locks, barrages, quays, barriers, and embankments are far superior to ours on the Thames, though that river floats more wealth in a day than the Seine does in amonth. 

The sailors and dockmen were eager for my cargo of books; and among thevarious odd ways by which these had to be given to men on large vessels, there is one shown in the sketch alongside, where the cabin-boy of asteamer looking through the round deadlight with an imploring request inhis face, stretched out an eager hand to catch the book lifted up on theend of one of my sculls. 

 [Picture: Cabin-boy reaching for book]

Then the neatness and apparent cleanliness of the villages, and thewell-clothed, well-mannered people—all so “respectable. ” France isprogressing by great leaps and bounds, at least in what arrests the eye. Its progress in government, liberty, and politics, is perhaps rather likethat in a waltz. 

Life in a towed yacht, alone on the Seine, is a somewhat hard life. Youhave to be alert, and to steer for sometimes twenty hours a day, and tocook and eat while steering. At about three o’clock in the morning thesteamer’s crew seemed suddenly to rise from the deck by magic, andstumble over coal-sacks, and thus abruptly to begin the day. We stoppedabout nine o’clock at night, and the crew flopped down on deck again, asleep in a moment, but not I for an hour or two. 

As the grey dawn uncovered a new and cloudless sky, the fierce bubblingsin the boiler became strong enough to turn the engine, and our rope wasslipped from the bank. Savoury odours from the steamer soon afterannounced to me their breakfast cooking, and the Rob Roy’s lamp too wasspeedily in full blast. Eggs or butter or milk were instantly purveyed, if within reach at a lock; sometimes delicious strawberries and otherfruits or dainties, the only difficulty was to cook at all properly whilesteering and being towed. 

It is easy to cook and to steer at sea without looking up for manyminutes. The compass tells you by a glance, and if not, the tiller has anudge which speaks to the man who knows the meaning of its variouspressures, through any part of his body it may happen to touch. But ifyou forget to steer constantly and minutely in a heavy boat towed on ariver, she swerves in an instant, and shoots out right and left, anddives into banks or trees, or into the steamer’s side-swell, and the manat the wheel turns round with a courteous French scowl, for he feels by_his_ tiller in a moment, and you cannot escape his rebuke. 

There was no romance in this manner of progress up the river. The poetryof wandering where you will, and all alone, cannot be thrown around aboat pulled by the nose while you are sitting in her all day. The RobRoy, with mast down, and tied by a tow-rope, was like an eagle limpingwith clipped pinion and a chained foot. Still, for the man not churlish, there is scarcely any time or place or person wholly devoid of interest, if he is determined to find it there. 

The steamboat captain and crew were chatty enough; and when we towed astring of barges, the yawl was lashed alongside of one of these (and notat the end of the line), so that I visited my fellow-travellers, and soonbecame friends, and then interchanged presents. All this “SocialScience” of the sailor was far better done by the French bargee than inEngland. 

In both countries they frequently mistook me at first for a common sailorin charge of a yacht, for my dress told no more. As intercourseproceeded it was curious to watch the gradual recognition of the factthat this “sailor” talked and thought not just the same as others. Thenthey regarded me as an agent come to sell the pretty boat; but it was inEngland only that any of them could be made to believe that the owner ofthe Rob Roy “would not part with his boat, did not want a cook orcabin-boy, and was not at all anxious to see the end of his voyage. ”Sometimes the conversation, begun as between equals, would gradually getthe word “Sir” sprinkled over it; and once or twice—and this not inFrance—it came down at last to that “glass of beer, ” sheepishly enoughasked for, which of course instantly drowns the converse that has beenfree on one side and independent on the other. 

“Workmen, ” “working men, ” “artizans, ” or whatever they are, or whateveryou may call them—I mean the class now being spoiled by petting inEngland—let them be told (perhaps it may be said plainest by their bestfriends) that there are just as many proud exclusives among them as inany other stratum of society, and that they have at least a full sharetoo of conceit, foppery, and affectation. 

It may be heresy to say so, but the “horny hand” has no necessaryconnection whatever with the “honest heart, ” as is the fashion to asserton one side, and almost to believe on the other; and the friend whoreally does shake that hand with a brotherly feeling is the most likelyand the best entitled to refuse to talk popular nonsense of this sortabout the “people. ”

For the night we stopped usually in towns, but once or twice we rested ina great bend of the river where the steamer was run straight into thetrees and made fast ashore exactly as if it were on the Mississippi andnot on the Seine. 

That thousands of solitary fishermen should sit lonesome on the river wasthe same puzzle to me as it had been before in canoeing on other Frenchstreams. Their silence and patience, during hours of this self-inflictedisolation, were incredible for Frenchmen, fond as we at first think allof them to be of “billard, ” café, or dancing puppies, of anything, infact, provided it assumes to be lively. 

One thing I am at last decided about, that it is not to catch fish thesemen sit there; and the only reasonable explanation I can find of thephenomenon is that all these meek and lone fishermen are husbands unhappyat home!

There are numerous sailing-boats and rowing-boats on the Seine; but I didnot see one that there was any difficulty in not coveting—their standardof marine beauty is not ours. All rigs and all sizes were there, even toa great centre board cutter, twenty-five feet broad, and any number ofyards long, in which the happy yachtsman could sail up and down betweentwo bridges which bounded him on either side to a two miles’ reach!

The French national flag is perhaps the prettiest on the world’s waters;but as it is repeated to the eye by every boat and building, the sight ofit becomes tiresome, and suggests that absence of private influence andenterprise so striking to an Englishman in every French work. Then againtheir sailors (not to say their landsmen) in very many instances do noteven know our English flag when they see it, our union-jack or ensignflying free on every shore. 

At first I used to carry the French flag as well as our British jack outof compliment to their country, but as I found out that even in some oftheir newspapers the Rob Roy was mentioned as a “beautiful little Frenchyacht, ” I determined that _that_ mistake at any rate should not befostered by me, so down came the tricolour, and my Cambridge Boat-clubflag took its place. 

In one reach of the river we came upon a very unusual sight for a weekday, a French yacht sailing. Her flag was half-mast high, and she wasdrifting down the stream, a helpless wreck. A distracted sort of man wason board, and a lady, or womankind at least, with dishevelled locks(carefully disordered though), the picture of wan weary wretchedness, andboth of these hapless ones entreated our captain to tow their littleyacht home. But, after a knowing glance, he quickly passed them insilence, and another steamer behind us also rounded off so as to give theunhappy pair the widest possible berth. Perhaps both captains preferredEnglish sovereigns to French francs. 

I was charged about 3_l_. For being towed to Paris; but the varioussteamers (six in all) I employed on the river were every one wellmanaged, and with civil people on board. Indeed, I became a favouritewith one captain’s wife, a sturdy-looking body, always cutting up leavesof lettuce. She gave me a basin of warm soup, and I presented her withsome good Yorkshire bacon. Next day she cooked some of this for me withbeans, and I returned the present by a packet of London tea, a book, apicture of Napoleon, and another of “the Rob Roy on the Seine, ” in thehighest style of art attainable by a man steering all the time he is atthe easel. 

From all this it will be readily understood by any one who has travelledmuch in various ways that to be towed up the Seine is quite differentfrom all other modes of progress, and that it brings you among a large, new, and sharply-defined class of people, who could scarcely be known, and certainly could not be studied so well in any other way. 

Nor is the traveller less interesting to these people than they are tohim. Often it was necessary to restrain the inquisitive French _gamins_, who would teaze a boat to pieces if not looked after; but it is alwaysagainst the grain with me to be strict with boys, especially about boats, for I hold that it is a good sign of them when they relish nauticalcuriosities. 

CHAPTER VII. 

Dull reading—Chain boat—Kedging—St. Cloud—Training-Dogs—Wrong colours—Mypoliceman—Yankee notion. —Red, White, and Blue. 

The effect of living on board a little boat for a month at a time withoutmore than three or four nights of usual repose, was to bring the mind andbody into a curious condition of subdued life, a sort of contemplativeoriental placid state in which both cares and pleasures ceased to beacute, and the flight of time seemed gliding and even, and not marked bythe distinct epochs which define our civilised life. Although thispassive enjoyment was really agreeable—and, in fine weather and goodhealth, perhaps a mollusc could affirm as much of itsexistence, —certainly an experience of the condition I have describedenables one to understand what is evidently the normal state of manythousands of hard-worked, ill-fed, and irregularly-sleeped labourers; themen who, sitting down thus weary at night, we expect to read some prosybook full of desperately good advice, of which one half the words are notneeded for the sense and the other half are not understood by the reader. {98}

The last tug-boat we had to use was of a peculiar kind, and I am notaware that it is employed upon any of our rivers in Britain. A chain islaid along the bottom of the Seine for (I think) two hundred miles. Atcertain hours of the day a long solidly-built vessel with a powerfulengine on board comes over this, and the chain is seized and put round awheel on board. By turning this wheel one way or the other it is evidentthat the chain will be wound up and let down behind, while it cannot slipalong the river’s bottom—the enormous friction is enough to prevent that, and therefore the boat is wound up and goes through the water. The powerof this chain-boat is so great that it will pull along, and that tooagainst the rapid stream, a whole string of barges, several of them of300 tons’ burthen. The long fleet advances steadily though slowly, andthe irresistible engine works with smokeless funnels, but there aregroanings within, telling of tight-strained iron, and earnest undertonedbreathings of confined steam. 

Although the chain-boat is not often steered for the purpose of avoidingother vessels (these must take care of their own safety), yet it has tobe carefully managed by the rudders (one at each end), so that it maydrop the chain in a proper part of the river for the next steamer of theCompany which is to use it. When two such boats meet from oppositedirections, and both are pulling at the same chain, there is much timelost in effecting a passage, and again when the chain-boat and all itsstring of heavy craft arrives at a lock, you may make up your mind for along delay. It is evident that we do not require this particular sort oftug-boat on the Thames below Teddington, for the strong tide up and downtwice every day carries along thousands of tons of merchandize at a rapidpace, and one or two men will be enough to attend upon each barge. Infact we have the sun and moon for our tugs. These draw the water up, andthe tide is the rope which hauls our ships along. 

To manœuvre properly with the Rob Roy in such a case as this with thechain-boat required every vigilance, and strong exercise of muscularforce, as well as caution and prompt decision, for I had sometimes tocling to the middle barge, then to drop back to the last, and always tokeep off from the river-banks, the shoals, and the trees. On oneoccasion we had to shift her position by “kedging” for nearly half amile, and this in a crowded part of the Seine too, where the current alsowas swift. On another occasion the sharp iron of a screw steamer’s frameran right against my bow, and at once cut a clean hole quite through themahogany. Instantly I seized a lump of soft putty, and leaning over theside I squeezed it into the hole, and then “clinched” it (so to speak) onthe inside; and this stop-gap actually served for three weeks, until aproper repair could be made. 

The lovely precincts of St. Cloud came in sight at dawn on the last dayof June, prettier than Richmond, I must confess, or almost any river-townwe can boast of in England; and here I was to rest while my little yawlwas thoroughly cleaned, brightly varnished, and its inside gaily paintedwith Cambridge blue, so as to appear at the French Exhibition in its verybest suit, and then at the British Regatta on the Seine. 

Some days were occupied in this general overhaul, during which theexcellent landlady of the hotel where I slept must have been more amazedeven than she declared, to see her guest return each day clad in blueflannel, and spattered all over with varnish and paint, for the captainwas painter as well as cook. Of course all this was exchanged for properattire after working hours. 

In the cool of the morning, three fine young fellows are running towardsus over the bridge; with lithe and easy step, speed but not haste, and inwhite flannel and white shoes. They have come to contend at the regattahere, the first of an invasion of British oarsmen, who soon fill thelodgings, cover the river, and waken up the footpath early with theirrattling run. Some of these are brown-faced watermen from Thames andHumber and Tyne, others are ruddy-cheeked Etonians or University men, orhard-trained Londoners, and others have come over the Atlantic; JohnBull’s younger brothers from New Brunswick, not his cousins from NewYork. You might pick out among these the finest specimens of ourspecies, so far as pluck and muscle make the man. 

Few of the French oarsmen could be classed with any of the divisionsgiven above. Rowing has not attained the position in France which itholds in England. For much of our excellence in athletics and fieldsports we have to thank our well-abused English climate, which alwaysencourages and generally necessitates some sort of exercise when we areout of doors. 

But it is a new and healthy sight on the Seine, these fine fellowsrunning in the mornings, and it gives zest to our walk by the beautifulriver. 

Here also as we stroll about, two dogs gave us much amusement: one was aNewfoundland, who dashed into the water grandly to fetch the stick thrownin by his master. The other was a bulldog, who went in about a yard orso at the same time, and then as the swimmer brought the stick to shorethe intruder fastened on it, and always managed somehow to wrest theprize from the real winner, and then carried it to his master with thecool impudence which may be seen not seldom when the honour and rewardgained by one person are claimed and even secured by another. {102}

From the truck to the keel the Rob Roy had been thoroughly refreshed andbeautified. The perfection of a yacht’s beauty is that nothing should bethere for only beauty’s sake. In the strict observance of this rule theEnglish certainly do excel every other nation; and whether you take ahuge steam-engine, a yacht, or a four-in-hand drag, it is certainlyacknowledged by the best connoisseurs of each, that ornament will notmake a bad article good, while it is likely to make a good one look bad. 

Even the flags of a yacht have each a meaning, and are not mere patchesof pretty colours. Therefore they ought to be made, at all events, perfectly correct first, and then as pretty and neat as you please. Iexamined the flags of all the boats and yachts and steamers at theExhibition; and there was wonderfully little taste in their display;nearly every one—English and foreign—was cut wrong, or coloured wrong, ortoo large for the boat that carried them. Even our Admiralty Barge, where specimens of boats from England were exhibited, had a flag flying, with the stripes in the ‘jack’ quite wrong. She was the only craft onthat side of the Pont de Jena; but as it was the English side I anchoredthere, right opposite the sloping sward of the Exhibition, and I did thiswithout asking any questions, for it is best now and then to do rightthings at once, and not to delay until time is wasted in proving them tobe right. 

Here I slept on board my little craft in perfect comfort, and could spendall the rest of the day on shore. Each morning about 7 o’clock you mightnotice a smart-looking French policeman standing on the grass bank of theExhibition, and staring hard at the Rob Roy. He had come to see hercaptain at his somewhat airy toilette, and he was particularlyinterested, and even amazed, to witness the evolutions of a toothbrush, which were not only interesting but instructive as involving an ideaperfectly new—hard also to comprehend from so distant an inspection. Surely he thought this strange implement must be a novelty imported fromEngland for exhibition here. 

As he gazed in wonder at the rapid exercise, I sometimes gave the curiousinstrument an extra flourish above or below, and the intelligent andcourteous gendarme never rightly decided whether or not the toothbrushwas an essential though inscrutable part of the yacht’s sailing gear. Our acquaintance, however, improved, and he kindly took charge of theboat in my absence; not without a mysterious air as he recounted itstravels (and a good deal more), to the numerous visitors, —many of whom, after his explanations, left the Rob Roy quite delighted that they hadseen “the little ship which had sailed from America!”

The boat “Red, White, and Blue” he thus confounded with mine—was at thattime not far off, in a house by itself, amid the other wonders whichcrowded the gardens of the Exhibition. 

 [Picture: The French policeman]

The two venturesome Americans who came to Europe in this ship had butscant pleasure either in their voyage itself or in their visit to Franceand England. Storm, wet, and hunger on the wide Atlantic were patientlyborne in hopes of meeting a warm welcome in Old England; but, instead, they had the cold chill of doubt. Many of their sufferings in both theseways were directly due to their own and their friends’ mismanagement, thestupid construction of their cabin, the foolish three-masted rig of theirboat, the boastful wager of the boat’s builder, and their imprudence inpainting up the boat on her arrival, and tarring the ropes; and, lastly, in allowing a mutilated paper to be issued as their “original log. ”

Disappointed here, they turned to Paris, expecting better days. Fairpromises were made. Steamers were to tow the boat up the Seine intriumph; but it was towed against a bridge and smashed its masts. Agentswere to secure goodly numbers to visit her; but for three months scarcelyany one paid for a ticket, until at length the vessel was admitted intothe grounds of the Exhibition. Finally, the ruined Captain ran away toEngland, but cleverly contrived to carry his ship with him. Whatever maybe thought as to the wisdom or advantage of making such a voyage and insuch a boat, it is a very great pity that when it has been effected thereshould be a failure in appreciating its marvellous accomplishment. 

The possibility of taking a boat across the Atlantic, with west windprevailing and with no rocks or shoals to fear, is altogether beyonddoubt. The ill-fate of two other boats that have tried the feat shewshow dangerous it is to try. The success of another more recent trip of‘man and wife’ in one boat is reassuring. But after examining, probablymore than any body else, the evidence in their case—the men, the log, thedocuments, and affidavits, and the boat, and its contents, also thenumerous doubts and criticisms from all quarters, both in London andParis, and in Dover and Margate, I have good reason to believe that the“Red, White, and Blue” had no extraneous help in her voyage across thatwide ocean. The unexplained wonder is that men able and willing toperform such a deed as this should be incapable of building and riggingtheir boat so as to do it comfortably. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Presents—The Emperor—Anecdote—The Abbé in London—A vert—Singinggirl—English bird—Model—Old friend—The Turks—Guzzling—The friture. 

As they walked past the building where this travelled ship was shewn, many of the visitors seemed each to be reading a paper in his hands, while some have a gilt-edged book, and others a broadsheet with a largewoodcut on it. 

These people have come past that other building, which seems to be allwindows; and let us stop there a few minutes to see why the groups crowdround, and reach out their hands, and go away reading. 

If you heard that it is “only some tracts” being given away, and thenturned away yourself, you have lost a wonderful sight: one that, wellpondered upon, has wide suggestions to the mind that thinks; and a sightthat, of its kind, was quite unexampled at any time and anywhere. Insidethis building, and another near it, were hundreds of thousands of Bibles, Testaments, periodicals, papers, picture books and tracts, beautifullyprinted in the languages of visitors from distant lands, and mostly givenfree to those who will receive them. 

Even in England, at none of our Exhibitions or any other place, had sucha proceeding been permitted, doubtless from prudential reasons, —the fearof “giving offence” or exciting disturbance; so that it had been left toFrance, at a time when pleasure seemed the chief and only object of all, to brave these supposed dangers, and, despite all scruples, to giveutmost freedom to the distribution of God’s Word and of man’s commentsupon it. The example was not without fruit; at each subsequent GrandExhibition, and even under the Republic in 1878, the Book of Law andGospel has been freely given in the frivolous capital of France. 

The fact is, if you mean to get at all the people, you cannot find themin the same place or reach them by the same road, or treat them in thesame way; and all the people must be got at somehow. 

As fast as they could give these books and papers out of the windows, several persons were delivering them into the open hands of the people, and when a window became vacant, and there was need of some one to help, the post was filled by the crew of the yawl. 

We intended to stay only a short time, but six hours often passed beforethe interesting work could be left; I can never forget those hours, andthe subsequent occasions of the same sort. 

Every variety of person came quickly before us, of nationality, ofmanner, of dress, of language, and of bearing, as each drew near, took apaper, read a few lines, thanked the donor, and then went off reading asthey walked, or with reflecting gaze, or simply astonished. 

Hundreds of soldiers came to the window, sometimes a dozen of them atonce, and these all asked for their ‘Empereur. ’ This meant the specialcopy of the well-known periodical ‘British Workman, ’ which was translatedinto French, and had a very large and well-done woodcut of Napoleon III. On its broad first page. The generosity of some good men supplied fundsto give one of these Emperor papers to every soldier, policeman, andpublic employé; and much additional interest was attached to the paperbecause it was actually printed before their eyes at a press in thecentre of the building, and because the press itself had borne off a goldmedal for excellence of workmanship. {110}

Priests came often, and even returned to get tracts for their villages indistant parts of France. Germans asked for papers in “Allemand, ” andnumerous Italians and Spaniards asked for them in their languages. TwoRussians came, but we had then no books in Russ; and at length four graveMussulmen stood before me in turbans and flowing robes, with a suppliantbut dignified air, while their interpreter said they wanted to buy a“dictionary to learn English from. ” Now they will easily get thesedictionaries in the “Beaconsfield Library” of Cyprus. 

Although in frequent tours in foreign lands we had been accustomed to seeminglings of the people from many nations, the sight at this window wasmore varied in the components of the constant flowing stream of humanbeings for hours and hours than we ever saw before. 

Some years ago, travelling in Algeria with an Arab guide, I put up forthe night at an old semaphore station, where was a French soldier incharge. It was far from any houses, and on a high hill, and he had avisit only every fortnight from his friends, who brought him provisionson mules’ backs. He willingly let me in, and spread a mattress for me onthe floor alongside his own. The Arab he kept outside, and the poorfellow had to sleep coiled up on the doorstep. 

The Frenchman was courteous and intelligent; but he had only one thing toread for many weeks, a vapid French novel. He said he would willinglyread something better if he had it. At the next French town I searchedfor some better book, and this caused me to find the agent of the BibleSociety, and so a parcel of books, religious and secular, were sent offto the telegraph station; but my attention once drawn to the Frenchsoldiers and their reading, it was impossible not to follow a subject sointeresting and important. The regiment quartered in the town had but afew Testaments. {112} By a little exertion about a hundred copies wereobtained and distributed. I saw the men reading these in the streets forhours under the trees, and I sailed in a man-of-war carrying the regimentto Mexico. Not one in five of these men survived that fearful campaign. 

Priestly opposition to this giving of Testaments resulted in an appeal tothe General in command. He asked the priests if the book was a “badone, ” and when it was not possible to say “yes, ” he gave the book freecourse. Inquiry was excited by this opposition, and 1500 Testaments werereceived. 

There was a remarkable contrast between the absence of public efforts byFrench Romanists to disseminate their opinions at the Exhibition and theunusual freedom for others, sanctioned by the late Archbishop of Paris. Various causes were at work to produce this very unexpected state ofthings, and they will not be alluded to here. But the points thusnoticed remind one forcibly of what actually occurred in 1851, when thethen Archbishop of Paris specially appointed the Abbé Miel, a learned andable man, to go to London and to do his best to further Romanism hereduring the Exhibition. 

One of his first acts was to issue two small tracts on the supremacy ofthe Pope and of St. Peter; and some hundred thousand of these, beautifully printed, were distributed in London. A copy came to thehands of a clever layman, well skilled in the Romish controversy; and hesaw immediately that this little tract, if not well answered, might domuch harm. 

After careful study of the subject, he wrote to the Abbé, callingattention to several important misquotations in the tract, which wereevident when it was compared with original documents in the BritishMuseum. The Abbé replied, that he was not responsible for the accuracyof the extracts, but that they had been given to him by the late CardinalWiseman. 

The Protestant layman then wrote a series of letters in a well-knownEnglish newspaper, _Bell’s Weekly Messenger_, upon the subject treated inthe tract, and for the time the matter dropped. Years afterwards hereceived a letter from the Abbé, stating that these newspaper articleshad convinced him of the need of inquiry into the subject, and he went toRome to consult his former instructors. Finally, this Abbé, selected asthe champion of Rome by the Archbishop of Paris, and convinced by thearguments adduced by a layman in London, renounced the Romish church, andthough offered promotion for his past services, he came to London andwent straight to the house of the layman, whom he had not yet seen. 

Often have I walked with that clever Abbé, riveted by his deeplyinteresting conversation, his new and fresh views of English life, hisforcible exposures of those false estimates of Protestant truth which hadfor so many years blinded him, and his explanations of the machinery thenin action at the Oratory, near the Strand. 

But his former allies could not brook the desertion of so formidable achampion, and he was driven by their continual annoyance to seek anotherhome. So he went to Ireland, and soon became the best teacher of theFrench language in Dublin, from whence he removed to America. Let ushope that there, at least, he is free to profess the truth he had found, and to be one of the instances—very rare indeed they are—of a consistentand steady Protestant, who had for years before been thoroughly imbuedwith those doctrines which gnaw at the very vitals of mental perception, and obliterate the sense of fairness, and which very seldom leave enoughalive in the mind to hold even real truth firmly. 

It will not be breaking the promise that our visit to the exhibition isnot to involve us in a description of all its wonders, if we walkup-stairs and look into the Tunisian Café, attracted by the well-knowndrumming and the moaning dirge which Easterns call music. Tunis is bestseen out of Tunis, for the broidered gold and bright-coloured slipperscan then be enjoyed without those horrible scenes of filth—dead camels, open sewers, and maimed beggars which encase the shabby mud walls I haveseen so near the marble ruins of old Carthage. 

The café was full of visitors. English and Americans were admiring apretty singing girl about fifteen years of age, who was beautifullydressed, and sitting with four very demure and ugly Orientals in thelittle orchestra. 

Soon she rose and sang a song. Black eyes, blackest of hair, palecheeks, languid grace. She is a fair daughter from the rising sun. “Yes, there is certainly something in their Eastern beauty which is quitebeyond what Britons or Yankees see at home!”

But the words and music of the song seemed known to me. Surely she isnow singing English while she shakes the golden sequins in her long jethair and rattles her tambourine? We asked a waiter, and he said shecould sing Turkish, Spanish, French, and English. At last beingpersuaded that her pronunciation of English was too distinct for aforeigner, we took the very bold measure of going up to the orchestra, and saying to the young lady, “You are English, are you not?” Shestared, and held down her face, which still was pale, even if she blushedand answered “Yes, sir. ” “Are you here alone?—no relation, no womanfriend with you?” “Yes. ” “And do they treat you well?” “Yes. ” “Fromwhat part of England?” “From ---shire. ”

I said she seemed to mean the words of the song she had sung, ‘I wish I were a bird, and I would flee away. ’

and I asked if she could read, and would like a nice book. “Oh yes, Ishould, and very much. ” Now there was a stall set up in the Exhibitionby “The Pure Literature Society, ” from 11, Buckingham Street, Adelphi, London, which selects about three thousand books from various publishers, but publishes none itself; gets no profits on its sales except thanks andsatisfaction; so that its catalogue is likely to contain what it may wishshould be read. {117} Here we selected a very interesting volume withmany illustrations, suitable for the girl’s reading; and soon at the caféagain, I bowed to the senior fiddler, who nodded assent, and then thepoor pale lonely girl had the pleasant book as a remembrance of homeplaced in her hands, and a promise given her that a good Christian ladywould call that evening. 

So perhaps our catalogue of nationalities at the Exhibition ought to besomewhat abridged, and not wholly founded upon the variety it presents tothe eye; especially as in London, too, we may remember Punch’scrossing-sweeper, who, being dressed in Hindoo garb, begged from apasser-by with, “Take pity on the poor Irishman—Injun, I mane. ”

On the Sunday the little dingey had its usual cargo, and the bargemen onthe Seine, in the heart of Paris, were just as glad as others elsewhereto get something to read. 

Among the curiosities exhibited in the English Naval Architecturebuilding here was a very beautiful model of the Rob Roy canoe, presentedto its owner by the builders, Messrs. Searle, who have already built somehundreds of such canoes on the principles first applied in that abovementioned; and to me it was even more gratifying to find in the AdmiraltyBarge, the Rob Roy canoe itself, with sails set and the flag of the RoyalCanoe Club flying, and with maps of the paddling voyages through Europe. 

Very speedily I launched my old travelling companion, and had a paddle upthe river by moonlight, and it was surprising to find that scarcely anywater leaked in, though the other boats which were hung up in the bargewere found to be a good deal injured by the strong draught of windrushing through the arch of the bridge, and then under the open sides ofthe shed, covered only by a roof. But then those other boats were new, and perhaps some were not built of such well-seasoned wood {119} asMessrs. Searle employ beyond all other boat-builders I know; whereas theweatherbeaten Rob Roy had been too long inured to wet and dry, sun andwind, heat and cold, to be affected with the rheumatism and ague whichshook even the man-of-war’s boats on the barge. 

The sketch (see next page), represents a man watering a horse, and whoswum it out to my boat to get a paper, and then carefully placed the giftin a dry place ashore until he should be able to use it when he wasdressed again. 

My life at the Exhibition soon settled into a somewhat regular one. Seeing, seeing, seeing all day, and then returning to my quiet bed on theriver at night, with a ‘Times’ newspaper to study, and books and letters. It was a variety to launch the dingey, and scull along the quays andvisit the other yachts, all of them most hospitable to the Rob Roy. Iventured even to go alongside the Turkish vessel, the _Dahabeeh_, fromthe Nile, full of specimen “fellahs, ” all hidden by a curtain of greycalico, except to those who had paid their franc for general entrance. We never observed any visitor actually on board this vessel; indeed, itrequired a bold inquirer to face those solemn Africans’ gaze, as they satcross-legged on deck, and ate their soup from a universal bowl, or calmlyinspired from their chibouques, and blew out a formal and composed puffof the bluest tobacco-smoke. It did, indeed, soon forcibly recall thefeelings of Egyptian travel to see these men;—the red fiery sunsets, thepalm-trees, and crocodiles, and obelisks, and Indian corn, and, over all, the thrumming, not unmusical sound of the _tarabookrah_—earthen drum—withthe wailing melodies in a minor key of the “Chaldæans whose cry is in theships. ” {121}

 [Picture: Sunday ride]

So I ventured near in my dingey, and the imperturbable Egyptians werefairly taken by surprise. They soon rallied to a word or two in theirlanguage and an Englishman’s smile, and rapidly we became friends, andtalked of Damascus and Constantinople, and finally decided that“Englishman bono!” The shape and minute dimensions of my dingey muchastonished them; but they probably believed, that in that very craft Ihad come all the way from London. 

The luxury of Paris must have at least some effect in making _gourmands_of the young generation, even if their fathers did not set the example. The operation, or rather the solemn function, of breakfast or dinner, iswith many Frenchmen the only serious act in life. When people can affordto order a dinner in exact accordance with the lofty standard ofexcellence meant by its being “good, ” the diner approaches the greatproceeding with a staid and watchful air, and we may well leave him nowhe is involved in such important service. But with the _octroi_ duty foreven a single pheasant at two shillings and sixpence, there are many goodfeeders who cannot afford to “dine well, ” and the fuss they make abouttheir eatables is something preposterous. It is a vice—this systematicgluttony—that seems to be steadily increasing in France for the lasttwenty years, at least in its public manifestation, and moreover it is anevil somewhat contagious. 

One evening, while some of us had dinner at the Terrasse in St. Cloud, afamily entered the room, and were partly disrobing themselves of bonnetsand hats for a regular downright dinner, when the waiter came, and inreply to the order of a “_friture_” he calmly said they had none. 

At this awful news the whole party were struck dumb and pale, and theyleant back on their chairs as if in a swoon. The poor waiter prudentlyretreated for reinforcements, and the landlady herself came in to facethe infuriate guests. 

“No friture!” said the father. “No friture, and we come to St. Cloud?”he muttered deeply in rage. His wife proceeded to make horribly wryfaces, whereat Rob Roy irreverently laughed, but he was not observed, forthey noticed nothing of the external trifling world. The daughtersheaved deep sighs, and then burst into voluble and loud denunciations. Then the son (who wanted dinner at any rate, and the objurgations mightdo afterwards) proposed at once to leave the desolate, famine-strickenspot. 

But though this was debated warmly, it was not carried. They had alreadyanchored, as it were, and they resolved to dine “starving, ” and togrumble all the time of dinner when no one subject was talked aboutexcept the _friture_. It was a miserable spectacle to witness, butconfirming the proposition, not at all new, that the French care moreabout eating than even John Bull. 

CHAPTER IX. 

Paris Regatta—Absentees—Novelties—New Brunswickers—Steam yachts—Canoerace—Canoe chase—Entangled—M. Forcat—Challenge. 

While the voyage in the Rob Roy’s dingey on Sunday was such as we havedescribed, it was a busy time a little further down the river at St. Cloud, being the first day of the Paris Regatta, which continued also onthe Monday, and then our British Regatta occupied the next four days. These two were under separate committees. The British Regatta wasmanaged by experienced oarsmen, and His Royal Highness the Commodore ofthe Canoe Club was patron—not a merely nominal patron but presidingfrequently at the committee meetings held at Marlborough House, andgenerously contributing to the funds. The Emperor of the French alsogave us his name, and prizes to the amount of 1000_l_. Were offered in aseries of contests open to all the world. In these better days now therowing world of France could lately count upon the patronage of theirdistinguished Foreign Minister, M. Waddington, who rowed in the same boatwith me at Cambridge—‘ages ago. ’

But this experiment of holding an international regatta in a foreigncountry was quite novel, and there were difficulties around it which itis not convenient to detail. 

Notwithstanding the hasty predictions of people who could not approve ofwhat was originated and carried out without requiring their advice, theregatta brought together a splendid body of the best oarsmen andcanoeists in the world from England, France, and America. ThreeChampions of England for the first time contended at the same place. Themost renowned watermen came from Thames and Tyne and Humber, andeight-oared boats raced for the first time on the Seine. The weather wasmagnificent, the course was in perfect order, and better than almost anyother of equal length near any capital; the arrangements made were thevery best that might be contrived under the peculiarly difficultcircumstances which could not be controlled, even by a committeecomprising the very best men for the purpose, and zealous in their work;and lastly the racing itself, for spirit and for speed, and for thatexciting interest which is caused by equal excellence sustained duringwell-contested struggles, was never surpassed. 

But this grand exhibition of water athletics was not seen by more than afew hundreds of persons, so that “Tribunes, ” richly draped, and withstreamers flying above, and seats below for 1000 visitors, often had notthree people there at a time. 

The French oarsmen must have been absent at some “better” place, and ofthe French public you might see more of them assembled on the roadsideround a dancing dog. The Emperor could not come—perhaps Bismarck wouldnot let him, and as the Prince of Wales had to be in his proper place asthe representative of England, receiving the Sultan in London, thisimportant duty prevented His Royal Highness from enjoying the pleasure hemight well have counted upon after the trouble he had taken in connectionwith the British Regatta in Paris. 

But after stating this disappointment bluntly, it will be remembered byall who were at St. Cloud, that there was a great deal of real amusement, as well as of hard work, and the whole had a strange novelty both in itscharms and its troubles. 

For crews in “hard training” to sit down to _bifteck_, and Medoc, omelette, and _haricots verts_, with strawberries and cream, and badFrench jabbered round, was certainly a novelty. To see a group of Londonwatermen, addressed in unknown tongues, but perfectly self-possessed, visiting the Exhibition in the morning and rowing a race in theafternoon, was new; and to observe the complete bewilderment of soldiersand police at the whole proceedings, which came upon them of course withsurprise in a country where no one reads the papers for an advertisement, except about a new play, or an infallible pill—all this was very amusingto those who could listen and look on. 

The English rowing-men soon made themselves as comfortable as they couldin their new quarters, and suffered patiently the disagreeables of Frenchlodgings. They repaired their boats, often broken by the transit fromLondon, and behaved with good humour in proportion to their good sense. Even the grumblers were satisfied, because they were provided with a newset of grievances; and so things passed off better than was expected bythose who knew the real circumstances of the venture. It was the firstregatta of the kind, and doubtless it will be the last. 

No particular description of the various races for eight-oars, four-oars, pair-oars, and sculling, by watermen and amateurs, would be interestingto general readers; but a few notable lessons were there to be learned, which will probably not be disregarded. 

An interesting feature was added to the occasion by the arrival of fourmen, who came from New Brunswick, to row at this regatta. They had nocoxswain to steer them, as every other boat had, but the rudder wasworked by strings leading to one of the rowers’ feet. 

They contended first in a race where it was not allowed to use“outrigged” boats (so called because they are so narrow that the oarscannot work on the gunwale, but are rigged out on iron frames). Moreover, they rowed in a broad, heavy, clumsy-looking craft, with commonoars like those used at sea, and they pulled a short jerky stroke, andhad to go round a winding French course—indeed with apparently everydisadvantage; yet they came in first, beating English and French, andwinning 40_l_. 

The same crew went in next for another race, and in another boat, anoutrigger they had brought with them from the Dominion of Canada, andagain they were first, and won 40_l_. More. {128} At once “LesCanadiens” became the favourites and heroes of the day. Englishmencheered them because they were the winners, and some Frenchmen cheeredthem because they supposed the men were French, whereat the hardyCanadians smiled with French politeness, but muttering the while roundprotestations, intelligible only to English ears. 

The river Seine was made unusually lively during the summer by themovement upon it of a whole fleet of steamers of all shapes and sizes, and with flags often exceedingly ‘coquet. ’ Little screw yachts or steamlaunches flitted up and down, sometimes so small as to admit only threeor four people on board, with a bit of awning to deflect the sun; otherswere crowded with passengers. This style of locomotion is peculiarlyadapted to Parisians. It has all the heat, bustle, and noise that can bedesirable in nautical pleasures, and yet it almost avoids those highlyinconvenient undulations which open water has too often the bad taste toassume. The completion of the Thames Embankment and of the purificationof our river has already made water travelling more fashionable inLondon. Soon, perhaps, the Representative of some powerful Trades-unionor incorrupt Borough, will see by the Westminster Clock that it is timeto go down to the “House, ” and will order his double-screw steamer roundto the water steps near his terrace door; and no coachman in those daysneed apply for a place unless he can steer. 

Even now, the number of miniature steamers, tug-boats, and private yachtson the Thames is large and increasing; while a few years ago not one wasto be seen. Most of these are pretty little things, and the best of allcraft to be handled safely in the crowded waterway. The multitude ofthem one sees at Stockholm shews what may be seen some day in Middlesex. 

Several English screw yachts had come to Paris. Mr. Manners Suttonkindly lent his to the Regatta Committee, and the steam launch of theAdmiralty Barge was also used, so that the umpire was able to follow eachrace in a proper position for seeing fair play, while the Rob Roy wasanchored at the winning-post, to guard the palm of victory. Here, too, various bomb-shells were fired high into the air at the end of each race, and were supposed to correspond in number with the place of the winningboat on the programme; but somehow they so exploded as effectually toconfuse the audience they were meant to enlighten as to “who had won:”which uncertainty, we all know, is one of the principal excitements of aregatta, and it can be sometimes prolonged even until the day afterwards. 

The other features of these rowing matches on the Seine may be left tothe reader’s imagination if he has seen a regatta before; and if he hasnot seen one, he could not well apprehend the thing by reading. Thecanoe races, however, being more novel, have another claim on attention. 

One of these races was for fast canoes, and to be decided only by speed. The other was a “canoe chase, ” in which dexterity and pluck were requiredfor success. 

For the canoe race three Englishmen had brought from the Thames threelong boats with long paddles, and they were the three fastest canoes inEngland, so far as could be proved by previous trials. Against these, three French canoes were entered, all of them short, and with shortpaddles. One of these, propelled by an Englishman (resident in Paris), came in easily first, and the second prize was won by a Frenchman. Here, surely, was a good sound lesson to English canoe-men who wished to paddlefast on still water, in a boat useless for any other purpose, and slowerat last than a skiff with two sculls. Accordingly, we accepted thebeating with thanks. 

The ‘Canoe Chase, ’ first instituted at our Club races on the Thames, wasfound to be an agreeable variety in nautical sport, and very amusing. Therefore, two prizes were offered at the Paris Regatta for a canoechase, open to all the “peoples. ” Five French canoes entered, but therewas only one English canoeist ready in his Rob Roy to meet all comers(the Hon. A. F. Kinnaird). 

The canoes were drawn up on land alongside each other, and with theirsteins touching the lower step of the “Tribune” or Grand Stand. It wascurious to observe the various positions taken up by the different men, as each adopted what he thought was the best manner of starting. One wasat his boat’s stern; another, at the side, half carried his canoe, readyto be “off;” another grasped the bow; while the most knowing paddler heldthe end of his “painter” (or little rope) extended from the bow as far asit would reach. 

All dashed off together on being started, and ran with their boats to thewater. The Frenchmen soon got entangled together by trying to get intotheir boats dry; but the Englishman had made up his mind for a wetting, and it might as well come now, at once, as in a few minutes after, so herushed straight into the river up to his waist, and therefore being freefrom the crowding of others, he got into his boat all dripping wet, butforemost of all, and then paddled swiftly away. The rest soon followed;and all of them were making to the flag-boat anchored a little way off, round which the canoes must first make a turn. Here the Englishman, misled by the various voices on shore telling him the (wrong) side he wasto take, lost all the advantage of his start so that all the six boatsarrived at the flag-boat together, each struggling to get round it, butlocked with some other-opponent in a general scramble. Next, theircourse was back to the shore, where they jumped out and ran along, eachone dragging his boat round another flag on dry land, amid the cheers andlaughter of the dense group of spectators, who had evidently notanticipated a contest so new in its kind, and so completely visible frombeginning to end. Again, dashing into the water the little strugglingfleet paddled away to another flag-boat, but not now in such close array. Some stuck in the willows or rushes, or were overturned and had to swim;and the chance of who might win was still open to the man of strength andspirit, with reasonably good luck. Once more the competing canoes cameswiftly back to shore, and were dragged round the flag, and another timepaddled round the flag-boat; and now he was to be winner who could firstreach the shore again and bring his canoe to the Tribune: a well-earnedvictory, won by the Hon. A. F. Kinnaird, far ahead of the rest. 

 [Picture: The struggle]

The whole affair lasted not much longer than might be required to writeits history; but the strain was severe upon pluck and muscle, and calledforth several qualities very useful in life at sea, but which mere rowingin a straight race does not require and cannot therefore exhibit. Instantly after this exciting contest, a Frenchman challenged the winnerto another chase over the same course. But as the challenger had notthought fit to enter the lists and test his powers in the chase, whichwas open to him like the rest, it would, of course, have been quiteunfair to allow him, quite fresh, to have a special race with thehard-worked winner, though the Englishman was at once ready to accept thegage. 

Among the visitors to the regatta was M. Forcat, whose peculiar system ofpropelling boats I have mentioned in the account of a former voyage; andhe brought up for exhibition, and for the practical trial by the winnerof the canoe chase, a very narrow and crank boat, rowed by oars jointedto a short mast in front of the sitter, and thus obtaining one of theadvantages possessed by canoeists, that their faces are turned to thebow, and so they see where they are going. 

It is no doubt an enormous disadvantage that in ordinary rowing your backis turned upon the course, with all its dangers and beauties; and thisinconvenience is only put up with because you can go faster as you rowwith your back foremost, and the scenery is of no account if a riverserves only to float the skiff but not to please the eye. As fortravelling on new and lovely waters in this style, with face to thestern, it is just as if you were to walk backwards along a road, and tothink you could appreciate the picturesque either by a stare at theretreating beauties you are leaving, or by a glance now and then overyour shoulder at what is coming. But though M. Forcat’s boat had therower’s face to the bow, the form and size of the nondescript noveltywere not to be understood in a moment, and we tried to dissuade our youngcanoeist from entering hastily a new sort of boat, very easily capsized. He had his own will, however, and his own way, because he was a Scot, andonly “English” in the sense we use that word for “British, ”—toofrequently thereby giving dire offence to the blue lion of the North, whose armorial tail is so punctiliously correct as to the precise curland make up of its “back hair. ”

“He’s upset, ” they cried in a minute or so. But we might well let sogood a swimmer take his chance; he merely pushed the boat ashore, andthen took a pleasant swim, until he was finally captured and put into theRob Roy’s cabin, to change his wet clothes as well as a modest man mightdo behind a plaid screen and before the curious world. 

Therefore in boats, as well as in business and politics, we may learnlessons from one another, both on the water and on the land: from Canada, as to the steering and the stroke; from France, as to the fast, quickturning canoe in still water; and from England, as to the _man_. 

It was to see this regatta and to help in it that the Rob Roy had pushedher way to Paris; and for this six hundred miles of river navigation in asea-going boat were justifiable, yet often did I feel much the sea-trimlifeboat yawl was out of place upon a calm inland water like the Seine. 

Before the arrival of my little yacht, a challenge had been sent to herto sail on the Seine against a French yacht there. To this I repliedthat it would be scarcely a fair match for the Rob Roy, a sea craft, torace on a river known only to one of the competitors; but that the yawlwould gladly sail a match with any French yacht having only one man onboard, —the course to be at sea either one hundred miles for speed, or oneweek for distance, and communication not allowed with any other boat orshore. No answer came. 

CHAPTER X. 

Dawn music—Cleared for action—Statistics—Blue Peter—Passing bridges—Agale—A shave—Provisions—Toilette—An upset—Last bridge—A peepbelow—Cooking inside—Preserved provisions—Soups. 

The Rob Roy was very pleasant lodgings when moved down to the lovely bendat St. Cloud. Sometimes she was made fast to a tree, and the birds sungin my rigging, and gossamers spun webs on the masts, and leaves fell onthe deck. At other times we struck the anchor into soft green grass, andleft the boat for the day, until at night, returning from where the merryrowers dined so well in training, and after a pleasant and cool walk“home” by the river side, there was the little yawl all safe on a glassypool, and her deck shining spangled with dewdrops under the moon, and thecabin snug within, —airy but no draughts, cool without chill, and brightlylighted up in a moment, yet all so undisturbed, without dust or din, andwithout any bill to pay. 

Awake with the earliest sun, there was always the same sound alongside aswe lay at anchor. The sweet murmurings of the water running by, cleft bymy sharp bow, and gliding in wavelets along the smooth sides only a fewinches from my ear, and sounding with articulate distinctness through thetight mahogany skin; and then there was the muttering chatter of theamateur fisherman, who was sure to be at his post, however early. 

This respectable personage, not young but still hearty, is in his ownboat, —a boat perfectly respectable too, and well found in allparticulars, flat, brown, broad, utterly useless for anything but thisits duty every morning. 

Quietly his anchor is dropped, and he then fixes a pole into the bottomof the river, and lashes the boat to that, and to that it will be fixeduntil nine o’clock; at present it is five. He puts on a grey coat, andbrown hat, and blue spectacles, all the colours of man and boat beingphilosophically arranged, and as part of a complicated and secret plotupon the liberties of that unseen, mysterious, and much-considered_goujon_ which is poetically imagined to be below. It has baffled alldesigns for this last week, for it is a wily monster, but _this_ morningit is most certainly to be snared. 

Rod, line, float, hook, bait, are all prepared for the conflict, and thefisherman now seats himself steadily in a sort of arm-chair, and withstealth and gravity drops the deceitful line into hidden deeps. At thatfloat he will stare till he cannot see. He looks contented; at any rate, no muscle moves in his face, though envy may be corroding his soul. After an hour he _may_ just yield so much as to mutter some few sounds, or a suppressed moaning over his hard lot, ‘and that is what I hear in mycabin. ’ Then at last he rises with a determined briskness in his mien, and the resentment against fate from an ill-used man, and he castsexactly three handfuls of corn or bread-crumbs into the water, these tobeguile the reluctant obstinate gudgeon, who, perhaps, poor thing, is notso much to blame for inattention after all, being at the time just onehundred and fifty yards away, beside those bulrushes. 

Indeed that very idea seems to have struck the fisherman too, and hemarks the likely spot, and will go there to-morrow, not to-day—no, hewill always stick one day at one place. How he moves to or from it I donot know, for the man and boat had always come before I saw them, and Inever stopped long enough to see them depart. Four men fished fourmornings thus, and only two fish were caught by them in my presence. 

The regatta is over, and Nadar’s balloon is in the sky, but seeming nobigger than other balloons, so soon does the mind fail to appreciatepositive size when the object you look at is seen alone. It is the oldstory of the moon, which “looks as large as a soup-plate, ” and yetNadar’s _Géant_ was the largest balloon ever seen, and it carries a housebelow it instead of a car—a veritable house, with two storeys, and doorsand windows. The freedom of its motion sailing away reminds me that theRob Roy ought to be moving too, —that she was not built to dabble about onrivers, but to charge the crested wave; and, indeed, there was always asensation of being pent up when she was merely floating near the inlandcornfields, and so far from the salt green sea; and this, too, eventhough pleasant parties of ladies were on board, and boys got jaunts andcruises from me, which I am certain pleased them much; still thereef-points on her sails rattled impatiently for real breezes and thecurl of the surf, while the storm mizen was growing musty, so long stowedaway unused. 

Next day, therefore, the Blue Peter was flying at the fore, and the RobRoy’s cellar had its sea stock laid in from “Spiers and Pond, ” of ale, and brandy, and wine. Before a fine fresh wind, with rain peltingcheerfully on my back, we scudded down the Seine. To sail thus along arapid stream with many barges to meet, and trees overhanging, and shoalsat various depths below, is a very capital exercise, especially if youfeel your honour at stake about getting aground, however harmless thatwould be. But the Seine has greater difficulties here, because thenumerous bridges each will present an obstacle which must be dealt withat once, and yet each particular bridge will have its special featuresand difficulties, not perhaps recognized when first you meet them sosuddenly. {142} The bridges on the Seine were often not high enough toallow the yawl to pass under, except in the centre, or within a few feeton one side or other of the keystone, and as the wind is deflected by thebridge, just at the critical moment when you reach such places, and thecurrent of water below rushes about in eddies from the piers, there isquite enough of excitement to keep a captain pretty well awake in beatingto windward through these bridges; for the wind _must_ be dead ahead agreat part of the time, because the river bends about and about with moreand sharper turns than almost any other of the kind. 

Though sun and wind had varnished my face to the proper regulation hue, in perfect keeping with a mahogany boat, yet the fortnight of fresh waterhad softened that hardiness of system acquired in real sea. My hands hadgradually discarded, one after another, the islands of sticking-plaister, and a whole geography of bumps and bruises, which once had looked as ifno gloves ever could get on again—or rather as if the hands must alwaysbe encased in gloves to be anywhere admissible in a white-skinnedcountry. 

But now once again outward bound, though still so many miles from theiodine scent of the open sea, and the gracious odour of real ship’s tar, one’s nerves are strung tight in a moment. The change was hailed withjoy, though sudden enough, from the glassy pond-like water at St. Cloud, lulled only by gentle catspaws, half asleep and dreaming, to the rattlingof spars and blocks, and hissing of the water, in the merry whistlinggale by which we now were rapt away. 

At Argenteuil there are numerous French pleasure-boats, and the Rob Royran into a good berth. Next day there was a downright gale, so Iactually had to reef before starting, because in a narrow river the workof beating against the wind is very severe on legs and arms, andespecially on one’s hands, unless they are hardened, and kept hard, too, by constant handling of the strong ropes. 

At length we put into a quiet bay, where the river Oise joined the Seine, and we moored snugly under the lee of a green meadow, while trees wereabove waving and rustling in the breeze. It was far from houses, for Iwished to have a good rest, as the tossing of the former night had almostbanished sleep. 

But soon the inquisitive natives found the yawl in her hiding-place, andthey sat on the grass gazing by the hour. The surroundings were so muchlike a canoe voyage, that I felt more strongly than ever the confinementto a river, while the sea would have been so open and grand under such abreeze. Therefore I gave up all idea of sailing down the Seine any more, and decided to get towed to Havre, and to launch out fairly on our properelement once more. 

Yet it was fine fun to row about in the dingey, and to discover a quaintold inn, and to haul ashore my tiny cockleshell and dine. Here they werecertainly an uncouth set, they did not even put a cloth on the table, norany substitute for it, —a state of things seen very seldom indeed in thevery outermost corners of my various trips. 

Faithful promise was made by a man that he would rouse me from slumber inmy cabin under the haybank at the passing of the next steamer, be itlight or dark at the time. The shriek of the whistle came in the firsthours of morning, and the man ran to tell it, with one side of his faceshaven, and the other frothed over with lather. 

Being towed down is so like being towed up the river, that we need merelyallude to a few features in the voyage westward. 

At one pretty town we stopped to unload cargo for some hours, and Iclimbed the hills, scaled the old castle walls, and dived into curioustumbledown streets. The keeper of the newspaper-shop confessed to me hisown peculiar grievance, namely, that he often sent money to England inreply to quack advertisements, but never had any reply. He seemed to betoo “_poli_” to credit my assertion that there are “many rogues inperfidious Albion, ” and on the whole he was scarcely shaken in thedetermination to persevere in filling their pockets, though he mightempty his own. 

An old man at a lock was delighted by a New Testament given to him. “Iknow what this is; it is Protestant prayers. Oh, they are good. ” Thenhe brought his wife and his grandchildren, and every one of them shookhands. 

It was not very easy to get one’s sea-stores replenished in thecontinuous run down the Seine. Sometimes I saw a milkman trundling hiswheelbarrow over a bridge, and, jumping on shore, I waylaid him for theprecious luxury, or sent off a boy for bread, and butter, and eggs; but, of course, the times of eating had nothing to do with any hours, orrecurring seasons for a meal: you must cook when you can, and snatch amorsel here or there, in a lock or a long reach of the stream. At nightthe full moon sailed on high, and the crew lay down with their faces overthe steamer’s side, chattering with their English comrade till it was farpast bed-time, for we shall be off at three to-morrow morning. 

The steam in the boiler first warns of the coming bustle as its greatbubbles burst inside, and rattle the iron plates. Then, being morefrequent and tighter bound, they give out a low moaning, hidden rumble;and if the boat touches the side of the steamer, there is a strongvibration through all her sonorous planks, until some tap is turned inthe engine, and the rush of steam leaps into the cylinder as if indignantat its long restraint. You had better get up now (there is no dressing, for the simple reason that there has been no undressing), and in twominutes you are fresh and hearty, though it is only a few hours since youdropped to rest. 

Rouen looks as if it would be all that is pleasant for a sailing-boat torest in. Never was a greater deception. It is difficult to find ananchorage, and impossible to get a quiet berth by the quay. The bustleall day, and the noise all night, keep you ever on the tenterhooks;though, as these discomforts are caused by the active commerce of theport, one ought to bear them patiently. 

In one of the numerous _mêlées_ of barges, boats, and steamers whirlinground and round, amid entangled hawsers, and a swift stream, we had atlast to invoke aid from shore, and a number of willing loungers gladlyhauled on my rope. Some of these men, when I thanked them, said they hadmore to thank me for, —the books I had given them in my voyage up. Still, with all this aid, the Rob Roy was inextricably entangled with otherheavier craft, and, in shoving her off I tumbled overboard, and had toput up with a thorough wetting; so, after a warm bath ashore, more _à lamode_, I returned to my little cabin for a profound sleep. 

Rain, almost ceaseless for a whole day and night, had searched thesmallest chink, and trickled ungraciously into my very bed-room. But Isuspended an iron tea-cup in the dark just over my body, so _that_ onelittle stream was intercepted. This was the first really hard pressureof wet on the Rob Roy, and all the defects it brought to light wereentirely remedied afterwards at Cowes. 

On each of the four preceding nights I had been aroused for the nextday’s work at three, or two, or even one o’clock, in the dark, and yetfor one night more there was to be no regular repose. 

My mast had been made fast to the quay wall, but in forgetfulness that ona tidal river this fastening must be such as to allow for several feet offall as the water ebbs. Therefore, about the inevitable hour of oneo’clock, in the dark, there was a loud and ominous crack and jerk fromthe rope, and I knew too well the cause. In the rainy night it was atroublesome business to arrange matters, and next day was a drowsy onewith me, spent in the strange old streets of the town. 

The policeman had orders to call me at any hour when a steamer went by, and, being hooked at last to the powerful twin-screw _Du Tremblay_, witha pleasant captain, I rejoiced to near the very last bridge on the river, with the feeling at heart, “After this we are done with fresh-watersailing. ”

It was a suspension-bridge, and the worthy captain forgot all about theRob Roy and her mast, when he steered for a low part, where his ownfunnel could pass because it was lowered, but where I saw in a moment mymast must strike. 

There was no time to call out, nor would it have availed even to chop thetowing-line with my axe, for the boat had too much “way” on her to stop. Therefore I could only duck down into the well, to avoid the fallingspars and the splinters. 

The bridge struck the mast about two feet from the top, and, instead ofits breaking off with a short snap, the mast bent back and back at leastfour feet just as if it were a fishing rod, to my great amazement. Thestrong vibration of its truck (_pomme_ the French call it), throbbedevery nerve of boat and man, as it scraped over each plank above, andthen the mast sprang up free from the bridge with such a switch, that itburst the lashings of both the iron shrouds merely by this rebound. 

Now was felt the congratulation that we had carefully secured afirst-rate mast for the Rob Roy, one of the pieces of Vancouver wood, proved, by the competitions lately held, to be the strongest of alltimber. 

The moments of expected disaster and of happy relief were vivid as theypassed, but I made the steamer stop, and on climbing the mast, I foundnot even the slightest crack or injury there. Henceforth we shall trustthe goodly spar in any gale, with the confidence only to be had by acrucial test like this. 

As we shall soon be at sea again, but the river is calm enough here, perhaps this will be a fit opportunity for the reader to peep into RobRoy’s cave as it was usually made up for the night. 

The floor of the cabin is made of thin mahogany boards, resting oncross-beams. The boards are loose, so that even in bed I can pull oneup, and thus get at my cellar or at the iron pigs of ballast. The bed isof cork, about seven feet long and three feet wide. On this (for it_was_ rather hardish) I put a plaid, {150} and then a railway rug, whichbeing coloured, had been substituted for a blanket, as the white wool ofthe latter insisted on coming off, and gave an untidy look to my thickblue boating-jacket. 

One fold of the rug was enough for an ample covering, and I never oncewas cold in the cabin. 

A large pillow was encased by day in blue (the uniform colour of all mydecorations), and it was stripped at night to be soft and smooth for thecheek of the sleeper. 

Putting under this my coats and a regulation woven Jersey, with theyacht’s name worked in red across its breast in regular sailor’s fashion, the pillow became a most comfortable cushion, and the woodcut shows mereclining in the best position for reading or writing, as if on a goodsofa. On my right hand behind is a candle-lamp, with a very heavy stand. It rests upon a shelf, which can be put in any convenient place by asimple arrangement. 

 [Picture: The Cabin]

In the sketch already given at p. 41, there is a tarpaulin spread overthe well, and this was used on one occasion when we had to cook in rainwhile at anchor. {151}

On the same side, and below the boxes, “Tools” and “Eating, ” alreadymentioned, are two large iron cases, labelled “Prog, ”—a briefannouncement which vastly troubled the brains of several French visitors, whose English etymology did not extend to such curt terms. 

In these heavy boxes are cases of preserved meats, soups, and vegetables, and these I found perfectly satisfactory in every respect, when procuredat a proper place (Morel’s in Piccadilly). Here you can get little tincases, holding half a pint each and sealed up hermetically. {152}

To cook one of these tins full—which, with bread and wine is an ampledinner—you cut the top circle with the lever-knife, but allowing it to bestill attached by a small part to the tin, and fold this lid part backfor a handle. 

Then put the tin into a can of such a shape and size that it has abouthalf an inch of water all round the tin, but not reaching too high up, else it may bubble over when boiling, and as you can use salt water ormuddy water for this water-jacket, it will not do to sprinkle any of thatinside the tin. 

The can is then hung over the Rob Roy lamp, and in six minutes thecontents of the tin are quite hot. Soup takes less time, and steakperhaps a little more, depending on the facility of circulation of thematerials in the tin and the amount of wind moderating the heat. Thepreserved meat or soup has been thoroughly cooked before it is sold, andit has sauce, gravy, and vegetables, and the oxtail has joints, allproperly mixed. Therefore, in this speedy manner your dinner isprepared, and indeed it will be smoking hot and ready before you can getthe table laid, and the “things” set out from the pantry. 

Concentrated soup I took also, but it has a tame flavour, so it was putby for a famine time, which never came. As for “Liebig’s Extract ofMeat, ” you need not starve while there is any left, but that is the mostwe can say in its favour. 

CHAPTER XI. 

High tide—Seine pilot—To bed—Terrible scene—A tumble in—In theswell—Novel steeling—The Empress—Puzzled—Night thoughts—The Start—A drafton the deck—Balloon jib—On the deep. 

On the Seine there is a tide phenomenon, called the _barre_, as inEnglish rivers the _bore_, which, when not provided for, is verydangerous, especially at spring tides. The water then rushes up thenarrowing funnel-shaped estuary, in a broad and swelling wave, sometimesfour feet high, and this will sweep off even large vessels from theiranchors, and it causes many wrecks. 

On a former occasion when I happened to be in this neighbourhood, a hightide had been truly predicted by astronomers, which would culminate atthe little town of Caudebec on the Seine, but would also rise higher thanever known before on all the adjacent coasts. 

The news of this coming wonder spread over France, and there being then alull in Europe as to revolutions, &c. (except, of course, the perennialrevolution in Spain), the _quidnuncs_ of the provinces had to run to thecoast for an excitement. Excursion trains, and heavily-laden steamerspoured volumes of people into Caudebec, and many of them had never seensalt sea before. At the fashionable bathing-town of Trouville the sightwas a strange one when thousands of expectant observers paraded the softwhite sand as the full moon shone on a waveless sea, and the brilliantdresses of the ladies coloured the beautiful tableau. 

The tide flowed and flowed; it bubbled over the usual bounds of theshore; it trickled into the bathing sheds; it swelled still higher uponthe trim-kept promenade, until it lapped the highest point and then wentgently down again. Eclipses and tides are patent proofs to the peoplethat physical science can appeal to. The “music of the spheres” hathalso a true rhythm, “There is neither speech nor language but theirvoices are heard. ”

To escape this _barre_ on the Seine, our steamer anchored by the quaintold town of Quillebœuf with other vessels; and, though the wind howledand the rain poured, the hill beside us sheltered all from its blasts, which were too wild and powerful in the sea outside to allow us toproceed next day. {156}

However, our Seine pilot pointed to an English steamer “which dared notgo out;” so any remonstrance on the subject was silenced, and then heboldly asked if I would like a pilot on board the Rob Roy (towed by thesteamer all the time), and I had sufficient command of countenance todecline with due gravity. Better, perhaps, it would have been for me notto carry then so much of the John Bull into these strange waters, as willbe seen from what occurred that night. 

The tide rushed up with extraordinary strength, until it was quite full. Then it paused for five minutes, and again it set off in the oppositedirection with the same fury, increased, too, by the stream and the windbeing also down the river. 

At each of these changes every vessel, of course, swung round to itsanchor, and so must have loosened its hold, while all the water picturechanged from right to left like a scene shifted on the stage. Duringthis short interval of quiet you could row ashore, but to get back againwas almost impossible when the full torrent of water ran in straight. 

As night came on I noticed that our steamer’s anchor was dragging, andthat other steam vessels, more on the alert, were easing the strain ontheir cables by working their engines at half power all the time. 

“Captain, we are dragging anchor. ” “No, sir, ” he said, “you aremistaken. ” “I am sure we are dragging: I have watched for ten minutes. ”“No, sir, I am certain we do not drag. ” He said this with such firmness, that I confidingly believed it, and turned into bed. 

But it was not to sleep, except in fitful snatches. The sound of thewater hurrying by my side, like a mill race, and within a few inches ofmy ear, had a strange and unwonted effect, not now to soothe, but todrive sleep away. Bits of wood and other _débris_ often struck mymahogany sounding-board with a loud thump, until I became accustomed evento this, and was in a dreamy dozing about one o’clock. 

Then there came a new noise, —a low, steady rap, tap, tap, tap, on theboat, and from underneath. For a moment or two there was a sensationwithout apprehension, —a sort of mesmeric, irresistible spell; but asudden thought burst through the trance, and with a powerful impressionof what was doing—one no less horrid than true—I dashed off covering, roof, hatchway, and all, and stood upon deck to meet a terrible scene. 

Our steamer had drifted in the dark until we closed upon anothersteamboat astern. My yawl, tied to the stern of one, was between thatand the bows of the other, the anchor chain of which had already gotunderneath the waist of the Rob Roy, and had been ringing the rap, tap, tap of a warning that undoubtedly saved her life. Light flashed from theriding lamp at the steamer’s bow full on my boat’s deck, which was nowheeled over deeply until the dark water rushed through her gunwale; itseemed that only a few seconds more and the poor little yawl would sinkin the flood, or be ground into splinters by the two great iron monstersnearing each instant in the dark. 

All this was noticed in the same rapid glance which in such dangersgrasps a whole scene in a moment and stamps it in the mind for years. 

My boat hung on the cold iron chain, yet it wavered with equal poise togo this way or that. If she could be swerved to the stern she mightpossibly escape destruction, but if to the other side, then the strongrope at her bow would entirely prevent her escape. With a loud shout toarouse the crews I put every atom of bodily force into one strenuousshove, straining nerve and muscle in the desperate effort until I couldnot see. She trembled and surged—it was successful, and I fell into thewater, but my yawl was saved. {159a}

Crash came the two steamers together. I heeded nothing of their din andsmashing, and the uproar of the men, but I scrambled all wet into mycabin, nervously shaking with excitement and a chattering of teeth. ThenI sat down to sum up my bruises, —a barked shin, sprained thigh, andbleeding cheek-bone; and a hapless object I must have seemed, bathing, byturns, my leg, and shin, and face, from a brandy bottle, and then a gulpinside. In a survey of the yawl made next day, there was to be seen (asstill there is) the marks of the iron chain-links deeply impressed in themahogany planks of her waist. The piece of wood that bears thesemementoes of that night’s deed might well be cut out and kept as acurious memorial. The bowsprit also was found to have been nipped at theend (though it had been drawn in close to the stem), and the squeeze hadquite flattened the strong iron ring upon it, and jammed up the wood intoa pulp as if it were cork. {159b}

The weather did not moderate next day, but we started nevertheless, andwhen the waves of the wider sea were tumbling in I expected to have awetting as in passing here before; but the sea was in fine long swells, and so the yawl rode over them buoyantly. Also the large twin-screwtugboat is far more pleasant to follow than the smaller steamer with itstwo paddle-wheels, one at each side of the stern. {160}

In another way also I managed better than before while undergoing theprocess of being towed. I set the hatch of the well in front of me, andthen allowed the reflection of the funnel of the steamer upon the wetdeck of my boat to be seen through a chink, while my head and body wereentirely concealed and completely sheltered from spray. 

Now, having marked where this reflection rested, when I was exactly in aproper line abaft the steamer, I was enabled to steer altogether by theshadowy image, although I could not see the object itself to which I wasdirecting the bow of my boat. The captain and crew of the steamer werevery much astonished with this proceeding. {161}

Arriving at Havre on July 21, there was need for a good rest, and theport was suited for it. There is quiet water in a sequestered nook ofthe harbour and plenty of amusement on shore. Havre, too, was in a stateof much excitement, for the Empress was about to embark thence forEngland, and the Imperial yacht was in the basin, with a splendid crew onboard. In the evening the Emperor also came to the town, to escort hiswife when she embarked, and as his carriage drove past the crowd ranafter it hallooing. 

The last time I had seen the Empress Eugenie was under somewhat peculiarcircumstances; she was floating in the sea, and we shall tell more of herMajesty afloat in a future page, when fair bathers at Margate appear. 

The beautiful English yacht ‘Vindex’ was on the gridiron with the RobRoy; that is to say, on a sunk stage of wood, on which you can place avessel, if it is desired to examine or repair its hull and keel when thetide leaves it there dry. 

‘Vindex’ had come to the Havre Regatta, and as she had won the prizethere in the previous year a great deal of interest was shown about hernow. But the regatta on this occasion was by no means interesting, forthe wind fell into calm, and it was merely a drifting match. 

My usual visits in the dingey had disposed of nearly all my store ofFrench books and periodicals, and the remainder we took to a civilbookseller, from whom we bought French charts and a Pilot book of theEnglish south coast soundings. 

Meantime, after a rest and refreshment to my crew, a thorough scraping tomy boat, and a good stock laid in of comfort for my voyage to England, the question had to be distinctly put, “How am I to get over the broadChannel to the Isle of Wight?” It was, of course, impossible to think ofcoming back as we had gone, —that is, along the French coast. This wouldnever do. Again, it was also found that the steamers were not allowed totow any boat to sea behind the passenger vessels unless in cases ofdistress, so that put an end to another solution of the problem, whichwas to get half way by towing and then to cast off and sail. 

Well, shall I get an additional hand on board? But where is he to sit ifit blows hard? And if it does not blow hard, what is the use of him? Infact I was steadily driven, as if by severe logic, to the conclusionalready at the bottom of my mind, to _sail right across alone_. 

Then I asked one or two experienced sailors if they thought the Rob Roycould do it, and they said, “Yes, she can; but can _you_? You may bethree or four days out, and can you stand the fatigue? At any rate, donot start in a southwest wind: it raises a sea and the up and down of thewaves will tire you soon in a long day’s work, and then there is thenight besides. ”

Having retired to my calm little creek, where the yawl was tied by a lineto a large fishing-smack, I tried to read, but very soon found I wasthinking of anything but the words on the printed page; then to sleep;but still I was musing on the prospect now opened of a hazardous anddelightful sail. 

About one o’clock I gazed out moodily on the quiet night scene of theharbour, sleeping around. Tall masts whitened by the moon, black hullsdarkened in the shade, busy quays silent, long-necked iron cranes peeringinto the deep water that reflected quaint leaning houses, all distorted, and big buoys magnified by the haze. 

“Why continue this anxiety about how to get over? See the clouds driftover the clear moon with an east wind. Will it ever be easier than now?I cannot sleep—why not start this moment?”

Once the decision was made, all was alert on the Rob Roy; and in half anhour I had breakfasted, and then very noiselessly loosed the thin linethat bound us to the quay, and bid “adieu to France. ”

Every single thing we could think of was perfectly prepared. The sailswere all ready to set, but we had to row the yawl slowly into the mainharbour, and there we met a low round swell coining in from the sea. Wetugged hard to force her against the adverse tide, but progress wastediously slow. Presently some fishing luggers were getting under way, and soon the usual clatter and din of the French sailors, at full tide, rang forth as if by a magic call at two in the morning. 

After shouting some time for a boat to tow me to the pier-head, at lastone came. 

“What will you charge?”

“Ten francs. ”

“I’ll give you eight;” and after parley the two men in their little boatagreed to take the Rob Roy in tow. 

Almost immediately I noticed that the moon was hid, and the wind hadchopped round to the southwest, the very wind I was told not to startwith, but now—well it was too late to withdraw, and so we laboured on, while the great clumsy luggers crossed and recrossed our course, andfrequently dashed upon the piles of the pier in the stupidest manner, with much loud roaring of voices, and creaking of spars, and flutteringof sails. 

Presently the men called out that, as the sea was getting higher, I hadbetter pay them the money. “Certainly, ” I said; but, alas! I could findonly five francs of change, the rest being napoleons. 

They shouted, “Give us gold—we will send the change to England;” but Ibellowed out a better plan, to give them an order on the yacht agents atHavre for five francs, and the silver besides. 

Finally this was accepted, so I got out paper and envelope, and on thewet deck, by moonlight, wrote the banker’s draft. 

When they came near the harbour’s mouth, they sung out “Get ready yourmizen. ”

“Ay, ay!”

“Hoist;” and so up went the trim little sail, glad to flap once more insalt air. Then they bid me “Get ready your jib—we have cast you off;hoist!” Yes, and I did hoist. 

Perhaps the reader may recollect that the end of my bowsprit had beensqueezed by a collision, and was in fact as weak as a charred stick. ButI had entirely forgotten this by some unaccountable fatality, during thethree days at Havre, when it might have been easily repaired. 

The moment therefore I had hoisted the jib, the bowsprit end broke sharpoff into a ragged stump, and the jib instantly flew away into the airjust like an umbrella blown inside out. 

This was of course a most critical time for such a mishap, with a strongbreeze dead ahead, driving me in upon piles, and a tumbling sea, andnumerous large luggers sailing about me in the dark. Therefore I feltthat this unlucky accident and the southwest wind meant, “I must not goout to-night. It will not do to begin a voyage of a hundred miles with abroken bowsprit. ”

 [Picture: For a hundred miles]

All this prudent reasoning was at once cut short by the Frenchmen callingout, “_Voulez-vous sortir encore_, _monsieur_?” and the Rob Roy thushailed could make but one reply, “_Oui_, _oui_, _certainement_;” so I bidthem lay hold again while I captured the truant jib, hauled down andreefed it, and made it fast to the stem, and then again “_Lachez tous_, ”we are free on the rolling waves. 

At the worst, methought, we can return in four or five hours, when thetide falls, if we find it unadvisable to go on; but meanwhile our yawlshot away westward to get a good offing from the Cape de la Hève, andthen I cooked breakfast (the former one counted of course in the formerday, according to the excellent rule already explained), and abouthalf-past four I laid on my straight course to old England, with acapital breeze on my quarter, and a hundred times glad that I had notgone back. 

CHAPTER XII. 

Nodding—Prancing—First Thoughts—England—Mid-channelthoughts—Battle—Religion—Science—Church—Guide. 

Up rose the sun, and all was cheerful. Then I laid her to, and got outmy axe, and chopped the bowsprit into shape, so that it would run outfurther, and then set the whole jib firmly on it. 

All the feelings restrained so long by the river work, and regattaamenities, and Exhibition in Paris, now came forth powerfully in a flowof enthusiasm. 

Boys seem to like the stories of the canoe voyages, and perhaps they willread this one of the yawl. If they have a sailor turn, they will imaginethe new pleasure to be felt when you glide away from a fast-retreatingland, and nothing is in front but sea, sea, sea. Then the little boatyou are in, and know in every plank, and love too, becomes more than evercherished as a friend. It is your only visible trust, and, if it _is_ agood boat, you trust it well, for indeed it seems to try its very best, like a horse on the desert plain, that knows it must go on if it is everto get to the other side. Then as the cliffs, that looked high behindyou, dwindle into a line of deep blue, the compass by your knees becomesa magic thing, with no tongue indeed to speak, but surely a brain it musthave to know the way so well. 

For hours we went on thus in silent pleasure, gazing at the gentle needleas it moved without noise; and, with nothing around but plash of waves, bright sun, and a feeling of hot silence, the spell of sleep wasoverpowering. Homer sometimes nodded, it is said, and he would havecertainly had a good nap had he steered long thus. The sinking off intothese delicious slumbers was imperceptible, and perfectly beyond thewill’s control. In a moment of trance I would be far away in dreamland, and with a thousand incidents, all enacted in orderly succession, withfights, wrecks, or pageantry, or the confused picture of bright-colourednothings which fancy paints on the half-alive brain. 

From these sweet dreams there was a rude awakening; a slap from the seaon my face, as the yawl, untended, suddenly rounded to, or a rattlingtaptoo on the deck when the jib-sheets found they were free. 

Then for a time I would resolutely insist upon attention—every moment ofslumber being a positive wandering from the course; but no, the outerself that demands a nap will not be denied by the inner nobler self thatcommands alertness. 

Only one single sea-gull did I see in thirty hours. One vessel also faroff was the sole break upon the painfully straight horizon, and as thewind gradually died away into nothing, the prospect did not improve. 

Then came the up and down riding over seas without gaining a yard, the“prancing” of the vessel which had galloped forth in the morning like ahorse in its first bounds on grass when, leaving a hard road, its hoofpaws gladly the springy turf. 

Some feelings that came up then from deep recesses in the mind were new, but too new and unnamed to put in words. Alone on the waters, when youcannot see land, is a strange condition. However, if only fog ordarkness hides the land you still feel that land is there. Quite anotherthing is it to be afloat alone, where, because it is fifty miles away, land _cannot_ be seen. Doubtless it may seem foolish, but I am not ableto tell the feelings of that time. 

Becalmed midway between France and England, it was natural for the mindto think of both countries, and every time I have left France it has beenwith more admiration of that lively land; {171} but Frenchmen, duringthis visit, looked at by us for the twentieth time, had evident signs ofwounded vanity: they were conscious of playing second fiddle in a grandGerman opera. 

Thinking of England, on the other hand, religion and not politics becamethe theme; for is not religion at least more considered amongst us thanever before? It may be opposed or misapprehended or derided, but it isnot ignored as it used to be. 

Look at the three leading newspapers, the morning, the evening, and theweekly registers of the direction, warmth, and pressure of publicthought, as noted by keen observers, who are shrewd and weatherwise as tothe signs of the times, and are seldom wrong when they hoist a stormsignal. More and more each of these secular papers occupies its bestcolumns with religious questions, and not with the mere facts or gossipon the subject, or with records of philanthropy, important as these are, but with deep essential doctrines, and prolonged arguments about the verykernel of truth. 

Religion is allowed to have a place now in every stratum of society, evenif a wrong place and a very uncomfortable place for a slender religion, though sometimes, indeed, a politician laments that “Parliament has itstime occupied by the subject, ” as if it were possible for the House tosettle the Church and the School and the homes of men, without alsoconsidering their religion. 

And if almost each family gives some place or other to it, so perhaps noone man in England would allow any other man to say of him that he has“nothing to do with religion. ”

Religion is more present among us; but this is a wide term—‘religion. ’If there is a God, then that there is a revealed religion isacknowledged, and that the Christian religion has the best, if not theonly claims to be this. Who is to decide for me as to whether there is aGod?

If ignorance unfits me to judge this rightly, does not class prejudiceunfit others to be the arbiters?

Are not the official exponents of theology liable to be prejudiced in itsfavour as something that establishes or enhances the position of theirorder among men?

Are not the votaries of natural science subject to a prejudice againstTheism as something that dethrones them from supremacy?

Is there not among these last a writhing invisible agony to escape fromthe avowal that God governs? And why is this? Perhaps because manproudly relishes freedom, and hates to say that his life is inspected andcontrolled by another Being who will also judge him hereafter; andbecause the student of physical science knows that if there is a God, then moral science must be a far nobler pursuit than his own pursuit, even if it is less palpable and popular; also because the scientific manis tempted to do all he can to ignore that anything is outside the ken ofscience—that there is a Being on quite another plane, far above him andhis researches. 

But science has no exclusive or even predominant right in the decision ofthis matter; nor has it any solid success in the long battle, though oneor other in its ranks may triumph in a skirmish. When one philosopherdemolishes the Bible, an ordinary man cannot convince him he is wrong. But when a dozen savants tilt in the fray, even an ordinary man can seethat their weapons demolish each other, and the old Book stands. 

This geologist has scratched the varnish on the globe, and forthwithframes his new theory of creation. In ten years he is proved utterlywrong by that microscopist who has detected animal remains in an igneousrock. The simple bystander cannot understand either side, and far lesstell which side is true. But when the combatants slay each other, thewayfaring man can understand this neutralization. The philosopherstrikes me with awe so long as he keeps aloft beyond my knowledge orcomprehension. When he comes down I can love him, but the reverence ofhis mystery is gone, and he is soon found out to be a brother mite. Myfriend can walk faster and farther on earth than I can; but when he wadesinto the water, I find I can swim just as well as he—while if we try tofly in the air, neither of us can soar a yard. 

Thus the mind that is great in observing, collating, and evengeneralizing facts, gets immediately out of its depth a few feet fromland in the ocean of hypothesis, and it can be drowned there like my own. 

Reaching up higher, in search of First Cause, the clever brain grasps theliquid æther above, and yearns; but it holds nothing, not one atom morethan an ordinary mind; nor has all the striving of all the world liftedone man a foot above the plain towards heaven. 

If these sentiments are pretentious, they show that one can learn atleast forwardness from philosophers, if not wisdom. 

But it is not the Atheist that puzzles one so much as those who find itconvenient to admit the one point to start from—“There is a God, ” be Hestyled in redundant reverence, “Nature, ” “Providence, ” or “Heaven. ” Thevacuity behind that is too dark and abysmal to be a home for their soul, and therefore they will accompany you thus far. 

This short creed is long enough to cover many different meanings, andelastic enough to be worn, at least outside, for common decency, and tofit almost any form of life and character. 

Some men have never had more than this meagre garment. Others have beenswathed in more ample folds from the nursery, but have stripped off themental clothing of their childhood, feeling it tight, or encumbered withbraid and tassels, and some have torn it all to tatters; but at last, astheir inner being chills in the air of naked freedom, they take upon themthis creed as the one general raiment of prudence. 

There may be quiet in this creed, for a time, if not comfort; but thegarment fails to warm the heart if indeed it even covers the head; andthe mind soon wonders whether God can _be_, and yet not _do_, and ityearns to know what God has said and done. Instinct tells it that toknow the very truth upon this will make the man’s creed a vascular bodyfor action, not a mere decent clothing. The mind begins its search forthis truth on a battle-field. It is a fight for peace as well as asearch for treasure. Facts have to be settled, in hot conflict, whichare felt to touch every point of life, and not mere fancies high in theair, or thoughts too deep for common people. Each man fightshand-to-hand here. Strategy and leaders avail not. Mere numbers on oneside or the other do not count for individual conviction; we are notsaved in bundles. 

No man can keep out of reach of the turmoil, though many would be contentto remain as bystanders, secure from remark or disturbance, in a hazycloud where the only thing distinct is their denial that there isanything definite. Their creed is not strengthened by its being vagueand curtailed. “Moral sense, ” “intuitive truth, ” “general utility”—theirultimate appeal—is just as far out of reach of algebraic logic as any ofthe propositions are which they reject because these cannot be provedthus. Try this scrimp creed by their own standard of proof, and itshrivels away, until no God, —no soul, —no being remains as absolutelydemonstrated, and there is only a _thing_ faintly conscious of its ownexistence. In this watery element of dim, soft fog, or hard cold ice, there is no rest for the soul. 

There are others, again, who, frightened by the hurly-burly, after ashort wild wandering alone, join any group, as a refuge, if it be onlyvisible, and seek a Church as an asylum for the timid rather than afortress for the brave. 

But what Church shall give rest, or which of them is even quieter thanthe outer din? There is one, indeed, that, long nursed and dozing in thelap of the State, is now roughly shaken, but is she yet awake? She hasgrown in bulk at least, while sleeping. Is she not like an overgrownchild too big to be carried, and too rickety to walk alone?

She is called National but is only Diocesan, with different doctrine andworship in different dioceses. The bishops meet, and thinking different, but trying to say the same, they say what is unanimous only when it meansnothing. The clergy meet, but while some of them are true Ministers, others would be as Presbyters towards their bishops and Popes to theirpeople. Each parish can wear the ribbons that are badges of itsdoctrine. We are crystallizing into congregations, and soon these willsplit into families, and so perhaps we shall get back at last to thesimple old shape, when the message was for Nymphas and “the church whichis in his house. ”

Meantime, my life-borne bark must not founder for lack of a guide. True, there is a chart, and precepts for the right way are clear, but mycraving is for a living Spirit within which shall point me to thepeaceful shore by an attraction powerful and unerring, though unseen, and, like that of the needle, incomprehensible. 

And was it not the divinest act ever done by God to come down Himselfamong men, saying, “I am the Way, ” “and I will give you rest?”

Now we can safely steer, and will surely reach port. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Half-seas over—Thick night—Risky—Reckless—Tied in—Lying-to—Landahead—Scottish replies—Sleep. 

See the sails are impatiently flapping. Each wave jerks the mast andcanvas with a smart loud crack like that of a whip. The sound isunspeakably irritating, it seems so useless and wanton, and so perfectly_de trop_ while the wind is absolutely calm. At other times, in such acase, you can stop this provoking clatter by hauling up the boom andlowering the jib; but here, in mid ocean, we must not hamper the sailsbut be ready for the first faint breath of wind, and moreover—best toconfess it—I had in this case a serious disturbance _within_, yet notmental. Strawberries and cream imprisoned with mushrooms did not agree. 

They called them mushrooms in Havre yesterday, and we know “there are 371edible fungi;” but I assert that the rebellious species embarked with mewere toadstools, and so giddiness followed upon sleep . . . 

Gentle and cool is the first fresh murmur of a new breeze as it comesfrom afar, tripping along. Gratefully we watch its footsteps on the sea. Its garments rustle in the south, and the glassy rounded waves are nowcrested by its touch. Then the coolness of it fans the cheek, the flagflutters while the sails fill full, the mast bows gently under the softpressure, and the Rob Roy runs eagerly again upon her proper course. 

Dinner was instantly served up to celebrate the event. It is anEnglishman’s way. Still we were fifty miles from England, but wave afterwave rose, dashed, and was left behind, till the sun got weary in hismarch, and hung, in the west, a great red globe. My course had beentaken for the Nab light, which is in the entrance towards Portsmouth, butthe Channel tide, crossing my path twice, could carry the yawl fast, yetsecretly, first right, then left, and both ways once again. 

Yet when the evening shade fell we expected to see at least some light inthe horizon, for the English lights are clear, and they shine out twentymiles to sea. How I peered into the inscrutable darkness, and standingby the mast to get higher, but in vain; yet still the wind urged on, andthe sea tumbled forward all in the right way. Hours passed, andship-lights now could be descried; they were crossing my path, for theywere in the great fair-way of nations bound east or west through theChannel. This at least was company, but it was also danger. We haveleft the lonely plain, and are walking now in the street of waters; buthow am I to sleep here, and yet I _must_ sleep this night. I tried to“speak” a goodly vessel sailing past like a shadow—I ventured even tonear it—hailing, “How far to the Nab?” but the voice melted in thebreeze. Low vapoury clouds began to rise from the sea; they looked likedark trees around; but the stars were clear up above. It was impossiblenot to feel as if land was there, yet, when my lead was cast, the deeponly laughed at its little reach downward. 

In such thick weather it will never do to ferret out the channel toCowes, even if we are near it. The night must be passed at sea, andbetter begin to do that now than go in too near the cliffs in darkness;and so we prepared to lie-to. Lowering the main-sail I tried the yawlfirst under mizen and jib; but the rolling in every trough of the waveswas most uncomfortable, and besides she drifted north, which might end bygoing ashore. 

Then I took in the jib and set the storm-mizen, and hung out the anchorwith twenty fathoms of chain—not, of course, to reach the bottom, but tokeep the boat’s head easier in the sea, and this did perfectly well. Themotion was a long, regular rise and fall, and the drift was to the east;quite out of our proper course, indeed, but I couldn’t help that. 

The motion of a vessel lying-to is far more easy than what would besupposed possible. When you are rocked in a boat making progress bysails or steam, the pressure of each wave is more or less of a blow, forthe ship is going forward, and it resists the mass of water often withviolence. At anchor, too, though in a modified degree, the action is thesame, and in a swell without wind the oscillations are jerky and short, for they are not softened by the sails then merely hanging. But if aboat is staunch and strong, and the deck is tight, and she has plenty ofkeel, so as not to swerve round right and left, but to preserve a generalaverage direction towards the wind, then she may lie-to in a very stiffgale and high sea with a wonderfully gentle motion. Her head then isslightly off the sea, and there is but little rolling. The sails are soset that they ease every lateral heave. She forges forward just a littlebetween the wave tops, and when the crest of one lifts her up shecourteously yields for the time, but will soon again recover lost groundby this well-managed “compromise. ”

When we saw how admirably the Rob Roy behaved in lying-to, and thatscarcely a wave broke over her deck, we felt that if it came to the worstwe might thus pass a whole week in her safely. 

Now I must make my bed. Undoubtedly this was a risky deed about to bedone; but pray what else could we do?

“You ought not to have come there at all, ” may be replied. 

Say that to the huntsman who has got into a field with the only way outof it over a chasm to leap. Tell it to the mountain climber scramblingdown, who pauses before a _crevasse_; and do not forget to say the sameto the poor old fisherman overtaken in the midnight winter’s gale withhis life in one hand and in the other a tangled net that has caught thefried sole for your comfortable dinner. 

It would not do of course to go into my cabin. In the first place, thedingey was there, and then if I were to be enclosed inside when anythinglike a “run down” had to be dealt with, the cabin might be my coffin. 

First I tried to crouch down in the well, but the constraint on limbs andjoints was unbearable. My head slept while my knees ached with thepressure. No! there must be a positive lying down to sleep, if the sleepis to give true refreshment when you are rocked about on the waters; andthis you have no doubt been convinced of any time at sea. 

The strange twists of body I tried to fit into comfortably where thespace (in the well) was only three feet each way, reached at last to thegrotesque—the absurd contortions of a man miserable on a pleasurejaunt—and I laughed aloud, but somehow it sounded hollow and uncanny. 

As to the exact spot where the Rob Roy was at this particular time we hadof course no possible idea, but judging from after circumstances, theposition must have been about ten miles south of St. Catherine’s Head, and she drifted twenty miles east while I dreamed. 

 [Picture: Bed of the Sea]

One effect of extreme exhaustion is to make the mind almost reckless ofrisk, and we can well understand how in some shipwrecks, after days andnights without sleep, men are in a placid, callous composure of sheerweariness, and that the last agony of drowning then is nothing, just asDr. Livingstone told me, the shake given by a lion to his victimparalyses the whole system before it is killed. Therefore, as danger wasonly likely, and sleep was imperative, I must have sleep at all hazards, and so we loosed out the folds of the main-sail on the wet deck. Howwhite and creamy they looked while all was dark around, for no moon hadrisen. Then I put on my life-belt, and fastened the ship’s light whereit would not swing, but rested quite close to the deck. I rolled thethick, dry, and ample main-sail round me, stretching my limbs in charmingfreedom, and I tied myself to the boom, so as not to be easily jerkedoverboard by the waves. Of course it was my firm intention to sleep onlyby winks of one eye at a time; but the struggle with Morpheus was, wesuspect, _very_ faint; at any rate no record remained but a few dimvisions that may have flickered in the soft vanishing of consciousness. 

Can any person be expected to describe his first feelings as he awakes insuch a bed and finds it broad day? Bright and glorious sun, high up, howI stared at you! and then a glance to the side, and behold, there island—England. Deliberately I rose and gave three hearty cheers—nobodythere to hear, indeed, but myself—no matter, it did good to me to cheer, and to hear too. Breakfast was soon agoing. Ten hours’ sleep hadthoroughly refreshed me, mind and body; but I could not make out whatpart of the coast we had hit upon. 

It was still about twelve miles distant, and as there were no cliffs insight, it could not be the Isle of Wight. My chart told nothing; myFrench Pilot-book had woodcut pictures of all the coast, but nothing cameof the search in these; and whether we had drifted east or west of theIsle of Wight we finally gave up as a question—we must go to the coastitself and see. 

Therefore we steered due north, rapidly nearing the unknown land, andwith a joyous morning, barometer high, wind south, and a coming fine day. Presently there loomed on the horizon one, and then another, and another, splendid ships of war. They steamed in line, and I tried to interceptthem to put the query, “Where am I?” Baffled in this, the puzzle was, “Are they going to Portsmouth or Plymouth?” There were equally goodreasons for either. 

At length three towns could be seen, and the pictures of the FrenchPilot-book were closely examined, but several plates had each three townswhich would fit the case before me, one as well as the other. Fortunately we chose the middle one of the three, because it had a littlelighthouse. That on the left we found afterwards was Bognor, which has areef of dangerous rocks upon its shore. 

A fisherman was in his boat, and I hailed him, “Boat ahoy! What is thename of that town?”

“Town, sir?”

“Yes; that village right ahead; what do you call it?”

“The village there, sir?”

“Yes; what is its name? It has a name, hasn’t it?”

“Oh, yes, certainly, sir, it’s got a name. ”

“Well, what is the name? I don’t know where I am. ”

“Where have you come from, sir? from the Wight?”

And after these Scottish answers to the questions of a Scotsman, at lastI found my way into Littlehampton; and if ever you go to the Beach Hotelin want of a soft bed, after sleeping out of a bed for nearly a month, you will find it there. 

This little place, between Bognor and Brighton, is a quiet bathing townjust in the delicate stage of existence, when it has been found out andadmired, but not yet spoilt. One row of houses fronts the sea with afine grassy plain between, and a clean white strand. 

The Inn was of olden times, and apart near the water, with a landlady ofthe good old English type; and her son, the waiter, rampant about canoes, kept an aviary under the porch and a capital swimming dog in the stable. 

Lie on a sofa in the coffee-room detached, and read the ‘Times, ’—go intothe drawing-room and play the piano, or sit under the garden trees andgaze on the fair blue sea, and hope fervently that, with a strong Torygovernment to protect our institutions, this hotel may be long kept hidfrom that merciless monster the “Company (Limited). ” But already arailway runs here, and threatens its quiet. Even a steamer now and thenfrom France screws its way into the very narrow channel, where the riverArun has wound down thus far from Arundel. {188}

CHAPTER XIV. 

Heavy sea—Isle of Wight—The Commodore—A glance at gear—Bow—Runningrigging—Sisterhooks—Horse—Tiller. 

The boy and his dog formed a small crowd on the little pier to see theRob Roy start again with a fine breeze off shore, but freshening everyminute until near Selsea Bill it blew half a gale. The navigation roundthis point is difficult at low water, as may be seen from the markings inthe chart copied at page 245, merely as a specimen of what a chart is forthe sailor’s eye. 

At last it was necessary to reef main-sail and jib, the wind blew so hardand in gusts, and the adverse tide met me as it rushed out of Spitheadwith a heavy swell. Rain poured down slanting with the wind, and therocks, uncovered at low water, looked very uninviting to leeward. 

The little dingey was towed astern, as we had not expected so much seawith a north wind, but for the first time we found how perfectly thisdiminutive boat was adapted for towing, and after this trial she wasnever again stowed in the cabin. The bluff bow above, and the keelless, round, smooth bottom below, enabled the dingey to top the sharpest wave, and I often forgot my steering while turning round to watch the littlecreature as she nimbly leaped over the tumbling billows. The weather gotworse, therefore we changed for a storm-mizen, and so many seas brokeheavily over the Rob Roy, that the water in the well washed about myankles, and finally we were compelled to give in and lie-to for an houror more, after manning the pump. 

This wind, rain, and sea together were the worst we had met with, but theyawl seemed in high spirits, like her owner; though the waves in thetide-way were sometimes so short and sharp that it was impossible to riseand fall fast enough, and she often buried deeply. It was here that mychart was so wet that it melted before my eyes, even with all endeavoursto preserve it, and therefore I bore up for Brading Harbour, in the Isleof Wight, and somehow managed to get round Bembridge reef all safe intothe quiet lake beyond. 

Here, and on British soil again, was an end to all expected anxieties ofthe summer’s voyage. The rest to come were to be met, but notanticipated. There had been first the goal of Paris to be reached at acertain time for the Regatta there, and then there was the unknown voyageover the Channel, homeward bound; but henceforth no more dates or wideseas had to be thought of, and the rest of the vacation was free. 

The shores and seas about the Isle of Wight looked more cheerful andlovely than ever, with a fair day next morning. Here we soon pass one ofthe new sea-batteries, a huge granite castle, reminding one of Bomarsund, but unfinished, and with scaffolds round that are worked or stopped, asMinistries go out or in, and as guns or iron plates are proved strongestin turn at Shoeburyness. 

Portsmouth is in front, always with moving life on the waves. A squadronof ironclads presses heavy on the water at Spithead, and among themconspicuous is the five-masted Minotaur. White-winged yachts glidethrough the blue space between these and Ryde. Osborne basks in thesunshine with the “sailor Prince’s” pleasure-boat by the shore. If therebe a gap or two in the horizon it is soon filled up by some rich ladenmerchantman, with sails swelling full in the light, and gay signal flagsflowing out bright colours; and all the scene is woven together, as itwere, by swift steamers flitting to and fro like shuttles strung with athread of foam across a warp of blue. 

But it is to that wooded point at Cowes we are steering, and the tallyellow masts clustered there shew already what an assemblage the yawlwill meet at the Royal Yacht Squadron Regatta. 

There was a certain amount of sailor’s pride as our yawl steadilyadvanced, steering in among these, the smallest of them all, but ready tobe matched against any of its size and crew. She quietly approached thecrowded quay, and I put my portmanteau ashore at the Gloucester Hotel;then the jib was filled again to sail up straight to Medina dock, whereMr. John White would see the craft he had modelled, and after a carefulsurvey, the verdict upon her was entirely favourable. {192}

On her safe arrival at Littlehampton, after crossing the Channel, a shortaccount of the voyage had been sent to the ‘Times, ’ and this had reachedthe numerous yachtsmen at Cowes an hour before the boat herself appearedin front of the Club house. Therefore, the little craft required no moreintroduction. My flag was my card, and I was speedily made a member ofthe Club for the time being. Many old friends here greeted me, and manynew visitors came on board to congratulate, while His Royal Highness theCommodore of the Royal Canoe Club, whose burgee flew at my mast-head, graciously shook hands. 

While the ship carpenters at Medina Dock are making my new bowsprit, anda hundred other things, and Mr. Ratsey is putting the last finish to mysails, we may examine a little the upper gear of the yawl, for that hasnot yet been specially noticed; but as ladies and landsmen often come onboard, who do not require a minute description of all the ropes and sparsin the Rob Roy, they can skip the rest of this chapter. 

 * * * * *

From the sketches of the yawl given in our pages, it will be seen at oncethat she was under-masted and under-sailed. She could bear a spread ofcanvas double of that she carried; but for safety, for handiness, and forcomfort, we must be content to sacrifice some speed. 

Therefore, it was only in a very powerful breeze that the beautiful buildand lines of the hull had anything like fair play for shewing her pacethrough the water. _Then_, indeed, and when other craft were reelingabout and shipping seas, even under reefed canvas, the Rob Roy at onceasserted her position. 

We have spoken of the excellent mast already. The shrouds were of ironrope. This is affected by heat and wet, but not so much, as cordage is. The screw links to tighten the shrouds seldom had to be employed; acopper rope from the truck to a shroud acted as a lightning conductor. 

The bowsprit is on the starboard side, for this allows you to use thelight hand with the chain cable in the bitts. The jib has a foot of ninefeet in stride. Its tack is on a rope round an open hook at the bowspritend, so that in reefing you can get it in without danger of fallingoverboard while reaching out to detach it; then it is hooked on the stem. An iron bobstay we discarded, and an iron forestay, as difficult to keeptaut; but, after trials with no bobstay at all, we found it advisable toreplace this, although it is a troublesome rope in dealing with theanchor. 

The gunwale has an opening of half an inch, all round, and this wasenough for scuppers. 

The forehatch is thirteen inches square, so that I can readily squeezedown into the fore-cabin. 

I painted about a foot of the chain-cable of a bright red colour, at tenand at twenty fathoms, which was useful in telling how much ran out withthe anchor. Fenders I got in Paris, very neatly made of line net-work, over canvas bags of cork. 

The iron sheave on the stem for the anchor-chain was large, with a highcheek, and the comfort of this was well appreciated in weighing anchor atnight or in a swell. The jib-sheets led aft, and the position of thecleats for these was most carefully chosen, as they are more worked thanany part of the rigging; yet this position was twice altered, and thebest place seems to be on the deck, two feet forward from your breast andtwo feet to the side. 

The strain on these sheets in rough weather was greater than had beenanticipated, and at last I had to put a tackle on the port jib-sheet, asthat is the one less conveniently placed for belaying. 

The peak halyard was fast to the gaff, then through a single block on themast and one on the gaff, and again one aloft. The throat halyard wasfast to the mast, and through a block on the throat, and then aloft. Both these halyards came down on the starboard side, and to separatecleats, but I found it generally more ready to haul on the two at onceand belay them together. 

The jib-halyard had a block on the sail, and then, with the topping lift, came down on the port side. A jib purchase I soon cut away—one learns tobe economical of action when alone. Each of these four ropes then passedthrough a sheave on deck, two on each side, in an iron frame, properlyinclined to give a clear lead. {195a}

Sisterhooks are troublesome things. Some much better plan as asubstitute has to be invented, but I used for their “mousings”india-rubber rings, which answered perfectly well, and were easilyreplaced at six for a penny. 

Stocking and re-stocking the anchor were the only operations when I feltthe want of another hand, either to do the work at the bow or to givethat one touch to the tiller at the critical moment, which an infantcould do when near it, but which is hard for a man at a distance. Theanchors were on deck, one at each side of the bitts, and fitting securelywithin the gunwale. 

Two things, above all, I must try to devise for next voyage, —a cleat thatwill need no bends, {195b} but hold anywhere instantly, and ananchor-stock, self-acting in dark, rain, and wind, and without a forelockto slip out or get jammed. 

 [Picture: Dashing spray]

The hatch of the well was in two parts, and one of them, a foot inbreadth, had chocks on each side, so that in rain and dashing spray itwas fixed up at an angle before me, and thus only my eyes were above itexposed, and by moving my head down about one inch below the positionshewn in the sketch, I could see the compass and the chart. A tarpaulinof one-faced india-rubber over the sloping board and under the horse, hadits loose folds round one of my shoulders to the weather side, so thateven in very rough water not much could get into the open well. 

The main-boom had a ring working between cheeks and carrying a doubleblock with a single block below. To reduce the long fall of the sheet Ialtered the upper block to a single one; but in the first heavy weatherafterwards it was found to be too small a purchase. The force of thewind is underrated if you reason about it in fair weather. 

The sheet block was fast to a strong, plain, copper ring, as a traveller, and after much trouble and expense about a horse for this, trying firstan iron one, then a copper rope, and then hemp, I found that a roundedinch bar of red iron-wood straight across and about two inches above thebulkhead of the well, answered to perfection. {197}

The oars were stowed one on each side of the hatch combing with bladesaft, and looms chock up to the gunwale at the bows, so as to be seldommoved by a rush of sea along the deck, and yet one or other or both couldbe instantly put into the iron crutches always kept ready shipped, and soplaced that I could row comfortably while in the well and facing the bow. The boat-hook had its handle-end always near my right hand, and thissaved me many a run forward in awkward times. 

The tiller of iron-wood was well wedged into the rudder-head. Of courseany joggling or slackness here is like a broken front tooth, or a loosesteel pen. No plan that I heard of, or saw, or could devise yet, isentirely satisfactory for enabling the tiller to be set fast in a moment, at any angle, and yet to be _perfectly_ free in ordinary times. I used alarge piece of rough cork as a wedge to set the tiller, and a cord loopat each side of the gunwale, to keep it “hard down” when going about. Atnight, to stop the vibration of the rudder, I knocked in a brass wedgebetween its head and the iron bushing of the rudder hole. 

Every bit of iron above water was galvanized; but this operation weakenssmall pieces of iron unless it is carefully done. However, the only partwhich carried away was my small anchor-stock, and this took place at thefirst cast of it into the Thames. 

Such is the Rob Roy yawl, of 4 tons register, and the map (about 70 pagesfarther on) shews the general course of her first sea voyage by a dottedline, but many a long mile of zigzag had to be sailed besides. 

CHAPTER XV. 

Ducklings—Victoria Park—Yachtsmen—Cowes—Floating family—The‘Zara’—Lifeboats—Wrecked—Mop—An odd story—The law ofanchors—Experiments—The Royal yacht. 

Medina Dock is the place to see all sorts of ships and boats for steam, sailing, or rowing, lifeboats, rafts, and models. The basin is full ofbroken-backed men-of-war whose old black bones are being disjointed anddragged asunder here to make strong knees again, just because they areblack and well seasoned. Alongside the quay we had seen the threeAmerican yachts, which came across the Atlantic amid many English cheersfor the vessels of two hundred tons crossing from New York, while wescarcely record the voyages of our own hundred-ton vessels that haveoften sailed to Australia. 

In Mr. White’s garden there are Chinese junks and catamarans afloat in apond, and even the walls around are not allowed to be quite of dry land, being painted with sea soundings and charts of the neighbouring coasts. This may indeed be called the Admiralty of the yacht fleet, and Cowes isits Portsmouth. 

“Nauta nascitur non fit, ” which is in English, “British boys areducklings born to the water. ”

Now many of these have affectionate parents not web-footed, and thefilial duty of a little duck to the motherly hen is a very difficultquestion of conscience when a pond is near; but then there is no positiveneed to boat, while there _is_ a positive command to obey. This ought tosolve the question with all brave loving boys, who are manly enough toobey the woman dearest on earth to them. 

A little vessel two feet long may be called a toy ship, but it is a toythat can teach much to an Admiral, and I should not like to have as mycomrade on a voyage the man of forty who can pass the Serpentine withouta glance at the little ragged urchin there, who is half in the waterhimself while he reaches with a twig his tiny lugger after its longvoyage across the lake among ducks, and row-boats, and billows two incheshigh. 

Victoria Park, again, has a feast of nauticalities now and then for boyswho love boats, when the Model Yacht Club sails its liliputian squadronfor a half-crown cup. 

The competing yachts first lie on the green grass for inspection. Theyare made in “off hours” by working men, who sail as well as build them. Wife or a school-girl daughter has sewed the sails, and the paint on thehull is gorgeous. Crowds of all classes and ages are at thestarting-post, and when the pistol fires the cheers begin. Eachfavourite in the fleet has its admirers, who run alongside, and theSecretary alone has a grave face, as of a man on important duty. Who cansay what sailors’ seedlings may be watered in that pond, and to grow upin manhood afterwards as hearts of oak?

And if a boy is too young, or lazy, or clumsy-fingered to make a boat forhimself, let him go along Fleet Street till he comes to the spot where hecan turn his back upon St. Dunstan’s church. Depend upon it he willcross over to the _Model Dockyard_ there, and after buttoning his jacketover his watch-chain, and a good shove down to his pocket-handkerchief, if he has one, let him wriggle in by elbow and knees till he gets a goodplace among the crowd at the window. 

Even when it is time to go home he will not have seen half the navalstores here, or the little sailors—from Cork—all waiting to be engaged;but if he buys the _Illustrated Handibook_ inside from the civil shopman, to con at home, perhaps at his next visit he may be admitted up-stairs toa delicious treat, where he can gloat over the more hidden fleet of thefuture. 

Some, perhaps many, people keep yachts who do not enjoy sailing. We havesometimes seen a yacht-owner who could not steer his own dingey. Thereare others whose chief anxiety when once on board is for their speedyarrival at the next port. To have the best yacht of the year is no signof its owner being a good sailor. The horse that wins the Derby wouldmost likely not be first if he carried his owner, and a man may have agood carriage who cannot himself “handle the ribbons. ”

It is no discredit to anybody that he is not able to ride a race, orsteer a schooner, or drive a drag; but it is well to remember more thanwe do whose is the skill that wins in each of these exercises. 

At Cowes one perceives very soon that a good deal of _yachtomania_ is fedupon the good meat and drink afloat, and balls and promenades ashore, andthe pomp and bustle of getting from one to the other, not to forget thebrass buttons which fasten more vulgar minds to some Clubs. 

Leaving aside all these in peace, provided they play with the thing asthey have a right to do, and as openly as now, so that none can mistakethem, we have still to admire a splendid set of fellows, yes, and ofwomen too, who really love the sea. We know a hardy canoeist who said hewould not marry anybody unless she could “pull bow oar, ” and it certainlyis an addition to the family hearth when the tender help-meet can “mindher luff. ”

In the regatta week the tide of a congregation coming out of the prettychurch at Cowes is thoroughly aquatic. Fine stalwart men with handsomefaces, girls with chignons as big as a topsail bunt, yacht skippers ofbronze hue and anxious eye, well fed sailors with cerulean Jerseys, children with hat ribbons and neckties labelled with yacht names. Therewere 150 yachts on the water here, and the Rob Roy anchored close to theHotel, from which the sight was magnificent at night, when eachmast-light was hung, and the whole made a brilliant crescent reflected incalm sea, while excellent music played softly on shore, and at eachhalf-hour the bell of every vessel tolled the time, the Rob Roy addingher note to the jingle by so many thumps on an iron pot. 

Near the yawl was a strange little cutter of five tons, as remarkable forthe number of people on board it as mine was for having so few. Therewas the grey-haired hearty papa, and when we had noticed him takingobservations with a sextant, we knew he was “a character. ” Then therewas his active son, and a younger brother, and a sister in bright red, and a sailor boy. They looked even more numerous, because they kept forever moving out of sight, and then appearing in new costume, under andabove the awning, which like a large umbrella, was spread on their boom. 

It was a treat to lunch with this kind hale yachtsman, and to see the oneminute cabin full of mirrors, pictures, statuettes, crockery, andfurniture. To make room for the visitor two of the inhabitants ate theirshare of a huge pie in the punt alongside. 

Then, to rise at once to the largest yacht of them all, there was thebeautiful ‘Zara, ’ a schooner of 315 tons, fitted out for a Mediterraneancruise, but making her first voyage from Cowes to Southampton, convoyedby the Rob Roy, and as her reefing topsails and her Flemish horse gotentangled aloft by new stiff ropes, she drifted against another fineschooner; but with cool heads and smart hands on board of each of them, the pretty craft were softly eased away from a too rough embrace, and nodamage was done. 

About twenty of the yachts were steamers, and at least as many besideshad steam-launches, a new adjunct rapidly becoming popular, and whichsoon will be almost a necessary for every yacht of 200 tons. All ofthese that I saw were lifeboats, built on “Lamb and White’s” principle, that is, with air chambers along the sides, so that they decline toupset, and if they are filled by the sea, they are not only stillfloating but steady also. 

The Royal National Lifeboat Institution build boats with ballast belowand with air-chambers so disposed at the ends and in the bottom as tocause the boat to right itself when it has been overturned, while Mr. S. White’s boats are constructed so as rather to prevent a capsize than toright the boat afterwards. 

During an experimental trial in a heavy sea, one of these side-chamberboats was intentionally overturned, and it then kept steadily floatingbottom upwards, so that the crew clambered up safely on the keel, wherethe handles provided for the purpose enabled them to hold on. Of thefourteen men, however, only thirteen could be counted, and so it wasfound that “Jem” was missing; but when he was called, Jem answered fromthe _inside_ of the boat, “All right!” “What! Are you inside?” “Yes, I’m looking for my cap. ” He was safe enough in the vacant space betweenthe water and the floor, upturned over him, and there was room forseveral more of the crew inside. 

The two rival systems then seem to represent (1) a boat which willspeedily right, of which the men, if upset, may float outside until sherights, or may keep inside, and cling to the thwarts and trust to be soonrighted; and (2) a boat which will upset only under strongest pressure, but the men can either stop inside, or if cast out can cling to the keel. 

To decide between the merits of these lifeboats would require actualexperiment outside and inside of each by the judge, who ought to look atall sides of the question; but my opinion is, at present, in favour ofthe side-chamber plan, for ships’ boats, and of course forsteam-launches; while the evidence in favour of the other plan for purelifeboat service in rough water is convincing. 

Whatever may be finally settled as to the best position of the air-casesin lifeboats—and the best men in the world for these matters are engagedin earnest upon the subject {206}—it certainly is prudent for all whocare not to be drowned, that the boat they sail in should be so built asnot to go down bodily when a mere hole is knocked in her, and this may beinsured by dividing her into water-tight compartments. 

Some years ago I had a sharp lesson on this point. It was in Dublin Bay, where I was sailing entirely alone in an iron cutter-yacht, very small, yet far too large to be managed by me, then a boy. The throat parrellsuddenly broke, and the mainsail jammed at once, so that she would notstay. Then I tried to wear ship, but the running sea poured in over thecounter at each plunge, and baling was impossible, for it ran fore andaft. As the water got deeper inside she settled down, for she had nocompartments, and, being of iron, of course she must speedily sink. Ayacht had humanely come out, seeing my distress, and she rounded to anddropped a boy on board me with a strong rope; but when the boy set footon my bows they plunged deep under water, and with a loud cry he hauledhimself back on board the other yacht. 

The captain instantly tacked and came again, and cast the rope to me, which I fastened securely to my mast, and then got safely aboard thepreserver’s vessel, while mine sunk down, but suspended still by therope, until we towed it into shallow water. 

This sort of thing was fully provided against in the Rob Roy by thewater-tight compartments, three in number, besides the air-chambers, sothat if she was filled in any one, she could yet sail on, and if allthree compartments had been entirely full of water, she would still floatwith her air-chambers, and with five hundredweight to spare. {208}

The buoyancy of the yawl was very remarkable. She easily carried twentymen, and in the same space one could accommodate five ladies ofreasonable circumference. 

A boat’s mop is, of course, well known to be always fair spoil to him whocan take it, and whatever other article the yachtsman leaves loose on anunguarded deck, he never omits to hide or lock up the mop, for a mop iswinged like an umbrella, it strays, but seldom returns. The usualprotection of mops is their extreme badness, and it is on this account, no doubt, that you never can find a good mop to buy. The Rob Roy’s mopwas the only bad article on board, and I left it out loose in perfectconfidence. Often and often it had evidently been turned over, but onexamination it was found supremely bad, worse than the thief’s own mop, and not worth stealing. At last, however, and in Cowes, too, the focusof yachting, if not of honesty, my mop was stolen. The man who took itis to be pitied, for, clearly, before he coveted a bad mop, he must havebeen long enduring a worse one. 

Nor is the property in boats’ anchors quite free from the legalsubtleties which allow but a dim sort of ownership in things that areattached to the soil. 

When, indeed, your boat is at one end of the cable, you will scarcelyfear that the anchor should be stolen from the other end. But whennecessity or convenience causes you to slip anchor and sail away, youmust recollect that though the anchor is the emblem of hope, it does notwarrant any _expectation_ that on returning you will find the anchoracknowledged to be yours. It has now passed into the category of “foundanchors, ” and it is not yet decided how the rights to these are bestdetermined. However, I may here mention one mode of settling the matter. 

A gentleman we shall call N. , sailing from a port on the Thames, had toslip his anchor, and he said to the lad ashore—“You see I am leaving myanchor here, and be good enough to tell your father to get it when thetide falls, and to carry it to where my yacht is, and when I return hereto-morrow I will give him half-a-crown. ”

After his sailing was over, N. Came back and said to the father, “Well, have you got my anchor?” “I have found an anchor, ” he answered. “Yes, that is mine, and I told your son I would give you half-a-crown if youbrought it here. ” “I have found an anchor, and I’ll not give it up underfive shillings, ” said the man; and their argument and remonstrancegradually enveloped the subject in a hazy abstruseness, while the usualknot of idlers listened all round. At length N. Said, “Come, now, wereally must settle this matter. I’ll _fight you_ as to whether I am topay five shillings or nothing for the anchor, ” and he took off his coatand waistcoat, so it was plain he was in earnest. The other man strippedtoo, a ring was formed, and after N. , worsted at first, had well thrashedhis opponent, the latter gave up the anchor. Here, perhaps, we mightthink the case had ended, but N. Had still a point to be settled, sayingto the man, “Your bargain was not only to give up the anchor, but to_bring it here_;” and as the fellow refused to do this, the valiant N. Cut the second discussion short by saying, “Well, then, I’ll fight youagain as to who shall carry it up, ” and it need scarcely be said that theanchor was not carried up by N. 

Is there any other country but England where two men can pummel eachother in hard earnest, and yet with less passion at the time, and lessgrudge afterwards than often exists for years between two combatants whobattle with their tongues, or even fight with their pens and post-stamps?

As anchors are important parts of one’s equipment, I had begun early toexperiment at once with mine, and the small one had been tried once as akedge. With the first heave it broke off short; the stock had snapped inthe place which ought to be the strongest, but which is really made theweakest, by the present faulty construction of anchor-stocks. The _memo_in my log-book was, “Invent a proper anchor;” and even at Cowes I couldnot find any plan that met this need. {211}

Before the end of my voyage, a score of minutiæ as well as things of someimportance were marked as lines for great improvement, when anautico-mechanical brain shall be brought to bear upon them. The mentalconsideration of such points afforded varied subjects for many weeks’thought. Indeed _all_ the fittings of a sailing-boat seem open to muchimprovement. Meanwhile we have laid down the large Trotman as mooringsin the Medina, while we range about the bays of the island with thesmaller anchor duly repaired. 

Of course the dingey had its Sunday voyage at Cowes, and was everywherereceived with kindness. It went to the Royal Yacht here, as it had doneto the Emperor’s yacht at St. Cloud, and the sailors were grateful forbooks to read, for they have plenty of time on Sundays. When I wentafterwards with my canoe to the Nile, my next neighbour at the hoteldinner in Port Said was the owner of an English yacht, who gratefullyexpressed his thanks for books given to his crew at Cowes. 

It did not appear to be the fashion at Cowes to work the crews forpleasure sailing seven days a week; indeed, we saw only one yacht sail inon Sunday, and she was arriving after a night’s voyage. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

The life-raft—A travelled hen—Prussian adventure—American—Goingup-stairs—Portsmouth—Fair visitor—Cruises—A review—Questions. 

The ‘Nonpareil’ American life-raft was in Cowes after her Atlantic voyageof forty-three days at sea. Two of her three adventurous crew wereGermans, who could speak English only imperfectly, and the third was aYankee. This uncomfortable voyage was undertaken partly to promote thesale in England of these rafts, and partly to pay the three men by feesfrom visitors, while they could see Europe themselves at a cheap rate. One of Mr. White’s steamers towed the raft in front of the Castle, wherethe members of the Royal Yacht Squadron Club have their spacious house, with a sea wall over the waves. 

From the accompanying sketch it will be seen that she is schooner-rigged, and very coarsely rigged too. Gigantic flags and streamers overwhelm hermasts, but fourteen of us on her deck seemed to sink the buoyantlife-raft only an inch more in the water. 

 [Picture: The raft]

She is made of three long tubes of india-rubber blown up by bellows; and, when the air is out, these can be packed away snugly, weighing in allabout a ton, and intended to be inflated and launched from a ship’s deckin case of disaster. A small raft in the capacity of a dingey, butformed like the other, was towed beside her, and as a special favour Iwas piloted to go away in this, which was easily worked by oars or scullsupon outriggers. 

The men had for shelter during their long voyage only a small waterprooftent on the deck, with a gutter round its edge to catch the rainwater, and so to replenish their supply, kept in bags on each side, and nowhanded about in glasses as “travelled liquor, ” to wash down biscuits, still surplus from the “sea store. ” Their cooking apparatus was at firstworked by petroleum, but this speedily burned the metal out, and theywere driven to manufacture a very ramshackle sort of oil-lamp, fed by theoil for their ship-light and their compass, and by some supplied frompassing vessels. 

Two centre-boards, like long narrow doors, placed diagonally between theweb joinings of the tubes, dipped into the water, and served as a keel, so that when we cast her off from the steamer, the raft managed to sail alittle over to windward. The whole raft being collapsible when the airis driven out, can be readily carried aboard ship, and for this it isvaluable, but many other and better rafts compete with this for favour. 

The actual _substratum_, or raft proper, seemed to be strong andsubstantial, but the sails and gear were miserably contrived, and worseexecuted, in preparation for a long dreary voyage of six weeks, driftingin wet and weariness, which I could not but contrast with the pleasantsix weeks just passed in the Rob Roy. 

The most interesting thing on the raft was a passenger, who had come onboard her when about a thousand miles away in the sea. This was an oldhen, given to the crew by a passing vessel. It was a common brown, dowdy, grandmother-looking hen, and in this prosaic state it was very oddand incongruous, tethered to the deck by a bit of tarred lanyard, andpecking away till you looked hard at it, then it cocked up one eye withan air that said, “Why are you staring at _me_?”

Among the visitors to the raft was a wealthy gentleman, who surveyed thewhole with interest, and at last fixed his eye upon the barn-door fowl, and asked if it was to be sold. “Yes, sir, for a hundred guineas, ” wasthe answer; but he deferred any immediate purchase by saying, “If Ithought that eating that hen’s eggs would make me as plucky as you are, Imight buy it. ” As for being “plucky” in the matter, what will not menrisk for money? The risks run by many sailors in the rotten coffins thatbring our scuttles of coals round Yarmouth Sands are quite as great asthe hazard on this raft, and their forecastles are about as comfortableas the tent upon it. If it were not on such a serious subject as risk tohuman life, one might well be amused to hear the wrong estimates of thedangers in various sorts of voyages which are so hastily expressed bybenevolent people who are ignorant of the whole matter. 

I advised the raft-men to take her to Berlin, for exhibition as “theGerman raft from America, ” for such she is; but they persisted in theirscheme for showing her in London, where folks are already tired of“flotsam and jetsam” from the West. Their enterprise failed; and thepoor Germans had to depart from England deep in debt instead of ladenwith money, and their raft was left for sale. 

Since the ‘Nonpareil, ’ there has come to England from America anotherfloating monstrosity, a boat called the ‘John T. Ford, ’ worse “found” inevery sense than the others, and which had three men drowned on thepassage, and one nearly starved—a sad finale to the failures of the‘Henrietta, ’ ‘Red, White, and Blue, ’ and ‘Nonpariel, ’ as speculations. Another craft came in with man and wife as crew. Finally in July, thetwo Andrews came in the ‘Nautilus. ’

Every day at Cowes the yawl Rob Roy was under way for a sail, andsometimes in good breezes she would thread in and out among thicklyclustered yachts, so as to show her handiness. Certainly, withoutprevious practice, it would be highly improper to attempt this sort ofcruising; for the yachts, with bowsprits run out, and jiggers andmizen-booms projecting, are at anchor here on the implied understandingthat no one will wantonly endanger a collision by sailing about in thecrowd, merely for fun. After practice, however, for weeks in the samecraft, the operation of guiding her safely through a maze of boats, andon a strong cross-tide, becomes like the unnoticed and nearly involuntarymuscular efforts of the body which carry us safely through a crowd onshore. I recollect once seeing some very dignified Arab Chiefs, who forthe first time in their lives had to go up-stairs, and their awkwardstumbling, even in the ascent of a few steps, showed how much our nervesand limbs have to learn before we can do so ordinary a thing without evena thought. 

One day the Rob Roy sailed to Portsmouth, and into all the creeks andcrannies, and through all the channels and guts she could find in thatcomplicated waterway, and then anchored near the ‘Duke of Wellington, ’with the old ‘Victory’ close beside. There also was the ‘Serapis, ’ oneof the magnificent troop-ships, of a size and build found to be the bestsuccess of our last naval efforts. By the quay was the ‘Warrior, ’ thefirst sea-going iron-clad, and of beauty indisputable, and the celebrated‘Wyvern, ’ with its tripod masts. Others later made, and always more andmore stumpy and square, need a strong pressure of utilitarian convictionto restrain us from pronouncing that they are downright ugly. But weshall soon become reconciled, and then enamoured, of forms that areassociated with proved utility, and the grand three-decker of our youthwill look as clumsy then as the ships of Queen Elizabeth do now, whichseem to have carried, each of them, a lot of toy guns, and a countrymansion on its deck. 

The church service on board old ‘Victory’ was most interesting to takepart in when Sunday came round, and next day her captain came to visit usin his well-manned gig, which, indeed, was longer than our boat, and hesaid that the Rob Roy “fulfilled a dream of his youth. ” This from a“swell of the ocean” was a high compliment to our little yawl. 

A boat full of boys, from the Portsmouth Ragged School, sang hymns on thewater in the lovely evening. 

Among the other remarkable visitors to the yawl was a pleasant younglady, who sat in a very pretty boat, rowed by a trusty man. She hadhovered round and round the Rob Roy with a cautious propriety, which, however, could not conceal a certain wistful gaze as the narrowing spiralof her course brought her nearer at each turn. My little dingey was theattraction, and the lady confessed boldly that she “would _so_ like tohave a boat like that to row in. ” Next she consented to see dinnercooked on the Rob Roy, and—just because she was a lady—she complied withthe request not to fly away when I began to eat. Finally, as curiosityincreases by gratifying it, the good-humoured girl (with the full consentof the trusty guardian) accepted one mouthful of the newly cookedrations, stewed steak, on Rob Roy’s fork, and then suddenly it had become“very late, and time to join papa. ”

The variety of life during a fortnight here, yet all afloat, wasabounding. One day sailing in company with other small boats up thewinding Medina, or tacking about, close-reefed, in rough water; the nextday cruising in some splendid schooner away and away towards the Needles. Every one was kind and hospitable, and often dipping their ensigns to theyawl. Surely we have named her cruise wrongly as “the voyage alone;”and, indeed, I could scarcely get time in my cabin for a glance at apaper, to see the news and doings of the land folk, bricked up ashore:their wars and congresses and the general rasping they get for it all bya hard squeeze in the press at the end of every week, to keep them fromforgetting their own discomforts or their neighbours’ ills, forParliament being dispersed in vacation, there is the fourth estate tolegislate by public acclaim. 

Most remarkable it is, and commendable, and a feature only a few yearsold, that the principal morning and evening papers should take up oneafter another of philanthropic institutions, and even of individualcases, and advocate them vigorously, while they spare no wrong fromcensure, and freely discuss remedies, which are much harder to talk ofthan any wrongs. Philanthropy is made popular by the press, and many agood worker is cheered by this powerful help. Blessings on their type!

But on the other hand, lest we should subside into doing good, hopingbetter, and making the best of things in a practical way, the whole hasto be reviewed at the end of each week by a hard hebdomadal board, onwhich a dozen clear thinkers sit aside and criticise all the rest of us. Perhaps it is a part of the irreverence of our times that one shouldgradually lose awe in the presence of this weekly printed wisdom. Or isit that experience finds types are just as fallible as tongues fortelling truth, and that years give us hardiness even in the presence ofthat most mighty, wise, and impudent of all earthworms, —man, that judgesthe very God of Heaven. 

However, the brilliancy of these critics flares out and attracts, and itought to attract, though it need not dazzle, even if it be the brilliancyof the electric light, warming as little, and darkening one side as much. Their thoughts reach thousands, and without the answers: thus tothousands they are judgments, not arguments. It is a tremendousresponsibility to wield such powers, and perhaps it is not felt by acorporate body as each one of them would acknowledge for himself. 

It is a good sign of them, or of the age, that they should yield to man’sinnate love of continuous detraction?

Is not their own shibboleth the hardest of all, the most shifting, themost inaudibly pronounced by themselves, if it be not a universal “No, ”and yet the most rigorously insisted upon? Is there not a “cant” of thevague and complacent denial, quite as bad as that of the too positive andassumed belief? Will it cure the weakness of the milk-and-water theycomplain of to pour in mustard and vinegar? and would not any one man, with all these bristling points of sarcasm, dispraise, and bitterness, beabout as pleasant in social life as a porcupine? Surely this powerfulliterary lever could be plied to raise heavier stones, and to settle themin goodly order. Let others grub in the rubbish; but the leading organof the week could sound with a grander harmony, more pleasant, and notless piquant if it gave rhythm to the mind of England in a forward marchagainst misery. 

Perhaps to write thus is too daring; for while Saturn masticates his ownoffspring it is a bold child that complains to his face; but it is betterto be called rash than to be proved timid. 

Meantime we are nearing Cowes in our sail from Portsmouth, and must mindthe rocks and beacons rather than soliloquies, for this one question maybe put after all:—Is it right to moralize at all in a log-book? and willnot the reader say, that when there is not a storm in the yawl, or aswamp, there is sure to come a sermon?

CHAPTER XVII. 

Continental sailors—Mal de mer—Steam-launches—Punt chase—Theladies—Fireworks—Catastrophe—Impudence—Drifting yachts—Tool chest—Spectreship—Where am I?—Canoe _v_. Yawl—Selfish—Risk and toil—Ridicule. 

The regatta days opened with wind and rain; but even at the best oftimes, the sight of a sailing match from on shore is like that of a staghunt from on foot, —very pretty at the start, and then very little more tosee. It is different if you sail about among the competing yachts. Thenyou feel the same tide and wind, and see the same marks and buoys, anddread the same shoals and rocks as they do, and at every turn of everyvessel you have something to learn. 

No one can satisfactorily distribute the verdict “victor” or “vanquished”in a sailing-match between the designer, the builder, the rigger, and thecourse, the weather, the rules, the sailor of each craft, and chance;though each of these will conduce in part to the success or failure inevery match. Still there is this advantage, that the loser can alwaysblame, and the winner can always praise, which of these elements he findsmost convenient. But if a sailing-match has little in it quiteintelligible, even when you see it, the account of a past regatta is wellworth keeping out of print—so be it then with this one, the best held atCowes for many years. 

The large crowds that attended, and their obstinate standing in heavyrain, were in marked contrast to the phlegmatic and meagre interest ofthe few French who came to the regatta at St. Cloud. But it is suchoccasions that remind us of England being a land of seamen, whilecontinental sailors are at best of the land, except in northern nations. 

Once it was my lot to sail in a small screw-steamer along the coast ofCalabria. Of the four passengers one was a Neapolitan officer, whoembarked in full uniform; and with light tight boots and spurs, andclanging sword, he stalked the quarter-deck, that is, he took threesteps, and was at the end, and three steps back. 

In going out of Messina I saw we should have a tough bit of sea outside, and was soon prepared accordingly. He did not so, and the first burstingwave wet him through in a moment, and down he went below. Some hoursafterwards I descended too, and a melancholy sight was there, with verylugubrious sounds. 

In the cabin was a huge tub full of water, and the officer (spurs, boots, and all) was sitting in it with his legs out of one end and his headgroaning and bellowing from the other. This was his specific forsea-sickness, and for three days he behaved about as well as a fractiouschild who sadly wants a good whipping. It is no discredit to a man to besea-sick. Nelson, we are told, was so far human. But it is somewhatunmanly for an officer to whine and blubber like a baby, and yet we haveseveral times seen this phenomenon abroad. When we came into Naples thislachrymose hero was again in full feather, boots, spurs, and sword, stalking the quarter-deck as if no tub and tears had intervened. 

Some excellent rowing-matches, after the Regatta in Cowes, were varied bya “punt chase, ”—an amusement thoroughly English; when one man in a puntis chased by four in a low-boat, who have to catch both him and his boatwithin ten minutes. 

Of course his path is devious and tortuous on the water, his resort beingquick turns, while the chasers gain in speed. After numerous closeescapes he leaps into the water. Then if the pursuers catch and hold hisboat it clogs them in following him, and if they follow him while hisboat is left free, he manages to escape round some tangled mass ofshipping, and so regains his boat for a new start. 

This is the sort of thing that tries both swimming and pluck in thewater, as well as mere muscle or wind in rowing. It is to racing properwhat a hunt is to a flat race. Rowing is only one small part of boating, and it is apt to monopolise our favour chiefly because many can row forone that can _boat_. 

In one of these punt chases at Cowes the punter had several times plungedinto the sea, and amid shouts and cheers he was always closely followedby one of his chasers who swam almost equally well. 

At length the brave punter swam over to the ‘Alberta, ’ one of the Queen’ssteam-yachts, which had several of the royal Princesses and others onboard, who kindly thus patronized the races, and their presence wasthoroughly appreciated by us all. The hardy sailor scaled the yacht, andactually ran among the ladies, —who doubtless were much amused, and indeedthey tittered vastly. Then he mounted the lofty paddle-box, closelyfollowed by his resolute pursuer, who would not be shaken off. With onemoment of hesitation the punter took a splendid “header” into the sea, and as he was thus descending from the paddle-box the gun filed, showingthat the ten minutes had expired. The pursuer could then, of course, have given up the chase as done. He had lost and could not win now. Butthere was still in him that fine free boldness which superadds brave deedto stern duty, and, amid a burst of cheers, he too leaped down into thesea. 

 [Picture: The Punt Chase]

The first diver, however, had heard the wished-for gun as he fell and sohe claimed his prize when he came up, all red and watery, and both hadwell gained the applause of the spectators. 

It is not for one who has rowed fifty races with pleasure to underrate, far less to disparage, mere rowing; but still we maintain that for theencouragement of pure manliness, and the varied capacities useful in asailor’s life, one punt chase is far better than ten of the others. 

The rapid introduction of steam-launches into use for our large Englishyachts adds quite a new feature to every grand regatta. Here again, however, the French navy led the way, and England follows somewhattardily. The French fleet at the Cherbourg review, some years ago had aswarm of these fussy little creatures buzzing about the great anchorediron-clads. English steam-launches were built to carry each a gun, andso they are bluff and slow. Our Admiralty declined to allow a racebetween these and the French launches in Paris, else, no doubt, thesuperior speed of the French boats would have astonished John Bull. Allthis has lately changed, so that launches and torpedo boats in Englandcan steam twenty miles an hour. 

The “voyage alone” had culminated at Cowes when the splendid exhibitionof fireworks closed the grand show of British yachting. It was abeautiful sight those whizzing rockets speeding from wave to sky, andscattering bright gems above to fall softly from the black heaven; thoseglares of red or green that painted all the wide crescent of beauteoushulls, and dim, tall masts with a glow of ardent colour, and the“bouquets” of fantastic form and hue, with noise that rattled aloft, while thousands of paled faces cheered loud below. To this day the deckof the Rob Roy (which is now in Australia) bears marks of the fire-showerfalling quietly, gently down, but still with a red scar burned in blackat the last. 

Luggage is all on board again, and our tiny “Blue Peter” flies at thefore, for the Rob Roy will weigh anchor now for her homeward voyage. TheRyde Regatta was well worth seeing, and she stopped there in an uneasynight, but we need not copy the log of another set of sailing matches. 

Thus in a fine evening, when the sun sank ruddy and the breeze blew soft, we turned again to Brading harbour, and, just perhaps because we had comesafely once before, there was listless incaution now, as if Bembridgereef could not be cruel on such a fine evening as this. 

Various and doubtless most true directions had been given to me as toentering this narrow channel:—“Keep the tree in a line with the monument;that’s your mark. ” But when you come there and see the monument, thereare twenty trees; and which then is _the_ tree to guide by? Here, therefore, and in mundane things on land too it is alike, themisapprehension of a rule was worse than the chance mistake of undirectedmother-wit. A horrid crash brought us suddenly to rest; the Rob Roy hadstruck on a rock. Though I was lax at the time, and lolling and lazy, yet presence of mind remained. Down came the sails, out leaped theanchor, and shoving, and hauling, and rowing did their best; but no, shewas firmly berthed on one of the north-west rocks. Presently a maliciouswave lifted her stern round and the rudder soon bumped on another sharpledge, until by sounding and patience I at last got her free, and rowedout through a channel unconscionably narrow, and then ran the sails up, and the yawl was safe again, sailing smoothly, with a deep sigh ofdeliverance. 

A sailing-boat had put off from the shore to help, seeing thecatastrophe, but I signalled to her, “Thanks—all right now, ” and she wentback. 

Soon another boat that had rowed out came near, and the man in herdetermined to be a _salvor_ whether or no, and leaped on board the yawl. I made him get off to his boat; I had not invited him, nor had he askedpermission to board me. He could see it was the other man’s job, and heought to have obeyed the signal, as the other did. Grumbling heavily, heat length asked me to tow him in. “Well, ” I said, “why, yes, I will giveyou a tow, though you have been very impudent. ” But the moment he camenear he jumped on board again, resolved “to save me, ” though I mightprotest ever so hard. Once more, then, I bundled him into his boat, andthis time rather by deeds than words. He kept up a volley of abuse allthe way to the shore, and there I gave my yawl in charge of the firstman, who had acted right both in coming out and in going back whensignalled. A hospitable Captain R. N. Offered me his moorings (as a goodbed for my yawl), and asked me to breakfast next day, which was accepted, “subject to the wind, ” especially as the entertainer was of the clan“Mac, ” like his guest. 

Calm night falls on the Rob Roy, in a little inland lake, profoundlystill, more quiet indeed, in respect of current, tide, or wind, or humanbeing than any night of the voyage. It was very difficult to turn inbelow with such a moon above, and water quite unruffled. So there was along lean-to on propped elbows, and reverie reeled off by the yard. 

Daybreak grey, with a westerly breeze, at once dissolved the breakfastengagement, and carried the Rob Roy to sea, with her own kettle brisklyboiling; and now we are fairly started on our voyage to the Thames again. But the glowing sun also took its morning meal, and greedily ate up thewind; and so the yachts from Ryde could be seen far off, looking fartheroff in a misty curtain, all only drifting with the tide, while they racedtheir hardest for a cup. Yet there is science and skill in driftingwell. If the skipper has no wind to show his prowess in with sails, hemust win by his knowledge of current, tide, and channel, while he seemsperhaps to be carried along helplessly. One after another the prettyracers slowly rounded the Warner light-ship, and then each sunk back, asit were, into the gauzy distance, until they seemed like white pearlsdotted on grey satin, and the Rob Roy was alone again, while the fogthickened more. Land was shut out, then sky, then every single thing, and the glazed sea seemed to stiffen as if it had set flat and smooth forever. 

To know that this state of thing was to last for hours would make itintolerable, but the expectancy of every moment buoys up the mind inhope, and every past moment is buried as you reach thus forward to thenext coming. 

Then the inexorable tide turned dead against me, and down went my anchor;for, at any rate, we must not be floated backwards. Tool-chest opened, and hammer and saw are instantly at work, for there are still “things tobe done” on board, and when all improvements shall have been completedthen vacant hours like these will be tedious enough; but never fear, there is no finality in a sailing-boat, if the brain keeps inventing andthe fingers respond. 

Out of the thick creamy fog a huge object slowly loomed, with a grand airof majesty, and a low but strenuous sound as it came nearer and clearerto eye and ear. It was an enormous Atlantic Steamer, and it wentcircling round and round in ample bends, but never too far to beunexpected again. Sometimes her great paddles moved with a measuredplash, but slow, until she dissolved before my eyes into a faded vision. Again, when hidden, there would still come a deep moaning from her hoarsefog-whistle out of the impenetrable whiteness, and she again towered upsuddenly behind, ever wheeling, gliding on, vapour and water socommingled that you could not say she floated, but was somehow faintlypresent like the dim picture on a canvas screen from a magic lantern halfin focus. She was searching in the fog for the ‘Nab’ light-ship, thenceto take new bearings and cleave the mist in a straight course athalf-speed for Southampton. When she found the ‘Nab’ she vanishedfinally, and I was glad and sorry she was gone. 

After long waiting, the faintest zephyr now at last dallied with my lightflag for a minute, and the anchor was instantly raised. A schooner, alsooutward bound, soon gently burst its way through the cloudy barrier, andI tried to follow her, but she too melted into dimness, and left me in anoiseless, sightless vacancy, except when the distant gong of thelight-ship told that they also had a fog there. 

How did the ancients by any possibility manage to sail in a fog without acompass? In those days, too, they had no charts; yes, and there was no“Wreck chart, ” to tell at the year’s end all the havoc strewn at thebottom of the sea. 

Well, we sailed on and on, always seeming to sail on into purecotton-wool, which blushed a little with an evening tint as the sun tireddown, and so here was a long day told off and ending; but where exactlyam I now as darkness falls?

You will say, “Why, the chart tells that, of course;” and so it does, ifyou have anything like sure reckoning to indicate what part of the mazygroups of figures on it to look for as your probable place; otherwise adozen different places in it will all suit your soundings, and eleven ofthem are wrong. 

Consider the _data_, for our calculation. The Rob Roy had been carriedby two tides; one this way, the other that. She had sailed on threedifferent tacks, that is, in various angular directions, and withdifferent speeds, and these complicating forces had acted for times veryuncertain. Where is she now? an all-important question for settling thestart point in a night cruise, and on a dangerous coast. 

The last time I was sailing in fog was on the Baltic, in my canoe, where, just at the nick of time, a look-out man was descried on a high ladderfar overlooking the low rocky islands of the Swedish coast, and hespeedily showed me that my bow was then pointed exactly wrong for thedesired haven. 

This may be the time, perhaps, to compare the canoe voyages with the yawlcruise, even if we cannot settle the question so often put to me, “Whichwas the most agreeable?”

A canoe voyage can be enjoyed by several men, each in a separate boat, and yet all in a combined party; that is, with distinct responsibilitybut united companionship. The yawl cruise devolves both toil and care onone alone, but he also has all the pleasure, and so it might bepronounced at once to be more _selfish_ than the other voyage. But aftera score of tours, in large and small parties, I see that selfishness isquite independent of the number concerned. A man who is pleasing hiswife or his children in a tour I do not count at all; for everything thatdelights or benefits _them_ is of course a pleasure to _him_. Or again, he may journey with ten companions, and his travelling circle will indeedbe larger, but the centre of it may be after all the same. 

Of the thousand tourists who rush out over the Continent each summerthere is little check on selfishness by meeting people in trains, steamers, and hotels for a temporary acquaintance which is speedilydissolved as soon as the interests or the likings of the companions arenot coincident. 

Unselfishness appears to consist in doing good when it is not exactlypleasant to do it, and to people who are not in our own groove, or in“our set, ” but like the people invited in the feast prescribed by Christ, and for whom we work as a duty, whether it is immediately agreeable ornot. It is giving up our own will to God’s command and obeying thisungrudgingly: and yet our own pleasure may be most in giving otherspleasure, and we can be lavish of labour for others while we are selfishat the core. Thus it seems to be very difficult ever to be unselfish inthe sense that it is often absurdly insisted upon; namely, that othersare everything and yourself nothing. Nevertheless, after all casuistry, we know what is _meant_ by “selfish, ” as an undue regard. But the resultof an action is to be looked at, and it does not become selfish becausewe alone do one part of it. A man who steps out from a crowd to pluckflowers alone on the edge of the cliff may bring back a bouquet that willgive fragrant pleasure to them all, while another who stays in the groupof gatherers may gather none at all or may be very selfish about hishandful. Our lonely labour may, in fact, be useful for other people inthe end. 

The anxieties of the canoe trip are more varied and less heavy than in asailing cruise. 

In the yawl I was always sure of food and lodging, but then in the canoeone does not fear wind, wave, calm, and fog; for, at any rate, one can atthe worst take the canoe ashore. The risk of a total loss of the canoeis only fifteen pounds gone, but the other shipwreck risks ten times asmuch, and whereas each canoe danger can usually be avoided, those met insailing at sea are often to be encountered without any escape. 

The physical endurance required in a canoe is more under control of aprevious arrangement. The muscular exertion with the paddle is generallyvoluntary, while that in the yawl was often hardest when one wanted mostto rest. You need scarcely be forced, in canoeing, to go on two days andtwo nights without sleep, as will presently be seen was my fate in theyawl. 

The scenery in traversing land and water in a canoe is of course morevaried than in sailing always at sea, but the perils of the deep have agrandeur and wideness that seem to rouse far more the inner soul and withmore profound emotions. The thoughts during a night storm at sea are ofa higher strain than those in passing the rapids in a river. 

Finally, there is at first a sense of incongruity in the appearance of acanoe when in a cart, on a train, or in a house, and you have often tomeet an inexplicable but evident _smile_ at the whole affair, whichperhaps comes from pity, certainly from ignorance, and it may be fromcontempt; whereas a sailing-boat crossing the deep is doing what peoplein ports and ships know very well about, and if your boat keeps on doingit successfully they cannot despise the deed because the boat that doesit is small. A man who comes to the “meet” on a little pony will not belaughed at if he is always well in at the death. 

Perhaps the voyage alone in a yawl will not be so often repeated by otherpeople as that in a canoe, but this last manner of touring became popularat once. 

One of the members of the Royal Canoe Club (The late Hon. J. Gordon), adistinguished University oar and Wimbledon Prizeman, sailed {240} atnight across the Channel from Dover to Boulogne, paddled through Franceand sailed to Marseilles, and thence from Nice to Genoa, through theItalian lakes, the Swiss lakes, and by the Reuss to the Rhine home again. A second coasted along England, and paddled across the Channel from theFrench side in a ‘Rob Roy’ made with his own hands. A third crossed fromScotland to Ireland in his ‘Rob Roy. ’ A critic complacently denied, afew months before these voyages, that a canoe could cross a bay eightmiles wide. The canoes of our Members have paddled over thousands ofmiles in Europe, Asia, Africa, and America, including China and Japan, besides cruises in Australia, New Zealand, and many groups of islands faraway. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Bedtime—A trance—Thunderings—Chart—Light dims—Night flies—Firstrunning—Newhaven—On the gridiron—Mr. Smith—Tumbledown walls—Derelict. 

“Where is the yawl now?” was the question we had asked in the fog, andthe natural answer was—that the chart would tell, of course. So let uslook at the small slice of chart copied on page 245, which is crammed, you see, with figures of soundings, and names of banks, buoys, andbeacons; but the only thing to be seen on the actual horizon around us, is the Owers light behind, and about N. W. In its bearing. The tide willsoon turn against our progress towards the east, therefore we tacktowards shore, so as to be within anchorage soundings should it becomeneedful to stop, for the wind has just changed rather suspiciously, andwe can even hear the sound of the drums at Portsmouth as they beat thetaptoo. A few bright meteors shoot athwart the heavens above, remindingus that this is one of their usual epochs—the 14th of August. 

Now we are in ten fathoms by the lead, and we must anchor here, for thetide has fully turned and the wind has lulled, and perhaps it will do tosleep for six hours now before going on again. 

The beautiful phosphorescence of the sea on this occasion was anattractive sight, and I could follow the line of my hemp cable by thegleam of silver light which enfolded it with a gradually softenedradiance from the surface of the sea, down—down to an unseen depth, where, in sooth, it was dark enough. {242}

The gentle motion of riding with a chain-cable is quite in contrast tothat when anchored by a rope; for this latter will jerk and pull, whilethe heavier chain, laid in a drooping curve, acts as a constant springthat eases and cushions every rude blow. 

I intended to start again with any freshening breeze, and to get intoLittlehampton for the night; therefore the small anchor and the hempcable were used so as to be more ready for instant departure, and well itwas thus. 

Time sped slowly between looking at my watch to know the tide change, anddozing as I lay in the cabin—the dingey being of course astern; until inthe middle of the night, lapsing through many dreams, I had glided intothat delicious state when you dream that you are dreaming. On a sudden, and without any seeming cause, I felt perfectly awake, and yet in a sortof trance, and lying still a time, seeking what could possibly haveawakened me thus. Then there came through the dark a peal of thunder, long, and loud, and glorious. 

How changed the scene to look upon! No light to be seen from the Owersnow, but a flash from above and then darkness, and soon a grand rollingof the same majestic, deep-toned roar. 

Now I must prepare for wind. On with the life-belt, close the hatches, loose the mainsail, and double reef it, and reef the jib. Off with themizen and set the storm-sail, and now haul up the anchor while yet thereis time; and there was scarcely time before a rattling breeze got up, andwaves rose too, and rain came down as we sailed off south to the open seafor room. Sea room is the sailor’s want: the land is what he fears morethan the water. 

We were soon fast spinning along, and the breeze brushed all the hazeaway, but the night was very dark, and the rain made it hard to see. Nowand then the thunder swallowed all other sounds, as the wild cries in thedesert are silenced by the lion’s roar. 

Sometimes there was an arch shining above as the flashes leaped acrossthe upper clouds, and then a sharp upright prong of forked lightningdarted straight down between, while rain was driven along by the wind, and salt foam dashed up from the waves. It seemed like an earthlyversion of that heavenly vision which was beheld in Patmos by the belovedJohn:—“And I heard as it were the voice of a great multitude, and as thevoice of many waters, and as the voice of mighty thunderings. ” {244}

How well our English word “thunder” suits the meaning in its sound, farbetter than _tonnerre_ or _tonitru_!

In the dark, a cutter dashed by me, crossing the yawl’s bows, just as thelightning played on us both. It had no ship-light up, shameful to say. I shouted out, “Going south?” and they answered, “Yes; come along offthat shore. ”

 [Picture: The Owers chart]

From the bit of chart here copied (covering only a few miles) it will beunderstood what kind of shore we had to avoid. There was quite waterenough for our shallow craft, but it was the twisting of currents andtides that made the danger here. 

The breeze now turned west, then south, and every other way, and it wasexceedingly perplexing to know at once what to do in each case, especially as the waves became short and snappish under this pressurefrom different sides, and yet my compass quietly pointed right, with asoft radiance shining from it, and my mast-light in a brighter glowgleamed from behind me {246} on the white crest of the waves. 

At one time a heavy squall roughened the dark water, and taxed all mypowers to work the little yawl; but whenever a lull came, or a chance ofgetting on my proper course again, I bent round to “East by North, ”determined to make way in that direction. 

In the middle of the night my compass lamp began to glimmer faint, and itwas soon evident that the flame must go out. Here was a discomfort: thewind veered so much that its direction would be utterly fallacious as aguide to steer by, and this uncertainty might continue until thelightning ceased. Therefore, at all hazards, we must light up thecompass again. So I took down the ship-light from the mizen shroud, andheld it between my knees that it might shine on the needle, and it wascurious how much warmth came from this lantern. Then I managed to get acandle, and cut a piece off, and rigged it up with paper inside thebinnacle. This answered for about ten minutes, but finding it was againflickering, I opened the tin door, and found all the candle had meltedinto bright liquid oil; so this makeshift was a failure. However, another candle was cut, and the door being left open to keep it cool, with this lame light I worked on bravely, but very determined for therest of my sailing days to have the oil bottle always accessible. Finally the wind blew out the candle, though it was very much sheltered, and the ship-light almost at the same time also went out suddenly. Thenwe lay to, backed the jib, opened the cabin hatch, got out the oil, thoroughly cleaned the lamp, put in a new wick, and lighted it afresh, and a new candle in the ship’s light; again we started all right oncemore, with that self-gratulation at doing all this successfully, —undersuch circumstances of wind, sea, and rain, —which perhaps was not morethan due. 

What with these things, and reefing several times, and cooking atintervals, there was so much to do and so much to think about during thenight that the hours passed quickly, and at last some stray streaks ofdawn (escaped before their time perhaps) lighted up a cloud or two above, and then a few wave-tops below, and soon gave a general grey tint to allaround, until by imperceptible but sure advance of clearness, the vaguehorizon seemed to split into land and water, and happily then it was seenplainly that the Rob Roy had not lost way in the dark. 

As soon as there was light enough to read we began to study Shoreham inthe Pilot book, and neared it the while in the water; but though nowopposite the Brighton coast, it was yet too faraway to make out any town, for we had stood well out to sea in the thunderstorm. All tirednesspassed off with the fresh morning air, and the breeze was now so strongthat progress was steady and swift. 

It may be remarked how a coast often appears quite different when you arefifteen or twenty miles out to sea, from what it does when you stand onthe beach, or look from a row-boat close to the land. So now we werepuzzled to find out Brighton, one’s own familiar Brighton, with its dullhalf-sided street, neither town nor bathing-town, its beach unwalkable, and all its sights and glories done in a day. We might well be ashamednot to recognise at once the contour of the hills, which we had so oftentrudged over in column or in skirmish in the Volunteer Reviews. 

The chain-pier was, of course, hardly discernible at a great distance. But the “Grand Hotel” at last asserted itself as a black cubical speck inthe binocular field, and then we made straight for that; Shoreham beinggradually voted a bore, to be passed by, and Newhaven adopted as the newgoal for the day. 

We had shaken out all reefs, and now tore along at full speed, with thespray-drift sparkling in the sun, and a frolicsome jubilant sea. Thedelights of going fast when the water is deep and the wind is strong—ah!these never can be rightly described, nor the exulting bound with whichyour vessel springs through a buoyant wave, and the thrill of nerve thattells in the sailor’s heart, “Well, after all, sailing is a pleasuresupreme. ”

Numerous fishing-vessels now came out, with their black tanned sails andstrong bluff bows and hardy-looking crews, who all hailed me cheerilywhen they were near enough, and often came near to see. Fast the yawlsped along the white chalk cliffs, and my chart in its glazed frame didexcellent service now, for the wind and sea rose more again; and atlength, when we came near the last headland for Newhaven, we lowered themainsail and steadily ran under mizen and jib. Newhaven came in sight, deeply embayed under the magnificent cliff, which, at other times I couldhave gazed on for an hour, admiring the grand dashing of the waves, butwe had to hoist mainsail again, so as to get in before the tide would setout strongly, and so increase every minute the sea at the harbour’smouth. 

It was more than exciting to enter here with such waves running. Rain, too, came on, just as the Rob Roy dashed into the first three rollers, and they were big and green, and washed her well from stem right on tostern, but none entered farther. The bright yellow hue of the waves onone side of the pier made me half afraid that it was shallow there, and, hesitating to pass, I signalled to some men near the pier-head as towhich way to go, but they were only visitors. The tide ran strongly out, dead in my teeth, yet the wind took me powerfully through it all, andthen instantly, even before we had rounded into quiet water, theinquisitive uncommunicative spectators roared out, “Where are you from?”“What’s your name?” and all such stupid things to say to a man whosewhole mind in a time like this has to be on sail and sea and tiller. {250}

During this passage from the Isle of Wight I had noticed now and then, when the waves tossed more than usual, that a dull, heavy, thumping soundwas heard aboard the yawl, and gradually I concluded that her iron keelhad been broken by the rock at Bembridge, and that it was swinging freebelow my boat. This idea increased my anxiety to get in safely; and tomake sure of the matter we took the Rob Roy at once to the “gridiron, ”and laid her alongside a screw-steamer which had been out during thenight, and had run on a rock in the dark thunderstorm. The “baulks” orbeams of the gridiron under water were very far apart, and we had muchdifficulty in placing the yawl so as to settle down on two of them, butthe crew of the steamer helped me well, and all the more readily, as Ihad given them books at Dieppe, a gift they did not now forget. 

Just as the ebbing tide had lowered the yawl fairly on the baulks, another steamer came in from France, crowded with passengers, and thewaves of her swell lifted my poor little boat off her position, andrudely fixed her upon only one baulk, from which it was not possible tomove her; therefore, when the tide descended she was hung up askew in aludicrous position of extreme discomfort to her weary bones; but when Iwent outside to examine below, there was nothing whatever amiss, andgladness for this outweighed all other troubles, and left me quite readyfor a good sleep at night. 

For this purpose we rowed the yawl into a quiet little river, and lashedher alongside a neat schooner, whose captain and wife and children andtheir little dog ‘Lady’ were soon great friends, for they were courteouspeople, as might be expected in a respectable vessel; it is generally so. 

Now the Rob Roy settled into soft mud for a good rest of three days, andI went to the Inn where “Mr. Smith” landed from France in 1848, after hehad given up being King Louis Philippe. 

The Inn traded upon this fact, and it had other peculiarities—very badchops, worse tea, no public room, and a very deaf waitress! the wholesufficiently uncomfortable to justify my complaint, and it must be a verybad inn indeed that is not comfortable enough for _me_. 

Here I was soon accosted by a reader of canoe books, and next day weinspected the oyster-beds, and a curious corn-mill driven by tide-waterconfined in a basin—one of the few mills worked by the power of the moon. Also we wandered over the new sea fortifications, which are built andhewed by our Government one week, and the week afterwards if there comesa shower of rain they tumble down again. This is the case, at any rate, with the Newhaven fortress, and we must only hope that an invading armywill not attack the place during the wrong week. 

Three steamers in a day, all crowded with Exhibition passengers, that wasa large traffic for a small port like Newhaven; but it did not raise theprice of anything except ham sandwiches, and I bought my supplies of eggsand butter and bread, and walked off with them all, as usual, to theextreme astonishment of an aristocratic shop-woman. 

In crossing a viaduct my straw hat blew off into a deep hole among mud, and I asked a boy to fetch it. The little fellow was a true Briton. Heput down his bundle, laboriously built a bridge of stones, and atimminent risk of a regular mud-bath, at length clasped the hat. Hispluck was so admirable, that he had a shilling as a reward, which, be itobserved, was half the price of the hat itself two months before, a “No. 2” hat, useful to shop in. 

This incident put an end to quiet repose, for the boy-life of the townwas soon stirred to its lowest depth, and all youngsters with any spiritof gain trooped down to the yawl, waiting off and on for the next dayalso, in hopes of another mishap as a chance of luck to them. 

The dingey too had its usual meed of applause; but one rough mariner wasso vociferous in deriding its minuteness, that at last I promised him asovereign if he could catch me, and he might take any boat in the port. At first he was all for the match, and began to strip and prepare, buthis ardour cooled, and his abuse also subsided. 

Many Colchester boats were here, nearly all of them well “found, ” andwith civil crews, who were exceedingly grateful for books to read on theSunday, and, resting among them, was a little yacht of five tons, whichhad been sent out with only one man to take her from Dover to Ryde. Poorfellow! he had lost his way at night and was unable to keep awake, untilat last two fishermen fell in with the derelict and brought him in here, hungry and amazed; but I regarded him with a good deal of interest asrather in my line of life, and I quite understood his drowsy feelingswhen staring at the compass in the black, whistling rain. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Tide waiter—Beachy Head—Night Ghost—Man overboard—Shipahoy!—Overfalls—Thoughts—Thunder—A question—Day—Good-bye, dingey!—Dungeness—A nap. 

The barometer mounted steadily all Sunday, so we resolved to start nextmorning at break of day. But though the night was quiet the vessels nearmy berth were also getting ready, therefore at last I gave up all hopesof sleep, and for company’s sake got ready also after midnight, that wemight have all the tide possible for going round Beachy Head, which, oncepassed, we could find easy ports all the way to London. So about twoo’clock, in the dark, we are rowing out again on the ebbing tide, and thewater at the pier-head looks placid now compared with the boiling anddashing it made there when the yawl passed in before. 

Dawn broke an hour afterwards with a dank and silent mist skirting upfar-away hills, and a gentle east wind faintly breathing as our tea-cupsmoked fragrant on deck. The young breeze was only playful yet, so weanchored, waiting for it to rise in earnest or the tide to slacken, asboth of them were now contrary; and meantime we rested some hourspreparing for a long spell of unknown work; but I could not sleep in sucha lovely daybreak, not having that most valuable capacity of being ableto sleep when it is wanted for coming work, and not for labour past. 

The east wind baffled the yawl and a whole fleet of vessels, all of ustrying to do the same thing, namely, to arrive at Beachy Head before twoo’clock in the day; for, if this could be managed, we should there findthe tide ebbing eastwards, and so get twelve hours of current in ourfavour. 

This feature—the division of the tides there—makes Beachy Head awell-marked point in the navigation of the Channel. The stream from theNorth Sea meets the other from the Atlantic here, and here also theybegin to separate. After beating, in downright sailing, one afteranother of the schooners and brigs and barques in company, I saw at lastwith real regret that not one of us could reach the point in time, andyet the yawl got there only a few minutes too late; but it was dead calm, and I even rowed her on to gain the last little mile. 

One after another the vessels gave it up, and each cast anchor. Comingto a pilot steamer, I hailed: “Shall I be able to do it?” “No, sir, ”they said; “no, —very sorry for you, sir; you’ve worked hard, sir, butyou’re ten minutes too late. ” Within that time the tide had turnedagainst us. We had not crossed the line of division, and so the yawl hadto be turned towards shore to anchor there, and to wait the tide untilnine o’clock at night, unless a breeze came sooner. 

After three hours’ work she reached the desired six fathoms’ patch ofsand, just under the noble white cliff that rears its head aloft about600 feet, standing ever as a giant wall, sheer, upright, out of the sea. 

Dinner done and everything set right (for this is best policy always), Islipped into my cabin and tried to sleep as the sun went down, but alittle land-breeze soon began, and every now and then my head was raisedto see how tide or wind progressed. Then I must have fallen once into amild nap, and perhaps a dream, for sudden and strong a rough hand seemedto shake the boat, and, on my leaping up, there glanced forth a brilliantflash of lightning that soon put everybody on the _qui vive_. 

Now was heard the clink of distant cables, as I raised mine also in thedark, with only the bright shine of the lighthouse like a keen andfull-opened eye gazing down from the cliff overhead. 

Compass lighted, ship-lantern fixed, a reef in each sail, and, with amoment’s thought of the very similar events that had passed only a fewnights ago, we steered right south, away, away to the open sea. 

It was black enough all around; but yet the strong wind expected afterthunder had not come, and we edged away eastward, doubly watchful, however, of the dark, for the crowd of vessels here was the real danger, and not the sea. 

Look at the ghost of Rob Roy flitting on the white sail as the lampshines brightly. Down comes the rain, and with it flash after flash, peal upon peal of roaring thunder, and the grandeur of the scene isunspeakable. The wind changed every few minutes, and vessels and boatsand steamers whirled past like visions, often much too near to bewelcome. 

 [Picture: Beachy Head Ghost]

A white dazzling gleam of forked lightning cleaves the darkness, andbehold! a huge vessel close at hand, but hitherto unseen, lofty andfull-sailed, and for a moment black against the instant of light, andthen utterly lost again. The plashing of rain hissed in the sea, and avoice would come out of the unseen—“Port, you lubber!” The ship, orwhatever it is, has no lights at all, though on board it they can seemine. Ah, it’s no use peering forward to discover on which side is thenew danger; for when your eye has gazed for a time at the lighted compassit is powerless for half a minute to see in the dark space forward; or, again, if you stare into the blackness to scan the faintest glimmer of asail ahead, then for some time after you cannot see the compass whenlooking at it dazzled. This difficulty in sailing alone is the only onewe felt to be quite insuperable. 

Again a steam whistle shrieked amid the thunder, and two eyes glared outof the formless vapour and rain—the red and the green lights, the signalsthat showed where she was steaming to. There was shouting from her deckas she kept rounding and backing, no doubt for a man overboard. As weslewed to starboard to avoid her, another black form loomed close on theright; and what with wind, rain, thunder, and ships, there was everythingto confuse just when there was every need of cool decision. 

It would be difficult for me to exaggerate the impressive spectacle thatpassed along on the dark background of this night. To shew what othersthought, we may quote the following paragraph from the ‘Pall MallGazette’ of next day, the 20th of August: {260}—

 “The storm which raged in London through the whole of last night was beyond question by far the most severe and protracted which has occurred for many years. It began at half-past eight o’clock, after a day of intense heat, which increased as the evening advanced, though it never reached the sultriness which was remarked before the storm of last week. The first peal of thunder was heard about nine, and from that time till after five this morning it never ceased for more than a few minutes, while the lightning may be said to have been absolutely continuous. Its vivid character was something quite unusual in the storms of recent summers, and the thunder by which it was often instantaneously followed can only be described as terrific. The storm reached its greatest violence between two and three o’clock, when a smart gale of wind sprang up, and for about ten minutes the tempest was really awful. ”

We had noticed some rockets sent up from Eastbourne earlier in theevening; probably these were fireworks at a _fête_ there, but the rainmust have soon drowned the gala. Certainly it closed up my view of allother lights but the lightning, though sometimes a shining line appearedfor a moment in the distance, perhaps from Hastings; and at one time themoon came out red and full, and exactly at the top of a vessel’s loftysails. One steamer had puzzled me much by its keeping nearly still. This drifted close up at last, and they called out, “Ahoy, there!—are youa fishing boat?” They wanted to know their bearings, as the current andshifting wind made the position of Beachy Head quite uncertain in thedark. {261} I replied to their hail—“No, I’m the yacht Rob Roy, crew ofone man; don’t you see my white sails?” and they answered—“See? why, whocan see to-night?”

Sometimes a sudden and dead lull came with an ominous meaning, and thenthe loud hissing of rain could be heard advancing to us in the dark tillit poured on the yawl in sheets of water, and the mere dripping from thepeak of my sou’wester was enough to obscure vision. 

And yet, after a few hours of the turmoil and excitement, this state ofthings became quite as it were _natural_, so soon does one get accustomedto any circumstances, however strange at first. I even cooked hot tea;it was something to do, as well as to drink, and singing and whistlingalso beguiled the dark hours of eager, strained matching. In a lightermoment, once a great lumbering sloop sailed near, and we hailed herloudly, “How’s the wind going to be?”—for the wind kept ever changing(but the thunder and lightning were going on still). A gruff voiceanswered, “Can’t say; who _can_ say—night—this sort—think it’ll settleeast. ” This was bad news for me, but it did not come true. The sloop’sskipper wished for an east wind, and so he expected it. 

A stranger sound than any before now forced attention as it rapidlyneared us, and soon the sea was white around with boiling, babblinglittle waves—what could it be? Instantly I sounded with the lead, butthere was no bottom—we were not driving on shore—it was one of the“overfalls” or “ripples” we have mentioned before where a turbid sea israised in deep water by some far-down precipice under the waves. 

The important question at once arose as to which of the “overfalls” on mychart this could be—the one marked as only a mile from Beachy Head, orthe other ten miles further on. Have we been turning and wheeling aboutall this dreary night in only a few square miles of sea, or have weattained the eastern tide, and so are now running fast on our course?

The incessant and irksome pitching and rolling which the overfallscaused, might be patiently borne, if only we could be assured that theyawl progressed. But all was still left in doubt. 

So sped the storm for eight long hours, with splendours for the eye, anddark long thrills of the sublime, that stirred deep the whole inner beingwith feelings vivid and strong, and loosed the most secret folds ofconsciousness with thoughts I had never felt before, and perhaps shallnever know again. The mind conjured up the most telling scenes it hadknown of “alone” and of “thunder, ” to compare with this where both werenow combined. 

To stand on the top of Mont Blanc, that round white icicle highest inEurope, and all alone to gaze on a hundred peaks around—that was indeedimpressive. 

More so was it to kneel alone at the edge of Etna, and to fill the mindfrom the smoking water with thoughts and fancies teeming out of the hot, black, and wide abyss. 

 [Picture: Map of English Channel]

Thunder and lightning, also, in the crater of Vesuvius we had wondered atbefore; and it had been grander still, when the flashes lighted upNiagara pouring out its foam that glistened for a moment dazzling whiteand then vanished, while the thundering heavens sounded louder than theheavy torrent tumbling into the dark. But here, in my yawl on the sea, was more splendid than these. Imagination painted its own free pictureon a black and boundless background of mind strung tight by near danger;and from out this spoke the deep loud diapason, while the quick flashingat intervals gave point to all. Then that glorious anthem came to mymemory, where these words of the 18th Psalm are nobly rendered:—

 “He bowed the heavens and came down, and darkness was under His feet. 

 “He rode upon a cherub and did fly; yea, He did fly upon the wings of the wind. 

 “He made darkness His secret place; the pavilion round about Him was dark waters and thick clouds of the skies. 

 “The Lord also thundered in the heavens, and the Highest gave His voice: hailstones and coals of fire. 

 “Then the channels of waters were seen, and the foundations of the world were discovered: at Thy rebuke, O Lord, at the blast of the breath of Thy nostrils. 

 “He sent down from above, He took me, He drew me up out of many waters. ”

The sensations were prolonged enough to be analyzed and reasoned upon, and it was a difficult question which cannot yet be answered—“Would Iwillingly have all this over again?” Lying on a sofa in a comfortableroom, I would not go out to this scene; but in a boat, if all this beganagain, I certainly would not go ashore to avoid its discomforts and loseits grandeurs. 

The profound uncertainty as to what was to come next moment being one ofthe most exciting features of the occasion; perhaps the whole scene wouldbe tamed sadly by a mere repetition; but one sentiment was dominant overall at the time, that I had lived a long year in a night. 

Soon after four o’clock, there suddenly stretched out what seemed to be areef of breakers for miles under the sullen rain-clouds, and, withinstant attention, the yawl was put about to avoid them. 

This extraordinary optical illusion was the dawn opening on the coast, then actually ten miles away, and in a very few minutes, as the cloudlifted, the land seemed to rush off to its proper distance, until at lastthe curtain split in two, and I found to my intense delight that in thenight we had crossed the bay!

Now came joyous sounds from our moist crew—“Hurrah for the day! Pipe allhands to breakfast—slack out the mainsheet, here’s the west wind;” and uprose the sun, well washed by the torrents of rain. 

An elaborate _friture_ of my last three eggs was soon cooked toperfection, and I held the frying-pan over the side, while it drainedthrough a fork; when, alas! there came a heavy lurch of the boat, and allthe well-deserved breakfast was pitched into the sea, with a mild butdeep-meant “Oh, how provoking!” from the hapless, hungry, lonely sailor. Shame that, preserved through such dangers, we should murmur at an omeletthe less! But this tyrant stomach exacts more, and thanks less, than allthe body besides. 

Hastings was soon passed, and we skirted the cliffs towards Rye. I hadwritten to the harbourmaster {267} here to send out a boat if he saw mycraft (enclosing him a sketch of it), as the entrance to that harbourseemed to be very difficult by the chart. 

But the breeze was fresh and invigorating, and though sadly needing sleepafter two nights without any, the idea of going to bed while such a finebreeze blew seemed preposterous, and Rye was soon left in the rear. 

From this place a very low flat tongue of land stretches along in thestrangest way, until at its end is the lighthouse of Dungeness. Martellotowers are on the shore, but for miles outside of this, the nearest beachis all one can see; and therefore the tall lighthouse, viewed eventhrough the glass, looked only like a small grey speck on the waves, without any land whatever between. About midday the yawl neared thisvery remarkable beacon, which is painted red and white; strong, lofty, and firm set on a cape of pure gravel, with here and there a house, notvisible at all until you come close. 

A heavy sea was here, and it was more and more as we came quite near thecape; until one fine bold wave, following our little craft, actually castthe dingey (then towing astern) right upon the deck of the yawl, anddealt me a severe stroke on the back, by which I was cast forward, andthen an awkward thump on the head by which I was stunned. {268}Recovering again just in time, I saw another wave send the dingey oncemore on board with a crash, and splinters flew up, so we thought she wassmashed, but it was the jigger-boom that was broken by the collision. The very next billow broke the dingey’s painter of strong canoe rope, butmuch worn. Away floated the tiny cockleshell, and it was very soon hidin the trough of the sea. 

“Down with the helm!”—“Haul the sheet!”—“Slack the jib!” and we gavechase in great glee, and catching her soon with the boat-hook, we quicklypulled the dingey on board, and lashed her securely down to the deck, anarrangement that answered well. 

One of the great delights of real sailing is the large variety ofincident that comes. Mere sitting in a yacht, while others have all thework in a breeze, and all the responsibility, is no pleasure to me; nay, I confess frankly, it is a “bore. ”

Once round Dungeness, we could see Folkestone and Dover cliffs; and aftera few minutes of rest, to put all in readiness for a fast run before thewind, we steered straight for Dover pier. 

The breeze freshened so much that the mizen had to be lowered, and as thewind was now favourable, the only thing to beware of was falling asleep;in which case the boom might jibe (swing-over from one side to the other)with great force, and if it hit me on the head, then I should certainlyhave either a very short nap or a _very long one_. {270}

Dover pier was, we must say, welcome to see. Often at other times we hadintentionally lengthened the day’s journey, in arriving near adestination sooner than it was absolutely necessary to stop the pleasureof sailing, but now we ran into Dover as fast as the flying wind wouldspeed us. 

The friends who greeted the Rob Roy here knew her well from a long wayoff, as she danced lightly over the sea; for hence had we started monthsago, and here was, in one sense, the end of my voyage, as Ulysses saidwhen he came alone from his raft. 

 “And now two nights, and now two days were past, Since wide I wandered on the wat’ry waste; Heaved on the surge with intermitting breath, And hourly panting in the arms of death. ”

 _Pope’s_ ‘Odyssey, ’ Book V. 

 “Then first my eyes, by watchful toils opprest, Complied to take the balmy gifts of rest; Then first my hands did from the rudder part, So much the love of home possessed my heart. ”

 _Ibid. _, Book X. 

I went up to the Lord Warden hotel, meaning to write home, dine, and goto bed after fifty-three hours without sleep; but while waiting for theservant to bring hot water, and with my jacket off, I tumbled on the bedfor a moment—then it was three o’clock, P. M. 

Soon (as it seemed) awake again, I saw it was still light, and withbright sun shining; also my watch had run down, the water-jug was cold, and it was a puzzle to make out how I felt so wonderfully fresh. 

Why, it was _next day_, and I had soundly slept on the top of the bed inmy soaking wet clothes for seventeen hours!

CHAPTER XX. 

Di Vernon—The Gull light—Naked warriors—Monkey—Medway—Eyes right!—Oldthings—Bargees—Street boys—Young skipper—Scene by night—Barge lingo—HolyHaven—Sailing solicitor—Margate. 

Perhaps a sleep in wet clothes, such as we have awakened from, was morelikely to do harm than any of the blasts and breezes at sea; but nothingfollowed, and indeed during the whole of my six voyages alone there wasneither a headache nor any other ache, not even a cold, and the floatingmedicine-chest yawl was never opened. 

Dover had been the port of departure and again of arrival, for my firstcanoe voyage, and the memory of that delightful tour was recalled now byseeing a canoe paddling in the harbour. On closer scrutiny it wasperceived that a young lady was its crew. Now there are several fairMembers {272} of our Royal Canoe Club, and we are quite prepared toballot for some more, but the captain had not yet been fortunate enoughto see one of these canoeistes on the water, so at once the dingey gavechase. 

 [Picture: Paddle and Parasol]

This was the lady’s very first essay in a canoe, nevertheless shesucceeded admirably in her effort, for it is far easier to learn a littleof paddling than a little of rowing, as every neophyte can tell you. 

Henceforth I shall always know that a Rob Roy can well be matched by a_Di Vernon_, and how much the most gentle movement afloat can be refinedby feminine grace. A few hints from the older paddler in the dingey wererapidly taken up by the apt scholar in the canoe, while her friends rowedbeside us in a boat, and at length with that English pluck which so manyEnglish girls possess, she boldly steered into a steamer’s swell, andthen to the open sea, where, before a soft zephyr murmuring its undertonewhispers, we hoisted her parasol for a sail, and the visitors on Doverpier had a novel treat in the duet between dingey and canoe. 

Fairly rested next day, the yawl sailed by Ramsgate Cliffs until calm andtide made us anchor in a hot baking sun. 

The ‘Gull Lightship’ was not far off, so we sculled to her in the dingey. This was the very first time I had myself actually seen the Rob Roy onthe water with all sails set, nor dare I conceal the pride that was feltin looking at her graceful contour, her smart and sensible rig, and hersnowy sails so beautifully set, as the sunbeams lit them up; viewed froma little distance, the yawl was only like a toy boat resting on a sheetof glass. 

The men of the ‘Gull’ with its red sides and red lantern masts, receivedme with surprise, but with most grateful thanks for books to read, andthen they pressed their visitor to stop for dinner!

But he could not well feast in comfort while the Rob Roy was left aloneand all sails up, and especially as one of the numerous vessels thendrifting past (we had counted more than forty in sight at one time)seemed to be borne dangerously near to the little craft. 

On this lightship there are seven men, and four more on land to relievethem regularly. {275} In the course of a lively conversation with theirvisitor, they said, “How lonely you must be!” Surely when the men exiledto a lightship pronounce the Rob Roy “lonely” there must be something inthe charge; but my obtuse perception has not yet enabled me to find itout. 

Meantime the tide had turned strongly, and my row back from the lightshipin the hot sun was one of the hardest pulls I ever had, so that thelesson will not be forgotten “stick by your ship in a tideway. ”

In passing along the fine gravel beach near Walmer, a curious sound washeard through the quiet haze; it was distant and continuous, but like thegabble of 10, 000 ducks, and, though staring hard through the binocularglass, one could only make out a confused jumble of lightish-colouredforms all in a row afar off. Soon, however, a bugle sounded the“Retire, ” and then it was plain that a whole regiment of soldiers was inthe water bathing; their merry shouts and play had resounded along thelevel sea, and at the bugle order they all marched ashore in naked array, forming altogether one of the oddest of martial sights. 

The vessels now constantly crossing my course were of all sizes, and inthe quiet air we could hear their various sounds that seemed to tell ineach of a self-contained world, where every item of life was summarizedon board. Men chatting, women laughing, dogs barking, cocks crowing, andpigs squealing, a floating farmyard, such is life on the sea. For theRob Roy I had tried to get a monkey as a funny friend, if not as atractable midshipman, but an end was put to the idea by the solemnwarning of an experienced comrade, who stated, that after the first twodays, a monkey pursues steadily one line of conduct afloat—he throwseverything into the sea. 

Rounding the Foreland in a lovely afternoon, we observed how thecorn-fields had become ripe and yellow, that were only growing and greenwhen our yawl passed the cape before. Here is the “Long Nose” buoyagain, and all the familiar landmarks, and once more Margate, where thepeople very warmly welcomed the little Rob Roy, which they had sped onits way outward bound with a parting cheer. 

The next dawn from its grey curtain rising, saw her sailing from Margateup the Thames, but so light was the baffling wind, that we could notreach Sheerness that night, and so had to anchor in five fathoms not farfrom Cheney Rock, with dense fog closing round, and the Nore gongringing, while my bright little cabin glowed with comfort, and thenewspapers were studied in peace. Thence sailing into Sheerness and upto Queenborough, we anchored close by the Coastguard hulk, in safe andquiet waters. Sunday was a delicious rest, and the dingey took me aboardthe hulk, where a number of sailors and their large families with them, gave a very remarkable appearance to the vessel ’tween decks. Thechildren were delighted to receive books and pictures, and until late inthe dark the infantile menagerie squalled with all its might. 

An expedition of river discovery up the Medway seemed to be worth tryingnow, for no bonds of time or engagements fettered that glorious freedomof action which is one of the prize features of sailing thus. The yawlwent bowling along on this new errand amid huge old hulks, tall-mastedfrigates, black warrior-like ironclads, gay yachts, odoriferousfishing-smacks, and a fleet of steady, brown-sailed, business-likebarges. This is a pleasant and a cheerful river for some days’excursion, with a mild excitement in sailing over banks and shoals, andyet not striking once, although we had no chart. 

The tide helps much, until the high ground near Chatham adds rock andsylvan scenes to the flat banks of the winding estuary. 

Now we come on a busy industry of peculiar type, thousands of convictsworking on the new seawall, closely guarded by armed keepers. These poorcriminals are paid or privileged according to their good behaviour, andit has been found that their labour thus stimulated is very productive. 

Once fairly up among the war-ships at Chatham, the Rob Roy anchors by thePowder Magazine, and while a waterman rows away for the usualsupplies—“Two eggs, pat of butter, and the ‘Times’”—we inspect the RoyalEngineers as they are engaged alongside at pontooning, and are frequentlypulled up by the command of a smart sergeant—“Eyes—right, ” for they_will_ take furtive glances at my dingey gyrating so as they had neverseen boat spin round before. This comment on the dingey’s shape wasventured, too, “It’s for hall the world like ’alf a hegg. ”

Pushing on again, still up the river, the Rob Roy had to beat against aneast wind all through the densely packed brigs and barges in the narrowbend at Rochester, where the difficulty of working her added zest to thejourney, and now and then a resounding crash from some great bargedrifting down against other vessels, told me that not every one of thecraft was as fortunate in navigation as the yawl. Before us is theCathedral, but it is far too stiff in its sharp outline to arrest the eyefor a moment. On the other side, the fine old weatherworn and time-eatenCastle rears its great tower, and challenges a long and satisfying look, especially as this was the only ancient ruin we had seen in the tour, andso there had long been a yearning in the mind for such, just as there iswhen you travel in Norway or America, until at last the hunger for oldthings becomes ravenous and intolerable. 

The yawl’s mast will be able to pass under the bridge, for the tide islow, and beyond it now we are in sunny green fields, and sailing onsmoothly amid quiet villages, rich pastures, and the exuberanthop-grounds of thoroughly English Kent. 

Three boys bathing from a boat came near, and for a treat we took them onboard, while their hair dripped wet and their teeth chattered fast aftertoo long a swim, but they had read the name on my white flag, and theyhad also read two canoe books, and so for miles they devoured all thatwas said and shewn on the yawl; then thanking much because they were“awfully glad, ” and they rowed home. How pleasant it is to give pleasureto boys!

The Rob Roy got aground only once in this trip above the bridge, and thatonly for five minutes, which, except the bump on a rock at Bembridge, washer sole mishap of this sort, an immunity quite extraordinary from theseaman’s dreaded foe, the shore. The barges that were now floating upthe crowded Medway interested me exceedingly, and acquaintance wasreadily made with their inhabitants almost every day for the next threeweeks, until it became evident that “Barge Life” is a stratum of societyquite as full of character and incident as any other, and wide open forexamination by those who would study a _genus_ of mankind very littleknown. Large and important duties are entrusted to these men; richcargoes are committed to their honesty and skill; families live on bargesby thousands, {280} and the coasting journey of a barge is by no means aneasy thing or a dull one. 

We must not judge of them by those great black boxes full of coals, thatfloat on the water above London Bridge, with one man and a long oar, andyet even a coal barge is worth watching. In the dank mist of a dullNovember evening it will drift unseen past the Temple Gardens. Wonderfulsounds launch into the fog from an invisible shouter on board, whose“Tom” or “Bill” on a wharf ashore instantly knows the call, and answers. Then there is a colloquy loud, and public in the extreme, yet utterlyprivate in its meaning to any one besides the two who are talking. It isonly paralleled by the shrill interjections of London street boys callingto each other across the Strand, of which the grown-up public cannot makeout one syllable, but which the stratum below them, of three feet high, is perfectly contented with, discerning every word. 

The barges that trade to the Medway are fine, strong sea-boats; theirsailing qualities are excellent, and they are improved every year by aregatta specially for them, where forty gay-dressed, bluff and burlycraft compete for prizes. In this match the utmost of skill, sharpenedby years of river sailing, is shewn in the wind and tide, and knowledgeof intricate channels, and among such competitors “fouling is fair. ”

As the yawl glides on the water among hayricks and whetting scythes, oneof these gallant barges floated beside us with the name on itsstern—S. E. C. P. T. E. R. —dubious in import, we allow, whether it means thatthe stout matter-of-fact lighter has been christened as a shadowy ghost, or a royal symbol. The veriest urchin steers her, with a little fat handon the heavy tiller twelve feet long, and a hunch of good rye-bread inhis other fist. Now and then he sings out in a thin soprano, “Fayther, boat’s a’ead, ” and his father, (hidden below), answers deep-toned, fromthe cabin, “Keep ’er away, lad. ” From him I asked, “How old is yourboy?” and the parent’s head popped up to see, but it was the child thatsmartly answered, “Eight years old. ” He looked five. Round the nextreach the barge bears down, and shakes her sails in the wind to arrestprogress a little. They have come near home, but not to stop. It isonly their country house, and up steps the bargee mother from out hersmall _boudoir_ in the cabin below, and jumping heavily into a boat, shepulls ashore to where a little girl is meekly waiting ready fororders—“Get the fish directly, Hagnes, ” and the daughter runs off fleetlyand back soon, and the mother is speedily aboard again—all this marketingbeing done while the barge has been drifting slowly past, and then hersails are filled to continue the voyage. 

Night fell, and the yawl anchored by a soft green field, with thebowsprit among the rushes. Bright furnaces for lime and plaster worksshow here and there around, and they roared and blazed up fitfully withwaving jets of flame, like the iron works in Shropshire, while thereflections glittered on the river, and reddened long reaches in a glow. The barges kept streaming by in the dark laden with rich commerce, andmerry, singing crews—a very curious scene. To them the Rob Roy, ofcourse, looked quite as strange, and one hailed us gruffly—“Who’re you?”answer, “I’m the Rob Roy!”—“What in the world did you come here for?”“To look at the beautiful lights on your river. ” In a murmuring grumble, he said to that, “Too many on ’em there is—we can’t see where we’re goin’with them;” and this is indeed perfectly true, for the light of thesefurnaces dazzles by its brightness, which is not diffused, whereas if nolights were there at all, the men could see well enough, for it ismarvellous how the eye will perceive at least the bounds between land andwater, when practice sharpens keen vision and no false light is shining. It is, however, quite true also, that the language of the barge-world isnot to be found complete in Johnson’s dictionary. It is far morepowerful than elegant. Words that are unused ashore except in anger orthe coarsest abuse seem to be the gentle appellations of endearmentbetween father and son afloat. But we must not forget that it is themeaning attached to a word by speaker and hearer, and not that given toit by a world outside of both, which the word will represent. {284}

From the highest point we could reach towards Maidstone, we soon ran downagain to Rochester, and various were the conflicting verdicts of bargeesas to whether or not my mast would now go under the bridge, for the tidewas very high, and I sailed back and forward, getting opinions, andsurveying the bridge on all sides. At length I determined it could bedone, and my heart beat nervously as the yawl neared the centre arch—notas to danger, but the dishonour of breaking a goodly spar at the end of acruise, and in so trumpery a feat. It passed clear, however, by inches. 

The evening was too fine at Sheerness to think of anchoring, so with asudden resolve we set off again to Southend. Here the advice of a yachtlying near was followed foolishly (get _facts_ from experts and decide ondeeds yourself), for I anchored without sounding, and too late found itwas in shallow water, only eight feet by the lead, and the tide runningout. To bed but not to sleep, for the water sunk to five feet, and, angry with myself, I roused at one o’clock, gave out all the rope, sheered off shore by the rudder, and then, again at rest, gained only sixinches of depth; but once more sounding, there was only six inches tospare under the keel and with a strong breeze on shore. Therefore, nowagain on the move, we fastened the inner end of the cable to the largeranchor and heaved this out, and then payed out all the chain, and sheeredwith the rudder, but still she was in shoal water. Finally, as the windincreased, I had to haul in both anchors and shove out into the deep, andthus, by omitting to do right at once what was easy at the time, thewhole night had been consumed by intervals of wet and needless trouble. 

Life in the yawl had now become such a pleasant life, that to leave itwas a duty deferred as long as possible. We ranged several times up anddown the Thames, visiting many an old nook, well known in former days;Holy Haven for instance; it is now thirty-three years since we firstharboured there in a little sailing-boat and spent a night with a colliercaptain, and learned more of coals and colliers than one could read in aweek. This was done by keeping him resolutely on the point the man knewall about until he was quite pumped dry. This nice little refuge-harbouris the one I like best in all the river, with only one house—no botherfrom shore folks, deep channel, and clean sand to anchor in. If it werenot for this narrow and safe retreat, there would often be hard times instormy days between Gravesend and Sheerness. 

The first time the Rob Roy went into Holy Haven, we found a yacht therewith a lady and gentleman on board, who of course (invariable andexcellent custom) were hospitable when they read my flag. Tiny rippleswere the only sounds of the evening, and on looking out on a new day, theround smooth sand was bare beside me, with a lonely gull preening itssoft white wing, and its calm eye unfrightened, for no one could have theheart to harm the pretty creature there. The next time of a visit tothis peaceful haven, there was another little craft at anchor, and infive minutes after we stopped the owner of it sent his card, with thecustomary invitation, to come on board. He was a sailor solicitor wholives on the water in summer (being wise), but does not venture out ofthe Thames (being prudent), and he has a boy “Jim” who hands out cookedthings from an inscrutable forecastle, where he sleeps at night in a sortof coal-scuttle. Nevertheless the two together seemed perfectly happy. 

By way of variety, the Rob Roy on leaving Margate the next time set offin the dark night, to sail away under the stars, and by some curious goodluck we managed to pass as close to the buoy at Reculver as ever onecould do in the light. Next time we came to Margate the place was gaywith its Regatta, on a fine breezy day. It was one of the best managedregattas one could see, with always something going on, and always therequisite confusion that prevents anybody from knowing exactly what _is_going on. However, the Rob Roy had a charming sail among the yachts asshe towed at her stern the dingey and a canoe, for the members of ourClub are ubiquitous, {287} so two of them are at Margate. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

Worcester—Swedish lesson—English boys—A prophecy—Letter—Request—Reply—The‘Dolphin. ’

Margate has often been abused, laughed at, and snubbed, but it has neveryet been properly described. How shall I describe Margate? It is toodifficult to do well, and it has been too often done badly to do itagain. 

The men’s bathing here from boats with steps, like those at Malta, issensible enough. Fine bold swimmers struck out well beside me in thewater while I had my morning dip from the yawl. As for the epicenebathing—masculine women and womanish males who partake of “sea-bathing bymachinery”—separate machines, but that is all—let us ignore them. 

Come rather back to France, and let us look at Her Imperial Majesty theEmpress Eugenie in the water, as we have seen her years ago. 

It was at Biarritz, and one day a commotion in the town was evident, but“What is about to happen?” we asked, being ready for any response as atraveller ought to be. 

“Her Majesty is going to bathe. ”

British modesty urged a quiet retreat, but French system being different, we spectators to the number of some hundreds were ranged along the sandsin two long lines, with a narrow lane clear between, and grave Gendarmeskeeping the ranks in order. 

The usual proceedings one sees at French bathing towns were all in actionround about us. Ladies dressed to the highest pitch, mingled with othersin bathing costume. Gentlemen walking quite composed and dripping wetwith ladies just come out of the sea and just going in again. Younggirls in canoes boldly paddling, and gaily upsetting the little craft, while they swam alongside. Rafts with men and women, half-floating asthey held by the sides, and chattered and basked in the sun. All thisdifficult interlude on dry-land manners was conducted with perfectdecorum, a telling lesson to Britons who bathe. 

Perhaps, however, we should not like to see our Royal Family follow theexample of what came next. First there marched out of the Imperial Villaa number of tall, liveried footmen, each with a tray or basket piled uphigh with feminine finery, and this procession wended its way to twopretty little tents hard by the sea. 

Next there appeared the Empress and four maids of honour, who came alsoto the tents, the Empress going alone into one with a tasteful blue andsilver drapery round it. See, now the ladies emerge from their disrobingrooms, and walk slowly down to the water between the double line ofinquisitive but respectful visitors. Each lady has a coat, vest, andtrousers of black silk, with the neatest of little boots, and the mostwinning of large-brimmed black straw hats—that of the Empress beingtrimmed with a narrow band of red. 

When they reached the water five big fellows approached, all dressed inred flannel. These bathing men each proceeded to tie an empty gourd, like a water-bottle, a sort of life-preserver, round the waist of a lady, and then, first politely bowing, he lifted the lady in his arms, as anurse catches up a little child, and so with his fair burden he marchedinto the waves. 

When they were at about four feet deep the man allowed the lady to floaton her back, and with his arms under her arms he supported her as eachwave rose and fell. 

All the time of these strange doings there was a large boat close to themerry party, and with several men in it, who kept beating the water withlong poles—What is that for? To keep away the sharks. {291} Such isMajesty afloat. Yes, they do these things better in France!

 [Picture: The Empress in the Sea]

And now, near the end of our voyage alone, came the pleasantest part ofit all, because the most useful to others. We had anchored often besidethese three ships for boys, and always with more delight:—the‘Worcester, ’ for gentlemen cadets; the ‘Chichester, ’ for homeless boys;and the ‘Cornwall, ’ for lads sent to her as a Reformatory ship. 

Many of the youngsters now on board the first or the second of thesemight have been qualified for the third vessel, but for the conventionsof life and the machinery of education that tries to keep all “wild boys”from being classed as criminals. 

Both you and I might have easily strayed into the police dock or the gaolcell but for a guiding hand, a mother’s care, a sister’s love, a father’srod, a home, a competence, a somebody caring for us, if not a friend. Sodon’t be hard on the boys in the ‘Cornwall’; they are our naturalshipmates, and if by God’s grace we are not yet with them, thank Him, help them, and be humble. 

Brave lads, there is still a chance for you here. England is to blame aswell as you that you have been sucked by the eddies of life into criminalstreams. England also rescues you. It is but _dragging_ out indeed, butyou are out of the mire. Take heart, you may carry the British flagproudly yet; the career of the sailor is open to _you_ also, and whoshall say that some gallant three-master may not yet be commanded by asailor bred in the ‘Cornwall’ Reformatory school-ship at Purfleet?

As for the ‘Worcester, ’ the lads there are already well up on the ladderof life. Sometime, if things go on thus well, we shall have Christiangentlemen as our sea-captains, for already in many things the waves arebetter than the shore. 

When the Rob Roy returned from France, we had put on board of her somefireworks to amuse the ‘Worcesters’ at Erith, and in a quiet night therockets sped aloft, and the Roman candles ejaculated fireballs, and theChinese floats spat flame as they blazed on the flowing tide, and the redlight made our sails blush deeply, and the “jack in the box” fizzed andcaracoled over the deck scorching us all inordinately. 

When everything pyrotechnic was burned out on the yawl, the show was yetto begin. 

‘Worcester’ was not to be beaten by Rob Roy. Up sprang the blue-lightsfrom her tops and yards. Ports blazed with lamps, and skyrockets whizzedinto the ether. Then came best of all from young and gladsome heartsthose ringing cheers, and the lively band roused up the quiet night waveswith “Rob Roy MacGregor O!”

If I know a lad for the Merchant Navy, he shall go to it best taught bycompanions as well as by officers, in the school for sea life aboard the‘Worcester. ’

At Greenhithe the ‘Chichester’ and her sister ship the ‘Arethusa’(presented by the Baroness Burdett Coutts) are for poor lads withouthome, without friends, nay, without hope from man unless you and I willhelp them. Can we refuse so strong a plea from England’s little sons?Patriotism, Religion, Duty, and the most unthinking Love say, No!

Our country just at this time wants more seamen and better seamen. TheRoyal Navy needs young England, and the Commercial Navy _will_ have him, bad or good, ignorant or well taught. Our Government finding this to beso had thought of placing Training ships at various ports for the verypurpose of supplying the demand for sailor boys. Doubtless they wouldhave done this well, but it is better still if by private effort we canfill the ships. At any rate let us empty the prisons, the dens ofpenury, and the kerb-stones, where the young and prime material, spoilingby ignorance and neglect, wastes the vigour of our land, pesters thisgeneration with beggars, poor-rates, and gaols, and infects and ruins thegeneration to come after. 

Sweden does better by her sons. She teaches them every one, and, as aSwede told me, “Sweden is not rich enough to keep ignorant children untilthey are criminal men. ” Therefore she gives every one the priceless boonof education as a national gift, so that every Swede owes at least onedebt to his country, and there are no Fenians there. 

In England no one is allowed to appear in public without some clothes. The time will come when we shall not dare to let a man loose on thethoroughfares in native ignorance—decency forbids. 

We have opened our ship-decks to foreign sailors—more proud in our boastof being an asylum for the distressed than in preventing distress amongour own people. By all means give foreigners fair play, but _after_England’s boys are cared for. Charity begins at home, our home isEngland. English boys are far better sailors than any foreigners, who nodoubt excel us in cookery and silks, and manners and despotism, but notin the hard duty bravely done, when storms lash clouds and ocean into onegeneral foam. 

To train up English sailor boys philanthropy stepped in just in time, andin the last few years it has provided more and more ships. The very boyswho are worst off, and most tried by dire want and misfortune, are thosewho may be boldest to run aloft when well taught; and if these Britishhearts are won young, and tutored right, and trained loyal, and warmlyclothed in true blue jackets, we shall not have so many shipwrecks wherecheap foreigners skulk as the tempest roars. {296}

One day we had a grand treat for the ‘Chichester’ boys, who marched to asunny mead at Greenhithe, and romped for hours and hours in heartysailors’ play. How they ran races, jumped in sacks, swarmed up thepolished pole, and eyed the leg of mutton at the top, far out of reach, until sheer exhaustion with boyish laughter made them slide down! Then, gathered round cake and tea, and duly stuffed therewith to concert pitch, they sing our grand old Psalms, our free and joyous loyal ship-songs, theorchestra of young throats being directed with all gravity by anurchin—one of themselves—a miniature “Costa” full of pound-cake, and withhis Jersey pockets bulged out too, but tuneful enough after his tea. Theman’s heart that is not softened, gladdened, and strung to effort forthese little fellows by scenes like this I do not covet. 

The captain of the ‘Chichester’ says:—

 “I receive very pleasing letters from boys who have left. I send you a copy of the last, just arrived, which I think is as powerful an appeal in our behalf as any that could be penned. ”

 “Ship ‘---, ’ off the Isle of Wight. 

 “PLEASE SIR, —I take the pleasure of writing these few lines to you, hoping to find you in good health, as we are. We are getting on very well, we are now off the Isle of Wight. Sir, we like our ship very well, and I hope we shall have a good character when we come home. I hope all the Instructors are well. 

 “Give my respects to Lady Alston, and tell her where we are. We are having very good weather, and I haven’t forgot my Bible. C. D. Sends his respects to you. Please sir, will you give my love to Frances. Sir, you must excuse me for not writing more. I haven’t had time. Sir, if I don’t see you any more in this world, I hope I shall Above. Give my respects to Mr. And Mrs. Macarthy. 

 “No more at present from your obedient servants, “A. B. And C. D. 

 “God be merciful to us as sinners. ”

And while we speak more of the three ships already named, because theyare nearest, and so are most seen by us Londoners, remember there areother stout Britons at Hull, sturdy boys in the Mersey, sea-urchins inthe Clyde, and good sailor-hearts in Ireland and in Welshmen’s breasts, and there are training ships for boys in all these and other places, {297} so that all may join who wish to help in England’s future, whichwill much depend on the next generation of British seamen. 

It will be a happy sight, and one by no means out of our reach towitness, when the gentlemen taught on the ‘Worcester, ’ and the mates fromthe ‘Chichester, ’ and the crew from the ‘Cornwall, ’ shall man thelargest, fastest vessel on the sea. 

The ‘Chichester’ boys make a very appreciative audience when a visitoraddresses them. Then they sing their hearty thanks with steady voices, and in stanzas of original poetry spun aboard ship, and sure to mean muchif you can read between the lines; for London boys are both in goodthings and in bad the smartest of all. 

After pondering on the matter during another sail, the following letterappeared in the ‘Times’:—

 “The training ship ‘Chichester, ’ lately moored at Greenhithe for the reception of homeless boys, has already produced some of the anticipated good results, and several young lads, rescued from a life of sorrow and want, have been sent out as trained sailor boys. 

 “But although these boys are approved by the ships’ captains, it is found that until the boys can be taught how to steer a vessel, as well as the other duties of a seaman, they cannot be well received by the rest of a ship’s crew. 

 “Steering is not to be learnt by book or precept only, or in a ship at moorings; and the suggestion is therefore made that a small vessel, say a cutter of 20 tons, should be attached to the ‘Chichester, ’ as a ‘tender. ’

 “The boys could then be taught to handle the tiller by voyages to the Nore. They would also learn the use of buoys, beacons, and lights. They would have a powerful incentive to progress in their book-work, and the ‘tender’ would be most useful in carrying officers and boys and stores to and from London, and thus save considerable expense. 

 “This being a new proposal, it will be necessary to have additional contributions for the purchase of the tender, and as the funds which provided the ‘Chichester’ were received principally from the readers of ‘The Times, ’ perhaps we may venture to hope for the same kind aid in launching the new suggestion. Contributions may be sent to the Hon. Secretary, Mr. W. WILLIAMS, St. Giles’ Refuge, Great Queen Street, Lincoln’s Inn Fields. 

 “J. M. 

 “_Margate Roads_. ”

We expect much from Englishmen when an appeal is made to their generoushearts, but it was certainly beyond our hopes that in a few daysafterwards the following letter could be published:—

 “In reply to the appeal through your columns, for means to provide a tender for the ‘Chichester’ school ship, the Rev. C. Harrington, Rector of Bromsgrove, has presented to the institution the ‘Dolphin, ’ a strong, well-built, sea-going yacht of 20 tons, with all her stores complete. 

 “The committee in accepting this gift, have abundant reason to thank the kind donor, and the friends of ‘Homeless Boys’ owe another debt of gratitude to ‘The Times. ’

 “J. M. 

 “_Temple_. ”

By the desire of the ‘Chichester’ Committee I joined the ‘Dolphin’ atSheerness, and with a regular salt captain, and a seaman from the Bendigodiggings, and a boy from the ‘Chichester, ’ we weighed the cutter’s anchorto bring the prize to Greenhithe. 

The pier-man smiled gladly on the gift yacht. The taut Guard-shipbristling with big guns seemed to look down kindly on the little vessel, and even the grim old hulks, otherwise sulky enough, appeared to wish herwell as she loosed her white sails to a gentle breeze. Yes, and the sunsmiled brightly, too, with a balmy day like summer again. 

Barges flocked out, clustering on the water as in my former visits here, yet the ‘Dolphin’ mingled with them not as in a mere play, but with abenign and holy purpose in her gait, for it was the gracious breath ofChristian benevolence that wafted the ‘Dolphin’ on. She was a present tothe homeless boys, and so a gift that shall be one time repaid by theFriend of the friendless with measure “running over. ”

Yantlet was passed and the Blythe and Jenkin, when sunset shroudedsleeping Father Thames. Then the ship-lights sparkled numerous on thestream, and red rays from the beacons glinted athwart our sail. Swiftsteamers whisked by in the dark. Tall, gaunt, sailing ships rustledtheir dusky canvas, and struggling little tug-boats rattled with instantpaddle as they passed. 

 [Picture: The Gift to Boys]

Clouds withdrew from above as we neared the ‘Chichester, ’ and the fullmoon came out and looked upon the “gift for boys” with her long pendantstreaming in the mild and onward breeze. 

Then, to me silent, lying on the deck as if in a summer eve, camemany-coloured thoughts—the Rob Roy’s rovings by river and sea inbrightsome days and thundering nights, the good seed sown by the shore, the thousand incidents of a charming voyage. 

But best of them all was the sail in the ‘Dolphin. ’

We may begin in faith, and continue in hope, but greatest of the three ischarity in

 THE END. 

APPENDIX. BOYS’ TRAINING SHIPS. 

There are 18, 000 seamen in our Royal Navy, and nearly a quarter of amillion persons of various kinds are employed on board of Britishregistered vessels. On the subject of training boys for sea, full andinteresting information is given in ‘British Seamen, ’ by Mr. T. Brassey, M. P. In former editions of ‘The Voyage Alone, ’ some of the Boys’Training Ships were briefly described, and the author’s profits from thebook have been distributed yearly in prizes and medals among somehundreds of lads in these ships, approved for excellence in Seamanship, Smartness, Scripture-knowledge, Swimming, and “Sums. ” In connection withthe continuance of this pleasant work, a brief description is given hereof all the Training Ships for boys, with the best wishes of the authorfor their prosperous sail over the sea of life, and their safe arrival onthe happy shore above. 

ROYAL NAVY TRAINING SHIPS FOR BOYS. 

_There are Five regular Boys’ Training Ships for the Royal Navy_, _accommodating_ 3400 _boys_. 

The ‘Impregnable, ’ and ‘Implacable’ (with ‘Lion’), at Devonport (for 700boys); ‘Ganges, ’ at Falmouth (500 boys); ‘St. Vincent, ’ at Portsmouth(700 boys); and ‘Boscawen, ’ at Portland (500 boys). To each is attacheda brig for cruising during the summer months. The boys go through aregular course of instruction at school, in seamanship and in gunnery, till they are “rated, ” after a year or a little more, as 1st Class boys, when they have a cruise in the brig. With respect to the schoolinstruction, the principle is to give the more backward boys moreschooling than the more advanced, and to this end the boys are dividedinto Upper School and Lower School: the Upper School boys have oneforenoon and one afternoon a week in school, and the Lower School boystwice that amount. The educational attainments of the Upper Schoolcorrespond to Standards VI. , V. , IV. Of the New Code, and those of theLower School to Standards III. And II. Of course there is the divisioninto watches, as the routine of the ships is modelled on that of aman-of-war. 

With the exception of the band boys entered from industrial schools, noboys are received who have been before a magistrate. It is gratifying tofind that as many good and respectable lads as are wanted can be had forthis glorious patriotic service. “The expense incurred in trainingseamen amounts on an average to not less than £300 to £400 for everyseaman in the navy:” ‘British Seamen, ’ by T. Brassey, M. P. Longmans, 1877, page 158. 

For training young officers there is the ‘Britannia’ (with the‘Hindostan’) at Dartmouth, and two sons of the Commodore of the RoyalCanoe Club are among the pupils. 

‘AKBAR. ’—(MERSEY. )

Established 1856. 

The vessel is managed by “The Liverpool Juvenile ReformatoryAssociation, ” which has also a girls’ reformatory and a farm school. Thereport for December 31, 1877, shews that during the year 79 boys wereadmitted between 11 and 17 years of age (all of them under sentence of amagistrate), and 59 were discharged (of whom 43 went to sea), leaving 198in the ship and about 100 besides “under detention, ” or on licenseelsewhere. The total number admitted since 1856 was 1393, of whom 731went to sea, 130 went to friends, 73 were transferred, and 59 died. 

In January, 1878, the ship parted from her moorings in a gale, and thisand repairs caused an expense of about £500. The ordinary expenditure ofthe year is about £3800; the average number on board is 190, and of these134 could swim. 

‘ARETHUSA. ’—(GREENHITHE, _Thames_. )

Opened August, 1874. 

This vessel is the new sister ship of the ‘Chichester, ’ and is describedbelow with the other vessel. 

‘CHICHESTER. ’—(GREENHITHE, _Thames_. )

Established 1866. 

This vessel, together with the ‘Arethusa’ (already mentioned above), ismanaged by a committee in connection with the “National Refuges, ” aninstitution which comprises a Refuge for homeless boys, a Refuge forhomeless girls, a “Farm school and Shaftesbury school, ” at Bisley, Surrey, a “Working Boys’ Home, ” and “Girls’ Home” at Ealing and Sudbury. In these six homes and two ships are more than 1000 inmates, and theexpense is defrayed by voluntary contributions. The Earl of Shaftesbury, K. G. , is President of the Institution, and Mr. W. Williams (9, Southampton Street, Bloomsbury Square), is the Secretary. 

The ‘Chichester’ was fitted up in 1866, and opened in January, 1867, fortraining homeless boys between 13 and 16 years of age for sea life. Bythe munificent gift of the Baroness Burdett Coutts, the ‘Arethusa’ waspresented to the committee fully fitted up as an additional TrainingShip, in 1874, and the two vessels are moored close together near thepleasant hills of Greenhithe, in Kent. The woodcut on the precedingpage, representing some boys on the topsail-yard of the ‘Chichester, ’appeared in the _Leisure Hour_ as one of the illustrations of an articleon ‘Ragamuffins’ by the present writer. 

 [Picture: Away aloft]

The number of boys sent to sea from the ‘Chichester’ in the year 1877 was117, and the number on board 176. The total number of boys received onthe ‘Chichester, ’ up to the 31st of December, 1877, was 2165. Numberdischarged, 2092; sent to sea, 1797. 

Besides the number sent on a first voyage, the following numbers werere-shipped, not counting those who after their first voyage got shipswithout coming to the ‘Chichester’ ship-master. Shipped for secondvoyage, 686; for third, 451; fourth, 291; fifth, 180; sixth, 108;seventh, 72; eighth voyage, 55. 

The total number of boys received on board the ‘Arethusa’ from 1874 toend of 1877, was 659; discharged, 450; sent to sea, 386, of whom 102 wereso sent in 1877. In July, 1878, there were 400 boys on the two shipswhen the annual presentation of prizes took place. The total expensesfor the two ships for the year 1877 amounted to £10, 494 10_s_. 8_d_. 

I had again the privilege of presenting the sailor boys ‘Rob Roy’ prizesin the Guildhall, in the presence of the veteran philanthropist the Earlof Shaftesbury, in 1880. 

‘CLARENCE. ’—(MERSEY. )

Established 1863. 

This is a Reformatory School Ship for Roman Catholic boys. The averagenumber on board this vessel is 200, and the cost £20 per head per annum, paid chiefly by the Treasury. In the year 1877, 80 boys had beenadmitted, of whom 54 were from Liverpool, and the rest from 15 othertowns; 47 of them had not been previously convicted, 58 were sent to sea“on license. ” In the preceding three years 192 had been discharged, ofwhom 150 were “doing well” at the beginning of 1878, while 5 were“doubtful, ” 8 reconvicted, 10 dead, and 19 “unknown. ”

‘CLIO. ’—(MENAI STRAITS. )

Certified February, 1878. 

This vessel is for 200 boys (from 11 to 15 years of age), sent under theIndustrial Schools Act, or partly paid for otherwise, and the ship ismanaged by “The North Wales, City of Chester, and Border CountiesIndustrial School Training Ship Society. ” The first boy was admitted inSeptember, 1877, and on the 13th of July, 1878, there were 197 boys onboard; of these, 8 are “voluntary. ” About 80 were from London, 50 fromManchester, 26 from Liverpool, and the rest from ten other places. 

‘CONWAY. ’—(MERSEY. )

Established 1859. 

A new vessel (late the ‘Nile’) was substituted in 1877 for the old‘Conway, ’ but it was rechristened with the old name, and the cost ofalterations was £6000. 

It is managed by “The Mercantile Marine Association, ” and is intendedchiefly to supply officers for the merchant navy. Boys are received from12 to 16 years of ago. The average number of boys on board was 138, ofwhom 54 joined the merchant service. The number of boys received sincethe commencement up to 1877, was 1290, of whom 40 entered the Royal Navy, and almost all the others went into the Merchant Service. 

The report gives no balance-sheet, but says that the school fees (40guineas per annum for each boy) “covered the expenses” (presumably theordinary expenses), and left a balance of £283. 

‘CORNWALL. ’—(PURFLEET, _Thames_. )

Established 1859. 

This is a Reformatory Ship, managed by “The School Ship Society. ” Theboys enter between 13 and 15 years of age, sentenced to 3 years’detention under the Reformatory Schools Act. The average number of boysmaintained on board in 1877 was 218. Comparative cost per head onordinary maintenance and management £32. Industrial profits, £329. Ofcases discharged in 1874, 1875, and 1876, there were doing well(December, 1877) 198, doubtful 5, convicted of crime 4, unknown 18, dead12. In July, 1878, the Captain had heard of 114 boys at sea service, alldoing well, and 26 boys visited in June, equally satisfactory, one ofthem in command of a large ship. 

An epidemic in 1875–76 caused much trouble and expense. 

‘CUMBERLAND. ’—(CLYDE. )

Established June, 1869. 

This is an Industrial School Ship. At the beginning of 1877 there were385 boys on board, and during the year 133 were admitted, 105 were sentto sea, 11 to shore employment, 5 to their friends, 1 to a school, 6absconded, and 1 died, leaving 389 on the roll for January 1, 1878. Fromthe establishment up to that time, 1343 boys had been admitted, and 954had left. Of 432 discharged in 1874, 1875, and 1876, 345 were known tobe doing well, 10 indifferently, 3 convicted of crime, and 16 died ofdisease and casualties. The receipts for the year were £7280, including£500 on contingency account. The ship is managed by a committee, ofwhich the President is Mr. John Burns, of Castle Wemyss, who is wellknown for his important position as chairman of The Cunard Company(Limited), and for his hearty liberal efforts on behalf of boys who needa friend. 

‘ENDEAVOUR. ’—(FELTHAM, _Middlesex_. )

Established 1866. 

This is a “land ship, ” with boats on the river, and the followingdescription of it is from a paper by Captain Brookes, Royal Marines, theSuperintendent of the “Middlesex Industrial Schools at Feltham, ” whereabout 800 boys sent by magistrates are trained for the Army, the Navy, and various other modes of life:—

“The 150 boys composing the Nautical Section are dressed as sailors, andtheir everyday life is assimilated as much as possible to what it wouldbe in a stationary Training Ship—they sleep in hammocks, live in messes, and are daily exercised in seamanship on board the full-sized model brig‘Endeavour, ’ built on play-ground. Boats are provided on the river atStaines for instruction in rowing, and the boys are taught to swim in alarge swimming bath in the grounds. 

“The brig was built in 1866, between which date and the end of last year748 boys (about an average of 70 per annum) have been trained and sent tosea. 

“There is a home at Poplar for the reception and care of boys about to besent to sea under the charge of the shipping officer, who is dulylicensed by the Board of Trade. This is a most valuable branch of theschool, offering a home to lads returning from sea, who would otherwisefall into the hands of low lodging-house keepers. 

“The school authorities constantly receive the most favourable accountsof the lads thus sent to sea, who are well reported on by captains ofships both as regards character and ability in seamanship. 

“The result of this experiment, now extending over a period of ten years, proves beyond question that boys can be as speedily and efficientlytrained on board a model training ship built on land, as on board astationary one moored in a harbour or river. 

“This opinion has been fully and publicly endorsed by Captain Burney, R. N. , Superintendent of the Royal Hospital School at Greenwich, where alarge model full-rigged ship (most complete and thorough in all itsarrangements) has been built, and by means of which, he maintains, he canprepare boys for sea as efficiently as on board a floating training ship. 

“In this, as in many other matters, there is a great deal of popularprejudice to overcome, and perhaps the most effective way to do so wouldbe by inducing the governing bodies of such schools as Eton, Harrow, andRugby to erect model training ships on their grounds for the use of theirboys. It cannot be doubted that these ships would be as popular amongstthem as their present School Volunteer Corps undoubtedly are. ”

* * * * *

[After many visits to the floating training ships, and inspection of the‘Endeavour, ’ and of the Greenwich School, where 1000 boys are trained forsea without the expense and inconveniences of a ship, I fully concur inthe opinions of Captain Brookes and Capt. Burney, C. B. , and I considerthat the best mode of training boys for the commercial navy is to have alight and roomy building on shore with one or more “tender” brigs forcruising, and plenty of boats, and a good gymnasium and swimming bath. Afloating hulk is more costly to maintain. It is inconvenient foreducation from want of light below, and for exercise all the winter fromwet decks above, and moreover, the need of a “tender” for each hulk isalready acknowledged, so that her sheet anchor is only sentiment. ]

J. MACGREGOR. 

‘ENDEAVOUR. ’—(LAND SHIP. )

About thirty-five years ago, this land-ship, with masts and sails andguns, was set up at the Norwood Poor Law Establishment, by the exertionsof the late Sir J. K. Shuttleworth, Bart. , and one somewhat similar anduseful (to a certain extent) was established in a Union School atStepney. Of the boys instructed by this means, 95 out of 100 voluntarilyentered the Army or Navy, but doubtless the supply for sea life is nowbetter obtained from establishments more distinctly nautical. In thereport of the North Surrey District Schools “the mast and shrouds” of theLand Ship there are said to be useful in inducing boys to go to sea. (_Times_, September 3, 1878. )

‘EXMOUTH. ’—(GRAYS, _Thames_. )

This vessel accommodates 600 boys, and was substituted for ‘The Goliath, ’which was burned two years ago (as was also the old ‘Warspite’ atCharlton). The latest report (which is more full and clear than that ofseveral other ships) deals with the ten months ending the 31st ofDecember, 1877, when 545 boys were under training. These were sent fromthe Poor Law Unions of Poplar, St. Pancras, Stepney, Marylebone, Woolwich, and others, under the special Act, which very properly requiresMetropolitan Parishes to contribute towards the maintenance of the ship, whether they use it or not. A brigantine, the ‘Steadfast, ’ is attachedas a “training tender, ” and accommodates thirty boys, who cruise in theMouth of the Thames for a week at a time, when ten of them are changed. A causeway from the shore improves the approach to the ‘Exmouth, ’ and asmall house and office near the London Docks enables eight boys to betaken daily for engagement in ships. 

From March, 1876, to December, 1877, 689 boys were admitted, seventy-ninewere discharged to sea service, twenty-one to the Army as musicians, forty-three to their respective Unions, and one absconded. 

“Every boy in the ship soaps and washes himself _all over_ every morningwith carbolic soap, and then goes through a plunge bath under inspection, having a clean towel every time he washes. ” The lads are remarkablyhealthy—there was not one death in the year. The charge for maintenanceand clothing has been at the rate of 1_s. _ per head per day. Theswimming bath is sixty feet long by thirty feet broad, and the boys areclassed by the number of “bath-lengths” they can swim at a stretch. Atthe beginning of the swimming season, 340 could not swim at all, butthere were only 56 in this predicament at the end of the season. Musicis taught carefully, and a band of about 60 boys plays twice a week forthe other boys to dance. Of 242 boys absent from one to seven days tosee their friends, only one broke his leave, and he absconded altogether. 

‘FAME. ’—(GREENWICH ROYAL HOSPITAL SCHOOL. )

Established 1872. 

This land ship is part of the splendid establishment at Greenwich fortraining sons of seamen and marines of the Royal Navy. Candidates mustbe between 10½; and 13 years of age, physically fit, able to read an easysentence, and with some knowledge of arithmetic. 

The origin of the school was in 1692, when, after the victory of “LaHogue, ” an asylum was established for seamen’s widows and orphans at thesuggestion of Queen Mary, who died before it was accomplished. 

In 1712 ten boys were instructed (in the buildings of the present NavalCollege, part of which had been erected in 1618), and in 1783 there were60 boys. In 1805, there were 200 boys, and the institution was no longera charity, but admitted officers’ sons. 

Another school, “The British Endeavour, ” started in 1798 as a privateventure in London, was transferred to public management in Greenwich. 

The “Royal Naval Asylum, ” for 680 boys and 200 girls, aided byParliamentary grant, was amalgamated in 1821 with the other (the RoyalHospital School), forming a “Lower School” and “Upper School” for 1000boys, in the quadrangle now occupied opposite the Royal Naval College. In 1841 the girls’ school ceased. In 1860 the distinction between“Upper” and “Lower” School was given up. 

In 1870 industrial work was introduced in addition to the otherinstruction, and the splendid land ship ‘Fame’ was erected in 1872, which, with boats on the river, large sized moveable models in loftyhalls, and a fine swimming bath, gymnasium, class-rooms, and workshops, are the means for instructing 1000 boys most admirably under thesupervision of Captain Burney, C. B. , and an energetic staff. From thereport of July, 1878, it appears that there were 39 pupil teachers, and958 boys between 10 and 15 years of age. Total 997 in the school. Thenumber of boys admitted during the year was 334, number discharged 333, of whom 99 went into Her Majesty’s Service, and 4 died; 329 boys between13 and 15 years of age now in the School, have signed continuous serviceengagements to serve in the Royal Navy for 10 years from the age of 18. The boys’ industrial work in about 30 departments of useful labour is ofgreat value to the school, so that the annual cost (exclusive of newbuildings, but including all repairs) is under £18 per head. 

The punishments are under 1 per cent. , and 45 per cent. Of the boys canswim. 

‘FORMIDABLE. ’—(PORTISHEAD, _Bristol Channel_. )

Established 1869. 

This is an “Industrial School Ship” for boys between the ages of 11 and14 years. During the eighteen months ending December 31, 1877, 84 boyshad been admitted (including 41 from the London School Board), 18 fromBristol, and the rest from ten other towns, with 2 “volunteer” boys. 

Of these there had been discharged during the eighteen months, 81 to theMerchant Service, 2 to the Royal Navy, 26 to friends, 5 to the Army, 13elsewhere, and 2 died. The number of boys on board December 31, 1877, was 324. From the commencement of the ship, 800 boys had been admitted, including 50 “volunteers, ” and of these 366 had gone to the MerchantService, and 27 to the Royal Navy, while 11 died. The receipts for theyear, including £1500 from the Treasury, and £600 from annualsubscriptions, amounted to £8213. 

‘GIBRALTAR. ’—(BELFAST. )

Established 1872. 

This Industrial School Ship for Protestant boys is called “The UlsterTraining Ship for Homeless and Destitute Boys. ” The number on board the31st of December, 1877, was 289, of whom about half could read, write, and cipher well; 64 had been admitted during the year, nearly all of themfrom Antrim, and of these, 33 could not read or write at all, while only7 could read, write, and cipher well; 32 of these had lost their fathers, and 18 were orphans. 

‘HAVANNAH. ’—(CARDIFF. )

Established 1855. 

This is an old “man-of-war, ” banked round, so as to be a “land ship, ”with a causeway to the shore, and it accommodates about 70 boys, many ofwhom have industrial employment in gardening and as porters, &c. Of the66 boys discharged in the three years, 1874, 1875, 1876, 58 were known tobe earning honest livelihoods, 2 were convicted, 2 unknown, and 4 havedied. According to the report of August, 1878, 68 boys were in the ship, of whom 61 were sent under the Industrial Schools Act. There were 2 onlicense, and 7 appeared to be voluntary cases. The expenditure in 1876was about £1500, but £200 was earned by the Industrial Department. Inthat year 3 boys went to sea, and in 1878 6 boys. 

‘INDEFATIGABLE. ’—(MERSEY. )

This vessel was established in 1864 to train orphan and destitute boysfor sea—boys from the port of Liverpool having a preference. The reportissued in March, 1878, shewed the average number on board to be 250, ofwhom 80 had lost both parents. About 50 boys go out to life each year. The funds are from voluntary contributions, and about £5000 a year isexpended. 

‘MARS. ’—(DUNDEE. )

Established 1869. 

This is an “Industrial School Ship, ” under the Act of Parliament, and ithas a “tender, ” “which makes men of the youngsters; she has just brought100 tons of coals to us from Shields (July 5, 1878). ” The accommodationis for 350 boys. In 1877, 122 boys were admitted and 95 discharged, leaving 350 on the register, while “there is great pressure foradmission. ” Of the 95 boys, 6 entered the Royal Navy, 55 the MerchantService as first class boys, 27 went to shore trades (but seven of thesereturned and went to sea), and 7 died. One-third of the boys admittedwere unable to read at all; of 309 discharged during 3 years, 248 were“doing well. ”

The expenses in 1877 were about £6800. 

Donations and subscriptions about £1700. 

‘MOUNT EDGCUMBE. ’—(SALTASH, _Cornwall_. )

Established June, 1877. 

An Industrial School Ship for boys from Devonshire and Cornwall. Theboys admitted up to July, 1878, were 201; 1 had been discharged, 6transferred, and 2 died. The number of “voluntary cases” (from 12 to 14years old) was 3, and the number of all on board 195. Half of thesecould read “fairly. ”

‘SHAFTESBURY. ’—(GRAYS, _Thames_. )

Established 1878. 

The School Board for London has found it necessary to have a trainingship of its own. More than 500 boys sent at the instance of the Boardwere in training on board the ‘Formidable, ’ ‘Wellesley, ’ ‘Southampton, ’&c. , at distant ports, where visitation and supervision could not bereadily exercised. After more than six years of experience in regard totraining boys for sea, the Board decided to establish their own ship inthe Thames. The Admiralty was unable or at least declined to lend one ofthe few old hulks at their disposal, so the School Board purchased for£7000 the P. And O. Iron steamship ‘Nubia, ’ and at an additional expenseof more than £30, 000, she was fitted up and moored in a berth preparedfor her in July, 1878, close to the Poor Law ship ‘Exmouth, ’ so as toaccommodate 450 boys to be sent under the Industrial Schools Act at theinstance of the Board. She is ‘certified’ for 350 boys, of whom 70 maybe Roman Catholics. The first 6 boys were sent on board her on August15, 1878. The vessel was rechristened with the name of ‘Shaftesbury, ’ inhonour of one who is everywhere known as the friend of the hapless andthe patron of everything good. The vessel is longer and narrower thanthose of the old “man-of-war” type, and her four decks are lofty, givingplenty of light and air for educational and sanitary purposes, althoughthe wider space for drill above all is necessarily curtailed. The costof the vessel (including purchase) is repayable in 50 years by annualinstalments, with interest at 3½ per cent. 

The Shaftesbury has now her full number of 500 boys (May 1880. )

‘SOUTHAMPTON. ’—(THE HUMBER. )

Established 1868. 

The management is amalgamated with that of “The Hull Ragged andIndustrial Schools. ” At the beginning of 1877, 234 boys were on board(all of them under the Industrial Schools Act), and 62 were admittedduring the year (30 from 10 to 12, and 32 from 12 to 14 years of age), while 56 were discharged, of whom 27 went to sea, and 23 were returned tofriends. Up to the end of that year 426 boys had been finally dischargedfrom the ship. Half of these on entry could not read, write, or cipher, but all learned to do so. Many of the boys were sent at the instance ofthe School Board for London and eight other School Boards. Theexpenditure for the year was £6000. 

‘WARSPITE. ’—(CHARLTON, _Thames_. )

The Marine Society established its first ship the ‘Beatty, ’ with a crewof 40 boys, 120 years ago, and it has since sent to sea about 60, 000 boystrained for sailors’ life. The new ship, a fine two decker (late‘Conqueror’), in substitution for the old ‘Warspite’ (which was burned), and rechristened with that name, had 156 boys on board in January, 1877. 304 were afterwards admitted, 43 were sent to the Royal Navy, and 137 tothe Merchant Service, leaving 269 on board at the beginning of the year1878. Most of these are orphans or boys deserted by their parents. Outof 123 boys who returned in that year from first voyages, 117 had “verygood” on their certificates. The age for admission is from 13 to 16, height from 4 feet 8 inches; 93 boys learned to swim last summer. Theexpenditure during the year was £11, 000, including £3000 for fitting upthe new ship. 

‘WELLESLEY. ’—(SOUTH SHIELDS. )

Established 1868. 

This vessel is for homeless and destitute boys unconvicted of crime, butwho are sent under the Industrial Schools Act, at the instance of one ofthe ten or more School Boards which have agreements with “The ‘Wellesley’Training Ship Institution, ” or who come individually. From the report inJune, 1877, it appears that in the twelve months preceding, 91 boys hadbeen received, and 59 were discharged, of whom 45 went to sea. This left307 boys on board. Of the boys discharged during 3 years, 83 per cent. Were “doing well. ” Since the commencement of the Institution 702 boyshad been received. About £1000 had been contributed by the School Boardsduring the year, and £90 for “voluntary boys, ” each of whom is receivedfor £20 _per annum_. The maintenance account for the year was about£5000. 

‘WORCESTER. ’—(THAMES. )

This vessel was moored at Greenhithe in 1862; a larger vessel, a 72-gunfrigate of 5000 tons, and rechristened ‘Worcester, ’ was substituted in1877. The ‘Worcester’ provides properly qualified officers for merchantvessels, and accommodates 200 boys. The terms are, for boys from 13 to16 years old, 50 guineas, and for boys from 11 to 13 years old, 45guineas per annum. 

The Board of Trade allows two years passed on the ‘Worcester’ to count asone year’s sea service, and Her Majesty gives annually a gold medal tothe boy most noted for good conduct. About 30 boys passed through theship last year. 

SUMMARY OF TRAINING SHIPS DESCRIBED. 

 _Ships_ _Boys_

Royal Naval (besides those for young 5 3400Officers, see page 306)

Voluntary, including two for Officers and 7 1500one land ship

Poor-law ship 1 600

Industrial School ships, including one 11 2800“School Board” ship and two “land ships”

Reformatory ships 3 640

Total 27 8940

[In this estimate the ‘Fame’ is reckoned for 250 boys. ]

THE ROB ROY CUISINE. 

This has been designed after numerous experiments with the variousportable cooking-machines which I could procure for trial, and, as itsucceeds better than any of them, and has been approved by trial in fiveof my own voyages, and in another to Iceland, besides shorter trips, andin the Abyssinian campaign, &c. , &c. , it may be of some use to describethe contrivance here. 

The object proposed was to provide a light but strong apparatus whichcould speedily boil water and heat or fry other materials even in wet andwindy weather, and with fuel enough carried in itself for several days’use. 

Fig. 1 is a section of the Rob Roy cuisine as it is made up for carrying. There is first a strong waterproof bag about one foot high, and closed atthe top by a running cord. At the bottom is the cuisine itself, _a_, which occupies a space of only six inches by three inches (when ofsmaller size), and has the various parts packed inside, except thedrinking cup _b_. 

Provisions, such as bread and cold meat or eggs, may bestowed in the bagabove the cuisine, and if the string of it be then attached to a nailfixed in the boat, the whole will be kept steady. 

For use, when it is desired to boil water, the cuisine being opened, thelower part is a copper pan, _c_, fig. 2, with a handle, _e_, which can befixed either into a socket in the side of the pan, or another socket inthe side of the lid, as represented in figs. 2 and 6. 

Three iron legs also fix into sockets and support the pan over thespirit-lamp, _f_, by which the pan, two-thirds full of liquid, will beboiled in five minutes. 

The lamp is the main feature of the apparatus, and it is represented insection in fig. 3. It consists of two cylinders, one within the other. The space between these (shaded dark) is closed at top and bottom, and atube _b_, fixed through the bottom, rises with one open end inside, andanother (a small nozzle) curved upwards in the open internal cylinder. Another tube, _h_, opens into the annular chamber between the cylinders, and it has a funnel-shaped mouth at the outer end, through which thechamber may be filled, while a screw in the inside allows a handle, fig. 4 (in section), to have its end, _i_, screwed in. A small hole in theupper surface is closed by a little cork, which will be expelled if thepressure within is so high as to require escape by this safety-valve. The hole may be in any part of the annular cover (but is not shown in thesketch), and in such case the hole shown in the handle is omitted. 

The outer cylinder of the lamp, being larger than the inner one, has abottom, _k_, fig. 3, which forms a circular tray of about two inches wideand half an inch deep. 

 [Picture: Lamp and Pan]

The original form of the lamp which was first brought to notice {325} bythe Cook of the Royal Canoe Club, had a detached tray for the bottom, butnow, instead of this plan for the admission of air into the lamp, two sawcuts are made, each about an inch long. One of them is shown below _f_, fig. 2, and thus the lamp and tray are united in one compact piece whilestill there is access for air. 

To put the lamp in operation, unscrew its handle from the position infig. 2, so that it will be as in figs. 3 and 4. Then from a tin flask(which has been packed with the rest of the things in the pan) pourspirits of wine—or, if the odour is not objected to, methylated spirit, into the measure _m_, fig. 5, and from that into the interior of the lampthrough the opening at _h_. Next screw in the handle, and place the lamplevel under the pan, and pour nearly another measure full into theinterior tray. Set fire to this, and shelter it for a few seconds ifthere be much wind. I used this always with complete success on theJordan, Nile, Danube, and many other rivers. 

In a short time the flame heats the spirits in the closed chamber, andthe spirituous steam is forced by pressure down the tube, and inflames atthe nozzle, from which it issues with much force and some noise in alighted column, which is about one foot in height when unimpeded. 

This powerful flame operates on the whole of the bottom and lower edge ofthe pan, and it cannot be blown out by wind nor by a blast from themouth, but may be instantly extinguished by sharply placing the flatbottom of the measure upon it. 

The cover may be put on so as to rest with the flat bottom downwards, andwith or without the handle. If tea is to be made with the water when itboils, the requisite quantity is to be placed in the tea vessel _n_, fig. 5, which has perforated sides, and, its lid being closed, this is placedin the water, where it will rest on the curved side, and can be agitatednow and then for a minute, after which insert the handle in the socket ofthe pan and remove the lamp, allowing the tea to infuse for four minutes, when the tea vessel may be removed and the made tea may be poured outinto the cup. The dry tea can be conveniently carried in a paper insidethe tea vessel. Salt is carried in the box _o_, and the matches are inthe box _p_. Coffee may be best carried in the state of essence in abottle. An egg-spoon and a soup-spoon are supplied. A flat clasp knifeand fork may be had extra. 

If bacon is to be fried, or eggs to be poached or cooked _sur le plat_, they may be put into the lid and held by hand over the lamp-flame, so asto warm all parts equally, or the slower heat of a simple flame may beemployed by lighting the measure full of spirits and then placing it onthe bottom of the upturned pan as shown at fig. 6, where it will beobserved that the three legs are placed in their sockets with the convexcurve of each turned outward, so that the lid, as a frying-pan, can restupon their three points. 

The spirit-flask contains enough for six separate charges of the lamp, and the cost of using methylated spirits at 4_s_. 6_d_. A gallon is notone penny a meal. The lamp-flame lasts from ten to fifteen minutes, andthe weight of the _cuisine_, exclusive of the bag and cup, is about twopounds. 

These cuisines, improved by the suggestions obtained in their use, aremade at 93, Chancery Lane, London, of the best materials and workmanship, and at the price of two and a half guineas; or if with tin boiler insteadof copper, and brass lamp, £1 12_s. _ 6_d_. Many of much larger size (tocook for twenty men) have been used in Australia. 

The lamp above described was used daily in my yawl, but the otherfittings were on a more enlarged scale, as extreme lightness was not thenrequired. 

The Norwegian Cooking Apparatus of another kind entirely will be avaluable adjunct to the yachtsman’s stores. By means of this, meat orpudding after being heated for only _five minutes_, and then enclosed ina box which retains the heat, will be found to be perfectly cooked afterthree hours, though no more heat has been applied to it. 

IMPROVED ROB ROY BINNACLE AND COMPASS. 

Mr. Dent, of the Strand, has made the Life Boat Liquid Compass withseveral improvements suggested from the Rob Roy yawl, and afterexperiments permitted by the Life Boat Institution. These relate to thediagram on the card, the lamp with oil or candle, the reflectors, theventilation, and the interior colouring of the binnacle, as well as otherminor matters. In a second cruise of the yawl with my new binnacle, thegreat advantages desired were found to be attained. A _fac-simile_ ofthe new Rob Roy card is given in “The Rob Roy on the Jordan, ” 6thedition. 

SEA DRESS. 

After six long voyages alone, a few remarks may be made on water toggery. 

Flannel all over to begin with. One grey flannel suit of “Norfolkjacket” and trousers lasted for three trips, but at sea the blue colouranswers. Straw hat in sun, red woollen cap in wind, sou’wester in rain, thick boating jacket, and the life-belt over it, and above that anoilskin coat with overall trousers of the same, will defy wind and water. Woven waistcoat expanding limitless. Shoes and not boots for work, whitecanvas boots with spring sides for show in port. No braces. Blueseamless yacht jersey a bore, though smart. Collar only with a calicoshirt, and on Sundays, when that cylinder of discomfort, a black hat, isexhumed. Watch hanging in cabin, never on the person afloat. Purse withkeys in the shelf. Knife and etceteras in leather pockets of the boat. So clad ye shall be ready to sail or to swim. 

SWIMMING FOR GIRLS. 

The following appeared in the _Times_, July 3rd, 1878:—

Hundreds of girls in London are learning to swim, but many hundreds morewould gladly learn if teachers could be had. A healthful, cleanly, life-saving exercise like this ought not to be stinted of teachers. 

The boys have twenty public baths to learn in and the open water inVictoria Park, besides the dangerous, dirty canals. More than 1500 boysare learning to swim as paying members of the London Schools SwimmingClub, which is open to all public elementary schools. 

Last year a class for thirty girls was begun late in the season, yettwenty-five of these were taught to swim in six lessons, and six of themwon prizes. 

Only five of the public baths are available for girls and female schoolteachers. At some of these the charge is threepence for a bathe, and atone it is a penny for members of the club. Twelve girls can be welltaught in a class. For a lesson of two hours, one teacher chargesfifteen shillings and another receives ten shillings, while others arepaid two shillings for each girl who is taught to swim twenty-five yards, and the rest are rewarded by watches and other prizes for those who teachthe most girls to swim. 

Mothers and sisters who can swim will not let their boys be unwashed onthe land and drowned in the water. 

 J. M. 

The “London Schools Swimming Club” was formed in 1875, and it has already(A. D. 1880) given instruction in swimming to 12, 000 boys and girls, andmale and female teachers. 

Footnotes:

{3} Shown by dotted lines in the sketch at p. 7. The Rob Roy is ofabout four tons’ burthen, but “tons, ” we know well, mean one does notknow what. 

{10} “Swinging for the compass” is thus performed. The vessel is mooredin the bight at Greenhithe, and by means of warps to certain Governmentbuoys she is placed with her head towards the various points of thecompass. The bearing by the compass on board (influenced by theattraction of the iron she carries) is taken accurately by one observerin the vessel, and the true bearing is signalled to him by anotherobserver on shore, who has a compass out of reach of the “localattraction” of the vessel. The error in each position due to the localattraction is thus ascertained, and the corrections for these errors arewritten on a card in a tabulated form, thus:—

 For Steer

N. N. ¼ E. 

N. By E. N. N. E. 

And so on. A half point looks a small matter on the compass card, but inavoiding a shoal, or in finding a harbour, it makes all the difference. 

{14} The Reformatory ship ‘Cornwall’ is at Purfleet. The three vesselsare within sight of each other. We shall sail back to each of them in afuture page, and have a more leisurely look on board. 

{20} The after part of the well is rounded at each side, and it is allboarded up. In the middle is a seat on which a large cork cushion canrest, or this may be thrown over as a life-preserver or for a buoy, whilethe life-belt to be worn round the waist is stowed away under the seat, and an iron basin with a handle is placed alongside it just over theflooring, below which is seen, at p. 41, a wedge of lead-ballast, and infront of this the water-well, where water collecting from leakage ordashing spray is conveniently reached by the tube of vulcanisedindia-rubber represented as just in front. This pump hose has a brassunion joint on the top, to which we can screw the nozzle of a pump with acopper cylinder (shown at the bottom), or a piston worked by hand (butwithout any lever), and when in use the cylinder rests obliquely, so thatthe water will flow out over the combing, and on the deck, and so intothe sea. 

{22} Several important suggestions for the implement of the lifeboatliquid compass were obtained during my use of it in this voyage, andthese have been duly appreciated by the Lifeboat Institution. 

{25} However good the glass, it is very difficult to make use of it forfaint or distant objects on the horizon, and on the whole I found iteasier to discern the first dim line of land far off by the unaided eye. A slight mark, that would not be observed while only a short piece of itis seen in the field of view, becomes decidedly manifest if a large scopeis seen at once. The binocular glass was very valuable, however, whenthe words on a buoy, or the colour on the chequers of a beacon had to bedeciphered. 

{26} See page 44 and Appendix. 

{32} In yet another, the fourth visit to this stupid shallow harbour(one of the most unpleasant to lie in anywhere), I fixed an oar out ateach side as a leg, and could scarcely get rest from the fear that one orother of my beautiful oars would be snapped as they bent and groaned withremonstrances against supporting several tons of weight in the capacityof a wooden leg. 

{36} I had lessened her ton and a half of iron ballast by leaving twohundredweight on Dover quay; good advice agreeing with my own opinionthat the Rob Roy was needlessly stiff. 

{42} The relative positions of all these articles had been maturelyconsidered and carefully arranged, and they were much approved by themost experienced and critical of the many hundred visitors who inspectedthe Rob Roy. 

{44} In the sketch at page 41, the cook of the Rob Roy is represented ashe works when rain compels him to shelter himself in the cabin under atarpaulin, and the hatch inclined upwards. But usually—indeed, alwaysbut on two occasions—he sat in the well while he tended the caboose. 

{50} I have read numerous books, pamphlets, and discussions on thissubject, some of which are wonderfully clear in explaining what isperfectly easy to understand, while they are exceedingly ingenious inoverlooking the only difficulty, which is, how a man on one vessel is toknow whither another vessel is steering to. (March 1880. )

{52} “_Caution_. —During strong winds, between W. S. W. , round westerly, and N. N. W. , the coast to the eastward of Ailly Point is dangerous to beon, and shipwrecks are of frequent occurrence; vessels therefore of everydescription at that period should keep a good offing, and when obliged toapproach it, must do so with great caution; for although the general massof the above banks appear to be stationary, yet great attention must bepaid to the lead, and in observing the confused state of the sea in thevarious eddies, so as to guard against suddenly meeting with dangerswhich may be of recent formation. The lights for the purpose of pointingout the position of the headlands and dangers between Capes Antifer andGris-Nez at night, are so disposed that in clear weather two can alwaysbe seen at a time, and the greater number of the harbours have one ormore tide lights shown during the time the harbour can be entered. 

“It is important to notice that along the coast, between Cape de la Hèveand the town of Ault (a space of 67 miles), the wind, when it blows in adirection perpendicular, or nearly so, to the direction of the coast, isreflected by the high cliffs, neutralizing in great measure its originalaction to a certain extent in the offing, depending upon the strength ofthe wind. It follows from this, that a zone is formed off the coast andparallel to it (except in front of the wide valleys, where the directwind meets with no obstacle), where the wind is light, the sea muchagitated, and the waves run towards the shore. On the contrary, when thewind forms an acute angle with the coast, the reflected wind contributesto increase the direct wind near the shore. ”

{55} As a precaution, I always put on the life-belt when I had to reef, as one is liable then to be jerked overboard; also in strong winds whenwe ran before them, because in case of getting over board then, it wouldbe difficult to catch the yawl by swimming; also at night when sailing, or when, sleeping on deck, as one might then be suddenly run down. Butwith all this prudence it happened that on each of the three occasionswhen I did fall into the water, I had not the life-belt on. TheLife-Boat Institution had presented to me one of their life-jackets—aninvaluable companion if a long immersion in the water is to be undergone. But for convenience in working the ropes and sails I was content to usethe less bulky life-belt. It is conveniently arranged, and you soonforget it as an encumbrance. Indeed on one occasion I walked up to ahouse without recollecting that my life-belt was upon me when ashore!

{60} The account of these paddlings has been published in ‘A ThousandMiles in the Rob Roy Canoe, ’ 10th edition, and in ‘The Rob Roy in theBaltic, ’ 6th edition, both works being profusely illustrated (Low, Marston and Co. , Crown Buildings, Fleet Street). 

{77} “Fécamp Harbour is difficult to enter at all times, and dangerousto attempt when it blows hard from the westward on account of the heavysea at the entrance; for should a vessel at that time miss the harbourand ground upon the rocks off Fagnet Point, she would be totally lost. ”

{78} A mysterious shell-fish delicacy. 

{85} Thick paper round my parcels of books within happily kept them dry. 

{98} Very few authors can write books suitable for men with weary bodiesand sleepy minds. It is remarkable to see how much attention these menwill pay to the words of the Bible and the ‘Pilgrim’s Progress. ’ Nodoubt such readers often read but the surface-sense of both these books;but then even that sense is good, and the deeper meaning is better, whilethe language of both is superb. 

{102} If men’s vices are matched by dogs’ failings, several of our bestvirtues are at least equalled by those in canine characters; especiallycourage, fidelity, patience, and forgiveness. It is hard to believe(even if indeed we are at all warranted in believing) that these nobleanimals are done with existence when they die. It is harder still to seea man cruel to a dog, without feeling pretty sure that the man is not thebetter of the two. The dog life to be seen at the “Home for lost dogs”is a study for any thoughtful man. 

Six empty collars hang in my own room. Each of them belonged tosuccessive dogs called ‘Rob, ’ who cruised with me until they were lost orkilled. 

{110} The soldiers liked these so much that it was the fashion to placethe “Emperor’s” picture over each man’s bed. On one occasion His Majestyhappened to notice this when visiting a guard-room, and he had the wholestory explained to him. The late Prince Imperial also came for a‘British Workman, ’ and probably it was pinned behind His Royal Highness’four-poster. He was a member of the Royal Canoe Club, and one of hiscanoes was saved from the fire at the palace of St. Cloud. 

{112} A friend of mine stated that a French, gentleman of good educationcalled upon him one day, and happened to look at a French Testament whichlay open on the chimney-piece. “_Tiens_!” he said, “_Paternoster_ in theBible?” when he saw the Lord’s Prayer in the printed page. 

{117} A similar Society has begun operations in France by publishingtranslations of English papers on Sanitary and Domestic Management. 

{119} In this one particular the canoeist has to trust to theboat-builder. In others, and in those relating to the rigging and sailsespecially, I regret to say that I do not find _any_ builder fulfilsthose requirements of strength, lightness, neatness, and simplicitycombined in due proportions, upon which so much of the safety of a canoedepends, as well as comfort and pleasure in using it during the manydays’ constant work of a long voyage. The proper rigging of a canoe, soas to be neither fragile like a toy nor clumsy in its small details, iswell attended to at the Model Dockyard in Fleet Street. 

{121} This hankering after Egypt once more ripened into the cruise ofthe “Rob Roy on the Jordan, ” of which the sixth edition appears in April, 1880. 

{128} These four gentlemen, admitted to the amateur contests declined torow against four English watermen. 

{142} I recollect that old Westminster Bridge was a very dangerous onefor a boat to sail through, because the joints between the _voussoirs_, or lines of stones under the arch, were not horizontal as in most otherbridges, but in an oblique direction, and several times when my mast hastouched one of these it was borne downwards with all the power of ascrew. 

{150} I found that a common Scotch plaid, if it was in an inclinedposition, resisted wet longer than any other material permeable to air, and it could be readily dried by hanging it from the mast in the wind. 

{151} There was another method of cooking under shelter, and we employedit on the only other occasion when this had to be done, namely, to shutup the cabin and to cook inside it, using the portable “canoe cuisine, ”which is described in the Appendix. But as this is meant to be employedonly on shore, it does not answer well on board, except in a calm; and, moreover, the heat generated by the lamp was too much in a small cabin. Even a single candle heats a small apartment, and it is well known that aman can get a very good vapour-bath by sitting over a rushlight, withblankets fastened all round. 

{152} The best, according to my taste, were those of “Irish stew, ”“Stewed steak, ” “Mulligatawny, ” “Oxtail, ” and “Vegetable soup, ” all inthe order named. “Preserved peas” were not quite so good; but the otherviands were all far better than can be had at any culinary hotel, andwere entirely without that metallic or other “preserved” flavour so soondiscovered in such eatables, and even by a palate not fastidious. Thisexperience was fully confirmed afterwards in my Canoe Cruises in Holland, in the Orkneys and Shetland, and in the Red Sea, Jordan, Nile, Abana, Pharpar, and Lake of Galilee. 

{156} Frenchmen have a trick of anchoring thus to escape a breeze. Wehave seen them anchor on the African coast merely to avoid a hard-lookingcloud, whereas the real danger was in anchoring there at all. 

{159a} See Frontispiece. 

{159b} We shall hear of this pinch again further on. 

{160} This latter construction is found to be very convenient, becausethe cargo is at one end of the vessel and the machinery, andpaddle-wheels, and steering apparatus are all at the other end, so thatorders can be readily given to both by the captain. The “Express”Company on the Seine has sixty of these steamers. 

{161} It was, however, only an adaptation of the same principle I hadused in Swedish lakes, when my course was towards a bright sun sodazzling in the water that I invented the plan of covering my eyes withmy straw hat, and steering the canoe by the bright reflection of the sunon its cedar deck, which was of course by no means so unpleasant as thebeams of light glancing from the water itself. Surely it would not beimpossible to make the needle of a mariner’s compass itself steer theship at least within half a point. The motion of the needle couldconnect one or the other of two electro currents, and so set in instantaction a powerful purchase to act on the tiller. 

{171} First thoughts of people and of countries are more striking, theyare only by chance at all true. I recollect asking an American, afterhis visit to the English House of Lords, what struck his attention most;and he said, “Their lordships don’t seem to brush their hair. ” Anotherclever traveller, from the same land of our cousins, was asked what henoticed of our manners in London, and he replied, “I observe it is thefashion here, when a gentleman sees his friend on the other side of PallMall, he shakes his umbrella at him and calls out, ‘D’ye do, oldfellow?’”

{188} The Rob Roy came there again next summer, up the Thames, and bythe canal, and the river Wey and the Arun, and so to Southsea, withfifteen canoes, five dogs and a cockatoo—such fun. 

{192} After so much experience of the yawl, tried in all points in allkinds of wind and weather, it may well be supposed that numerousimprovements had been noted in my book as desirable. These, however, weneed not here particularise, as the various descriptions given atintervals through this book shew what the Rob Roy is in her latest andbest arrangements. 

{195a} The fall of each halyard was coiled and put under the taut part. A small coil looks neatest, but the fall of it is sure to kink if coiledclose, being wet and dry ten times in a day. Before nearing harbour, orin preparation to lower sail “handsomely, ” I found it well to cast thecoil loose on the hatch, else a kink would catch in the leading sheave. 

{195b} This was forthwith invented and used and shewn to hundreds ofpeople. After some time the very identical thing was patented, and it isnow used by thousands. Most of our canoes have these “tumbling cleats, ”and they are used for the cords of blinds, &c. , in many houses, includingmy own. 

{197} This is shewn in the sketch on the preceding page; the barpresented a very smooth surface for the bottom of the dingey to run overwhen it was shipped under the hatch, or hauled out in a hurry. Moreover, the wood was convenient to stride across in getting from the well to thecabin, and it was far more pleasant and _warmer_ than metal to hold on byduring violent lurches of the sea. 

{206} A foreign sailor, examined as to a shipwreck case in Court, wasasked, “How did you know it was the coast of England?” He said, “Becausea lifeboat came out to us. ” Rule Britannia!

{208} Three hundredweight of ballast was thrown off at Cowes, besideswhat we took out at Dover, and still the yawl was stiff. 

{211} Other inventors, knowing the experimental turn of my crew, hadsent me several instruments and things of various sorts to try inpractice, and to report on. One of these was a beautiful little anchormade of bronze, and in form very peculiar and apparently an improvement, indeed an admirable novelty to look at. This, too, I heaved overboardfor trial, but it simply dragged through the soft mud, and proved quiteuseless. 

{240} He had wisely fitted a centre-board in his 14-feet canoe at mysuggestion. This sliding keel answered well for sailing, and all ourlarge canoes are now thus fitted. Mr. Berthons’ portable canoe can becarried flat under one arm. Canoe sails are dangerous unless they can belowered in an instant. So are the sails of a frigate in a sudden squall. The ‘Eurydice, ’ which I saw in Portsmouth harbour, is a warning for ever. 

{242} To anchor for the night, riding by tide or stream, is notpleasant; for then the wind may cross your hatch, and blow the rain insideways, whereas if you ride at anchor to the wind alone, the draughtcomes always from the front, and so it can be better provided for, andthe boat does not roll much even if she pitches. 

{244} Revelation xix. 7. 

{246} It was hung on the port mizen shroud. To hang it in front of youis simply to cut off two of your three chances of possibly seeing ahead. 

{250} I think that in a port like Newhaven the look-out man in chargeought to come to the pier-head when he sees a yacht entering in roughweather, and certainly there is more attention to such matters in Francethan with us. 

{260} The singular volcanic eruptions in Iceland occurred also on thatday. 

{261} The numerous vessels met now were some of those we had been within the morning, and they looked even more in number, for we crossed andrecrossed each other frequently, and this part of the Channel is ahighway for nations. 

{267} In the winter this old sailor was drowned, the last of sixbrothers, all of whom were drowned. 

{268} This event is depicted on the cover of our book, being a copy ofthe illustration in the excellent penny periodical, ‘The Boy’s Own Paper’(October, 1879), one of a score of serials and a thousand books at the‘Pure Literature Society, ’ 11, Buckingham Street, Strand. 

{270} One of the pranks to be prepared for in a boat is this jibing ofthe boom, and until by practice you know the exact range of safety foryour head in relation to that swinging spar, caution should be the rule. Long ago I had learned the exact length of the Rob Roy’s boom in relationto my nose; for even in the Thames, soon after starting, it had oncecaught the back of my head, and knocked my face down on the deck, where abloody nose (but no worse result) speedily settled the question as towhich must yield when the boom and the captain are at loggerheads. Ilearned more lessons of this sort when, in 1871, I had a lonely voyage ina “yawl canoe” through Holland and the Zuyder Zee, and Friesland and theTexel. An account of it was published in the ‘Graphic’ for November ofthat year. 

{272} At a southern watering place lately there were forty ladies eachin a canoe on one afternoon. 

{275} Bravely they worked to save life on the Goodwin in the fearfulgale that came soon afterwards. 

{280} The recent legislation for the proper care of the women and theeducation of the children on barges was much needed, and it wassuccessfully accomplished by our late excellent Home Secretary, who washimself one of the best “oars” at Cambridge, when the late ForeignSecretary of France was another. 

{284} The use of the word “bloody” is now general among the lowestclasses all over England. The meaning intended by this is not whatscholars would agree to. Hundreds of times the word is employed only for“very, ” and it is strange how soon one’s first shudders at the soundbecome faint, and even die. 

{287} The _Royal Canoe Club_ has elected about 600 Members, includingseveral ladies. Some of the Members are in Australia, India, Japan, China, Canada, and North and South America. H. R. H. The Prince of Walesis our Commodore, and he has several canoes. There are also severalbranches of the Club besides other Canoe Clubs on the Mersey, the Clyde, the Forth, the Trent, the Humber, and four Clubs in America. The Officeof the R. C. Club is at 11, Buckingham Street, Adelphi, London, where alsois “The Pure Literature Society, ” with 3600 books and 42 periodicals allgood to read and to choose from. 

{291} We need not he surprised that sharks should get entangled in theBay of Biscay. Even at Margate one was caught a short time after I hadswam in the water there, and six more sharks were captured in the summeron the English south coast. 

{296} As this was being urged upon friends, a telegram came from theAdmiralty for “Twenty-five boys from the ‘Chichester. ’”

{297} A description of these vessels will be found in the Appendix. 

{325} The late Professor J. D. Forbes, who used this lamp, says it wasintroduced into this country from Russia by Dr. Samuel Brown, and that“the jet of burning spirit has such force as to resist the blast of ahurricane. ”

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