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RIVERSIDE

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FROM THE
THAMES TO
THE SEINE

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I'he Biljiy of Si, Catherine

FROM THE
THAMES TO
THE SEINE

WRITTEN AND ILLUSTRATED
BY CHARLES PEARS

PHILADELPHIA
GEORGE W. JACOBS ^ CO.

PUBLISHERS

To her who listened to the rustling wind^
watched the bending branches round our home^
and waited^ long and wearily^ as women do.

INTRODUCTION

The invasion was made in a ship. The ship was
bigger in her own estimation than her measurements
would justify, and in this I agreed with her. But to
come down to bald fads, she was of registered tonnage
2.65, and of yacht measurement 4 tons — which
means that she was 26 feet long over all, 19 feet upon
the water-line, and 6.6 feet wide. I have reason to
be thankful that she was rather under-canvassed, for
otherwise I might not have returned from my voyage.
To these particulars I might add that she was sloop-
rigged, and that she carried a centre-board, which
when in use extended her draft from 3 feet to 6 feet,
that she had a cabin designed to sleep two, but which
has upon occasions echoed the snores of four, and also
that her name was Mave '^loe.

When I announced to my uninitiated friends that
I was bent upon this voyage, they immediately be-
came uncomplimentary, and when I added that I in-
tended to do it alone, they became frankly rude. One
of them, a brother-painter, with a large moustache
and an argumentative manner, went so far as to say
that I was a " Withering idiot." All this served only
to make me think less of my friends. I must have
seemed to the last of these candid ones somewhat

vij

Introduction

like the proverbial bear, who from a predilection for
honey had acquired a sore head ; for, to use that most
expressive of Americanisms, I "let out."

People w^ho ought to have known better, and books
that ought to be burnt, told me of the dire conse-
quences of international cruising ; and one point that
had particular stress laid upon it was — that one's yacht
ought to be registered at the Board of Trade Office,
and that the papers of such registration would have to
be shown in order to pass the Customs. This advice
proved unnecessary ; I set off unregistered, and I had
not the slightest trouble in the matter.

What joy to start fitting out my little craft for her
intended voyage — to buy grocery stores, &c. ; and
how pleasant the more delicate purchasing of materials
of war from Messrs. Winsor & Newton, Artists'
Colourmen (loot were impossible without them).
But Nature seemed dead against me during the greater
part of the voyage. She gathered all her dogs of
wind and rain and hissed them at me ; and when
gentle zephyrs came and days of sun and quiet seas
were granted, they were only days upon which her
hounds might rest and gather renewed energy. In-
deed her face (the sky) at dawn and sunset — when
she seldom hides her mood to be — was ever menacing.
In short, I could not have chosen a worse patch of
weather.

However, full of hope, the fitting-out proceeded.
Ropes were overhauled, and a " competent man " was
employed to caulk the decks in a few places where

viij

Introduction

water dripped through. He demonstrated his com-
petence by packing the small places so tightly that
the other parts of each seam gaped wide. I made
this bitter discovery shortly before I set off.

It had been raining hard the whole day, and when
I got aboard accompanied by a friend we found that
our bunks were covered with little pools of water. I
had a conversation with the "competent man " which
he won't forget while he lives.

When bedding has to be packed in oilskin bags, it
is time to pray for fine weather.

Black as the raven was the outlook as the cable
chain rattled in, and the muddy anchor came aboard.
But the rain had stopped, and a little ray of hope came
creeping out of the warmer glow of the westward
sky.

CONTENTS

Introduction vij

I. London to Ramsgate i

II. Ramsgate to Calais 6

III. Calais 12

IV. Calais to Boulogne-sur-Mer 20
V. Boulogne, Wimereux, and Le

Portel 2 5

VI. Boulogne to Etaples 37
VII. Etaples, Paris Plage, and Mon-

treuil 41

VIII. Etaples to the Somme 51
IX. St. Valery-sur-Somme and

Abbeville 57
X. St. Valery-sur-Somme to
Le Hourdel and from there

to Le Treport 75

XI. Le Treport and Eu 81

From the Thames to the Seine

XII. Le Treport to Dieppe 94

XIII. Dieppe 97

XIV. Dieppe to St. Valery-en-Caux 105
XV. St. Valery-en-Caux no

XVI. St. Valery-en-Caux to Le

Havre 120

XVII. Le Havre and Harfleur 127
XVIII. Crossing the Seine, and a

description of the Bore 138

XIX. Trouville 146

XX. Honfleur 153
XXI. Getting out of Dock at Havre

and away to Fecamp 160
XXII. Fecamp (Preparing for the

Crossing) 167

XXIII. Crossing the Channel 174

XXIV. Anti-Climax 186

Conclusion 194

Appendix 196

XIJ

ILLUSTRATIONS

In Colour

The Belfry of St. Catherine, Honfleur Frontispiece

Last Sight of England]

\ To face page 8
First Sight of France J

Shrimpers, Calais i8

Boulogne 28

Montreuil 48

Houses, St. Valery-sur-Somme 54

St. Vulfran, Abbeville 64

The Somme dried out 72

Le Hourdel 76

The Canal, Eu 90

Market Square, Dieppe 102

Cape d'Ailly

106
St. Valery-en-CauxJ

xiij

l62

From the Thames to the Seine
At St. Valery-en-Caux "To face page 1 1 2

Curious Cliffs, Etretat 122

The Oldest House in Le Havre 128

Sketches at Le Havre 1 30

Notre Dame de Trouville 148
Two Views near Fecamp^
Cape La Heve J

Sighting Beachy Head 182

Passing Dover 192

In Monochrome

The Old Watch-Tower, Calais 16

Off Boulogne : Night 22

Three Views off Etaples 38

Etaples 46

The Somme Canal, Abbeville 62

In the Steamer's wash at Dieppe 94

The Sluice, St. Valery-en-Caux 108

Tancarville Canal 1 34

Curious Cliffs, Fecamp 166

Leaving Fecamp : Midnight 174

xiv

Illustrations

Drawings in the Text

Types : Boulogne 3 i

Croi Fort, and the Sands at Wimereux 33

The Quay, St. Valery-sur-Somme 58

The House of Fran9ois I : Abbeville 67

Old Mill, near Abbeville 69

Cutting adrift the Dinghy : Estuary of the

Somme 76

Types : Le Treport 83

Casino: Dieppe 103

Cottage at St. Valery-en-Caux 1 1 1

Honfleur : Wooden Houses in the Rue Varin 157

FROM THE THAMES
TO THE SEINE

CHAPTER I

London to Ramsgate

'July 1 6, 1909. — The port from which the start was
made sounds somewhat inglorious as a port — the
Port of Hammersmith. Yet from here many voyages
of discovery have been made — discoveries of the sea,
the sea that is owned by the man who owns a yacht.
For the sea is yours if you are the happy possessor of
a boat, such restrictions as there are being for your
own preservation.

We had waited for the tide to drop sufficiently to
allow of the mast passing under the bridge, which left
us only a third of the tide. The bridge was cleared
by about three inches, and away we went. With the
wind aft and occasionally none at all, we drifted along.
The swirling tide rushed us through the bridges with
noisy splatter ; through the outskirts and on towards
the droning city which was outpouring across the
bridges its earlier stream of bread-winners.

A little further and the sparks of light from the

From the Thames to the Seine i

gas-lamps and windows bejewelled the fading silhouette
of Charing Cross. The huge hotels were masses of
mystery; each building was pretending to be a filmy
palace of fairyland in the stately masque of fading day.

We were almost unconscious of movement ; this
bejewelled woof of a city seemed to be whisked past
us. Surely we were the only real things about the
whole of the dream stuffs that were around us. We
rapidly approached the Pool of London, where jostle
together crowds of tugs, lighters, barges, big ships,
and steam tramps ; these last from all quarters of the
globe. We had enough here in the handling of our
little craft. Tower Bridge opened as we passed under,
not for us, but for the bellowing steamer, which, with
slowly revolving propellers, came in stately manner
from out the velvety dimness of the approaching night.
Her two eyes — one red and the other green — were
glaring at us with the awe-inspiring stare of a regal
giantess. Her wash set our little craft dancing as we
passed under her stern.

Soon the crowd of anchored vessels began to spread
themselves acrossithe river; the ebb-tide was done and
the sea was hurrying through London, pushing the
river water before it.

Our helpmate, the tide, thus turned against us, we
anchored and slept.

'July ijth. — At I A.M. the alarm clock aroused us,
and soon with squeak of blocks and sound of fluttering
canvas we set sail. All around us were many sailing

1 London to Rams gate

barges and the pleasant sound of rattling winch prawls,
as cable chains came home, was echoed across the river.
We thus had company. The rich beauty of these sail-
ing barges when they are enshrouded by the mystery
of night cannot be dealt with by a pen, they cry out for
a brush. Here we had a feast of these, for we overtook
clusters of them, their darkling sails towering above
us as we glided seawards.

Towards Greenwich the sky began to grey, and
violet shadows were playing about the warehoused
banks. The lights along the shores were fading ; and
soon the sun spiked the towering masts of ships with
blazing light.

At Woolwich the steam-ferries were taking their
three hours' rest — three hours out of twenty-four.

With a breeze worth having we were rattling
along. The town of Erith passed, we soon entered
Long Reach, at the end of which is Greenhithe.

This town has quite an old-world maritime aspeft ;
there are several of the antique ships of war — those
black and white chequered wooden walls now used as
training ships, and there are always several tall-masted
clippers, their intricate rigging standing out like filmy
gauze through which the red roofs and green trees
glow. Here one can imagine the bustle and stir, the
shouting of the seamen, and the loud flap of canvas,
the rattle of the capstan, and the stately movement of
the grand old frigate getting under weigh.

The Mave '\RJioe seemed as impatient as her skipper
to be getting along to France, for it seemed no time

From the Thames to the Seine i

before Grays was passed, and Gravesend with its
crowds of shipping sighted. Spluttering along, the air
felt fresh and the boat was now in her native element
— good salt water. From Tilburyness to beyond the
Ovens Buoy we ran before the wind, passing Graves-
end like a train. The dinghy, breasting the smooth
water like a steam-tug, was keeping the painter as taut
as a bar of iron. This was fine, and so was the day
overhead — the first day of sunshine for three weeks.

After rounding Lower Hope Point the spinnaker
was set and not touched until we got into position for
rounding the North Foreland — a long straight sail
of thirty-eight knots or about forty-two statute-miles
without touching a rope.

About this time London was quivering with ex-
citement, for this was the day upon which the mobilisa-
tion of the Navy in the Thames was to take place.
The historical importance of this event is so assured,
that I need chronicle no more than to say that we saw
the fleet in miniature, for the great ships were distant
objefts to us as they approached Southend. Indeed,
all the deep water channels which spread out like
twisted spokes from the Nore seemed crowded with
these sinister symbols of our national strength.

But they couldn't do what we were doing then — sail
in five feet of water ! This we had to do, however, in
order that we might keep a straight course and so save
time, miles, and much sail shifting.

In bad weather these parts of the Estuary are boiling
patches of sandy foam, and should a craft find herself

1 London to Ra 7ns gate

thereabouts, at such times, she would probably leave
her bones there and nothing else to tell the tale.

OfF Heme Bay we had very little wind, but could
iust creep along against the tide for three hours. We
met several yachts coming from Ramsgate.

Near Margate — sweltering with tripperdom — we
felt the joy and freedom of this wide expanse of water
that was ours. Still more when a crowded pleasure-
boat, resplendent with a rosy and very realistic long-
shore skipper — yarning as ever — hove up. The tinkle
of a banjo and the rattle of bones floating down the
wind from her direcflion grew fainter, and was soon
drowned by the gentle hiss of the surf breaking upon
the Rocks off Long-nose.

A little farther on our spinnaker was taken in, and
we hauled our sheets to round the North Foreland.

We arrived at Ramsgate by 4 p.m. Fourteen and
a half hours from Wapping (London). Sixty-six knots
or about seventy-four statute miles.

As soon as we entered between the piers the harbour
officials in their boat condudted us to a berth alongside
a German yawl of about thirty tons. I was charged
a shilling for harbour dues, and when, in reply to the
query as to where we were bound, I replied, " Le
Havre," the more jaded official exclaimed : " Well,
I'm blowed ! You've got a 'eart in you, you 'ave !
W'ot if you get caught in a southerly gale } "

" Here, you have a drink," I replied, as I handed
him a bottle of stout.

We had a trot ashore and then turned in.

CHAPTER II

Ramsgate to Calais

yuly \%tli. — The sun was shining brilliantly as, at 6
A.M., we passed out of the harbour mouth. Indeed
this was far too brilliant to last.

Spluttering along with a fine southerly breeze we
could just lay to the Gull Light-vessel crossing the
Brake shoals upon which the tide was boiling and the
wind throwing up quite a popple of little sharp waves.

Nearing the Gull we saw in the distance the wreck
of the Marratta reclining upon her last resting-place,
the Goodwin Sands. Oily spikes of white foam were
all around her as the seas broke upon the thin streak
of fawn which was the Goodwins.

A lot has been written about the terrible Goodwin
Sands, which, as every one knows, used to be an island.
The Sands themselves are blamed for the many dis-
tressing wrecks which have long since been drawn
into their hungry maw, but the blame might well be
thrown in the teeth of another fa6tor. Hereabouts the
winds of two oceans fringe each other and do battle for
the mastery. Often a veil of mist is thrown over the
vi(5tor, but should peace be declared between the two
and they gently caress each other, a modest veil of
impenetrable fog hides everything.

ii Ramsgate to Calais

Thus the Goodwins — no more terrible than many
other sands — being often enshrouded, are a terror to
the unbroken line of ships that ever glide along their
sides.

The Gull passed, we stood about on the other tack,
and the wind freshened so much that our lee-deck was
awash. For a little while we kept her going so, but
the breeze was strengthening. Moreover, there was a
big black cloud coming over the South Foreland which
looked savage, so I got down a reef. Getting a reef
down with decks awash and the sea breaking all around
is a wet and rather exciting business. This was quite
a parlour-game, however, to what I did have to go
through upon several occasions, as will be seen later on.

" Snugged down," the yacht seemed eased of a great
burden ; she flew along, and the going was quite com-
fortable.

Anchored between Deal and the South Sand Head
was a battleship. One of her steam launches put off
and passed us quite close, her decks crowded with blue-
jackets. She rolled like a tub, and we didn't envy them
their passage to Deal.

At last we arrived off the South Sand Head Light-
ship which was to mark our departure for Calais.

I have endeavoured to reduce technicalities to a
minimum. It will, however, be necessary to say that
the tides in the Channel influence the movement of a
vessel so much, that should one keep one's ship point-
ing upon the magnetic bearing of Calais, one would
eventually find oneself, with the east going stream,

Frofn the Thames to the Seine ii

somewhere about Dunkirk, or if with the westward
one, somewhere south-west of Cape Gris Nez, which
would depend upon the ship's rate of speed.

Therefore it will be seen that it is necessary to steer
a course which allows for these influences. It is in the
judging of a correfted course which ultimately takes
him to the place at which he expected to arrive that
provides more than half the pleasure of the cruiser.

I had arranged all my corre6lions to courses and all
the passages, tides, &c., long before I set off. There-
fore all I had to do throughout my voyage was to put
the theory into practice. After all, isn't putting one's
theories into practice the most interesting thing in life ?
Well, so it is in cruising.

The deep water was a dark indigo colour. Frisky
little patches of white were seen all around as the wind
blew off the crests of waves and churned them into
feathery foam. The threatening cloud which was
creeping over the South Foreland, past whose sheer
grey walls steam tramps were stealing, blotted out this
distant view of the English coast in a downpour of rain
and no more was seen of it.

On we sped, the grovelling sound of rushing
water, the hiss of wind through the bending ropes,
the patter of rain upon the tightened sails, were
exhilarating sounds, for this was our first rough day.
What joy it was to rush madly down the sides of
these hills of water, and slowly rise up the steeper in-
cline of the next wave which passed under us ! How
pleasant the seething sounds of new-made spindrift !

ii Rams gate to Calais

The cliffs of Blanc Nez may often be seen from
Dover. Surely, I thought, we must be within six
or seven miles of them, yet we had not sighted the
French coast.

Straining our eyes we searched for it.

A thin film ahead looked like land, or — was it a
hard-edged wind-cloud ? Watching it closely, its
shape did not alter. Yes, this was the landfall.

Soon out of its grey haziness darker masses grew.
Then, like the developing of a negative, the masses
began to mean something ; the lighter patches were
white cUffs, and the darker ones were earth, grass,
woodland, and distant hills. Soon the unmistakable
shape of Cape Blanc Nez was almost severely indi-
cated, so clear cut were its edges.

We were well to windward of Calais, but the tide
would set us there.

It did, with little enough to spare. Soon the
water began to alter in colour. It was now a pale
shade of green, for we were in shallow water near the
coast. Watching the land we found ourselves being
taken broadside on at about the same rate of speed
as the wind was pressing us ahead. Taking a bearing
of Calais pier-heads we found we should only just do
it. The wind grew fierce, but we couldn't stop to
reef, she must be kept going somehow. Wallowing
with the press of canvas, the Mave %hoc staggered
along. If we missed that entrance, the sands were
waiting to swallow us up with little chance of clawing
off them against wind and tide. Granted such luck

From the Thames to the Seine ii

as to have been able to do that, a night spent out
there would be exasperating if not frankly uncom-
fortable. However, we did what, under such circum-
stances, many a ship has failed to do — we made the
entrance. Up went the ensign, the signal which in-
dicated we were from a foreign port.

The entrance to Calais is none too inviting at any
time, but to-day was Sunday, and no soul was to be
seen until we were well up the harbour. Then, many
native sportsmen were discovered fishing with long
bamboo rods, and others pursued the gentle art with
seine nets. The place seemed deserted save for them.
Where to bring up was the assailing doubt of the
moment. Presently we saw some arms being waved,
and a voice, " Ve?iez lelong ici. Messieurs,'' came floating
towards us, through the wind. We didn't know
what it meant, for it didn't sound a bit like it, but
as the antics of the foreign gentleman upon the
quay indicated that he wanted us to be near him,
we complied.

The little knot of loafers, large and small, which
had gathered, were presently pushed aside by the
Z)o«^«/<?rj- (Customs' officers), two of whose members
came aboard. " Plenty vind ! " the phrase that was
to haunt me, was then for the first time uttered.

The fancy costume of the Douaniers seemed to fill
the boat with a sort of Musical Comedy crowd.

A conversation, consisting of good and bad French,
some English, and much dumb show, proceeded. I
was not asked if I had anything to declare. All I

ii Ramsgate to Calais

had to state was the name and nationahty of the
yacht, her tonnage, the name of her capitaine, and
how many men were aboard, I was then asked if
I wished to have any money changed. Messieurs des
Douanes knew of a cafe where I could get it changed.
I was then taken via the cafe to the office of the
Customs where, after much memoranda making, I
was handed a passport and a bill of health, for which
I paid two francs ten centimes, which charge included
a sanitation fee.

Having suffisred this visite ordinaire^ as it is called,
and the ship being comfortably berthed, we were free
to inspect the town.

CHAPTER III

Calais

It was Sunday, though one wouldn't have realised
it but for the presence of that hohday atmosphere
which chara6lerises the French Sabbath.

The shops were busy, the cafes sparkled with gay
crowds, the plage was a mass of happy paddlers and
pleasure-makers of all ages. Trams tooted their horns,
and care seemed cast to the winds. These people
were no doubt of the tripper order, but what refined
trippers they were. They had none of that cock-
sureness and that horrible mirth at the wrong things
which stamps the English tripper as an ignoramus.
He doesn't know even how to enjoy himself.

The people who were spending the day at Calais
had that quiet manner and nice common-sense that is
to be found amongst the visitors at the remoter water-
ing places in England.

French mammas with perhaps a couple of bare-
legged children, dressed with how much greater taste
than those of their class in England. Papas, ridicu-
lously be-whiskered, perhaps, and poor affairs com-
pared with the women-folk, were gentle in manner,
polite to their wives, and playful with and proud of

iii Calais

their children. They were not bleared with beer,
impertinent, and unmannerly. The French tripper
is miles higher in refinement than the one of British
birth.

I had yet to see a French crowd roused ; yet to
learn that it wants but a spark to set it ablaze with
shrieking, smashing, horror-striking temper. Then
the nice Papa becomes a smis-culotte fiend. Then, one's
imagination flies to revolutionary times : the tumbrils
pass, and \h^ guillotine is slashing off the heads of aristo-
crats ; the modern citizens are clothed in rags ; they
have little red caps on their heads, and scythes in their
hands. Listen ! sounds of the Marseillaise begin to
murmur in the distance.

A French crowd roused is a thing to be seen —
preferably from a distance. But let us forget their
faults and probe no deeper than where the French
are best — about the surface.

What a pleasure it is to drop into a foreign town
fresh from one's native land. What a great differ-
ence a few miles make. Here is a new notion at
every end and turn. In these first hours could one
wish for anything better than to sit at one of the
little round tables outside one of the many cafes,
there to gaze at the passers-by.

The slovenly soldier — what a lovely colour his
trousers are ! Predominating notes, yet how well
they keep in the pi6ture. The chequered blouses of
the women, their hair — for generations it has been
done in the same style, pulled neatly up from the neck

From the Thames to the Seine iii

and tied in a simple knot upon the top of the head ;
innocent of curling pins, its native beauty has been
left untouched by fashion's changing hand. The
little faftory girls chatting in twos and threes as
they hurry along. The quaint person with a basket
who passes the time of day with the quaint person
with a bundle. The little boys and girls, their Grand-
papas and Grandmammas, their Uncles and Aunts.
The many queer costumes which bespeak a trade —
from the baker to the coal-heaver. All shades and
grades — poverty and wealth. The kindly soul, the
cad, the simple fool, and the silly fop. The gen-
darmes, the serving-maid ; even the very dogs in the
street. All these are so different, yet they are only
twenty miles or so from England.

As I sat sipping my cafe noir^ a funny little old
gentleman, with a small paint pot and a pair of steps —
evidently a master decorator — came along and gazed
upon the window of the shop next door. He threw a
critical glance upon the window-pane, making many
bird-like twists of the head. He loaded his pipe, still
contemplating the window. Presently a passer-by,
after elaborate greetings, looked at it, a discussion and
much explanatory hand-waving followed. Then the
shop door opened and the gentleman of the shop
emerged. There was much show of affection between
the three, the decorator and the shopman embraced.
Then the latter twisted his head about in contempla-
tion of the sheet of glass, the hand-waving was resumed.
Then the steps were placed in position, and the shop-

iii Calais

man and the passer-by holding them, the master de-
corator ascended. He tucked up the sleeve of his
overall, and w^ith a piece of chalk wrote upon the glass
in bold type : English Spoken Here. Then he de-
scended, and with a tragic wave of the hand exclaimed,
" Voiia, Messieurs ! "

The shopman raised his hat in respedt for the genius
of the decorator, and said, " Bon^ Monsieur ; tres bonT

The opinions of more passers-by were asked and
given ; when ultimately these went their ways, discuss-
ing the matter gravely one with the other, the de-
corator again ascended the ladder and painted in the
simple words.

There may not be much in this story, but what
there is is real French. The Frenchman finds little
to do that his wife can't do better. When he does
find a job, he likes a lot of help, makes it a long busi-
ness and a matter of sentiment which is remembered
as a great event. This may have little to do with
Calais in particular, but it is chara(^teristic of provincial
France in general.

But what of Calais the town ?

It is rather an untidy place for a French town. The
Place d'Armes, where the tower of the Hotel de Ville
has remained since the fifteenth century, is the central
spot. Here Calais meets its friends and has its cafe noir.
In the square, towering out of the roofs of surround-
ing houses and dwarfing them is the old Watch Tower.
What a colleftion of old bricks it is. What a kindly
memorial of the olden maritime ideal — a mark of

From the Thames to the Seine iii

peace between nations. The dear old leading-light,
that used to guide the ships of the world safely into
Calais. Its days are done, yet it lingers. Here in its
beautiful old age it supports a network of telephone
wires ; but they fail to rob it of its dignity. Since
1848 it has been superseded as a lighthouse by the
magnificent one at present in use. Never shall I forget
the effect of this newer lighthouse as I stood under it
that night. The revolving spokes of light cast away
into filmy space, in all directions, looked like the ribs
of a huge umbrella being turned by its white handle
which was the lighthouse tower. So tall is this that
the light can be seen from a distance of twenty miles
at sea.

The church of Notre-Dame is tucked away amongst
narrow streets where its mass is difficult to see. I could
imagine the remarks of an English churchwarden
whilst he gazed upon it. " Disgraceful negle6l ! "
would be the sum-total of his criticism. He would
miss that awful neatness and generous repairwhich robs
English churches of the charm which is to be found
in those of theContinent. Here, each stone, each grass-
grown channel, each shaking tile, each broken slate,
tells its tale of age.

It is like a very old lady who is not ashamed of the
wrinkles in her face, nor of the drooping eyelids, the
sunken cheek, and the thin greyness of her hair. An
English church is for ever having the wrinkles mas-
saged out and the hair dyed ; it is neither old nor young,
and so is robbed of half its beauty.

J... twcjRit-*'"' ~si I, '.^::^^

i#^-

J S*, <: k»,'=.

■•■ffr_j.

ft X.-'s . .)£■».

Z/ic O^d WaUh-Touer, Calais

iii Calais

This church of Calais, shaken without weakness,
greyed by the angry winds of the Channel and those
fogs that blow off the sea, stands doing its duty still.
It bears its wounds in dignity, conscious of its lack
of grace — a work-a-day thing that has remained from
the Middle Ages. These curtains of age, despite their
delicate tracery, have tried but failed, however, to make
the building other than it surely always was — an ugly
pile.

Near here is the pleasant Jardin Richelieu. Wriggly
green tree bolls hold aloft splatters of little light-green
leaves which make delightful shade. Nursemaids push
theirprams, and old men wait for the school to let loose
its clatter of boys and girls, for Grandpapa is charged
with the taking there and bringing home of the little
scholars of the family.

Here a very small soldier, in that absurd, almost
feminine costume of one of the Zouave regiments, was
making desperate love to a very large nursemaid. His
endeavours to encircle the huge waist of the lady of
his affection were not attradling the slightest notice
from the crowd which occupied the seats alongside the
path down which the pair were strolling. This, with-
out doubt, would have raised the laughter of an English
crowd ; but evidently in France the open love affair
of a diminutive man, even in such a costume, was too
serious a subjed: to jest about.

Beyond herein the Place Richelieu there is a fine ex-
ample of the work of the great sculptor Rodin, ere6ted

to the memory of the historic burgesses of Calais. It

17 B

From the Thames to the Seine iii

is also a memorial of the courage, culture, and artistic
insight of the authorities who placed it there. Need-
less to say it is a work that would never find a place in
one of the squares of London.

Away from the town — there is little else to see !
Away to the Plage — those miles of finest pale-coloured
sand ! What a purity of surface awaited us ! Here
and there little pools and streamlets scarred the shore
and reflected the white clouds that were hurrying
across the deep blue sky. On we walked until the
casino became quite a small affair in the distance.
Then we turned towards the dunes, and climbing over
hill and dale amongst them, we stopped every now and
then to examine the little sea blossoms that grew in
this unsympathetic soil — sand-violets and curiouslittle
red and yellow things that we knew not the names of.
Then towards the land side we discovered a steep slope
of sand as smooth as a board. The temptation was too
great, we must needs toboggan down it and fill our boots
with sand for our pains. Then a crucifix attracted our
attention, and it marked a cemetery,which we entered.
It was a burying-place for the poor fisher-folk. Here
were little houses of glass, and in them were toy angels
flying about the tinselled representations of heaven.
Tributes of " lustre " ware were in some of them —
vases for flowers, and strange knick-knacks, the reason
for which was obscure. There were larger stru6tures,
more elaborately decorated and containing less tawdry
symbols. In these more elegant ones a chair was placed
for the meditations of those who had been left behind.

■s

iii Calais

But, most pathetic of all, there were graves marked
only by pieces of rough wood, inscribed, not by the
professional hand, but " home-made." Some of these
were green with age, though the flowers placed upon
the little mounds were fresh.

Strolling along by the Bassin des Chasses we passed
the back of the fortress. Thoughts of invasion flew
to my mind — not the pleasant kind that / was pur-
suing, but the more serious sort — those of old, away
back in 1 346, when Calais was blockaded by Edward
III. I thought of its eleven months desperate resist-
ance, and of its fall ; of the six noble citizens who were
forced to place themselves, clad in their shirts and with
halters round their necks, at the English king's disposal
in order that the town might be spared. I thought of
the many attempts upon the part of the French to re-
take it, and then of the five hundred Englishmen, who,
after a seven days' siege, were expelled by the Duke of
Guise with his thirty thousand men over two hundred
years afterwards. I imagined Queen Mary's outcry at
the loss of the town, when she asserted that the word
" Calais " would be found engraved upon her heart
after her death.

But Calais, after being taken by the Spaniards in
1596, was, two years later (by the Treaty of Vervins),
restored to France, since when it has enjoyed peace,and
its windows have been shaken by nothing worse than
the boom of guns at target practice.

CHAPTER IV

Calais to Boulogne-sur-Mer

'July \c)th and 20th, — We got under weigh at 6.30 p.m.
It had been a glorious day, and there was now scarcely
a breath of wind, so we had to row out of the harbour.
I expefted from the look of the sky that we should pick
up a good breeze after sunset.

Once outside we had a gentle air from ahead. The
sea was quite calm until we came to the Ridens des
Quenocs, where it was boiling, spluttering, and kick-
ing up a strange fuss and noise.

A riden is a shoal patch that crosses the direction of
the tide at right angles, and the French coast is strangely
remarkable for the number of these that extend from
one to seven miles offshore. They are not dangerous
save in that they cause very heavy seas to run on them
in bad weather, and they are to be avoided on this
account. As it was (even with the light evening air
that we then had), when we entered this swirl of water
the boat was pitched and twisted about considerably,
and we congratulated ourselves that the wind was no
stronger.

Afterwards we enjoyed a nice sailing breeze, and
abreast of Cape Blanc Nez, as we tacked along, the sun

iv Calais to Bou/ogne-sur- Mer

began to redden in the west. As is their custom at
this hour, wild duck were flying across the sea about
a yard above its surface in little strings. And as the
sun set, these all gathered together and flew off in a
straight line,onefollowing the other,a spaceof a foot or
so between each bird, ever increasing in number until
the flock extended quite a mile in an unbroken line.
Suddenly the leader turned towards the shore and, all
following, the file of birds crossed astern of us and flew
away into the distance.

Night came on before we reached Gris Nez, and the
eleftric flashes of one of the most powerful lighthouses
in the world played upon us, illuminating the sails and
glaring like a searchlight upon the cliffs that happened
to come within the range of its rays. Past this the blue-
black night blotted out everything but the dark smear
that we knew was the shore. Following this the line
of lights that indicated the village of Audresselles were
seen, andthe more distant thoughbrighter onesof Cape
I'Aprech lighthouses blazed ahead. These last were
the leading-lights for Boulogne.

Soon the sound of the surf breaking upon the shore
a mile away, together with the limply hanging canvas
and the quiet sea, told us we were becalmed.

We made no stir in the water ; not the slightest
ripple came from off her bows, the dinghy's painter
hung limp, and all seemed lifeless. Yet no doubt in the
deep below us the horrible strife and cannibalism was
going on, for fish is food for fish, and fish are ever
hungry. What was that ? A loud splash and a tear-

From the Thatnes to the Seine iv

ing of the waters ahead. A murder for a meal. No
outcry. Nothing left to tell, save the oily rings of
wavelets that spread out from where the deed was done.
The sea can keep a secret well.

The surf, like the breathing of a child asleep, could
still be heard. That was very pleasant, but we began
to worry about the tide ; it would soon be setting
against us at three and a half knots per hour.

Had the sky lied .? Was there to be no wind ? If
not we must quickly find an anchorage ! What depth
of water were we in t Over went the lead. Down,
down, down, leaving a trail of brilliant emerald-green
phosphorus behind it as it sank. Down it sank until
the line was all paid out. The lead had not reached
the bottom. We knew we could not anchor there. To
turn shorewards after a glance at the chart was the only
thing to be done. To find holding ground somewhere
was imperative or the tide would set us on the rocks at
the foot of Gris Nez.

The oars are things I loathe using. They are the
insignia of surrender. Yet these "wooden topsails," as
they are called by sailor-folk, were being got ready,
when glancing astern upon the distant surface of the
sea, we saw a blackening line coming towards us. Soon
the water all around darkened and a clammy coldness
stole upon our faces. The wind had come and it was
aft. Indeed we now raced along, scorning the tide,
throwing up a churning bow-wave, bejewelled with
brilliant sparks of phosphorus, which, like floating
emeralds, rushed alongside and illuminated our wake.

iv Calais to Bouiogne-sur-Mer

Ever strengthening, the wind was bellying out the sails
and whistling through the ropes until the topsail
seemed likely to blow out of her. But the lights of
Boulogne were not in sight, so the topsail could stay
until it burst for all we cared, such was the exhilara-
tion of this race against the tide.

Presently lights hove up ahead and we were
busy trying to pick the jetty lights from out the
maze of them, when suddenly a blaze of light showed
up a fishing-boat, which crossed our bows within a
yard or two. Voices hailed us as we rushed past.
That was rather too startling, so we kept a sharper
look-out. By this time, as is always the case here
with wind opposed to tide, a big sea had got up,
and the fishing-boat away astern was occasionally
lost to sight in the hollow of a wave, and then would
rise out into the glaring light of Gris Nez.

Others were scattered about blotting out the
lights ahead and kicking their heels at us as we passed
them. They each carried a white light which occa-
sionally was hidden by their sails.

A little while and the harbour lights were brought
in line ; then with a groan the boom was jibed over
and we shot towards the jetties. Day was break-
ing as we entered between them, and the sea hissed
through the piles as, robbed of wind, we slowly crept
through the calm water towards the port.

The lights scattered amongst the mosaics of
buildings were raw and yellow in the cold grey haze
of dawn. The quay alongside which we brought

F?'om the Thames to the Seine iv

up towered its slimy side high above us, for the tide
was well spent. The interview with the Douanier
over, we slept until sounds of mirth aroused us.

Looking out of the hatchway, a boy was sitting
in our dinghy trying to capsize the boat, to the
amusement of a crowd upon the quay above. Indeed,
the two days the yacht lay in Boulogne harbour
served to prove one thing at least — that the enfant
Boulogne is a fiend incarnate. Our petit canot was
a spicy bit upon which to feast his devilry. Once
we found the boat swamped, another time one oar
was missing, and the last night we could not find her
at all. We had to get a boatman to search for her,
and eventually she was discovered with a couple ot
these horrible youngsters gracefully rowing her up
and down the harbour entrance.

CHAPTER V

Boulogne, Wimereux, and
Le Portel

Boulogne is a clean, smart town situated upon the
river Liane. It is blessed with over a thousand
English residents, all of whom say they live there
because living is cheap ; but many prefer to dwell
there because the climate is not as hot as it might be
for them in their native land. The French consider
it an important seaport, and indeed it is the fourth
greatest port of France. An endeavour to make it
rank higher than this was attempted in 1879.
Extensive operations were begun with a view to
enlarging the harbour, but owing to lack of funds it
remains unfinished. The Bassin a flot, where ships
lie along the quays and discharge their cargoes, was
built by Napoleon as a resting-place for the flotilla
which was to convey his troops to England. He
had collefted an army of 172,000 infantry and 9000
cavalry. These were encamped to the northward of
Boulogne. In the harbour there were 2413 craft of
various sizes ready to transport the troops ; these only
awaited the arrival of the fleets from Antwerp, Brest,
Cadiz, and the Mediterranean, which fleets had been

From the Thames to the Seine v

growing for years for the purpose of turning Old
England into a Republic.

Sir Robert Calder destroyed all hope of the union
of these fleets, and Nelson at Trafalgar absolutely
smashed all idea of the expedition. But this was in
1804—5, and France is no longer at the mercy of
unscrupulous ambition. She has settled down to
peaceful ways, and a better understanding between
the nations has sprung up which recently blossomed
into r 'Entente Cordiale. This had to be, for the two
nations have much to give each other.

As for Boulogne — do not the fast steamers from
Folkestone deposit wealthy passengers and motor
cars, and return with poor passengers and baskets of
fruit .?

We will not hasten away from the harbour, for it
is a busy sight. Here the big tan-sailed luggers come
and go, huge drifters go greedily to sea and come
back gorged with fish, and the little mackerel boats
from St. Valery-sur-Somme give a touch of quaint
pi6turesqueness to the scene.

If it is near high water, big ships will be seen
entering dock ; and the arrival of the Folkestone
boat is always an interesting thing to watch. Each
time we saw her she was filled with " green " faces,
her passengers were wet with spray, and signs of a
bad passage were obvious.

You must visit the Fish Market, which is held
early in the morning in the Halle by the quay.
There you will see the fishwives in their remarkable

V Boulogne^ Wimereux^ and Le Portel

lace bonnets and huge earrings, their short skirts, and
pattens. You will see the shouting fishermen carry-
ing their loads of herring, sole, and mackerel. How
different in charad:er these old-world fisher-folk are
from the other inhabitants of the town. They occupy
a separate quarter on the western side, called La
Beurriere. There they keep to themselves, and the
new idea is a thing to be ridiculed.

We have had enough of salt water, so let us
wander into the town. The principal shops are in the
Rue Victor Hugo and the Rue National. Shops in
a foreign town are always interesting, as much in the
manner of displaying them as for the character of the
wares. We wander along until we come to the
Place Dalton, where the web of tramways comes to a
centre, then along the Grande Rue up the steep hill to
the Haute Ville.

The Haute Ville, or older portion of the town, is
separated from the Basse Ville, not only by the
eminence upon which it is built, but by its ramparts,
dating from the thirteenth century. We enter this
through one of the four huge gateways. What a
difference ! The scene had the effeft of a medieval
town quaintly planned, beset by strange nooks and
corners.

The church of Notre-Dame was erefted upon thesite
of a Gothic church destroyed in 1793. Notre-Dame
may be modern, but it fits in the picture as though it
had been there since 1065, when Godfrey de Bouillon
was born in the castle upon the site of which the Hotel

From the Thames to the Seine v

de Ville now stands. What does it matter that the
church is in the degraded Italian style, and that it was
finished as recently as 1866 ? Lack of repair has done
what the architect could not do — it has made it fit in
the picture.

You will go inside it, after dropping a copper in the
cap of the beggar at the door ; you will admire the
elaborate high-altar wrought in the city of Rome at
the expense of Prince Torlonia. May you not en-
counter a crowd of Cook's conducted tourists as we
did. If you do, you will doubtless hasten away to get
a breath of freedom upon the ramparts.

Strolling upon the walls you will have an extensive
view of the town, the seaboard, and the distant
country. You will come to the chateau in which
Louis Napoleon was thrust after the attempted in-
surrection of 1840. This is the ancient citadel of
Boulogne ; it has the age of seven centuries weighing
upon its shoulders, and it is still doing its duty, for it
is now used as a barracks. As one looks upon it, with
its sprinkling of soldiers coming and going, it seems
for all the world like a toy fort with tin soldiers ; indeed,
one experts a little boy to come along with a penny
cannon and pot at the thing, playing havoc amongst
its tin defenders. At best the artillerymen one sees
there seem to be playing at soldiers.

It is a pleasant walk under the shady trees that
crown the walls,and presently you will look down upon
the park known as the Tuileries, where concerts are
given in the summer and where are tennis-courts made

I«^ -^t

V Boulogne^ JVimereux^ and L,e Porte!

of some terra-cotta coloured surface, with the courts
marked by embedded ribbons of zinc. We saw some
wonderful tennis there; it was being demonstrated by
four very stout elderly gentlemen. They were going
at it with such energy as to suggest the redudion of
weight, and one could imagine their deciding who was
the winner of the game after comparing weights — the
one who had lost the most to be the winner.

Soon we descended from the wall and were whisked
giddily by one of the trams down the straight hill to
the Basse Ville. We alighted near the casino.

The sands attrafted me.

Lined along the beach are rows of bathing tents,
tightly squeezed together, like streets of workmen's
dwellings. They are not used for bathing from, but
as shelters in which the French Mamma may do her
needlework and entertain her friends, whilst little boys
and girls make castles in the sand. The little girls
wear breeches, and thus they are distinguishable from
the boys only in that they are healthier looking scraps
of humanity.

The Etablissement des Bains with its garden is
between these and the east jetty. The garden is open
to the public, but non-residents pay twenty centimes
for admission whilst the concerts are in progress.
There is here a swimming-bath, which may be used
when the sea is too rough for bathing.

A stroll along the Boulevard St. Beuve (the eminent
critic was born at Boulogne) will bring us amongst the
fashionable and wealthy visitors. Along here where

From the T^hames to the Sei?2e v

the big hotels and elegant villas are situated the people
promenade. Dashing, and daringly dressed, the French-
woman is everything, the man a mere hanger-on.

Night was coming on and we must needs dine pre-
viously to visiting the casino. There were plenty of
cafes near by. We selected one which was newly
opened, for it looked lively, moreover there was a band
there. Since this place had opened it had been the
rendez-vous of the fisher-folk, who in the evening
assembled outside to listen to the music and stare at
the diners. Apparently the proprietor was annoyed
by this audience, for he indulged in a little sarcasm.
Picking up a pair of opera glasses, he offered them to
one of the occupants of the front row, an elderly lady,
with the remark : " Here, Madame, you will see
much better with these." It had no effeft, however,
the crowd remained stolidly staring and lingered
unmoved.

Afterwards to the casino, there to see the play.
What a deadly dull form of entertainment it is. Were
it not for the variety of " types " one sees around the
tables, what other attra6tions would it have for any
one who is not a gambler .? Certainly the skill with
which the little rakes are used in scooping in the win-
nings of the bank, and the precision with which the
coins are thrown to pay its losses are worth seeing.
The jingle of coin may have a fascination, and the ir-
responsible ball as it rolls about the tiled circle, until it
settles upon the fateful number,compels attention ; but
the voice of him who sets it rolling, with his " Faites

Types : Boulogne

From the Thames to the Seine v

vos jeux^ Messieurs,'' and his ^'■Rt'en ne va plus,'' strikes
the keynote of the whole thing — monotony.

There had been little sunshine lately to draw the
butterflies to Boulogne, and the restaurant at the
casino was not the bright scene that it usually is.
The theatre in the same building poured out during
the entr'acte a small crowd and one devoid of any
particular distinction, which is not the case when the
town is full of visitors.

The following day the steamer brought many of
that type of Englishmen who, whilst travelling no
farther than Boulogne, thinks he knows the Continent.
He who usually loses a few shillings at the casino,
in a vain attempt to break the bank, thinks he is
regarded as a prince, and eventually returns home
with a few pifture post-cards which he hides from
his women-folk.

Boulogne is remarkable for its rather vulgar mod-
ernity, to which the ordinary tripper contributes not
a little.

There are two villages near Boulogne, Wimereux
and Le Portel. They are both reached by the tramway.

The route to Wimereux passes the Boulevard St.
Beuve, then it mounts up to the top of the cliffs and
runs along near the coast. There are extensive forti-
fications near the Point de la Creche, and beyond
these, to the south-east, can be seen the Colonne de
la Grand Armee, which marks the situation of Napo-
leon's camp. The foundation-stone of the Column
was laid by Marshal Soult, the whole army being

V Boulogne^ Whnereiix^ and L,e Porte I

present at this great event, for the monument was to
commemorate the downfall of England. As we have
seen, this expedition never came off, and the monu-
ment remained in an unfinished state until Louis
XVIII set about the work, which when finished was
to mark the restoration of the Bourbons. But it was
not completed until 1841, when it received the title
it now bears. The Column is 172 feet high, and it

.c^ x-eAr---,. ■■>')

Croi Fort, and the Sands at Wimereux

is topped by a statue of the Emperor, which is said
to be one of Bosio's finest works.

Napoleon seems to have been very energetic in
this distrift, for at Wimereux in 1803 he excavated
a harbour there at the mouth of the river Wimille.
All trace of the harbour has vanished however, for in
after years a flood broke down the sluice-gates, the
channel and piers were soon swept away, and the
harbour filled up with sand and shingle. Out amongst
the rocks and beaten by the roaring waves, the ruins
of the Croi fort remain, still clinging to the past, as

33 c

From the "Thames to the Seine v

though loath to forget the grand idea that caused its
eredlion.

Wimereux is now a fashionable watering-place.
Many English families spend their summer holidays
there, though for France it is rather an expensive
place. It has excellent sands, and a little way from
the village is a very fine casino. There are elegantly
furnished villas to be had, both facing the sea and
in the town, at very little cost compared with similar
habitations in England. There are also two fine
hotels, and the shops in the town are of a very good
class. Wimereux lays itself out to cater for the
more refined families, who want not the rowdyism
and gaiety of Boulogne.

The tramway to Le Portel commences near the
railway station in the Place de la Republic ; from
thence it runs along by the Bassin a flot, along the
Boulevard de Chatillon, and up the steep hill towards
Henriville. Here we obtain a fine bird's-eye view
of Boulogne, which stretches up from the valley of
the Liane to the crowning dome of Notre-Dame.
It makes a grand panorama, along which the eye
travels from the tall smoke-stacks of manufactories,
past the spidery rigging of ships in dock, to the
modern hotels, the casino, and the sea. Soon the
tramway suddenly leaves the road and becomes a
single-line railway, sweeping across the country
through cuttings and over little bridges just like a
toy railway, until presently the crude little station is
reached which marks the terminus at Le Portel.

V Boulogne^ Whnereux^ and Le Portel

Down the street with its rough pavement and its
trickling drains one comes across the quaintest char-
acters and the strangest costumes imaginable. Peep-
ing into little workshops below the level of the street
one sees the cobbler mending shoes, the smith and the
carpenter at work ; in others men are making nets and
sails. The baker, too, is busy with his cakes. The vil-
lage school and the church are passed, and then down
a steeper incline we come suddenly face to face with
the rolling, bowling sea.

The day we were there, there was a whole gale
blowing, and the sea was bursting into glittering
masses of spray as it pounded upon the rocks and
climbed up the sides of the Heurt fort, whose ruins
are the remains of another piece of the Emperor's
handiwork.

On such a day Le Portel is seen at its best. The
village is strongly fortified against the incursions of the
sea. The walls, reaching from the beach to the very
tops of the cliffs, are grey in colour, and suggest a sombre
strength that is quite in contrast with the tiny white-
washed cottages above.

The fishermen have about forty boats. These from
a scientific point of view are utterly stupid in construc-
tion and design, yet they swear by them, as all fisher-
men do by the type of boat they have been brought up
with ; during the summer,infine weather, they ground
them upon the beach in front of the village, but should
bad weather be threatening they haul them above the
reach of the waves and place them in the bed of a rivu-

From the Thames to the Seme v

let which runs through the valley. When winter
comes they make use of Boulogne harbour.

A walk along the cliffs to see the lighthouse upon
Cape I'Alprech is quite worth while. There is a little
streamlet crossing the footpath ; in this the fishwives
do their washing.

At a quaint little cafe upon the top of the sea-wall
we had tea, which was served by a vigorous old woman.
When the bill was paid, she anxiously held out her
hand and said, " Pour gar go??'' Taken literally, this
was very funny. However, I pointed to the table,
where, in the English habit, the tip for the waitress
was under the edge of the saucer. When she saw it
she became profuse in apologies and thanks.

For two days our yacht had been chafing her sides
against the pilot boat on to whose mooring buoy she
hung. We were beginning to feel that another day
spent in Boulogne harbour would about settle both
the yacht and ourselves. The weather looked awful,
and we heard nothing but " Plenty vind ! " " Plenty
vind ! " — nothing but " Plenty vind !" and ^'^SMauvais
tempsT

CHAPTER VI

Boulogne to Etaples

We were making ready for a start, when our friend the
assistant-pilot looked over the side of his vessel and ex-
cWimedy '''■ P^ous partez F Non ? II nest pas possible pour
Ktaf ! Restez-vous ici. Perhaps to-morrow you go.
Too much plenty vind to-day."

A glance at the wet rats of fishermen and the spray-
soaked sails of the big fishing-boat that was seething
along towards us from the sea was not an encourag-
ing thing. Moreover the bulging horizon line, seen
between the jetties, looked nasty, so we didn't go that
day.

We should not have gone the following day but for
the kindly pilot arousing us. Our alarm clock appar-
ently did not relish the starting, for it hadn't gone off.
We tumbled down in hasty anxiety to be off, for time
and tide wait for no man, and the tide for Etaples
serves but an hour, so shallow is the channel. One of
us got a meal ready whilst the other set the sails.

After clearing the jetties and the outer breakwater
nothing of importance happened, unless the high seas
smashing at us could be classed as happenings. These
were, however, too frequent to bear further comment.

From the Thames to the Seine vi

And though the head wind increased to the extent of
our having to get down a second reef, the big swell
which rolled in from the Atlantic grew smaller.

As we got to windward of the Carnot Breakwater, tall
columns of spray were climbing up its sides and scatter-
ing themselves over it. The boiling breakers upon the
rocks off Le Portel were making landwards in mighty
masses of cream foam. Some of the larger fishing-
boats were pitching and tossing to windward of us.
Their sails were sombre brown in the shadow patches,
where the sea was a rich blue, but they blazed gay and
ruddy where the sun fell upon them, and there the sea
was sparkling green.

How brilliant the myriads of snow-white patches
were, where the pointed wave-crests broke.

What an interestingthing it is to watch a wave come
on and on, rising and rising, until its steep crest grows
so thin that the light of day is seen through it. On it
rushes until risen so high that its back tumbles over,
broken in a roaring, curdling, fleecy mass of white — a
ton or so of sparkling bubbles.

The steam-dredgers were busy in their less interest-
ing way. The swirling smoke from their funnels, and
the smell from the engine-room were in the wind as we
passed. Rolling exceedingly, her rusty iron sides now
buried in the sea, and then slowly rising high above
with streams of frothy water draining out of her scup-
per-holes, each vessel lazily dragged her thick trawling
lines through the glistening water.

Soon these were left behind, and rounding Cape

^^^

-4

wy*

'1'

J ^

vi Boulogne to Ktaples

I'Alprech we had a low-lying shore fringed with sand
dunes, with crumbly hills in the blue distance beyond
and flat land between, across which the steam of trains
could be seen, this being almost the only sign of
humanity in the wild waste, for there was nothing to
be seen save the coastguards' huts, and these being only
three in number, spaced far apart, only emphasised the
loneliness.

From seawards, when a mile or so away, the entrance
to a river upon a low-lying coast is often very difficult
to find, and as our only guides as to our progress were
these huts, we kept very careful count of them.

Off the entrance to the river Canche at last, we had
to " heave to " abreast of Paris Plage to await the rising
of the water. The current alongshore ceasing one
hour and a half before high water, made it necessary
for us to arrive at the offing an hour before it was pos-
sible to enter.

Paris Plage, when it wasn't blotted out by the walls
of green water, looked like a row of match-boxes, and
the two lighthouses at Le Touquet like two cigarettes
on end. It is situated on the south-west bank of the
Canche, and will be described in the next chapter. We
could occasionally see — in the distance across the seas
that were breaking upon the bar — the beacon poles
which marked the channel to Etaples.

Soon, judging we had enough water, we sailed to-
wards these white-crested rollers. The sea was mixed
with churned-up sand. It was growing shallow, for
here at low water the tide leaves nothing but a dribble

From the Thames to the Seine vi

upon the dry sands. Moving at the rate of six knots
the current had got hold of us, and good or bad we had
to enter. The lead was kept going, from two and a half
fathoms to one and a half. Then my friend called
" One fathom," and though we were in the hollow of
a wave, that made us cringe. Six feet of water and we
were drawing three ! Again " One fathom."

I turned a little away from the red spindle buoy that
marked the end of the spit of sand upon which the sea
was breaking. Pressed over upon its side and twisting
at its moorings the buoy was battling against the cur-
rent. Then we found a fathom and a quarter. Here
a big white comber came rushing after us and, like
a parting shot, tried to climb over our stern ; but
rising to it like a duck, the Mave '^JRJioe shook herself
free, and it travelled alongside, carrying us with it into
smooth water.

Watching the beacon poles and the distant bank, we
were travelling at the rateof abouttwelve miles anhour.
Suddenly when near Etaples we came to a dead stop,
the dinghy overtook us and banged into our stern, the
tide swirled past us, and we were aground right in the
centre of the channel. As the tide rose it dragged
us with it, and we were soon moored alongside the
quay. We exchanged pleasantries with the inevitable
Douaniers^ who told us that no other English yacht
had, in their time, entered there. Indeed the almost
savage curiosity we aroused would point to this same
fa6t, quite as much as the Admiralty sailing directions
do to the dangers of attempting the entrance.

CHAPTER VII

Staples, Paris Plage, and Montreuil

The quaint and primitive fishing town of Etaples is
situated upon the north-east bank of the river Canche,
its grey walls and red roofs rear themselves above the
long stretching sand and mud-flats which choke the
river at low water. The Canche winds its wayamongst
these flats in a chaotic series of trickles. From the salt
marshes bordering the other bank, the village has a
most picturesque effect with its fishing-boats dried out
upon the sand and by the quay.

Little flicks of reflected tiles are seen playing hide-
and-seek amongst the wriggle of rigging mirrored
across the wet flats. Walking through the streets you
encountermanyartists,mostly Americans of both sexes,
though occasionally a real bit of the Quartier Latin
may be discovered in the person of some eccentrically
clad French painter. These, however, look less in-
congruous than the more rationally garbed Americans,
for eccentricity of costume seems to be cultivated
amongst the inhabitants of Etaples.

Strolling along we came across a house with
streamers of black cloth hanging from the roof to the
very doorstep — the insignia of the hand of Death.

From the Thames to the Seine vii

When we arrived at the church, we found the peasant
mourners Hngering by the open doorway.

How sombre they were ! The men wore the most
obsolete silk hats I have ever seen, and the neckcloths
tied stiffly into a bow were palpably new for the occa-
sion. The woman of the party wore the costume of
the Boulogne fishwife.

They waited there — we wondered why — until pre-
sently the priest came out of the church, then they all
made a deep curtsy and slowly returned homeward
a very sad party.

We entered the church, and coming out of the
brilliant sunshine we could see nothing, so dark was it ;
but presently out of the dimness shapes began to appear
as our eyes got used to the suppressed light.

There is, in this church, a curious legend, illustrated
by paintings. The text tells us that a youth of Etaples,
having refused the amours of a serving-maid, brought
upon himself by his virtue the drastic revenge of the
girl. In a curious rigmarole we were told that the
girl, taking advantage of a robbery which had taken
place about the time, denounced him publicly as the
thief, whereupon a fowl standing near lifted up its
voice and exclaimed, " Liar ! " The girl then angrily
took hold of the cock and wrung its neck, but in spite
of these strange happenings the youth was sentenced
to death. The parents had failed to get a pardon, and
upon the eve of the hanging of their son the family,
with several condoling friends, sat down in sadness and
despair to supper. The girl placed a pie upon the table,

vii Ktaples^ Paris Plage^ afid Montreuil

and as soon as the crust was cut, the self-same cock
thrust his head out and denounced the girl as the actual
thief, and told the story of the serving-maid's treachery.
Thus the boy was saved by the miracle of the cock of
Etaples. That the peasants believe this story is no
more to be doubted than that they trust in the patron-
age of the particular saint after whom they christen
their fishing-boats.

Indeed, the church of Etaples is full of interest, and
largely so because it is a church of the poor peasantry.

The exterior of the church is gnarled and moss-
grown ; it has a tower with a slated top. It appears to
be built of brickwork, which shows in places where
the whitewashed plaster has fallen. Architecturally, I
suppose, it is horrible ; but it is a picturesque, ramb-
ling old affair which artists love to paint — it is a study
in grey. The building shows a severity of design to
which the little touches of the hand of Time have added
beauty.

There is a duck pond near it, which is the rendez-
vous of all the ducks in the village. You will see little
files of them walking through the streets in its direftion
from the other end of the village, with a tremendous
tenacity of purpose. Afterwards, having had their
bath, they return in stately single file.

This pond was once nearly drained dry in the effort
to put out a fire. I was interested to learn how a fire
is extinguished, seeing that there is no such thing as
a fire-engine in the place. It seems the clang of the
church bell brings every one to the pond with a bucket,

From the Thames to the Seine vii

for in France everybody may be compelled by law to
assist in putting out a fire. The villagers are arranged
in two rows between the pond and the scene of the
blaze, men in one line and women in the other. Mid
huge excitement the buckets are filled from the pond
and passed along the row of men from hand to hand,
and the contents poured upon the fire. The empty
buckets are then passed back in the same manner along
the row of women until they are returned to the pond
to be filled again. The gendarme excels himself as
Field-Marshal by becoming frantically excited and
bullying everybody into doing the work ; indeed, I am
told that he himself makes it his duty to do little but
dance about like a cat on hot bricks, and occasionally
get his legs mixed up with his sword.

You will see the postman in a long blue smock de-
livering letters, with a bicycle ; and with a drub-a-dub,
drub-a-dub, dub, the town-crier will be heard beating
his drum, and making his statement, surrounded by a
collection of children, ducks, and dogs, whilst butcher
and baker, cobbler and chemist, stand listening by their
shop doors. Life in Etaples is like playing in a comic
opera, it is all such fun and yet such serious business.

With a toot, toot, toot, the tram comes every half-
hour, grinding out of an alleyway which is only just
wide enough to allow it to pass. It comes from the
station with a van behind it piled with luggage, and
it goes to Paris Plage.

We stepped aboard this primitive affair, and were
taken across the Canche along the first real French look-

vii Fjtaples^ Paris Plage^ and Montreuil

ing road we had yet seen — a road with those weird,
evenly spaced trees upon each side of it. Then a short
bend in the tramway hne took us into the forest of Le
Touquet.

What a fairy wood it was ! What play of light and
shade ! The tall aspen trees with their fluttering leaves
made mighty hissing sounds like broken surf upon the
seashore, for the wind was high when we were there.
We are told the Cross of Calvary was made of aspen-
wood, and that the tree shivers perpetually in remem-
brance.

The rolling hills and dales upon which the forest
is rooted were carpeted with wild flowers, bluebells
struggled through the growth of fern, and wild roses
covered the brambles like little pink-gowned fairies
asleep. There were velvety carpets of raw green grass,
and heather patches, white and lilac. The under-
colour of the little trembling leaves, where in delicate
tracery they cut the sky, showed a warmer and more
luminous shade of green than those in England. Upon
the tree boles the salt mist had been unsparing in its
sportive detail, and curious mottling touches ot green
and grey had made merry masses as though the twisted
trunks and branches were not sufficiently weird and
beautiful in themselves. This was a wood to dance
in ; everything suggested the lightly tripping toe, for
there was none of that sombre strength of the oak or
that massive importance of the beech. It had a sparkle
with it and a delicacy of breath that suggested a sip of
sparkling asti. Squirrels dart about the boughs from

From the Thames to the Seine vii

tree to tree, and rabbits run in and out of their burrows
amidst the exposed roots.

The tram noisily rattled along past branching roads
whose straight perspeftives seemed endless, and we
were whisked past many chalets^ their modern, ugly
eccentricity of style happily hidden by a wealth of wild
clematis which clung to their walls. Hammocks slung
from trees within the boundary fence contained pretty
women in fluffy gowns languidly reading the little
yellow-backed novels, as with Japanese umbrellas they
shaded themselves from the mottle of sunshine which
straggled through the tree-tops. Merry picnic parties
were seen, and men in the be-tasselled costume of the
French sportsman were met on their way toor from the
pigeon-shooting establishment near the dunes. Sud-
denly the character of the wood changed, for near Paris
Plage the trees are twisted pines. These were planted
on the dunes in 1897 to prevent the encroachment of
sand, for the winter gales shift the hummocks of sand
tremendously.

Soon we alighted at Paris Plage, where all is sand.
The houses are built upon it, and wisps of sand-reeds
are planted at intervals in lines to stop the sand from
blowing away and undermining their foundations.

The visitors at Paris Plage are mostly English. It
has excellent accommodation and very good shops.
The hotels are quite good and inexpensive. It has
a lively casino, and the golf links are advertised as
being the finest in the world. It is a grand place
for motorists, and there is a fine track where motor

k..-^

vii Etap/es^ Paris Plage^ and Mo7ttreuil

races are held. It is three miles and a half from
Etaples station, which is upon the main line from
Calais or Boulogne to Paris.

The dunes stretching towards Le Touquet Point
are very inviting, and should the wind blow cold the
children find sheltered spots in their hollows and
play the whole day long. From the tops of these
there is a fine view to be had of the hills beyond the
Camiers lighthouse across the estuary of the Canche.

At Paris Plage you are not pestered with hawkers,
and you are never asked to " come for a sail." It is
an ideal place for the little ones, the sands being safe
and clean, and small pools, where toy yachts may be
sailed and shrimp nets used, are left here and there
by the tide as though for the very purpose.

A brilliant sunset gilded the tops of the trees as
we returned through the forest of Staples, where the
Mave '^joe had been well looked after by one of
the fisher lads. We found the yacht still the centre
of attraction. Crowds sat upon the quay and in the
surrounding fishing-boats ; these watched our every
movement with greedy interest.

Whilst making the sketch of Etaples I must have
caught a chill, for a sudden excruciating pang of
toothache attacked me, and for a while I was nearly
driven mad with it. I tried to find a dentist, to
replace the stopping which had come out of the
offending tooth, but there was not such a person in
the place ; and the doctor, who might have relieved
the pain, was not at home. There was nothing for

From the Thames to the Seine vii

it but to try a little dentistry ourselves. My friend
was full of those inane recommendations that one's
friends, those especially who have a quaint sense of
humour, indulge in. A string with a pig of ballast
attached to it seemed most attractive to him. But
that was not the kind of thing that appealed to me.
What I ultimately hit upon seemed to interest our
audience immensely — the stuffing of my tooth with
cotton-wool.

Montreuil-sur-mer is now nine miles away from
the sea. It is but a six-mile journey by the railway
from Etaples. Situated upon a hill, it is surrounded by
the finest of French rural scenery, well sprinkled with
those curious trees and little brooks which Mr. Alfred
East loves to paint. The town was at one time fortified,
and its great towering walls and its citadel still remain.

Its houses tumble over and lean upon one another
seemingly as though struggling each to maintain its
position within the shelter of the walls. What
would happen if a new house sprang into place there
Heaven only knows. But there is no such thing as
a new house in the little town. Indeed so engrossed
was I in my attempts to sketch the curious beauty
of these old streets that time flew by unnoticed, and
I have little to tell you about the place.

You will remember that it was at Montreuil that
Sterne engaged his love-lorn coachman, and scattered
his irresponsible charity to the poverty-stricken crowd
which watched his departure.

Sterne was always more interested in people than

vii Etaples^ Paris Plage^ a?id Montretiil

in places. If you go to Montreuil, you will find
plenty to interest you in both. You will see the
Market Place crowded with country-folk, if it be the
market-day. You will notice their quaint carts and
the strange trappings of their fat steeds. You will
see the elaborate brake upon each of the waggons, and
note the necessity of its use if you see one of these
vehicles leave the town and journey homeward down
the steep hill.

The place swarms with artists, and that these work
with easels set up in the middle of the streets or where
they will, says much for the good behaviour of the
small boys, who in such places as Rouen are absolute
fiends.

From the walls fine views are to be had in all direc-
tions. You will see roads stretching to the dim blue
distance across the unfenced country ; these are only
to be known as such by the evenly spread trees which
border them.

One and a half miles from the town, at the village of
Neuville-sous-Montreuil,isthe Chartreuse de Neuville
orde Notre-Damedes Pres. The convent founded here
in the fourteenth century was almost destroyed and the
remains sold at the time of the Revolution. It was
rebuilt in 1 875, but the exterior only is to be seen, for
the Association Law of 1901 emptied it and visitors
are not admitted.

Once more aboard the train upon the return to
Etaples. We were followed into the compartment by
an English clergyman and his wife. The carriage was

49 »

From the Thames to the Seine vii

filled to overcrowding, and this solitary lady, glancing
nervously round at the other passengers, and finally at
us, exclaimed aloud in English to her husband, " What
an awful-looking lot of men ! " She was very surprised
when, a little later, she heard us speaking in English.
Doubtless our rough yachting clothes had misled her
into thinking we were Frenchmen of a nonetoo savoury
class. The bother of changing from " comfy " jerseys
into conventional shore clothes had long since been
voted " off," and an extended cruise aboard a four ton-
ner is not conducive to that spotlesswhite-duck appear-
ance that is associated with yachting.

But my friendwould soon perforce assume thecollar-
and-tie respe6tability which the ordinary modes of
travelling demand, for he had to return to London
upon the morrow by unromantic train and steamer.

Back in Etaples we dined at the Hotel Joos, where
we admired the wall-panels contributed to the decora-
tions of the hotel by its many artist patrons.

Over the vin ordinaire we discussed the matter of
my friend's departure. The time olmy departure was
fixed by the tide, which made it necessary for me
to leave at four in the morning. Yet in spite of his
having to turn out so early my friend preferred his
bunk aboard the Mave Rhoe to a bed ashore.

CHAPTER VIII

Etaples to the Somme

Sunday^ July 2^th. — According to the Admiralty sail-
ing directions this passage was to be the most dangerous
in the whole of my purposed voyage.

We are told of the " rapidity with which the sea
gets up," and that " the navigation hereabouts is ex-
tremely dangerous, as the low-lying land is bad to see,
especially in rainy weather." There is no shelter what-
ever between the two places.

My ship could with a head wind only just perform
the distance in time to catch the tide up the estuary
of the Somme. Should she fail to do this, the seven-
knot tide running out of this estuary would be difficult
if not quite impossible to sail over. There were the
dangers, too, of drying out upon the sandbanks with
the roll of a big Atlantic swell bursting upon them at
the incoming of the following tide. These banks, my
chart told me, become dry at low water for a distance
of a mile or more out to sea.

I have seldom felt nervous whilst sailing, and the
apprehension I may have felt was never caused by the
then existing state of things, but by the contemplation
of what might be yet to come. I am nearly always

From the Thames to the Seine viii

filled with stage fright before a voyage. I was op-
pressed with it now. Happily this vanishes once the
start is made.

The sun had risen with pink streaks at the edges of
blue-grey clouds. The wind, such as there was, blew
from the most favourable quarter for the work, and an
hour later the weather looked perfe6l — but that dawn
haunted me.

I kept the reefs that were still left in the sail, and
bidding adieu to my friend, who looked with sad long-
ing at the boat as he cast off my ropes, I set off alone.
The tide took me rapidly towardsthe bar six miles away
upon which the white surf could be seen breaking.

Before I got to it the wind had shifted and
strengthened. Once across the bar and out in the
open it settled down to a strong breeze, a dead nose-
ender. Gone were the favourable circumstances.

I then had a struggle against wind and tide for four
hours, doing about three miles, for, it must be remem-
bered, the tide outside runs in the direction of Boulogne
from an hour and a half before to four hours and three-
quarters after high water. Soon after I had done with
this slow progress and the tide was fairly with me, I
had to " heave to " to bail out the dinghy, which was
nearly full ; and, a little later, I had to reduce the
canvas still further, by which time I was, in spite of
my oilskins, wet through.

I repeatedly bailed the wretched dinghy, whilst the
yacht staggered on, sailing by herself. Five long,
weary, ice-cold hours had been added, during which

viii Ejtaples to the Somme

I saw nothing but leaden sea and murky sky. No craft
of any kind was to be seen, not even a sea-bird to re-
lieve this horrible monotony. Rain fell in stinging
torrents every now and then, blotting out all save the
immediate waves and the distant patches of white,
where seas breaking into foam oozed through the
sodden greyness.

Another hour and I should surely be off the entrance
of the Somme !

I decided to get a sight of the land, and turned shore-
wards. Presently the low-lying sand-dunes hove up
hazy and utterly desolate.

There was no sign of the estuary. Had I over-
shot it .? No, for beyond it the sailing directions said
the coast was shingle, and there was no shingle here.
I worked along the shore in shallow water, for the tide,
which had now set against me, was slackest there. A
slow business.

Weary tack after weary tack, and little progress
seemed to be made, until a line of surf ahead indicated
one of the banks of the Somme.

The rain had stopped, but the wind had strengthened,
and with far too much canvas up aloft I staggered along,
lying over at an alarming angle.

Holding on towards the bank, I must have picked
up the back-eddy I had hoped to find along its edge,
for the boat was now making good headway. Soon
I came to the end of this spit, and then I saw the Somme
tide rushing out of the estuary. I had given up all
hope of sailing over this, so I brought it upon my lee

From the Thames to the Seine viii

bow expecting it to set me over to the white cliffs of
Treport, which I could just see farther down the coast.
Indeed it was pressing me, almost broadside-on, in their
direction. Then a rain squall blotted out everything
and was kettle-drumming upon my sails.

To keep going like this was the best thing to be
done, for a tide on the lee bow makes for progress some-
where.

Presently I caught sight of a black buoy. The
French have a universal system of buoyage, the ele-
ments of which are that channels are buoyed with
black buoys on the left hand and red ones on the right
from the entrance. Here, then, was one of the Somme
channels (for my chart and directions said there were
three, though I ultimately found only one, and this was
it). The mouth of the estuary is six miles wide and
the channel under one.

" Entrez, Monsieur^'' the buoy seemed to say. " I'll
have a shot at it," said I to myself. The sheets
whistled out and the sails made a greater curve. Water
thrashed along the deck three and sometimes six inches
deep, squirting up like a fountain where it was torn
by the shroud.

The dinghy charged each sea and sometimes jumped
bodily off the crest of one wave into the hollow of the
next. (If she filled she would have to be cut adrift.)
Squirt, and thrash, and plunge, and hiss, on we flew,
through the rush of the tide, for the wind on the beam
is the fastest point of sailing.

Our speed through the water was all right, but

Chi.'^. Fcar^. '909

Houses, S/. V'luci y-itir-SoiiiiJi(-

viii Rtaples to the Somme

what of the pace over the ground ? A glance at the
shore would give some idea. We were passing it at
about two miles per hour (which meant nine miles
through the water). This was terrific, and if we didn't
capsize, we should get at least to Hourdel ; but when
abreast of this place, as there seemed water enough
to justify trying to get to St. Valery, I held on.

The heavy rain was now a mere drizzle. The
sun would soon be setting, for its red fire was shining
through the tips of the small waves astern and was
flicking delicate rings of iridescent tints through the
soft splatter of spray the yacht was throwing off her
bows. What a difference a gleam of sunshine makes.
How beautiful this was !

The water was gradually becoming calmer and
sandier in colour. I took several soundings, all five
feet. I still held on, however, until I had only four
feet ; then I turned off a little and found again five
feet, then four again, and soon after, the yacht's
keel scraped upon the sand and she was hard on.
The tide rushed past, scooping up the sand all around.
The boat lay over on her side away from the current,
and the water sank lower and lower until it became
about a foot in depth.

Then a most curious thing happened (I am told
it always does in the Somme), the boat slowly came
over upon her other side and finally rested so.

The sun was like a disk of molten metal resting
on the very tip of the horizon. To the eastward
over the wide estuary — which, save for the driblet

From the Thames to the Seine viii

passing under the yacht was now all dry sand — a
huge double rainbow spread its gorgeous circles. I
have never seen so perfect an efFe6t, and as I un-
buttoned my dripping oilskin and dragged it off my
sopping jersey, I thought of the poetic side and
wondered whether there was anything more in this
message from the sky.

I had sailed sixteen hours — wet through most of
the time, and without a bite of anything to eat — I
had got to within three-quarters of a mile of St.
Valery, whose lights were now twinkling through
the glowing twilight, and I felt proud of my ship
and glad to think that human error had not wrecked
her.

CHAPTER IX

St. Valery-sur-Somme and Abbeville

The boat lay over at an angle of twenty-five degrees,
and my cot being at the upper side, I had to make
up a bed upon the opposite bunk. This done I set
the alarm for 4.30 a.m. and went off to sleep. She
was afloat when I awoke. The wind had gone and
the rain had given place to glorious sunshine. I
hoisted the dripping sails, and with hardly any wind
I got to St. Valery.

What a charming little place it seemed as I drifted
up the narrow channel. Along the sea-front hundreds
of fishing-boats were moored in single file.

This sea-front is prote6ted by a bank of flint
pebbles, kept in place by rows of stakes interlaced
with wicker-work ; the alternate strips of this and of
the lilac-coloured pebbles form parallel lines along
the bank, which have a curious effeft. This is an
excellent protediion and one which is also neat and
very clean. The town is well wooded ; trees spread
themselves from the high ground down almost to
the water's edge.

I anchored just at the mouth of the port, where
there was plenty of water even at low tide, although
the sea recedes as much as nine miles from St. Valery.

From the Thames to the Seine ix

What a delight it was after twenty-six hours of the
boat to stretch my legs ashore — to have breakfast at
the little cafe. How lovely the bowl of cafe au lait^
the pale green duck eggs, the fresh rolls and butter, and
the little saucer of salad. The shutters of the little
shops were being taken down as I strolled through the
town, and I was soon buying stores — those delightful

The Quay, St. Valery-sur-Somme

preparations of the Maison Felix Potin. He who
knows not the name of Felix Potin knows not France ;
it is everywhere, upon the hoardings and in the shops.

Tempting fruit — peaches surely grown by goblin
market-men, sedu6tivecherries, pearsand melons which
bid one buy.

The little town is divided into three parts. La Ferte,
or the lower portion ; the Courgain, or fishermen's
quarter; and La Ville Haute, which is the St. Valery

ix St. Valery-sur-Somme a7id Abbeville

of old. This upper town has two of its old gates still
remaining — the Porte de Nevers and the Porte d'Eu —
and it has a very mediaeval appearance. The church of
St. Martin is fifteenth century. Built upon its unused
remains and clinging to its sides is a cottage. From
a low wall close by this cottage there is to be had a fine
view of the Somme estuary and the sea away in the dis-
tance.

What quaint little ins-and-outsofgrass-grown streets
there are in this higher town ! What delightful hill-
and-dale perspectives, tiled roofs, red, where the moss
is not. Grey tones of painted shutters and walls of
lavender, through which, here and there, brickwork
shows as though resenting the limewash and pitch,
whereby the spread of dampness in the lower part is
prevented. Peeping through the massive doors of the
better-class houses, a delightful freshness comes from
the be-flowered courtyards. Glancing through these
seldom to be found open doorways is like stealing a
peep into the heart of the family ; the sight at once
breaks down that feeling of standoffish reserve which
the exterior conveys. For, unlike the entrance of an
English home, the double door of the French one has
no welcome and the shutters of the window seem to cry
" Be off! " I wandered through this part of the town
until I came to a rather large hospital. The sight of
it reminded me that I had still asevere toothache, which
had been almost forgotten in the interesting explora-
tions of the town. I made inquiries for a dentist, but
was informed there was no dentist nearer than Abbe-

From the Thames to the Seine ix

ville. Sketching was misery, for then the pain was vile,
but I determined not to waste the light of day chasing
after dentists.

However, towards evening I could bear it no longer,
so I set off for Abbeville, having spent the day in vain
attempts at work.

There are two stations at St. Valery ; one is a very
small affair upon the line toCayeux. The stationmaster
was a shrill-voiced female, wearing the railway official
badge upon her arm. She seemed somewhat to resent
being disturbed from her wash-tub, for with crinkled
and soapy fingers she handed me my ticket with as
much haste as her answers to my inquiries were surly ;
but when I gave one of her little ones a penny she was
a changed woman. I felt she was my friend for life ;
she then quite courteously answered my questions, but
I could not understand her in the slightest, and nothing
would induce her to talk slowly and drop the railway
porter's slur of words. However, I gathered that I had
some while to wait ; so sitting upon the edge of the low
grass-grown platform, with my feet upon the nearest
rail (there were no seats), I was presently the centre of
attraction to a crowd of cocks and hens, ducks and
geese. I could understand their language anyway. In-
deed, one of the lady-birds proudly cackled the fa6l that
there was a new-laid tgg somewhere in the station-
yard. There was a doubtful duck — it might have been
a drake — in fact, I think it was, for it lookedat me with
that knowing glance which is often to be found upon
the face of some city stockbroker. He came very near

ix A?/. Valery-sur-Somme and Abbeville

me. I wondered whether he knew I had a biscuit in my
pocket. Anyhow he got it, andatoncebecame the head
of a procession, for off he went followed by all the other
birds, and I was left alone. Presently, in partiesof threes
and fours, came other passengers, mostly Americans,
and doing as I had done they sat upon the platform. I
should not like to say how many languages were being
spoken along the edge of that platform for I might
be wrong, but I should say quite half the countries of
Europe and several of the States of America were re-
presented.

Presently, with much grinding, spluttering, and a
totally unnecessary amount of whistling, the train —
an antiquated affair — came slowly round the curve
and into the station. Then with a prolonged whistle
it set off across the canal and towards the viaduct
that spans the estuary. Whilst the afterglow lasted
there was a feast of colour, the narrow dribbles upon
the flat sand reflecting the red glow of the sky ; the
long stretches of nets held up by poles to trap the
fish as the tide receded ; the goatherd hurrying
across the wide expanse of sands, followed by his
herd of shaggy goats, bound for one of the salterns
where they graze. The meadows and the marshes —
what interesting sights these were, how many subjefts
for future canvases ! Then the train entered woods
of poplar and the light faded. Soon the little train
arrived at Noyelles, its terminus, and I boarded the
Paris train and was quickly in Abbeville. I was
charged extra for taking the Paris train, my ticket

From the Thames to the Seine ix

only permitting me to travel by a local train ; how-
ever it was a trifle. My first question was " Where
is there a dentist ? " Much sympathy was expressed
before I was dire6led to the nearest of that ilk. I
was to cross the iron bridge over the canal, &c. &c.
I was half-way over this bridge, when I stopped
short, for there was a pidture — a weird view of sombre
still water reflefting gloomy trees, a mysterious bank
upon either hand, and a few gas-lights. I must paint
it ! but I had no paints with me. However, I made
a few lines and several notes, which resulted in the
accompanying drawing. It will express my vision
of the Stygian Somme Canal better than I can de-
scribe the unconventional scene. Looking into
the water below it seemed as deep as the sky is
high.

But the dentist ! He was not at home. " Monsieur
might find one in the Rue So-and-so " (which was a
quarter of a mile away). Peeping through a narrow
street I saw the encrusted mass of the church of St.
Vulfran. Illuminated by the glow from the hidden
square below it towered above the house-tops away
into the starlit sky. I must needs make a note of
that, and by the time the sketch was finished I had
forgotten my diredtions. There were few people
about and the shops were mostly closed. I entered
the square near the foot of the two towers of the
church, and gazing at the beautiful building, perfect
in this mysterious illumination, a young priest — a
pleasant fellow — came out of the shadow of one of

ix St, Valery-sur-Somme and Abbeville

the three huge portals. I accosted him, but he could
not understand what I said, for I accidentally pro-
nounced the word " de?Jtiste " in the slightly different
English way. I tried again, and this time he saw
the light so to speak. " Venez, Monsieur^' he said,
and he led me down a dark street for some consider-
able distance, until he paused in front of a door and
exclaimed, " Voila^ Monsieur! " I thanked him, and
with a " Bon soir. Monsieur,'' he returned solemnly
through the shadowy perspective, whilst I rang and
rang again, but had no response. Presently a young
man approached down the street, and opening the
door informed me that " Monsieur le dentiste " was
not "^ la maison^ He recommended another who
also was not at home. I then inquired of a chemist
for another ; his wife seemed much amused, for she
laughed until the decorations upon her " little bit of
Paris " blouse shook again. If she hadn't been so
distinctly pretty, I should have voted her a cat. I
had supplemented my scanty vocabulary with one or
two English words, one of which began with a " D,"
and is usually printed with a dash. I asked her why
she laughed, and she replied, " I haird you spik ze
Ainglish damm." This was coquetry in a chemist's
wife, and I felt safer (.?) when I made my exit, with
a card of introduction to the only remaining dentist
in the town. It was growing late, and in a French
provincial town away from the cafes, ten o'clock
seems much past midnight. As I left the still lively
square, where is the beautiful monument to Admiral

From the Thames to the Seine ix

Courbet, it seemed quite oppressively late, so " settled
for the night " was the aspeft. I wandered through
innumerable streets, taking several wrong turnings,
but eventually I found myself at the right door. I
pulled the bell with some violence, and presently
the head of a fat woman in a dressing-gown was
shoved out of one of the upper windows. " Mon-
sieur le dentiste est-il a la mat son, si vous plait,
Madame ? " I asked. " Je descends " was the re-
sponse, and in a short while the little port-hole
in the door was cautiously opened, and the old
lady's face appeared behind the bars. A quaint
conversation took place, which commenced with
much sympathy from the lady, but concluded with
the announcement that the dentist was never there
after 6 p.m.

What I said inwardly about France, Abbeville,
dentists, toothache, and the French language my
publishers would not print.

I set off towards the station, but attraded by the
picture post-cards displayed in the shop window of a
tobacconist, I entered and then asked what time the
next train left. Much thumbing of a time-table only
elicited the fact ^'' ISJ'est pas correspotidance.'^

No train for St. Valery until morning ! What about
the yacht } Well, she would have to take care of her-
self. I was recommended to the Hotel des Anglais
close by. It had a very inviting appearance, but was
full up. I tried several other hotels, but all were full,
and with a now positively raging toothache I con-

S/, Vuljran, Abbeville

ix aSV. V alery-sur-Somme and Abbeville

sidered myself the luckiest person alive to be permitted
to share a double-bedded room at a small cafe near the
river. I was handed a form to fill up, which struck me
as showing quite a comic-opera humour in its deadly-
seriousness. I am told it is not at all an uncommon
occurrence in France to have this duty to perform.

I asked to be called at six in the morning, and half-
an-hour after that time I wasadmitted into the presence
of the nearest dentist. This person proved to be a very
stout old lady, who at once set about the tooth. Re-
moving the stopping in a business-like way, she pro-
ceeded to kill the nerve. During the operation her
daughter, trh-belle^ entered in her dressing-gown, and
talked to me whilst the work proceeded. I think the
trh-belle daughter an excellent idea, and cordially re-
commend it to dentists in England. I was charged
only twoyr^;?fj-, which I also appreciated, though I fear
the recommending of that would be useless. I had
no more toothache.

The beautiful old town of Abbeville, with its river
Somme and its rapid running mill-streams, which are
banked up by its moss-grown houses, is noted for the
making of cloth. It has over 20,000 inhabitants, and
is of some importance still. Especially proud are its
people that it is a seaport, and indeed three-masted
schooners may be found here, which have laboriously
worked their way from the sea via St. Valery and the
Somme Canal. Doubtless it may have shone in the past
as a port, but the past has spread a glamour over Abbe-
ville, which, with small thanks to its harbour, made it

65 E

From the 'Thames to the Seine ix

loom big in the history, not only of France, but the
whole world.

From being a mere farm, belonging to the great
Abbey of St. Riguer, it grew and grew until Hugh
Capet blessed it with a girdle of ramparts, and the
leaders of the first two Crusades made it their meeting-
place. As the capital of Ponthieu, it was given the
title of Abbeville lajidele.

Being part of the dowry of the bride of Edward I,
Elinor of Castile, it passed, in 1272, into the hands of
the English, who held it with trifling interruptions
for two hundred years. The marriage of Mary of
England to Louis XII was celebrated here at the
church of St. Vulfran.

Thus the pageant of its history passes by until 1 527,
when Wolsey and Fran9ois I put their heads to-
gether and signed their alliance against Charles V.

This reminds us of No. 29 Rue de la Tannerie,
which is the present address of the shade of Fran9ois —
La Maison de Fran9ois I ! He inhabited it in 1527,
and it looks like it. It is a charming old timber house
(there are many in Abbeville), and is said to be one of
the finest specimens in France. The pen-drawing here
given will convey some slight notion of its crumbling
grace, but the delicate tracery of the carving, especi-
ally of the little door with its age stains and bloom of
colour, would take many more hours of hard work to
portray than these modern days of haste would permit
to be spent upon the drawing of a mere door. Per-
sonally, though, I would rather paint a portrait of that

From the Thames to the Seine ix

door than one of the many rather uninteresting persons
to be found in paint upon the walls of our art galleries.
It would be like painting an old, old man of many lives,
who had a fund of stories all about the by-paths of
history.

Here one finds a vine pi6turesquely twining its way
across the building ; doubtless it obscures some of the
carving, but how beautiful it is. Some there are who
would quickly have it down, and thereby rob the old
house of those mysterious little spots of shadow, and
those little flecks of light which let the imagination
see as well as the eyes. But one is always impressed
by the good taste of the French in these matters ; they
just know how to let nature caress the hand of man.
That vine shows no sign of being planted — it is just
there^ just where it is wanted, laughing at the axe of
the restorer. I am told one can seldom go there and
not find an artist sketching, and truly the old gentle-
man whom I saw there seemed to be enjoying his work
with that intensity which follows upon the discovery
of a fine subject.

One could yarn about the history of Abbeville and

the surrounding country, but need one say more } It

were but to drag you along pages of printed matter,

though I must tell you that the stone windmill upon

the summit of which Edward III stood and watched

the Battle of Crecy still exists, and it is not so far away

from Abbeville that one would not wish to journey

there.

Relu6lantly we must bid adieu to Abbeville, for the

'1 -:

1 /-.-

>.v

— :^

<
(I

Q
.J
O •

From the Thames to the Sei7ie ix

yacht Mave '^BJjoe has lain untended upon one anchor
at the mouth of the port of St. Valery since seven
P.M. of yesterday. In spite of the honesty of the
French, which is remarkable, I began to be anxious
about her.

Threading my way through the crowds of country
folk, for apparently it was market-day, I hurried to the
station, meeting all sorts of quaint people on the way.
Fat farmers and their plump cattle, drovers, horse
dealers, butchers and pig dealers, millers and dairy-
maids. The farmers wore curious black smocks, as
did the drovers who belaboured their bullocks with
long sticks. Strange carts trundled through the streets,
and altogether my walk to the station was full of
interest.

Aboard the train I was whisked through lovely rural
scenes, past old mills and farmsteads screened by cur-
tains of those curious trees that are to be found here-
abouts, until Noyelles was reached. There I had some
time to wait. In a strange country waiting does not
irritate one, and even the grass-grown railway lines
curving into the woodland distance, and the great,
strange-looking engine of the express that rushed by,
provided entertainment. The woodman's carts, with
their large wheels and levers for lifting the logs of tim-
ber, and their rusty chains for fixing these ; their horses
with quaint harness bedizened with large tassels and
huge brass bells ; the blue blouses and the bulgy pale
fawn corduroy trousers of the woodmen, the unceasing
crack of fanciful whips, the melodious clatter of the

ix 6V. Falery-sur-Somme and Abbeville

bells resounding and echoing amongst the trees — what
could one wish for more to wile away a little time ?

Meanwhile the train that was to take me to St.
Valery was waiting in the station, and presently with
a prodigious whistling it set off. It very nearly left
me behind, for I had to scramble in whilst it was
moving. There was much unnecessary excitement at
this amongst the officials and the passengers, but see-
ing that it never got up more speed than about seven
miles an hour throughout the journey, I felt that I
could have boarded it anywhere on the run.

Back in St. Valery, imagine my surprise when, walk-
ing along the tree-lined road which follows the Somme
from the station to the town, I was met by three in-
habitants, each of whom sympathetically asked me if
my toothache was better. I had only asked one man
about a dentist, but evidently " two and two had been
put together," and news of the visits to the dentist of
Monsieur le tnatelot seal de la yacht Anglais sur la parte ^
as I found myself described, had spread.

To be back in St. Valery was like returning to my
native town. I was greeted here and greeted there in
quite a friendly way. Moreover, I found the yacht
just as I had left her.

Hurriedly gathering together some paints and
brushes, I set off to continue my interrupted explora-
tion of the town. To-day was the only really warm
day since the one following our entrance into Calais.
One could sit sketching without shivering. First of
all I walked along the quay until I came to the foot of

Fro?n the Thames to the Seine ix

the clifF upon which the upper town is built, there a
pile of houses may be seen towering up into the sky in
a striking manner ; they are built upon the fortifica-
tions that were laid down by William the Conqueror.
For you must know that it was from here that William
of that title set sail for England on September 27,
1 066. We are told that the fleet had waited some while
here for a favouring breeze, and when at last it came,
the Mora, William's ship, led the way out of the har-
bour. This ship is described as having a huge lanthorn
on its mast, and a golden boy blowing an ivory horn
in the direction of England in its prow. One may
read all about it near the harbour, for there is a zinc
plate in an old warehouse there which commemorates
the embarkation.

Whilst I was sketching these buildings the pleasant
sound of children singing came floating down from
a school above. As I worked merrily along, occa-
sional passers-by would stop and look at my work,
chat awhile, and walk off upon their little business.

Afterwards I walked up by the harbour and thence
away above the town, getting glimpses of the sunlit
estuary between the roofs of the houses. I walked
along a narrow lane, which brought me to a steep de-
cline, which entered the Courgain. What a rambling
mass of red roofs and whitewashed walls I passed as
I descended farther. Peeping in at the little cottage
doorways, I saw the spick-and-span interior, where
the fishwives were busy, and I saw many a little bit

of old-time furniture, which raised envy in my breast.

ix St. Valery-sur-Somme and Abbeville

I must say it was the cleanest fishing quarter I have
ever been in. Scattered about upon the doorsteps
men w^ere mending nets that v^ere dyed the same shade
of blue as their blouses, others were overhauling ropes
and stropping-blocks ; some of the women were at
their doors making lace, and the future fisher-folk
— the little children — played quietly. They were
cleanly little souls, pifturesquely clad. The little boys
wore Tam o' Shanters with just such red " toories " as
would have raised the jealousy of Wee McGregor ;
the little girls wore costumes in miniature, similar to
those of their mothers. Sedate little folk they were.

The reader may have realised that this is an irre-
sponsible record, and it will doubtless seem late in
the chapter to talk of the origin of the town of St.
Valery ; but the memory of seeing a gardener at work
as I passed out of this fisher quarter, reminds me
now of the gardener of Luxeuil, one St. Valery or
Walaric, who, attracting the notice of the Abbot St.
Columba, was sent by him as missionary to the mouth
of the Somme. This was years before William the
Conqueror came upon the scene. There is a grass-
grown street in St. Valery called Le Chemin Vert^
which is said to have been the road where St. Walaric
took his daily walk.

The St. Valery of old was the scene of much car-
nage ; no town has been taken and re-taken oftener
than St. Valery, and if it is contented to remain more
a thing of the past than one of the present, doubtless
the difliculties of navigating the estuary are respon-

From the Thames to the Seine ix

sible for it ; but for this, St. Valery might have run
Boulogne, Dieppe, and even Le Havre pretty close
as a port in point of size. But now such ships as
come are under the ban of compulsory pilotage, and
these are often neaped (stuck upon the sand until the
return of the next spring tides and sometimes longer).

St. Valery is one of the most unwearyingly de-
lightful places in which to spend a holiday that could
be imagined.

There is good bathing when the tide serves ; and
when it doesn't the sands from St. Valery across to
Le Crotoy, two miles away, are firm to the tread and
clean as polished marble. Little French families may
be seen, as they dig and play or quietly take the air,
until the horn that announces the returning tide bids
them leave the sands.

St. Valery is a quiet place, and quiet and simple
are its visitors, good-class French, with no ostentation ;
they are having a quiet little holiday, an inexpensive
and a happy one withal. Should boredom seize them,
which is not likely, they have many places of interest
to visit — Le Crotoy, Cayeux, and Abbeville, also Berck
is not far away. But St. Valery is all absorbing.

Its people are nice, and the fisher-folk are most
picturesque. The men wear the pale-blue blouses,
and trousers that are patched and patched again.
The women, with their little white caps, are all part
of St. Valery. Everybody is busy. Yet there is
nothing at all to do. That is perhaps why everybody
is so happy.

CHAPTER X

St. Valery-sur-Somme to Le Hourdel
and from there to Le Treport

I INTENDED to Sail to Trcport through the night, but
the sun set vilely and rain came tearing down, so I
brought up at Hourdel, near the mouth of the Somme.
Hourdel is a mere anchorage for fishing-boats, but it
does a trade in flints with Liverpool. Here there are
about twenty houses only ; and that about ten of these
are cafes serves merelv toremindone that it isin France.
All else is muddy harbour and miles of shingle stretch-
ing seawards and along the coast to Cayeux. The tide
leaves the harbour dry for about eight hours out of
twelve ; and during these eight hours the horrible
odours from the filthy mud are almost unbearable.

In this deadly dull and dreadful place, which in fine
weather is perhaps worth a visit, I had to stay the next
day. For those fishermen who did ventureout to sea re-
turned quickly, having had enough. Moreover sheets
of rain were still tearing down, and the wind chilled
one to the marrow.

In these smaller places I was looked upon with in-
tense curiosity by the natives. They stared into my

From the Thames to the Seine x

cabin, with bovine placidity — some of the fishermen
looked upon me as a sort of mythological being, some-
thing come up from the sea, and that I navigated my
craft all alone seemed quite a puzzler to them all. One
of these, who had helped me with my ropes when
I arrived, seemed to regard me as a curiosity of his
own ; I heard him telling first one and then the other
of the little yacht that had come all the way from
London.

Heartily sick of the place, I set off that evening, but
turned tail and ran back when outside, for, added to the
wind and waves, I found it also hazy. However, I got
clear of the place the next morning (July 29th) under
double-reefed mainsail and second jib.

One wave, a false one, broke right upon her top-
sides as I neared the mouth of the Somme ; its coldness,
as it climbed over me, took my breath away, and the
yacht suddenly stopped as though all the life had gone
out of her. What was the matter with her \ Had
she run into a log and got it athwart her bows .? No.
Was it fishing-nets ? No. She staggered and heeled
over alarmingly. Something was stopping her, and
whatever it was the Mave Roes behaviour was begin-
ning to be dangerous. The dinghy was the last of the
gamut of possibilities that raced through my mind, and
she was the cause of the trouble.

She had filled and turned over. Water-logged and

bottom up with the painter stretched almost to the

breaking point, she held the yacht back.

I *' hove to " hurriedly. After several attempts I suc-

From the Thames to the Seine x

ceeded in righting her, but she was still water-logged,
and she soaked into every wave-crest as it passed. It
was useless to try and bail her, the water would un-
doubtedly come in as fast as it was taken out. The
only thing to do was to get her aboard. If I could only
get her stem upon the rail and keepit there, whilst some
of the water drained out of her, I could save her. How
I tried ! Sometimes I missed it by an inch. All the
while hanging on as best I could, whilst the yacht
jumped and kicked like a mustang in the really awful
sea that was running.

Well, for three-quarters of an hour I tried to save
the little boat. By this time the sea was running higher
still, for the tide was beginning to set against the wind,
and soon it would be running at seven knots — just
twice the rate of the Thames tide. This was not the
place in which to have a water-logged dinghy attached
to one. So, with much sawing and slashing at the rope,
I cut her adrift. The savage sea rolled her over and
she dropped astern. Then I let the head sail draw and
sailed away.

I was not sorry to be rid of her, she had been quite
a source of trouble and very little use. I had cut her
adrift once before in the Thames estuary during a win-
ter gale, and after drifting about the North Sea for a
month, she was picked up, and I got her again ; but
doubtless this was the last I should see of her, for she
would be sure to smash up on the sands in such a sea
as this, so I did not report the loss when I arrived at
Treport.

X St. Valery-sur-Somjne to Le T'report

A narrow channel is dredged across the bar outside
Treport, which, according to the chart, dries out at
lowest tides. Flint pebbles choke the sides of this
channel and are piled high to the left. Upon the
other side there are more pebbles and Les Granges
rocks.

Upon the right hand — death ! upon the left —
disaster ! And away upon the very tip of the huge
white and red seared cliff, towering into the sky, the
figure of Christ upon the Cross leads the mariner
safely through the boiling, tearing, hissing, hellish
turmoil of the bar into the sheltering arms of the
harbour.

I crossed this shrieking mass of broken water with
only three feet to spare under my keel. One touch
of the keel upon the hard shingle and there would
have been a sound of rending timber and splitting
spars.

The jetties were crowded with running fishermen
and visitors, hastening along to see me break up upon
the bar. They stared at me in amazement when I
cleared this and entered between the piers. I got well
into the harbour, and several fishermen came, bursting
with excitement, to help me to stow my sails.

One of these succeeded in getting aboard as I took
ground, and although I told him to go, for I did not
like the look of him, he went on stowing away, or
rather he got in my way whilst I did the stowing.
Nothing would induce him to bail out the water I had
taken aboard, so I let him see that I meant him to go

From the Thames to the Seine x

pretty quickly. He demanded a franc, I gave him
fifty centimes to save a row and he cleared off. Then
a most delightful thing happened : an Englishman
asked if he might come aboard. He came, and he
invited me to dine with him at his hotel ; both he and
his charming wife were exceedingly kind to me in
many ways.

CHAPTER XI

Le Treport and Eu

The Mave '\RJioe had the appearance of an old-
clothes-dealer's stall as I looked at her from the quay ;
garments of all descriptions were hanging out to dry
upon the topping lift. I found myself in a popular
watering-place — a Ramsgate-cum-Southend sort of
place, only not so nice as either.

Treport is divided into two parts, each with its
casino. The newer part is called Mers, and it shows
a miserable attempt at being swagger. The other part
— Treport proper — is usually crowded and rowdy, and
Mers turns up its nose at the type of visitor to be
found there.

I received a bad impression of Treport, and it is
probable that the weather had a great deal to do with
this, for it was cold and miserable, gusty and wet, whilst
I was there. The people were wrapped up in almost
winter garb. Little boys ran about with the hoods of
their capes over their heads ; the women wore thick
ulsters of a huge tartan pattern — everybody looked
battered about, and smiles were few and far between.

The keynote of my impression was struck shortly
after I landed. Screams, shrieks, and wails were

8l F

From the Thames to the Seine xi

heard coming from the centre of a crowd that had
gathered near the quay. Gendarmes were there,
patiently listening to the ravings of a well-dressed
young woman. With her hat in several pieces,
her hair everywhere, frothing at the mouth with
drunken anger, screaming and waving her umbrella,
lurching and staggering, she held up an empty reticule.
From what one could gather between her screams
and howls, she had been drugged and robbed. One
gendarme cast a doubt upon her statement. Like
lightning she flew at his face and scratched deep with
her claws, spitting the very spite of an enraged tigress
as she did it. They took her off writhing, kicking
and biting in uncontrollable wildness. Raging in her
rags she was swept along to the prison-house. It is
always a terrible sight to see a woman drunk, but
this was worse, for she was decently clad and prob-
ably rather pretty.

Le Treport has a large fishing population, and quite
the dirtiest and nastiest to be found in the whole
of France, I should think. The fisher-women are
very ragged, and they seem to be for ever carrying
bundles, boxes, or baskets upon their backs. Coming
and going with their huge burdens it is useless to
wonder why and whence they are bringing and
whither they are taking them, for you will never
know — it is a secret, or at least it is a mystery. The
one thing certain is that they do it. And what of
their men-folk .? If it is fine, they go to sea ; but let
them catch sight of a sunset which suggests bad

Types : Le Tri^port

From the Thames to the Seine xi

weather, and they don't go to sea — they get drunk
instead.

The quay, with its cafes, picture post-card, and
spade and bucket shops, is the HveUest part of the
town. Here you will see men strolling about each
with a rather large red cylinder upon his back.
This you will probably mistake for a fire-extinguishing
apparatus. It is nothing of the kind. The red affair
is his shop, and it is well stocked with gaufrettes. A
closer inspection will reveal upon the top of the red
canister a wheel of fortune with numbers ranging
from one to five. Upon payment of five centimes
one may spin the wheel, and should your luck be in,
you have the possibility of gaining five of the pastry
leaves instead of one for your money. The children
are great patrons of the game, fior one certain, and
the chance of five, appeals to the little girls as much
as the little boys.

Strolling along towards the beach you come to
the casino ; it is just like other casinos, but the scene
which meets your eye from the jetty looking along
the lilac pebbled beach resembles nothing else.
Seldom will you find such a fine mass of cliff as is
there. White and scarred with brilliant red earth
stains, patches of green sea-grass, cracked, gnarled,
and scooped away by the action of the sea, the cliff
rises sheer to the height of over three hundred feet.

So toweringly high is this cliff that the crowded
beach seems peopled by mere ants, and the boarding-
houses along its foot look like dolls-houses.

xi Le T?^eport a?ui Etc

At low water there is a little sand beyond the
pebbles, but bathing is in progress all the while.
Shoes with rope soles are used at high water, for the
flint pebbles are bad for the feet, and even with these,
one must needs hobble rather than walk.

Upon the jetty itself many people were gathered.
Daring the spray and occasionally being caught by
the drenching showers, they watched the blustering
surf; and indeed it was a sight worth seeing as it
thrashed along in blinding whiteness and climbed the
sides of the pier.

In the evenings, whilst one sips one's cafe noir^
quite a good music-hall entertainment may be enjoyed
at several of the many cafes which fringe the quay.

Bourgeois visitors, such as Steinlen might have
drawn, sit and listen to the plaintive songs — those
sad melodies, little tragedies of love. As I sat there
the words of the songs conveyed perhaps little to my
English ear, but the gestures were unmistakable.
Songs sung by a painted lady who had " lived " and
felt that sorrow of life which is half the making of an
artiste. A sprightly miss, in a rather shockingly
decollete fairy-gown, chirped saucy lyrics, and at these
the stout folk shook with merriment. Then a " funny
man " in evening dress told stories and sung songs in
which the audience took up the chorus. Meanwhile
the waiters were busy. The tinkle of glasses was
heard and the saucers upon some of the tables were
beginning to assume monumental heights which said
much for the capacity of some of the drinkers.

From the Thames to the Seine xi

It was quite like a little bit of Montmartre. This
end of Paris loves Le Treport, and it goes there year
by year, just as certain Londoners think they have not
lived unless they go to Margate once in the year.

The songs followed me as I stepped across the fish-
ing-boats to the yacht and into the land of Nod.

I was aroused next morning by the patter of rain
upon the deck, and the howl of wind through the
rigging. Throughout the night I had been occa-
sionally conscious that the yacht had been bump-
ing and groaning whilst rubbing her sides against the
fishing-boat alongside which she was moored.

Little drips of water were coming through the deck
as I got the stove going, and a general feeling of
dampness was eating its way into my brain and getting
upon my nerves. The sound of spluttering eggs and
bacon usually has a lively, hopeful sound aboard a
yacht, but this morning it had no power to cheer, and
I was glad when the meal was over.

There was quite a popple of sea in the harbour, and
no doubt, to judge by the bumps and scrapes she was
getting, the boat's sides, despite the rope fenders I had
made for their protection, were by now bare of paint
in places, and I felt too depressed to see what damage
had been done.

1 left her, hating ships, the sea, foreign countries,
and all things generally, and slipping over the greasy
decks of the fishing-boats I climbed up the iron ladder
to the quay. I was greeted by two officials. I did
not recognise them as Doiianiers, for they were smoth-

xi Le Treport and Eu

ered in long capes with the hoods over their heads.
They had not visited me the day before, but here they
vv^ere at last, requiring particulars of the boat. This
meant adjourning to one of the side streets where the
smaller cafes are. I always found Messieurs des Douanes
could understand my French better with a glass in
front of them. These were no exceptions, and indeed
I was glad of their company. They were amusing
enough in themselves, but what was better, the cafe
they selected was a little bit of downright French.
Gaiety thus early tinkled through the spring-doors as
we entered — the pretty laughter of Madame, and the
louder mirth of her customers.

This merriment was caused by an old dude. He
had offered his heart to Madame, and was bringing
the whole company to witness it, snapping his fingers
at Monsieur, who seemed to enjoy the affair as much
as his cognac.

The high-flown gallantries of the old gentleman, his
gestures and his mimicry of the lover loving against
hope, were little bits of exquisite comedy. " If Ma-
dame would but leave her horrible husband, what joy
it would make." They " would lightly trip and dance
through the days that would ever be sunny " (they
were both rather stout). His flowing language was
rising to Olympian heights, and where it would have
landed him I cannot say, for the door opened and one
could laugh no longer. A gust of rain-sodden wind
blew in and with it came an ashen, wretched, more
than death-like face — the face of a woman. The

From the Thames to the Seine xi

skeleton hands clasped close to her wasted bosom, a
shawl whose folds were lost amongst the rags and
creases of neglect. Her skirt bore stains like in colour
to those found upon timber sodden with decay. The
rain dripped off her shoulders like grease as she hob-
bled in. She coughed — how like the laughter of a
ghost it sounded — and dragged her rags to the bar.
Madame de la cafe was ready — the glass was on the
counter ; there was a horridgurgle and its contents had
vanished. Two coins were silently placed by the side
of the empty glass and the figure slowly vanished.
When the swing-door closed behind her, I realised
that no one had spoken whilst that shadow of human
degradation was passing.

The old dude was the first to break the silence.
" Madame," he said, " I do not now wish to run away
with you. Your sex is irresponsible. How do I know
that you would not become like that \ " This set the
merriment going again.

Messieurs des Douanes mistook my praise of the
brandy for an invitation to have a third, and when
this had disappeared they made much show getting
into their cloaks and, smiting themselves upon the
chests, they exclaimed together, as if it had been
rehearsed, " Duty ! " and departed.

I asked Monsieur de la cafe how I could best get
to Eu. Monsieur turned to his wife — why is it I
wonder that a Frenchman never answers a question
without first consulting Madame } " Far le tramway
sur le quai^ Monsieur,'' said the dimpled lady.

xi Le Trip or t and Eu

I stepped aboard the tram and was in Mers before
I thought to ask if I were in the proper tram. I was
not, however, so I descended and gazed upon the splen-
dours of Mers, about which I have nothing to add to
what I have already told you.

Once more by the quai, I set off for Eu. Histori-
cally Treport is a mere appendage to Eu, its principal
event being the landing there of Queen Victoria, who
visited Louis Philippe with grand display at the
Chateau of Eu in 1843.

This was not a day which one would choose to spend
much time in making the necessarily detailed sketch
of the west front of St. Laurent, and it was with
regret that I could not fill a page of my sketch-
book with an attempt at recording its delicacy.

The church was built in 11 86, and it took forty-
four years to build. It occupies the site of an old
collegiate church in which William the Conqueror
was married in 1 050, but the despicable mask of over-
restoration swamps its character entirely save for the
part already mentioned, which has that luscious
crumbly quality that age alone can give.

In 1 180 when the leaves lay red upon the ground
an aged pilgrim was seen approaching the town by two
shepherds. " What house is that below .? " he asked
of them. " It belongs to the canons of St. Victor,"
they replied. The holy man proceeded, saying, " Here
is the place where I shall rest for ever." They took
him in, for his name was Laurence O'Tool, Arch-
bishop of Dublin. Soon he died, and his last words

From the Thames to the Seifie xi

were, "Thank God, I have not a penny in the world."
The holy man could not have left a better portion with
the monks than his bones, for other pilgrims came.
They came in numbers to see his shrine, and they left
alms wherewith the Church of St. Laurent was built.
Hence the name.

The chateau was built upon the site of a very ancient
fortress. There the shipwrecked Harold was betrothed
to one of William's daughters. Joan of Arc is said to
have been shut up in one of its towers. Louis Philippe
added to and restored it in 1821. About two-thirds
of the castle were destroyed by fire in 1902, but the
grounds are remarkably fine and they command a view
of the sea.

The town is only interesting near the church ; the
other part down towards the canal seems to be all coal,
and corrugated iron sheds, but passing these you will
come to the canal, which is rather picturesque with its
tall trees to the trunks of which deep-sea ships arc
wont to fix their warps.

The forest of Eu, three miles away, is a favourite
place for excursions ; but a forest upon a wet day is not
attractive, so I did not see it.

Back in Treport, the harbour was crowded with
fishing -boats which had come in for shelter, and the
quay swarmed with fishermen. One of them, from
too much cognac, seemed to have developed a great
sorrow — the sorrow, from what I could gather, being
for myself in my loneliness, for he came aboard and
would not go. After much useless persuasion, I be-

r *

The Canal: Eii

xi Le Treport and Eu

came annoyed and pitched him into the boat alongside
which my craft was moored. He picked up a long
sweep oar and succeeded in hitting me a blow upon
the chest. He grew wild. The situation looked
serious, but it ended by his casting off my warps, and
then bursting into tears and apologies, as he saw the
tide slowly taking my boat away. The owner of the
sweep, which was lost overboard, had him arrested.
I thought after this it would be better to seek the
shelter of the dock. So, setting the jib, I pointed for
the swing-bridge. 1 asked a man in a boat what was
the signal for the opening of the bridge. He answered,
" Plenty vind," and I had asked in my very best
French, too. I approached the bridge as near as I
dared, but there was no sign of its opening, so I went
alongside the wharf. There was no ladder near and I
was trying to climb up one of the piles, when a young,
well-dressed Frenchman, accompanied by his sister,
asked me in quaint English if he could assist me. He
offered his walking-stick, and she offered the handle
of her umbrella, and between the two of them they
managed to get me up. I repeated my question about
the bridge, this time in English, and my new-found
friend replied, " I do not know, but I will go beg."
I wondered whether or not my French was as funny
as his English. However, he was a very good sort.
He went to " beg," and as the bridge opened, both he
and his sister took hold of my warp and towed me
through the lock, and soon I was snugly moored in
a corner of the dock with the prospect of a quiet

From the Thames to the Seine xi

night's rest before me. There I found another English
yacht — a craft of about fourteen tons. She had been
sheltering in the dock for thirteen days, her owner
looking miserable, and her paid hand fat and happy.

Thick woolly fog banks were rolling over the hills
and down into the valley of the Bresle as I peeped
out of the hatchway the next morning ; and the wind
still tore at the rigging.

I was swabbing down the decks and making things
a bit more ship-shape when my French friend came
along. " You will not go to-day ? " he queried.
" The sea is very bad outside."

He came aboard and was intensely interested in
the cabin arrangements, the simplicity of my swing-
cot surprising him vastly.

We walked to the end of the jetty together and

the waves were still dashing over it at the end, but

the clouds were a little higher and the wind had not

the cruel bite that had been with it the last three or

four days. So I decided to make a start. There was

little time to spare ; the dock-gates would close in

half-an-hour, so we ran the half-mile back to the

yacht. The inner port between the dock-gates and

the swing-bridge is a narrow piece of water down

which it is impossible to sail without a leading wind.

My Frenchman once more made use of the tow-rope

and pulled me along this for a quarter of a mile

stretch. We were making very slow progress against

the wind, but presently his sister came along and

lent a hand, the little lady pulled so strenuously that

xi I^e T^r Sport and En

we doubled our speed and were soon in the outer
harbour. Then bidding them adieu, I set sail and
they followed me to the end of the jetty and watched
until I could no longer see their waving handkerchiefs.
It is pleasant to record such kindliness as these
people, whose names I do not even know, extended
to a total stranger and a foreigner in their country.
I wonder whether I should have found such friendli-
ness had I been a foreigner in England .? I know
my attempts to climb up the sides of the wharf would
have been a subjett for ridicule, and in England I
should never have attempted it for this reason. But
in France a foreigner is a guest ; and if we do not pre-
sent ourselves " avec cet aplomb irritant des Anglais
en voyage^'' kindness and courtesy will await us.

CHAPTER XII

Le Treport to Dieppe

July 3 1 J/. — I found the sea outside pretty bad, but
not so bad as when I entered ; indeed it was a com-
paratively pleasant sail along the skirts of the white
cliffs with their beautiful lilac shadows, for the sun
was shining. I made better progress, too, against the
apparently inevitable head-wind, and I soon arrived
at Dieppe. It was dead low water when I entered
between the piers. I heard the shriek of a siren out
seawards, and one of the Newhaven-Dieppe steamers
was making for the entrance at full speed. Harbour
officials at the top of the pier thirty feet above were
excitedly waving their arms and screaming at me,
" Le ^aquebot ! Le T^aguebot I " What was a
steamer to me .? Had I not encountered many
such in the Thames .?

" Venex lelong ici^ M'sieur,'' one of the men
shouted. As the pier completely blanketed the
wind, I got out an oar and did this, and dis-
covered that 1 was nearly upon the stone base of
the pier which was just covered by the water out
of which short piles of timber were protruding. If
the steamer's wash set me on these, I should find my
yacht wrecked.

In the Steamer'' s wash at Diefpe

xii Lie Treport to Dieppe

There was no time to be lost. I rushed up to the
mast and held the craft broadside off these with the
oar. The steamer whizzed past at top speed, followed
by a tremendous wash which increased in height as it
passed along the shallow water in which I was. I
felt sure this was the end of the Mave Rhoe ; it lifted
her up like a cork, and its crest broke over everything.
When it was past, feeling sure one of the piles had
gone through the bottom of the boat, I waited near
the mast to be ready to climb up it when she sank.
But she showed no signs of sinking, and running into
the cabin I found, as a result of the wash, water a
foot deep above her floor boards. It wasn't increasing,
however, which showed no damage had been done.
That the yacht was safe struck me as a complete
miracle.

A steamer usually slows down a bit as she enters a
harbour, but there is such a strong tide across the
ends of the two jetties at Dieppe, that the entrance
has to be taken by large vessels at top speed. Other-
wise whilst succeeding in getting their stems safely in
their sterns might swing round and foul one or other
of the jetties.

There are men always ready to track vessels in,
but despite the fluky wind which comes along the
jetties in puffs from all direftions, I went in under
sail against the tide.

Here I found the fishermen quite different from
those of Treport. One of these, with the help of his
wife upon the quay, who caught his rope and tracked

From the Thames to the Seine xii

him in, overtook me. He told me I had passed
him out at sea, and perhaps by way of showing his
admiration of my little craft he berthed me snugly
alongside his boat, offered to dry my things, and set
his son to work bailing out the water. This boy
seemed to think he had acquired a world of wealth
when I gave him two francs. When I returned to
the yacht after a trot ashore, I was surprised to find
he had stowed everything beautifully, coiled all the
ropes neatly, and done much work with the wash-
leather.

This drew my attention to her appearance, she was
in a sorry plight. I had worn out all my fenders in
trying to save her paint, but it was scraped to pieces,
and indeed, in places bare wood was showing. Tar
from the fishing-boats was also distributed artistically
and liberally about her sides.

The kindness of the fisherman was still more mani-
fest when, entering the cabin, I found on the table,
upon one of my plates, two iridescent mackerel.

CHAPTER XIII

Dieppe

Although the steamer that had nearly swamped me
had filled the town with English trippers, Dieppe
was not robbed by them of its " Frenchness."

As modern as Boulogne, it is yet strangely old-
fashioned, for its novtXiits pour plaisance do not over-
power it. It is still an old, old town and a very beau-
tiful one. Its people do not suggest that they are
there to make money out of the visitors. The
country, too, around Dieppe is gloriously beautiful.

It has prodigious cliffs, white cliffs that are verit-
able playgrounds for delicate shadows and dancing
blue refle(5lions caught from the sea. The houses
upon its sea-front are not swollen with their own
importance, and it is difficult to realise that the big
hotels there are as numerous and as fine as at, say,
Ostend. These are dwarfed and kept in proper in-
significance by the grandeur of the scene which
stretches from the summit of the North Cliff where
towers the church of Notre-Dame de Bon Secours,
past the harbour mouth, along the flatness of the
town, and over the lawns that border the sea, away
to the ancient chateau upon the southern cliff. So

97 G

From the Thames to the Seine xiii

grand and big is all this, that people look like little
coloured powder specks, and even the casino seems
toy-like.

The panorama is grand, and filled with many historic
associations. Upon the North Cliff some walls are left
standing, and the dark entrance of several caverns may
be seen ; they are all that stands of the Bastille. Built
here in 1566 it remained for a hundred years, but we
are bidden to think of that earlier Bastille established
by Talbot in 1442. This was a wooden affair sur-
rounded by a fosse, and it contained twenty cannon and
some smaller arms. This was sufficient for Talbot,
who, leaving a garrison there, sailed across to England
to gather troops and a blockading squadron. Mean-
while news of these doings at Dieppe spread to Charles
VII, and Louis the Dauphin in his twentieth year saw
that therein lay a chance to distinguish himself. With
sixteen hundred troops and some experienced captains
he set off to Dieppe. His boyish enthusiasmroused the
sluggish French, and by the time he arrived he had an
army twice as large. No sooner had he reached Dieppe
than he began the siege. The English made two sorties
which the tired Frenchmen repulsed, but the boy could
not retaliate without the necessary means of passing the
fosse. He set his men to work, and soon some ingen-
ious contraptions consisting of bridges upon wheels
were made, and these were lowered across the fosse and
the attack began. With one eye upon the seaboard,
anxiously watching for the dreaded English fleet, the
Dauphin set his men upon the attack. It was repulsed ;

xiii Dieppe

the English arrows and stones rolled many Frenchmen
dead and wounded into the fosse and the rest retired
in considerable dread and discomfort. The Dauphin
stormed and raged, for the faces of his captains wore
signs that told plainer than words what they thought
of him and his inexperienced rashness.

That was enough. With the smell of battle in his
nostrils, he grasped a scaling ladder, rushed alone across
one of the bridges and began to climb the wall. This
a(5t inspired theFrenchmen, andthewholearmy scram-
bled to help him. They crowded up the ladders with
such wild madness of attack, that the English fell back,
and after losing five hundred men surrendered. The
Bastille was razed to the ground.

The day was the Vigil of the Assumption of the
Blessed Virgin, and Louis in his dust and bloodstains
went straight off to St. Jacques to give thanks for the
victory.

The anniversary of this victory was celebrated by
a disgusting procession and a miracle-play performed
at the Church of St. Jacques, in which a celebrated
buffoon made fun of the representations of sacred per-
sonages, by which the crowded congregation were
made merry and prepared for the orgies which ended
the day. These incongruous and shocking displays
took place annually until 1647, when Louis XIV
stopped them.

The eye follows the outline of the cliff, which was
the scene of this victory, until the mass is nearly lost
in the smoke from the chimneys of La Pollet, whose

From the 'Thames to the Seine xiii

irregular streets are so strange and pi6turesque. This
is the portion of the town where the fisher-folk dwell.

Glancing across the stretch of town, we remember
that it might still have been a wooden one, but for the
privateers of Dieppe, who in 1 694 worried the English
fleet which was returning from an unsuccessful attack
upon Brest. This fleet, in retaliation, threw bombs
into the town with such vigour that the whole place
was soon ablaze, and the finest house in all Normandy
— the house of Ango — was thus destroyed. How-
ever, perhaps it was for the best, and the rebuilding
took place so long ago that the town nowadays wears
an old garment. Previous to this, in spite of its suffer-
ings from the plague in 1668-70 the town had been
most prosperous, and its citizens had grown wealthy
from repeated privateering expeditions.

Jean Ango, who was born in 1480, strikes the key-
note of the harmonious prosperity which Dieppe en-
joyed during his time. Upon the death of his father
Jean gave up active seafaring, and settled down as a
shipowner, and to a life devoted to the one aim of
increasing the fortune his father had left him.

Shipowner meant also privateer, and privateer
meant sea-rover.

Ango had soon collected a big fleet, which was scat-
tered about the two worlds, and by 1525 his wealth
was fabulous ; he built the lovely house above referred
to, in which he lived and entertained in princely
grandeur.

He also built the Manoir d'Ango, which remains to

xiii Dieppe

this day, and raised a monument of lavish splendour
which impressed Francois I. The King visited Ango
there, and w^as so thunderstruck by the noble magnifi-
cence and the dazzling display of treasure collected
from all parts of the w^orld, that he made his host a
Vicomte.

Ango not only had a huge fleet of merchant ships,
but also some twenty ships of war for their proteftion.
Many fights and scrimmages took place between his
men and Flemish and Portuguese sailors. But when at
last one of his merchantmen was captured, her crew
massacred, and the vessel taken into Lisbon, Ango lost
no time before he sent a fleet to Portugal, where it cap-
tured sev^eral richly laden ships and destroyed many
villages. The Portuguese, never dreaming that this
was the work of a mere privateer, sent a dispatch ask-
ing why the King of France had broken the peace.
Francois replied, " It was not I who made war upon
you. Go, find Ango, and arrange your affairs with
him."

Soon Francois died and Ango's fortune began to
dwindle. He became pettish in his pride. His friends
deserted him. One of these accused Ango of swind-
ling and brought a successful action against him. Then
five or six other friends brought further actions. Cred-
itors came when his fortune was squandered and took
away his works of art, his plate and all he possessed.
He became the governor of the castle, and, afraid to
venture out, he lingered therein, lonely and poverty-
stricken, until he died in 1 55 1. That is the tale of the

lOI

From the Thames to the Seine xiii

" Medici of Dieppe." You must go to Le Mesnil to
see the Manoir d'Ango, and if you do not see the ghost
of Ango, you will see the signs of his one time great-
ness.

Thus the civil history, you see, is not without its
strife, and the old town upon the ** Deep " — as the
estuary of the Arques used to be called, from which
Dieppe takes its name — was always in dread of the
English, who captured and destroyed it several times,
and it suffered in the Religious Wars.

We have not done with our panorama yet. There
is still the castle and the bold cliff upon which it
stands.

The castle was built to defend the town against
exploits of our own, but it could not withstand the
bombardment of 1694. However, our bombs did not
destroy it, and it remains in use as a barracks, to
which visitors are not admitted.

The casino is in the picture, but it is modern, and
its history is only that of loss and gain at the gaming
tables. It is good fun in fine weather to watch the
bathers at the Etablissement des Bains.

Passing through the streets, glancing at the tempt-
ing shops, we come to the Market Square, and there,
in front of the Church of St. Jacques, is a fine statue
of Duquesne, who was one of the most illustrious
Admirals of France. He was a native of Dieppe, and
in 1676 he defeated the Dutchman, De Ruyter.

The square with its flower and fruit stalls is most
pi6luresque. I was tempted to sketch it, and sitting

102

'ir^-^^'m..^

—sk''^

Xlll

Dieppe

at one of the tables outside a cafe busily at work, I
was interrupted by a stranger who had been watching
the progress of my sketch. He said, " Le sujet il est
tres difficile^ Monsieur.''' " Oui^ Monsieur^' I agreed.
Then he added, " 'Je suis un peintre Anglais^ mats de la
portrait^ " Then why the devil don't you speak
English ! " I exclaimed. We took wine with each
other, both enjoying the joke.

Casino : Dieppe

The river Arques as it enters the port of Dieppe
would not suggest the babbling beauty that the stream
possesses farther away. But follow its banks. You
need go no farther than where the river Bethune
joins forces with it, and you will see what beautiful
country it passes through. You will see the Castle
of Arques ; it is a favourite resort of visitors, and it
is only three miles and a half from Dieppe. Train,
waggonette, and carriage are waiting to take you there.

103

From the Thames to the Seine xiii

It was at the Castle of Arques that Robert le Diable
told his mother that he didn't thank her for giving
him birth. Whether this story is true or not, there
were doubtless many who in his day could have said
the same. However, the castle dates from the time
of William the Conqueror, and it has the reputation
of being the last Norman stronghold to surrender to
the English. There is a history attached to every
stone of the chateau, so to speak, but after the time
of Henry of Navarre the castle fell slowly to ruin.

For those who love a quiet holiday, there are around
Dieppe many charming little bathing-places. To the
westward Pourville and Varangeville, and a little be-
yond d'Ailly Lighthouse, St. Marguerite at the mouth
of the Saone and Quiberville are delightful. In the
other direction. Pays — where there are first-class fur-
nished houses — is but a pleasant walk from Dieppe
along the shore at low tide. It was a favourite place
of the late Lord Salisbury, who had a villa there.

Those who can brave the lack of bathing tents,
hotels, and other signs of holiday-making by the sea,
may find many nice little primitive places — as yet pro-
found secrets. The night I spent at Dieppe I wished
for nothing better than to sit outside the Cafe Suisse
and listen to the band, whilst reading the faces of the
people around me and trying to learn a little of their
lives.

104

CHAPTER XIV

Dieppe to St. Valery-en-Caux

Sunday^ August ist-ind. — I set off from Dieppe with a
fine breeze under whole mainsail until I arrived off
Point d'Ailly. Here I set the topsail, for the wind
had fallen light ; then it came aft, and I set the beauti-
ful bellying cream silk spinnaker which had not been
out of its bag since I had left the Thames.

The white sunlit cliffs, ranging along the coast as
far astern as the eye could reach, the lovely sky, the
smooth blue-green sea, and the balmy sun-bathed air,
made life worth living. The offing was scattered w^ith
tan-sailed fishing-boats, their sails patched with many
shades of that rich hue, and even a French yacht
had ventured out. I felt almost like a yachtsman my-
self after the awful wind and furrowed sea that had
been my lot since leaving Boulogne. We were a
salted pair — the yacht and I. My clothes were grey
with it, and it glittered upon the sunlit sails as high
as the jaws of the gaff. The wind fell lighter still as
I crept along towards Veules, where everybody grows
roses.

Off Veules I was becalmed. One hour, two hours —
I don't know how many hours it seemed, but I was

105

From the Thames to the Seine xiv

stationary here until the tide turned against me and
was taking me towards the huge rocks that stretch
from Cape d'Ailly half a mile out to sea. Then night
fell.

A glance at the chart showed a shoal known as the
Raz de St. Michel. I waited until I thought I was
drifting over it. I threw the lead over to make sure.
There was twenty-five feet of water, so splash went
the anchor. As it bit into the gravel the moon came
up over the valley of St. Aubin, and scattered her
lustrous refleftion over the sea.

I lowered the jib, but left the mainsail standing.
I then turned in and slept until I was awakened by
the flapping of the sail. This turned me out again,
and I found the yacht had swung to the new tide.
So getting up the anchor, I set sail again towards the
lighthouse of St. Valery-en-Caux, whose flashes rivalled
those of the reflected moon.

At last I arrived off St. Valery. What a dreary
place it looked in the steely dawn. The air was chill
as I crossed the bar. Piles of shingle choked the
entrance, and at one point left the channel between
the jetties only about fifteen feet wide. But it was
deep, and so I got in.

Not a soul was astir, for the sun had not yet risen.
Not a boat to be seen. A drearier welcome could
not have been dreamed of I climbed, with my two
warps, up the ladder to the top of the quay and
made them fast.

I had been asleep for about half-an-hour when I

1 06

I >i

U -4

xiv Dieppe to St. Valery-en-Caiix

was aroused by a knock upon the cabin door. The
person who had done the knocking, pointed upwards
to where an elderly gentleman with a gold-braided
cap and a walking stick was standing. " We are just
about to open the sluice," he said in French, as
without further ceremony he threw down a thick
rope.

I was half asleep and inclined to be angry, but the
word " sluice " woke me up with a jerk. I suddenly
remembered the warning contained in the Sailing
Diredlions with regard to this. They told me that
" the channel is prevented with difficulty from entirely
silting up by sluicing ; " that "vessels in the harbour
should be placed parallel with the quay, and the
moorings watched as the scouring sluices are opened,
for the rush of water is so violent as to undermine
those which have grounded at right angles or diagon-
ally to its direction."

The man took a turn round the bollard with a
thick rope and cleared out, crying to me to " come
ashore." I took the precaution to hitch the end of
the rope round the mast, but I preferred to remain
aboard, where I awaited the onslaught of the water.

With huge hammers the bolts that held the sluic-
ing gates were cast adrift. There was a mad rush of
water, which churned up the filthy bottom of the
harbour as it charged at me. It took hold of the
Mave Rhoe and suddenly with a giddy reel she
was lifted sideways away from the quay, and the
tightened rope slipped offthe bollard. Then followed

107

From the Thames to the Seine xiv

a shock as it again stretched tautly from the mast
where it held. The pressure of the water, thus turned
more upon her side, nearly capsized her, but grasping
the tiller I gave it a sheer and kept her bows to the
savage rush. If I had not remained aboard I feel sure
she would have been filled with the filthy water.

An idea of the force of this sluicing may be
gathered when it is realised that the harbour is three
acres and a half in extent, and that in three minutes
the sluice raises the level of the water in the whole
of this area five feet.

This efi^eftually destroyed all notions of sleep, so,
instead of awaiting the visit of the Douaniers^ I stepped
ashore. I was bone tired, but I wished to be miles
away from my little cabin, so I walked through the
sunlit streets and away into the outskirts of the town
until I came to a rope-walk, where thus early men
were making ropes. Walking backwards girthed
with swollen belts of hemp, which the spinning line
gathered to itself as they receded, they philoso-
phised, whilst every now and then they gave the rope
that scientific little jerk which would hang it on its
proper peg, some twenty yards away. Rope-making
is a pleasant thing to see, so I threw myself upon a
grassy bank and watched. I must have fallen asleep,
for I suddenly realised that the rope-makers no longer
philosophised. Moreover another chara6ler had come
upon the scene, a milkmaid, whose milk cans, slung
from her shoulders, were off^ering a more earnest

resistance than the maid to the embraces of the

1 08

1 he Sluice, St. J 'a/dry-en- Caitx

xiv Dieppe to St. Valery-en-Caux

younger rope-maker, whose belt of hemp also sadly
interfered with his love-affair. The elder one went
on with his rope-making ; surely he was too quaint a
personality to have ever kissed a half-resisting lass ;
but the twinkle in his eyes left me doubtful.

109

CHAPTER XV

St. Valery-en-Caux

What a charming little place this St. Valery is with
its thatched and moss-grown cottages. What wild
growth of flowers there is ; and, as though the little
garden patch were not enough, from the ridges of the
cottage roofs wild iris grows out of the thatch.
What lovely lanes it has, and what quaint run of line
there is in its streets where the slated sides of ancient
houses lean towards each other.

There are many old houses in St. Valery, and the
one a little beyond the bridge between the floating
docks and the harbour is a sixteenth-century affair,
which visitors flock to see. It is known as Maison
d' Henri IF. But old houses are to be expected in a
place whose name and origin dates from so long ago
as St. Valery, the Picardy Saint, who, we are told,
dried up a little river which had its source there, be-
cause it was the cause of idolatry in the inhabitants.

There is little of the town to be seen from the offing,
for it is situated in a hollow between the huge cliffs
that border the sea hereabouts. And what is to be seen
is most uninviting. But should you arrive there by
train you will be greeted at the station by the scent

XV St. Valery-e?i-Caux

of its roses, and the ferns and palms growing upon the
platform will wave you a pleasant welcome. By the
time you have walked along the bank of the floating
dock with its overhanging trees, you will begin to
realise the charm of the place. Soon you will come
to the elegant but comfortable and not ultra-modern

tivii.

'>>-^
X:"-^

:<N(

■X,

^^\^^^

' K.

Cottage at St. Valery-en-Caux

Hotel de la Paix, beyond which is the market-place.
There you will see the church, but it will not interest
you so much as the innumerable stalls of fruit, flowers,
tinware, and haberdashery, where you will find the
pleasantest of tradespeople you could wish to buy
from.

But for the English ship and one or two hulks in
the floating dock you might think yourself miles from
the sea, and though the place seems like an agricul-

From the Thames to the Seine xv

tural town, don't forget that St. Valery sends ships to
the Newfoundland fisheries. Indeed, should a man
be a farmer, his brother is sure to be a sailor, and the
hauling cries of sailors may be heard mingling with
the bleat of lamb, the cackle of fowl, and the moo
of cow, echoing and echoing down the valley. One
would think St. Valery had never been disturbed by
other turmoil.

The natives are a kindly lot of folk, and such as I
came in conta6t with were almost embarrassingly de-
sirous of helping me. One man, a shipbroker, who
spoke excellent English, was so skilful in parrying my
excuses for declining his invitation to dine with him
that I felt uncomfortably rude when I at last con-
vinced him that I wished to be excused.

He was a cafe acquaintance. Whilst in his com-
pany, I happened to place my box of English matches
upon the table and they remained there, until presently
a gendarme entered, and as he passed, he placed his
hand upon the matches, and said something hastily
to me. My friend came to the rescue, and a conver-
sation, which was altogether beyond me, followed.
When the gendarme passed away, the shipbroker ex-
plained that one must never in France leave foreign
matches upon the table in a public place. I don't
know what dire consequences one incurs by a breach
of this rule, but the gendarme looked at me as though
he had caught a rabid criminal red-handed.

My friend the shipbroker drank absinthe, and his
hand shook as he poured the water over the sugar.

112

-' ■ v-Vt.g^"''^-^V^-v

Ai S/. l'ah:iy-i/i-Cau.

XV St. Valery- en-Caiix

that was in the curious spoon used for the purpose.
I loathe the smell of absinthe, and the taste to me is
like soapy water sweetened unreasonably. I drank
the simple cafe noir and cognac, which is in France
no dissipation even in the morning. The brandy is
excellent wherever you get it, and together with the
coffee it makes an excellent stimulant. Whilst sitting
here, the yacht's mast could be seen through the
window, gradually rising with the incoming tide.

The little maid-of-all-work was busy swilling the
tiled floor of the cafe. The swish of her broom, the
clatter of her pattens, and the little French song she
sang were cheerful sounds to listen to, and to speak my
own language was a pleasurable change from the diffi-
culty of expressing myself with so small a vocabulary
as I possessed in French. At last I parted from my
friend and set to work to sketch one of the streets
which had attracted me as a subje6l.

There was a butcher's shop quite near where I sat.
What a many " Bon jours " I heard ! What chopping
of meat, and what vivacious little conversations be-
tween the butcher and his customers.

It was very cold, and then soon it began to rain ;
luckily I had my oilskin with me. At last I was
finishing off my sketch, when the little maid-of-all-
work from the cafe came running towards me ex-
citedly. " Pardon^ Monsieur — le ynaitre de la porte —
votre bateau. Venez^ Monsieur^'' I heard, and away
she ran. I followed, wondering what was happening
to the boat. I found a crowd upon the edge of the

113 H

From the Tha^nes to the Seine xv

quay, from beyond which the mast could be seen.
Whatever was the matter, I wondered. There was
the portly old gentleman, who had thrown me the
rope when I first arrived. " Are you going to sea, or
are you going into dock ? " he asked. " You cannot
stop here, your yacht may be damaged," he added,
together with more that I did not understand. Then
the welcome sound of good old English came from
somewhere out of the crowd, and another portly per-
sonage was addressing me. Had he not apologised
first for addressing me I should have mistaken him for
an Englishman. However, he explained that the
harbour-master had gone to a lot of trouble trying
to find me, and that if I wanted to go into dock, I
had only five minutes before they closed the dock-
gates. I had not thought of going into dock, because
I intended getting away shortly before low-water, but
as I had had very little sleep, I decided to take advan-
tage of the dock. There were many offers to track
me in, but I hate that mode of propulsion, it looks
undignified from a sailorman's point of view, so I set
the jib and sailed in. Two French yachts, one about
fifteen tons the other of about twenty, were waiting
to go in. We all went in together with a little crowd
of curious visitors and natives lining the sides of the
dock entrance as we passed through.

I asked permission to warp alongside the English
ship. She was from Fowey.

The mate leaned over the side grimy with coal

dust. " Where might you have sprung from, sir .? "

114

XV S^, Valery-en-Caux

he asked, and when I repUed " Hammersmith," I
was pleased to find he expressed no surprise ; he merely
said, " You have got a pretty little packet. I reckon
she's a pretty good sea-boat. She looks as if a
scrub down wouldn't hurt her. You've had it pretty
bad, haven't you ? "

This was far nicer than the usual surprise and
comment as to the wisdom of having done it, such
as one invariably gets from yacht hands under similar
circumstances.

" You haven't got any English bacca aboard, have
you, sir t This 'ere French stufFs simply putrid, and
they wouldn't allow us to bring in more'n a pound."

I had long since exhausted my stock, but I had two
English cigarettes, for which he thanked me heartily.

I rather like French cigarettes myself, but I can
well understand such a man as the mate sneering at
most things French, and the tobacco particularly.

In the rigging of the ship was stretched a large
white sheet with printed matter upon it to the effe6l
that coal could be purchased from the ship at i6
francs per ton. This is how St. Valery gets its coal.
Sometimes a cargo is sold to an agent, but usually the
coal is sold direft from the ship to the customer, who
carts it away at his own expense.

By now the day had settled down to one of soaking
rain. It rained in sheets until six in the evening,
when I took a stroll along the lanes amongst the
pretty thatched cottages with their wood and plaster
sides. Many of these were quite primitive in the

From the Thames to the Seine xv

matter of communication with the upper rooms.
Taking the place of a staircase, there was a ladder
outside which is drawn up and stowed inside the
bedroom when the cottagers retire for the night.
What dear old wrinkled dames I saw at the doorways,
with their neat little white caps and their black sabots ;
each one was quite part of her little homestead, and
rightly so, for did she not wear the same sort of
costume that her great-great-great-grandmother wore
when the little cot was built.

There were little orchards the trees of which were
hung with cider apples, and near each doorway, green
with age and moss-grown, stood a pidluresque old
winch above the water well. What dear old tumbled-
down barns 1 came across whose timbers, bent with
age, had sheltered many crops. All situated in a
well-wooded valley where the simple rattle of a milk
pail is fairy music and the tune of whistling farm lad
is that of the magic flute. I took a path that led me
across the grass-grown railway and past more cottages.
I ascended the other side of the valley until I looked
down upon the sodden trees.

Presently I returned to the town and walked to the
end of one of the jetties. For a mile the surf was
stained with the black and filthy waters of the har-
bour, for the sluicing had lately been performed. It
was a desolate scene and the sea looked savage, and the
distant figures of returning shrimpers upon the beach
served but to emphasise the loneliness of the coast
and the unwelcoming height of the sheer white cliffs.

ii6

XV St. Valery-en-Caux

I dined at a little cafe in the market square, for I
was out of love with my own cooking ; moreover I
had decided to sample the round of pleasure at the
casino, and I must prepare myself with a good meal
and a bottle of wine. At the cafe Madame played
draughts with one of her customers amid wild en-
thusiasm from the onlookers. What simple lives
these people lead, how happy they are. Is it, 1 wonder,
because they are so enthusiastic t

For I franc 50 centimes 1 was allowed to make the
turnstile click and enter the casino, see the gaming,
and listen to the concert.

The wild pleasures I had expelled to find were in
reality about as full of gaiety as the joys of a tin chapel
on a rainy afternoon.

Nowhere have I seen such a fine colleftion of
rather well-to-do old ladies as I saw listening to the
string band whose efforts entirely filled the pro-
gramme ; nowhere such plain young ladies. I met
here the portly person whom 1 had nearly mistaken
for an Englishman. I mentioned this fact about the
young ladies, and he hastened to explain that the
French ladies seldom ventured out in rainy weather,
but if they did, they wore most " frumpy clothes."
I thought of our tailor-made girls at home, and — well,
I was glad I was an Englishman.

Presently the band stopped its tortures and the

whole crowd arose and strolled into the gaming salon,

for all the world like the letting out of church.

There seemed to be no life in the place. Even the

117

From the Thames to the Seine xv

petits chevaux excited no interest ; and, despite the
frantic whippings the Httle jockeys were giving their
steeds, these occasionally stopped their circular race
and remained idle, until a casual franc thrown upon
the table started them off again. " '^en tie va plus^'
for tenpence.

Presently I began to weigh the casino and my bunk
in the balance, and the bunk won.

Directly I stepped aboard the deck of the ship to
get aboard the yacht, there was a fierce growl and the
ship's dog flew at me. Luckily he recognised my
voice, for when I spoke to him, he quieted down and
wagged his tail. It was rather a startling experience ;
and, but for the intelligence of the animal, one which
might have been distinctly unpleasant.

The following morning I had intended going to
Veules, but I could not spare the time that would be
wasted on the journey, there being no means of getting
there save by private conveyance or by an omnibus.
I understand it is a charming little place of a some-
what superior class. It is a modest bathing-place,
full of propriety, and it is visited by many refined
English families annually. It has a casino and bath-
ing establishment. Veules-le-roses, as it is called, is
in summer-time a paradise of blossoms and delicate
scent.

I paid my respects to the old harbour-master and
arranged about leaving the dock. The two French
yachts were going out of dock by the same tide.
These were working to the dock-gates. I got my

ii8

XV &. Valery-en-Caux

sails up, for in spite of the fluky head wind it would
be easier for me, being single-handed, to sail out. I
gave them plenty of time to get through, but they
were so slow about it, that I had to turn tail and sail
up again. This annoyed the harbour-master, and
when I got caught aback after one of his men had
failed to catch the line I threw, he fairly shrieked at
me, and ordered the bridge to be closed. I thought
he was going to shut the dock-gates also and keep me
there ; the waste of time this would mean appalled
me. I begged of him not to shut me in, and whether
my appeal influenced him or not, he shouted, " You
wait some time, you English are a great pig-head
always." However, I was through about fifteen
minutes later. The two yachts had not ventured out,
and indeed I was rather glad I had a reef down when
I saw the sea outside. One of them shouted to me
in English, " We not go. Too much plenty vind.
You will get very wet."

They walked along the quay, keeping with me as I
slowly tacked out of the narrow harbour. I got into
my oily, prepared for a dousing as I crossed the bar,
but the going was quite comfortable, and before I got
out of sight of the crowd upon the jetty, I took off
my oily and let the boat sail by herself while I shook
out the reef.

I think a place that can appeal to one in wet
weather is worth revisiting, and I hope to go to St.
Valery-en-Caux again.

119

CHAPTER XVI

St. Valery-en-Caux to Le Havre
passing Fecamp and Etretat

aAugust i^rd. — By 11.30 a.m. I had cleared the piers
intending to put in at Fecamp, but, once outside, I
was bowHng along at such a rate that it seemed too
good a wind to waste ; moreover I could lay the
course, and once round Cape d'Antifer, where the
coast takes a sharp bend, I should have the wind aft.

Forty miles seemed a long stretch, but if only the
wind lasted it would be possible to do it, and catch
the tide from Cape La Heve to Le Havre. If I failed
from lack of wind it would only mean a night out at
sea ; and a night at sea with little wind is as comfort-
able and safe as being in port, if one can find a shoal
to anchor on.

Passing along the coast, quite near in, afforded a
feast of beautiful cliff scenery. The earth is a bril-
liant red hereabouts, and where the rain has carried it
down the sides of the cliffs it has a curious effedl.
The strata in many places appear from the sea to look
like the regular seams of masonry, so level are the
layers and so evenly are they placed. This curious

120

xvi aSV. Valery-en-Caux to Le Havre

bit of Nature's handiwork is first seen upon the cliffs
near Fecamp which end abruptly with Fagnet Point.

This towering cliff rises sheer from the rocks at its
feet, as though Father Time had cut it with a saw,
and borrowed a builder's plumb-line to test his handi-
work. At the top of this great mass are the Church
of Notre-Dame du Salut and a disused lighthouse.
The two jetties and some vessels entering were all that
one could see of Fecamp from here. Soon, however,
from behind the cliff, the town came into view ; then
the cliff looked totally different, for now its white
side sloped gently towards the town, which is situated
in a wide valley. What a pleasure it was to have
a slant and bowl along at such a fine rate of speed as
I was making off Fecamp.

In the distance ahead could be seen the curious cliff
of Etretat. Hereabouts the scenery is so strange that
one might well be excused for allowing superstitious
awe to fill one. What effect it has from the land I
know not, but to sail along this bit of coast is most
uncanny. One would not be surprised at being be-
witched by some fairy barque, or at being carried off
into one of the many caverns by mermaids. What a
background it would be for a representation of Perseus
rescuing Andromeda.

How the huge dragon would delight in the rocks
and caves, the deep caverns and the deeps below.
One expedls to find the Titan chained to the heights
three hundred feet above. Upon such ashore Danae
and her babe were doubtless cast, and into such places

121

From the Thames to the Seme xvi

as this little bay of Etretat boldly sailed the Argonauts.
No coasts could have a stranger distinction, and whilst
such mythical superstition is suggested by its weird
appearance, is it to be wondered that strange tales are
woven round it ?

First let me describe the scene. Then I will tell
its fairy tales.

From the sea little Etretat is lost in the huge masses
about it ; tucked away in a little square bay, one
would not think it was a distinctly fashionable sea
bathing-place, nevertheless such it is ; and since the
writings of Alphonse Karr gave it a reputation, it is
replete with a fine casino and all that goes to make
a modern watering-place. Upon the right hand look-
ing from the sea is a huge cliff. Upon its extreme
top, and immediately above the sea, is a castle ; but to
be truthful this is a sham affair placed there for effeCt.
At the foot of this cliff is the Porte d'Aval, a huge
archway in the rock, and beyond, sticking out of the
sea to a height of 200 feet sheer, is the isolated rock
L'Aiguille d'Etretat, which has the appearance of a
somewhat battered sugar-loaf Farther to the right
is a larger chasm, called La Manneporte. Upon the
left-hand side of the bay there is another cliff, the
Falaise d'Amont, in whose side steps are cut, so that
another archway, the Porte d'Amont, maybe reachedat
low water. In this cliff there is another path which
leads to the shore down a short tunnel and thence by
an iron ladder, but they say it is impassable for ladies.

In one of these cliffs is La Chambre des Demoiselles,

xvi Sf, Valery-en-Caiix to Le Havre

the scene of one of the stories, for the ancient legend has
it that three beautiful sisters were carried off by a knight
of Filleville, who shut them up therein. This gentle-
man, who had, apparently, a fine taste in many things,
offered each of them in turn his love, his ox, and his
ass, and all that was his, but his persuasive powers
were not as great as his faculty for aptly " letting the
punishment fit the crime," for the maids would have
none of him, and refusing to yield to his threats, he
placed them in a barrel lined with spikes, and rolled
them over the cliff where their spirits still float about
in the evening when the moon and the wind are in
the right quarter — the natives, however, hasten to tell
you that the apparitions are quite harmless.

At the end of another cliff is La Roche de Sainte
Olive. There is a hidden spring in this rock where
a poor woman of that name, busy with her washing,
was surrounded by pirates, and being about to be
carried off by them, she vowed a chapel, should God
in His mercy deliver her from their hands ; and God
in His mercy caused a great wind to come, which
drove the boats of the pirates to sea.

I could have wished the washerwoman were a
beautiful princess, but the story would perhaps then
not have contained such a sense of truth.

I sailed close inshore, for it was a feast of strange
coast, such as I had never seen before.

In my endeavour to keep near in, I had forgotten
the great eddy, named by local mariners the Hardiers,
and soon I was tossing and tumbling in its grip, for

123

From the Thames to the Seine xvi

the steep waves that it causes extend for a mile out
to sea. I made slow progress through this boil of
sea, the now light wind being shaken out of my sails.

However, presently clear of this eddy, I was gliding
along the edge of bluff Cape d'Antifer, whose light-
house, towering 394 feet above,can, in clear weather, be
seen from a distance of twenty-seven miles seawards.

The sun was pouring its warm rays upon this huge
height, and the blue shadows under its projections
caught reflections of light from the waves below, the
sea-birds, looking like little white powder specks, flew
lazily past its brown sides, and their blue shadows
followed them along its surface. There was a gentle
murmur of surf, and I could hear the voices of some
people who were upon the top of the cliff above.
What a little affair my craft would appear to them
as they gazed upon her, set in the wide expanse of
sea that would be spread before them.

I had very little wind, the water was like oil, and
the sails hung limp. From here the coast consists
of earth-cliffs unvarying in height and extending in
an almost unbroken straight line with scarcely a sign
of human habitation anywhere. Indeed so mono-
tonous was this long stretch of ugly coast that I
seemed to be spending years in creeping past it. At
last Cape La Heve hove in sight, and beyond was
the mouth of the Seine. Still farther in the distance
a thin fawn-coloured haziness was the high land
near Trouville. Ships were making for Le Havre.
Out seawards the whistle buoy was groaning. The

124

xvi &. Valery-en-Caux to L,e Havre

bright day was fading as I rounded the headland,
and Le Havre came in sight.

I picked up the Seine tide just in time ; it took
me very slowly into the harbour, and the red light
of the entrance flashed upon my sails in glowing
welcome at 8 p.m.

Beyond this, the many lights of moving ships and
those of the town were a confused mass of sparkles.
Big ships and steamers were coming and going, for
Le Havre is France's second port. I drifted up the
Avant Port.

The wind had gone completely ; the water, dis-
turbed only by the passing steamers, reflected the
brightly illuminated shops and cafes upon the quay
in wriggly streaks. I was too tired to ship the oars,
and not knowing where to bring up I let her drift
towards a mass of rowing-boats and iishing-crafts
that were moored under the shadow of the quay.
At last I saw a man in a boat ; he was no sailorman,
and so useless, but the inquiries I made attrafted the
attention of two men upon the quay and soon they
were rowing towards me. Then one of them caught
hold of a line and towed the yacht, whilst the other
took the tiller. Thus we headed farther up the
Avant Port, and, turning to the left, brought up near
the entrance of the Basin du Roi.

Here I had to wait until it was time to open the
dock-gates, the two men, with odd little winks and
cautionary remarks, began to stow every bit of loose
gear, so that the dock thieves would have difficulty

125

From the Thames to the Sei?te xvi

in removing it. The elder of the two seemed to
take quite a paternal interest in me, he would not
let me do a thing for myself, and I believe if he had
had his own way about it he would have tubbed me.

Soon the arc lights upon the tall standards near
the dock-gates belched their flaring gleams, and the
gates opened. A big steam yacht with a large cutter
yacht in tow came slowly out, and a small steam
tramp entered afterwards, from whom we stole a tow
through. Then I found that the two men had
seledied as good a berth for me as I need wish for —
warped alongside one of the big pilot boats.

I was glad to step ashore once more, and over a
drink at a cafe near by I settled with the men for
three francs. Not a big charge for towing the yacht
about half a mile and relieving me of the work of
stowing, and of cooking a meal.

126

CHAPTER XVII

Le Havre and Harfleur

How the personality of Francois I permeates the

history of the places upon this coast ! But for him,

Le Havre might still have been the mere appendage

of a chapel of Notre-Dame-de-Grace, which was

founded by Louis XII in 1509. Its name then was

Havre-de-Grace. Fran9ois, however, recognising its

advantageous position, fortified it in 15 16, since when

its harbour grew and grew in importance, until now

it is regarded as the second port of France. In 1545

he assembled here a fleet of 176 ships for the purpose

of attacking England. His efforts were concentrated

upon the Isle of Wight, but the attack was ignom-

iniously repulsed. Seventeen years later the town was

occupied by the English for a short while. Under

Richelieu and Colbert the town rapidly grew, and as

a port its increasing commerce raised the jealousy of

the English, who, in 1694, made a determined attack

upon the town ; but they failed to effeft their designs,

and this new rival of English commerce went on

increasing in size and importance. However, the

shipping of Havre suffered greatly at the hands of the

English during a long period. Le Havre was the

127

From the 'Thames to the Seine xvii

scene of the capture, in 1796, of Admiral Sir Sidney
Smith, who was taken prisoner whilst attempting to
capture a French vessel under the very muzzles of
the guns of the citadel.

Its history thus dates as comparatively recent, and
the principal part of it being commercial, people are
wont to speak disrespe6lfully of Le Havre, which
after all is a very beautiful place, in spite of its ugly
docks and the commercial aspect portions of it have.
However, nobody will find it so interesting as to agree
with Casimir Delavigne, who said, " Apres Constanti-
nople^ il n'est rien d'aussi beau.^''

Doubtless he thought only of the extensive view
which is to be had from the heights of Ingouville,
reached nowadays by cable railway. From here can
be seen the alluring circle of the Seine and the sea,
the distant hills beyond Trouville and Honfleur ; and
nearer, the town portioned by its beautiful boule-
vards, the docks, the fortifications, the ships, and the
many fishing-boats — all of which help to make a very
fine panorama. Indeed Balzac, in Modeste Mignon^
says, " Ingouville est au Havre ce que Montmartre est a
'Paris'' The view should, if possible, be seen at
sunset, and when the lights of Trouville begin to
glitter at the other side of the bay.

My early impression of Le Havre was that its
boulevards smacked of Paris and its outskirts of
Sheerness. This was before I had ascended to the
higher suburbs where the better class and wealthy
portions of the population reside, whose houses com-

128

'J he Old.sl llctis,: i:; Lc Havr,

xvii L,e Havre and Harjieur

mand the view just described. I have heard some
people say Le Havre is all docks, " smelly " streets,
and low music halls. I have heard others say that it
is the least pleasurable place in the world. This last
is perhaps true, for those who must have gay casinos
and that kind of entertainment, for which one has to
pay, will find it slow. Havre is a workaday place,
and its attempts to turn itself into a popular watering-
place would seem to have failed. The casinos are as
dull as I found the one at St. Valery-en-Caux. There
are two theatres. The Grand in the Place Gambetta
and The Cirque in the Boulevard Strasbourg ; and
there is a music hall (cafe-concert). The Folies Bergere,
in the Rue Lemaitre. Then there is the wretched
Grande Brasserie Nationale in the Rue de Paris where
you have entre libre and are charged fourpence for a
bock. Where, should you arrive as I did at the hour
appointed for the commencement of the entertain-
ment, you will do wrong ; it seems half-an-hour is
not an objeftionable length of time to keep the audi-
ence waiting. One might, of course, expert such an
entertainment to be vulgar, but it was worse — the
vulgarities had no sort of technique : they belonged
to neither class nor nation. I have been in similar
places in England where under the singing licence
this form of entertainment is provided at the low
" pubs " of certain garrison towns, pro bono " Tommy
Atkins," but nowhere have I felt such lack of inte-
rest. Perhaps I ought to have waited a little longer

than the two or three turns I listened to, but I really

129 I

From the Thames to the Seine xvii

couldn't. I don't know the qualities of the other
places of amusement, but even if they are of the best
they would not make Le Havre an amusing town in
this sense.

Look upon it as having a population of 132,430
souls, and think of the 6,242 vessels, from the largest
liner to the mere coasting schooner, which upon an
average enter the port annually. Look at those mus-
cular dockers, watch them pouring homeward, think
of all the other workers that ships bring in their train,
and you will find Le Havre magnificent. That is the
point of view from which the town should be seen,
and the best entertainment it can ever give is the sight
of a people doing its daily round.

If you are trafficking in experiences and probing into
chara6lers as I was, you will enter, say, at 4 a.m. any
one of the many cafes which are about the quays of
the docks ; you will find Monsieur agreeable, and,
because he has that breadth of view which never per-
mitted him to hesitate about so trifling a matter as
the robbing of a drunken sailor, you will not hate him.
The hag who enters into the conversation — be sure
her intentions towards you are not all they seem.
Just as the pi6ture postcards which she first shows you
are harmless, the piece de resistance finally exposed will
disgust you. You will take both cafe noir and cognac
separately ; and, if the latter is not to your liking,
which, of course, you will not let it be, at that hour.
Monsieur will either have no further interest in

you, or the game will be thrown up ; he will

130

Sketches at h Havre

xvii Le Havre and Har/leur

puzzle over your patchy French, and you may learn
much.

However like those of Paris the boulevards of Le
Havre may be by day, their effeft by night is totally
different ; you will find none of that sparkle of colour,
that Chinese-lantern-like glow, of Paris by night. The
streets are sombre then, and from away in the distance,
the flashes of La Heve lighthouse striping the sky
above the housetops, serve only to enforce this effedt.
One wonders what Le Havre does with itself at night.

Its shops are good in places, but those of the Rue
de Paris (which I suppose is the principal shopping
street) are very tawdry. No doubt the ladies run over
to Trouville for their chic hats and the latest thing in
frocks.

The Rue de Paris leads into the Place Gambetta,
where are statues erected to the memory of St. Pierre,
author of " Paul and Virginia," and Casimir Dela-
vigne, the dramatist, both of whom were natives of
Le Havre. From this square can be seen one of the
most elegant effefts. There, towering apparently out
of the very square itself, are huge steam yachts and
the tall masts of big sailing yachts gleaming in the
sunshine ; and some you will see airing their sails, the
huge spread of beautiful clean canvas showing upon
a background of the white houses which fringe the
Bassin du Commerce, where yachts always lie. Such
elegant patterns do these houses make, with their
chimneys and waterspouts, their shuttered windows
and their irregularity of parallel lines, that, together

131

From the Thames to the Seine xvii

with the glitter of brass-work, the gleam of white
paint, and the rich glow of the polished mahogany of
the yachts, one could not wish to see a finer effedl.

I was gazing at these yachts when I became con-
scious that some one was addressing me from the deck
of a yacht of about thirty tons, which had the blue
ensign at her taffrail. It was the skipper who was
hailing me, as he sat in his shirt sleeves comfortably
sunning himself in a deck-chair.

" Is that your little yacht in the next dock ? " he
asked.

" Yes," I replied. " How long have you been here ? "

" Three weeks," he answered. " Where did you
come from ? "

" London," I said, wondering how long this volley
of questions and answers was going to last.

" You ought to tell your hand to stop aboard her
when you're away," he cautioned ; and when I ex-
plained that I had no hand he exclaimed, " What !
You've come here alone ? " (a pause) " 'Ere, I'll tell
you what you are, you're one of them suicidal maniacs.
I'd 'ave all of you locked up." His face then assumed
an expression calculated to represent scathing sarcasm,
and in his apparent wrath he even arose from his
sprawling attitude upon the deck-chair as he added,
" I suppose you're going to write a book about it —
' All the way from London in a small yacht.' Are
you going to have her taken back by steamer ? "

" No, I'm not," I answered. " But I'll tell you
this, I should never have got here if I'd had you

132

xvii L,e Havre and Harjleur

with me," and we parted as he shouted after me " No,
you wouldn't ; I'll give you my word about that."

He was so amusingly excellent — as a specimen of
the paid hand — that I felt no anger at his imperti-
nence. And who could blame him for holding such
views about people who sail their own boats .? Who
could blame him for sitting there sunning himself?
And though such a man, should he find himself aboard
a tea-clipper, would probably die of a broken heart
before he rounded the Horn, one must remember
that probably his owner likes to sail when skies are
blue, and prefers him to have a cautious rather than
a sporting disposition.

It is, of course, not to be supposed that paid hands
are all alike ; there are some who really are sportsmen
in spite of the fact that they are paid, and in many
cases men are spoilt by their owners. It is not every
owner of a yacht that has the courage to make his
skipper put to sea against his advice. I know of one
instance, however, where an East Coast owner of a 52-
footer met the objeftions of his crew by ordering them
at once tO' sea (he was his own skipper), and he kept
them beating about the North Sea in half a gale of
wind for a week under storm trysail. That licked his
crew into shape, and no vessel was raced more success-
fully, and he had less hands aboard than those of the
other boats of the class. It requires a lot of courage
to do a thing like that, and few owners would relish
the wildness of such a week ; but if owners were even
a little more like this they would have fewer complaints

133

From the Thames to the Seine xvii

to make about their crews, and big yachts would not
fear to face what little ones go through, especially
those little ones that are skippered by their owners.

I continued my stroll through the streets until I
came to the Public Gardens of the Place Hotel de
Ville, in the shade of which the town-folk sit, and
where stout nursemaids were flirting (as always) with
those of the culotte rouge. Pleasant little flecks of sun-
shine were scattered over them, like golden tinselled
tapestry, until it became a game of hide-and-seek to
find the fafts of the scene.

The rattling, tooting trams of the Rue Strasbourg
reminded me that I had promised myself a tram ride
to Harfleur, to see the old town. Long before Le
Havre was dreamed of it was a considerable port,
which flourished until quite recently, and whose
harbour is now silted up by the deposits of the Legarde.
I also wanted to see the Tancarville Canal, where
ships save themselves the encounter with the barre
of the Seine, and where, with a fair wind, they sail
to all appearances upon dry land. I imagined
there would be a good pi6lure to be got out of its
vicinity.

Havre is well served with trams, and its suburbs
may be reached in this way. The tram for Harfleur
starts from near the station. I jumped aboard and
was whisked along through narrow and very squalid
streets, until the route began to rise and fall in a
series of hills and dales and the country opened a little.
One catches sight here and there of the wooded cliffs

134

xvii Le Havre and Harfleur

that were once washed by the sea, and are now two
miles or so inland.

Presently the conductor touched me upon the
shoulder, exclaimed ''''Harjieur ^Monsieur ! " and I found
myself walking through the somewhat uninteresting
streets, until presently I came across a bridge over a
little stream. Its course showed no indication of the
nearness of bulrushed banks, for it washed along the
sides of houses hereabouts. However, a narrow street
running parallel to it led me to where the stream
suddenly left the town and flowed by grassy banks
where willow bush and wild foxglove fringed its clear
waters. Little bungalows were built along the stream.
Some of these, the more modern ones especially, were
remarkable for most awful " new art " architefture.
They were mostly faced with cement, and this was
moulded in high relief in representation of trees
growing upon the walls ; the corners were supported
by these hideous representations in a stupid mixture
of treatment, realism being united with the pure con-
ventionality of decoration in a really terrible disregard
for taste.

I had evidently dropped upon the Upper Thames
of Le Havre, for skiffs were moored to the little land-
ing-stages, just in our up-river fashion. Small sailing-
boats were there, and a sailing club. Here was an
ideal little place for rowing men, with a streamless
pull all the way to Tancarville and back.

I walked along the banks until I came to a square
surrounded by trees, in the centre of which stood a

135

From the Thames to the Seine xvii

statue, which represents Grouchy. I think I have
never seen such a fearfully bad piece of work. The
head is about two sizes too big for the body and the
attitude is awful. He wields a sword, and the whole
is so ridiculous that it suggests that Grouchy is taking
careful aim before slashing down, with one fell
" swipe," the surrounding trees. Pursuing my walk
along the bank I presently came to a wider waterway,
and this was the Tancarville Canal. I was dis-
appointed with it. I had expected a kind of effect
such as one gets at Rye in Sussex. But here the
reclaimed land was made ugly by the market gardens,
and but for the long perspe6tive of wooded cliffs,
stretching away until they were lost in the leaden
atmosphere, the sense of distance which flat lands
usually convey would have been lost.

The jerry-builder is ramming up rows of houses
in this district, and no doubt the crumbly perspeftives
of nature will soon give place to the severer ones of
bricks and mortar.

The tram in which I returned to Havre was filled
with the returning workers ; they carried curious
trowels and strange carpentry tools, but in all else
save their language they were like our English workers,
and as full of chaff and humour.

Back in Havre the streets were streaming with
school children. All were dressed in their very best,
for the schools had broken up, and they were return-
ing from the prize-giving, laden with book prizes,
with gold emblazoned scarlet covers ; some had large

136

xvii Le Havre and Harjleur

piles of them, but no child carried less than one prize,
which said much for the generosity of the State.
Proud mothers, beaming grandmammas, happy aunts,
and grown-up sisters and cousins. This was evi-
dently as great a day for them as it was for the little
ones.

The weather had been delightful throughout the
day, a continuous blaze of sunshine had shed its
warming glow ; and as I was doing justice to an
excellent dinner whilst sitting outside one of the
cafes in the Rue Strasbourg, the sun set, rosy and in
peace. That softening haze, which bespoke little
wind for the morrow, was mystifying the long boule-
vard, and as the raw lights of the kiosks, the street-
lamps, and those of the tramcars broke through the
gathering twilight, I pondered on the momentous
question as to whether or not I should get out of
dock at midnight. Should I sail to Trouville, or go
by the steamer across the Seine in the morning .?
There was no wind, my boat was safe where she was,
and as the steamer trip had everything in its favour,
I decided upon the steamer.

137

CHAPTER XVIII

Crossing the Seine, and a descrip-
tion of the Bore

The next morning I stepped aboard the paddle-
steamer, Le Touques, which plies four times daily
between Le Havre and Trouville.

Le Havre is well served with steamer trips ; and
the excellent one made aboard the Felix Faure to
Rouen should be done by all who have the oppor-
tunity, for the beauty of the Seine is remarkable.

An English-racing yacht, one of the 52-footers
which had gone out of dock the night before, was
sailing down the port whilst the steamer waited
for passengers. Her spotless canvas, through which
the sun glowed, made a beautiful picture as she
threaded her way to sea.

There were many smart people aboard the steamer,
but I couldn't help noticing the " style " of the tailor-
made English girl with the green jersey and the
" Burberry " hat in favourable comparison with the
betuckered, untravelling-like dresses of the French-
women.

The sea was like a duck-pond. It was scattered

X38

xviii Crossing the Seine

with crowds of fishing-boats, above which the tall
sails of the racing yacht towered tremendously.

The mouth of the Seine is choked with sand, and
in this, though in a much more extensive degree, it
resembles the estuary of the Thames. Swift though
the tides may run in the Thames, they are far swifter
in the Seine, and this river is pestered with an alarm-
ing bore such as is to be found upon the Trent and
the Severn in England, though the rush of water is
in these two rivers nothing compared with that of
the Seine.

This bore is well described in the Admiralty Sail-
ing Dire6tions, which portly volume tells us that
" the Bore, called by the French Mascaret or Barre^
occurs almost invariably every spring-tide, and is
especially strong about the time of the equinoxes, or
with high spring-tides from any cause ; it is highest
with easterly winds and lowest with those from the
westward, and as the wave frequently breaks in shoal-
water, small decked craft unable to avoid it should be
battened down or they will invariably be swamped.

" Let us suppose that this phenomenon is about to
occur. An observer stationed at Rille lighthouse a
few minutes before low water, springs, and looking
towards the estuary, would see the bay laid dry as far
as the eye could reach, except where the river, flow-
ing in the direction of Honfleur, covered a breadth of
some hundred yards between banks of muddy sand.

" The ebb-stream is still running from two to three
knots, but its speed slackens suddenly, and at the same

139

From the T'hames to the Seine xviii

time a slight surf is seen at a distance against the out-
Hne of the banks ; its noise is heard and the water
invades the uncovered places very rapidly. An
irregular swell (for it subsides here and there) ascends
the channel, inclining each buoy in succession and
marking the course of the flood-stream which has
thus suddenly set in. It penetrates the embanked
part of the river ; its triple or quadruple undulation
becomes immediately more marked ; the level rises
visibly ; the north dyke is fringed with foam. A
moment after, on its passage to La Roque and after-
wards to Radicatel, waves break, especially near the
right bank. Along the left bank there is scarcely
any agitation. The boats of Tancarville and Quille-
bceuf may be seen resting on their oars, bows on to
the approaching swell ; they rise to it, turn about
when it has passed, and descend with the stream ; in
this manner boats in that part of the river take the
flood ; without that precaution they would be cap-
sized.

" From Quillebceuf, looking in the direction of
Radicatel, the river is broken water right across, the
water breaking much more heavily against the right
bank than the other, doubtless on account of the bend
as the waves rush upon it obliquely and cover the
platform of the dyke with their spray. The mass
of water reaches Quillebceuf before the agitation of
which we speak is at an end at Rille, and it lasts some
minutes longer, calm not being restored until the Bore

is near the bend of Vieuxport.

140

xviii Crossing the Seifte

" On the arrival of the Bore at Quilleboeuf, its
height, which increases, may be seven or eight feet ;
that is to say, there is that difference of level between
low water and that of the flood which rushes up-stream
in this torrent ; so that a boat in front would see
before it a liquid wall approaching and capable of
engulfing it. The waves come on in the form of a
crescent, concave towards up-stream, and its two points
breaking furiously along the banks. Another wave
follows at about two hundred yards, then a third,
and a fourth. Then appear the Eteii/es, silent waves
of a very dangerous charafter, up to, it is said, six-
teen feet in height, but subsiding heavily as soon as
formed. This state of confusion past, the river flows
steadily on ; the level does not rise more than an
additional three feet, although the rate of the stream
increases to seven knots and more. From the first
appearance of the Bore until calm is restored after
its passage up the river, not more than a quarter of
an hour elapses.

"The Bore issometimesstill higher and more curious
at the foot of St. Leonard. It would be very impru-
dent for any small vessel to be caught in these parts.
It subsides very remarkably at La Corvette, where
ships, which on account of their draught have not
been able to put to sea, await it at anchor ready for
weighing and swung to the ebb, for there is no slack
water, the ebb ceasing only with the flood, the chain
ready to be slipped at a moment's notice. Each vessel

at the proper moment sets the engines going astern.

141

From the Thames to the Seine xviii

Notwithstanding this, the vessel runs ahead and com-
mences swinging, the propeller being then used to
avoid the banks. Steam-vessels getting under weigh
before the Bore, so as to receive it head-on, should
meet it at slow speed, plunging into the waves. Sail-
ing vessels in tow meet it in this manner with a great
length of tow-line.

" Continuing its course up-stream, the Bore passes
abreast of Des Flaques with the same violence as at
St. Leonard, and calms down in the deep waters of
the anchorage of La Courbe ; a little farther on, how-
ever, upon the Traverse, it breaks out afresh from one
bank to the other. From Villequier it may be seen
white with foam, the tide running furiously, leaping
up the banks, dragging and submerging everything
in its passage. The roar of the approaching Bore
is heard from a great distance ; at Villequier, it has
been distinctly heard at night on reaching Aizier, six
miles distant.

" At Villequier, boats moor near the lighthouse
under shelter of a rocky submarine point, behind
which the water is relatively calm for a small space.
But in heavy Bores they should descend as far as
Courbe. The boats of Caudebec shelter as well as
they can at the Dos d'Ane (Ass's Back). The ap-
pearance of the Bore is particularly attractive at
Caudebec as the waves, coming on obliquely, as at
Radicatel, on account of the very decided concavity
of the bank, only display the greater vigour, and the
water recoiling adds to the disorder. Tourists come

142

xviii Crossing the Seine

here in crowds to view the scene, especially at equi-
noctial tides.

" At La Mailleraye, three miles and a half higher,
the Bore loses much of its force owing to the bank
Les Meules, which produces a situation differing
entirely from the localities farther up-stream by the
obstacle which it raises to the retreat of the waters.
It may be said that La Piette is the ordinary up-
stream limit of the Bore, as beyond that it usually
becomes only an undulation of greater or less height,
according to the bottom over which it passes. At
Duclair it is generally possible for a vessel to remain
at the wharf; and finally, at Rouen, the arrival of the
undulation only manifests itself, as a rule, by a move-
ment, more or less pronounced, of the vessels moored
along the quays.

" It had been hoped that the great improvements
effected by the embankments and the deepening of the
Seine would have either destroyed the Bore or reduced
to a nullity its effefts ; and, indeed, it was for some
time currently reported that such had been the case.
Unfortunately, time has shown that these hopes have
not been verified, though the works have certainly
effected some slight modification. The latest informa-
tion (1896) shows that the Bore is almost, if not
quite, as strong as ever in the lower regions, and as
a consequence of the deepening, is certainly stronger
than before in the upper part, and notably so at Rouen,
where, quite recently, steamers have been known to
break adrift from their lashings alongside the quays.

143

From the Thames to the Seine xviii

" Between the mouth of the Seine and Rouen, the
following may be taken as approximately the height
of the Bore, or tidal wave, at places from fifteen to
twenty miles apart : —

At QuillebcEuf — strong springs, 7 to 8 feet ;

weak springs, 4 feet.
At Caudebec — strong springs, 7 to 8 feet ; weak

springs, 4 feet.
At Duclair — strong springs, 2 to 4 feet ; weak

springs, i foot.
At Rouen — strong springs, 2 feet ; weak springs,

nil.

" These figures refer to the height of the waves
alongside the quays or banks, for it has been observed
in mid-channel, where the resistance to its progress is
less, the height of the wave also is less."

From the entrance of the river Dives to the hill
of Notre-Dame-de-Grace which commands the town
of Honfleur, the left bank of the estuary of the Seine
is bordered by high hills which end abruptly towards
the sea in cliffs of brown clay or stone, and there are
many large landslips, but in front of three valleys the
shore is low and sandy.

The widest of these valleys is that through which
the little river Touques trickles to the sea.

This valley is two miles wide at the sea, and the

town of Trouville, together with its suburb Deauville,

occupies this space and scatters its many villas about

the wooded hills which slope to the sea. Trouville

144

xviii Crossing the Seine

has a very pretty effed: from the sea, and should you
be no nearer than a couple of miles its happy air of
platsance is noticeable, like the scent of some wild
rose-bush which floats across a woodland stream.

145

CHAPTER XIX

TrouvIUe

There were many fluttering handkerchiefs and waving
parasols upon the jetties as the steamer churned up
to the landing-stage — handkerchiefs of delicate lace,
parasols like silken spider webs of gay colour. Could
a welcome more charafteristic of a place be given.
Trouville is all flutter — flutter of lace, flutter of flags,
flutter of life, and what isn't is frou-frou of skirt
and shimmer of silk. Here the " creation " born in
Paris " comes out." Be sure the last word in summer
clothes is spoken always for the first time at Trou-
ville.

Trouville and history seem as far apart as the two
poles, and in truth there is little to tell ; and though
Touques, two miles up the river, has the rosy distinc-
tion of being the place from which William Rufus
embarked after the death of his father to claim the
crown of England, Trouville was probably not then
heard of. Indeed it was but a small fishing village
in 1825, when through the seascapes of the painter
Charles Mozin and his school, it suddenly sprang into
fashion ; and the thirty hours during which Louis

Philippe took refuge there before his flight from

146

xix Trouville

France does not make it historical in itself. How-
ever, the twenty thousand people who, upon an
average, visit it annually during July and August, will
not worry much about that.

Gone is the pi6turesque fishing village that pro-
vided motifs for Mozin. Huge villas now peep through
the woods upon its cliffs ; cafes, casinos, and apart-
ment houses line its foreshore, and rows and rows of
tents are upon its beach. The clumsy fishing-boats
sail in and out between the jetties and they still fish
in the offing ; they are christened by the priest and
blessed by him occasionally, but Trouville is no longer
to be regarded as a place where they fish ; though the
little Parisienne may think otherwise.

After seeing so little other than bourgeois and
fisher-folk, it was a joyous change to rub shoulders
with refined people, to watch their graceful move-
ments, their pleasantness and their mannerly be-
haviour, and to see graceful women frocked and frilled
as they ought to be.

Strolling along the boards which are laid upon the
fine sand for the benefit of promenaders, what a beauti-
ful sense of refined colour one enjoys. The rows of
red and white striped tents turned with their backs to
the sea — how gaudy they would be in England ; the
many little flags of the Republic, how unobtrusive
they are. How clean everything is, and yet what
tone the whole possesses. Suburban ladies in England
will tell you that a " Liberty shade " will go with any-
thing. They are right, but in France anything seems

147

From the Thames to the Seine xix

to go with anything, and whilst the most garish
colour may be used, it never strikes a wrong note, it
is always in its place.

When the " Grande Semaine " begins in Paris, the
Champs Elysees is deserted and Parisian society meets
itself strolling along the simple promenade, and looks
at itself from the little tents at Trouville. As can
well be imagined, the little town attracts every class
of society, from the one which has its gleaming villas
set in gardens glowing with flowers, or suites of rooms
in expensive hotels, to that which lodges " who knows
where " but which is nevertheless seen upon the
beach in butterfly raiment.

It is from this last class that Trouville gets its
reputation for startling bathing costumes. When one
sees a costume du bain such as the French illustrated
papers delight to depi6t, one may be sure that the
young " person " who wears it has not the run of the
best houses in the Faubourg St. Germain. And
whilst those who have wear costumes that are far
more startling than would be seen anywhere in Eng-
land, it is not to be thought (as it is generally) that
they walk about in them the whole day long. Trou-
ville society is too busy for that ; its time is taken
up by its garden parties, the races at Deauville, its
dances, dinners, charity fetes, motor excursions, &c.
Nevertheless the bathing attra6ts crowds to watch it,
and I doubt if our English girls would choose to run
the gauntlet of passing between the rows of caricature
men who line the planked path to the bathing-places,

148

s ^\ *»-♦

Notre Dame de Troinnlie

XIX Trouville

even though the best ladies of France may do it.
Not that there are any obvious vulgarities about the
bathing-places, the gardes des bains would quickly
stop that, if it were necessary, but it is not — for the
French can enjoy their audaciousness without that.

The bathing is considered, by those who are not
quite the thing, to be the chief attra6tion of Trouville,
and it seems to be a thing to dress for in more ways
than the mere costume du bain. There is a duck of a
little bonnet which beautifies the plainest face — a
close fitting affair, with little roses and such delightful
bib-and-tucker decorations, with long ribbons which
tie under the chin ; it is worn en route for the
bathing-place.

Mademoiselle is next seen making her exit from
the disrobing chamber. She is then clad in a long,
loose-flowing cloak, presently this is cast off and given
to the guardian — and behold ! the costume du bain in
all its charm of surprise and delicacy. People who
have not been to Trouville will tell you that these
costumes are never wetted by the waves. I can say
this of Ostend, but not of Trouville. Upon the other
hand, these little works of art come out limp and
drabbled in a pitiable plight after mademoiselle has
done with her plunging, splashing, and screaming.

Few of the people who bathe can swim, and those
who do go off" for a swim, away from the narrow,
roped part of the beach, which is the official bathing-
place, cause much excitement, and they are closely
followed by one of the little white boats whose en-

149

From the Thames to the Seine xix

amelled sides reflect the green sea, whilst their blue-
jerseyed attendants wait for any accident that may
happen.

I somehow think I should not like to be middling
rich in Trouville, I think I would rather be very poor
and so beyond the pale of maddening competition ;
for it must be a sickening sight for the fairly rich
man to take his family there and find his idea of
splendour quite out-classed.

Walking along the plank upon the front you will
probably see the finest-dressed women in the world,
and it must not be supposed that to be this a woman
need be gorgeous, or that the gorgeous toilettes cost
the most. The shops in the Rue de Paris hard by
will tell you that it is those simple things that cost
/the most ; for in dress, as in other things, elaboration 1
may hide bad art, but simplicity cannot.

What astreet the Rue de Paris is for present-buying.
I thought of all the little ladies who had been my
gentle hostesses at home ; I thought of each of them
in turn. I bought them each a present — in imagina-
tion — for alas ! I was beyond the pale. What plea-
sant trouble I took in the sele6lion of just the right
thing for each.

From No. 54, Quai Joinville, a service of auto-
mobiles runs between Trouville and Honfleur. The
journey takes about fifty minutes. The single journey
costs two francs ten centimes if you ride inside ; and if
upon the outside seat next to the driver, three francs.
The route passes Hennequeville, Villerville, Crique-

150

xix Trouville

bcEuf, Penne de Pic, and Vasoui. The rate of speed
at which these cars travel will be best indicated by my
telling you that the car that had preceded us had left
in its trail two ducks, a wild rabbit, several wild birds,
and a collie dog, all of which lay dead upon the road.
How many other animals were left dying upon the
road by our car, I cannot say, for it was impossible
to see what was happening under the wheels. And
although I thoroughly enjoyed the exhilaration of
that ride, I could not help feeling pleased that such
a speed would not be permitted in England.

However, I must admit feeling a trifle nervous
at first. It was bad enough ascending the heights
through the town, taking sharp turns, according to
English rule at the wrong side of the road, but when
we came to descend, I found myself holding on. Evi-
dently I hadn't got the hang of this kind of craft.
Indeed, speeding along at the right-hand side of the
road and passing other vehicles so, had a most startling
effect, and upon several occasions I squirmed.

Careering along, up and down the hills and dales,
one gets occasional glimpses of the blue Seine between
the trees that abound along the road sides, and cover
the sloping cliffs down to the water's edge. One
minute looking upon the moss-grown roofs of the
barns of a farm, the next, one would be flying down
to where some little babbling brook ran under the
road and for a second a valley of green tree trunks
would be seen. Then rushing through one of the
villages where little boys would pretend to get in the

151

From the T^hames to the Seine xix

way, the car would pull up and wait near the church
or the principal hotel, and quaint passengers would
alight and quainter ones get in and the car would be
off again.

Eventually I realised that I was nearing Honfleur,
for masts of ships were seen amongst the houses, and
in a very short while the car was bowling down
quaint streets, tooting for all it was worth. Through
the market-place and along the side of the quay, it
took a sudden turn and stopped in front of the Cheval
Blanc, into which hotel I dived with an appetite that
was quite equal to the excellent dejeuner^ which for
two francs fifty centimes one may call one's own
together with cider or with wine for a further
sixpence.

152

CHAPTER XX

Honfleur

A LESS ancient town might be ruffled by this line of
motor cars, which every two hours toots its rapid
way into the very heart of old-time ideals. But the
lovable little town of Honfleur and its drowsy inhabi-
tants remain placidly undisturbed.

The Honfleurais still smoke their pipes whilst rest-
ing their elbows upon the sea-wall, languidly gazing
at their boats upon the mud below, and desultory
scraps of chatter are woven round little nothings until
the boats are afloat, then in leisurely fashion they
shake the ashes from their pipes and slowly glide
to sea.

Twice a week a little steamer from Southampton
calls for Normandy butter, eggs, cheese, vegetables,
and fowls for London, and cautiously enters one of
the splendid basins which were built for the ships of
the world, but which are unremembered. Acres of
stone-walled docks there are. These, perhaps the
only up-to-date things in Honfleur, are unused, save
by an occasional coasting schooner or two, whose
skipper has perhaps a maiden aunt living in the
old town.

Doubtless it was hopeless to try and construdl a new

'53

From the Thames to the Seine xx

future for Honfleur, for it dreamt its dreams of great-
ness nigh on a couple of millenniums ago.

In those days it was called Portus Iccius, and Cassar
sailed out of its harbour to Britain. It was flushed
with civic greatness and maritime importance, when,
farther up the Seine, savages fished from coracles about
the isle which, when the trifling matter of a few cen-
turies had passed, was to form the site of Paris. But
Portus Iccius was claimed by the sea ; it melted and
became a sandbank. Some Saxons, piratically in-
clined as was their wont, established a settlement
close under the cliff, whence they carried on their
maraudings by land and sea. That was in the sixth
century, and the present town owes its origin to these
self-same Saxon gentry.

If the Honfleurais were not so preoccupied with
the easing down of their own speed, they might spend
their time railing at the sand which silted up in the
channel and long ago caused Honfleur to lose that
commercial importance which Havre with its fairly
deep channel enjoys to this day. But the natives are
far too comfortable to rail, and there is no jealousy
shown for Havre, save by a few un-sedate ones who
have the stupidity to wish that things were otherwise.
Nowadays, when the little paddle steamer from Le
Havre daily comes and goes, Honfleur is merely re-
minded that the people of Havre are shockingly
businesslike.

Doubtless the powers that spent millions upon the
constru6tion of the magnificent docks, regard Hon-

154

XX Ho7tfleur

fleur as a white elephant, but Honfleur cHngs to the
past, and commercially to those days long before docks
were thought of, when its fighting merchants sent
ships to half the ports of the world.

Kn masse Honfleur is now no longer picturesque,
thanks to the unyielding severity of its docks, but
little bits of loveliness are scattered almost where you
will in its interior, and regarded from the proper
point of view the little town is beautiful, and there
lurks a dignity that must have come from the days
of the Conqueror and far beyond.

There is a building which may be thought a castle,
when one does not think of it as a palace. It rises
from the water-front. Architecturally it is weird,
but freak buildings are not uncommon in Honfleur.
It is called the Lieutenancy, and was the residence
of the governor of the port in kingly times. It
carries still, in spite of its patches of brick and its
rags of softening decay, a dignity that speaks of the
elegance of its early days.

Beyond this, rising from the Quai Saint-Catherine,
is a towering pile of ancient houses whose slated sides,
pierced by irregularly spaced windows, overhang the
footpath, supported by huge timbers. A fine eiFe6l
of these houses reflected in the still waters of the
dock, is to be had from the other side of the bassin.

What could be more quaint than the wooden
tower of the belfry of the wooden Church of Saint
Catherine ? It stands alone in the market-place,
separated from the church to which it belongs, and

From the Thames to the Seine xx

built upon the crumbling mediasval house of the
verger.

I am told that the caretaker is blind and that he
will nevertheless lead one up the twisting ladders of
the tower amongst the bells, and show you the views
that he once saw, without the slightest inconvenience.
This tower, as is shown in the drawing, is strutted
with timbers. These, like the rest of the towers, are
slated, and the whole has the effeft of a gigantic
candle-snuffer.

Saint Catherine's, to which the bell-tower belongs
save for the modern front, is also construfted of wood,
and it is quite as freakish as the tower. The timbers
have that rich quality that speaks not of the trim-
ming plane — they are rough-hewn. The exterior
has the efFe6l of two huge barns, save for the west
front, which is an awful mock Doric affair, built doubt-
less to replace the original one of wood. The interior
suggests the perpendicular gone wrong, for the wooden
beams stagger as though weighted down by the charge
of the souls of centuries. There are most amusing
pi6tures upon the screen of the organ-loft.

So freakish is this church that it must be seen to
be believed, so to speak.

Upon the lintel of the ancient bell-tower doorway
is carved a small figure of the blessed Saint Catherine.
She holds the wheel of her martyrdom, that wheel
from which the name of a certain firework was given.

Crude though the workmanship, it is an interesting

little figure, which has rested there for over four

centuries.

156

HoNFLEUR : Wooden Houses in the Rue Varin

From the Thames to the Seine xx

Near the old port is a little church built of stone
about six hundred years ago. This is now no longer
used as a church, but it serves an admirable institution,
the Societe de Vieux Honjleur, as a conference hall, and
it is part of the Society's museum. The museum
proper is an excellent one, and its colleftion is limited
entirely to articles which illustrate local history.
Cannon from the ancient ships of Honfleur, ancient
broadsheets with the old-time press that printed
them, articles of domestic service, books, weapons,
and very realistic lifesize figures dressed in ancient
Honfleur costumes ; all these may be found there,
and the history of the place thus well illustrated is
at your finger tips.

Any one interested in ships and sailors should climb
the heights to where behind the town Our Lady of
Grace commands the fine views that are to be had
of the seaboard and the Seine.

Robert the Devil founded it in 1034, together
with two other chapels — Our Lady of Pity at Har-
fleur and Our Lady of Deliverance at Caen. These
chapels were the outcome of a vow which he made
when caught at sea by a mighty tempest, stating he
would build three chapels in her honour if she, in
grace and pity, delivered him from the great danger
and did bring him safely to land. He was delivered,
and so the chapels were built with characteristic
haste in fulfilment of his vow. This chapel was de-
stroyed by an earthquake, and the miraculous pre-
servation of the image of the Virgin caused many

158

XX Honjleur

pilgrims to visit the shrine. The present chapel
was built in 1613. What more natural than that
the chapel shouldbe crowded withex-votos registering
the vows of sailors whom the Virgin had saved from
perils on the sea. You will sea ancient ships hang-
ing from the ceiling and shelved upon the walls.
Paintings showing the storm-beset ships Our Lady-
succoured ; many of them have an account of the
trouble the ship found herself in. You will see also
other modern and more gaudy pi6tures done by
fishermen of these days, in which their boats are
shown battling with impossible seas, which as thank-
offerings are none the less devout because of their
crudities and recent date.

Surely the people of Honfleur know not the mean-
ing of time as ordinary folk do — what is a century
or two to them — and doubtless that is why they
drone along as though a lifetime were of no account ;
and though the rage of speed might spin the rest
of the world to its heart's content, I have a sneaking
fancy that I should be sorry if it disturbed the
Honfleurais.

How time flew that afternoon. The warning
whistle of the Francois P"" was calling such belated
passengers as myself, and with many regrets that I
could not spend longer in the little sleepy port, I
jumped aboard ; the signal bell tingling in the
engine-room set the paddles churning up the green
waters of the old harbour and off she steamed for
Le Havre.

159

CHAPTER XXI

Getting out of Dock at Havre
and away to Fecamp

The little steamer ploughed her way down the well-
buoyed channel. These channel marks are unsink-
able boats, and the channel is like a street at night,
each boat being lit with large gas lamps. Then the
skipper took her across the banks that in a few hours
would be dry. Crossing sandbanks with a falling tide,
without the worry of smelling one's way, was like
snapping one's fingers at them, and doubtless Monsieur
le Capitaine knew to an inch what amount of water
was under us. At last she slowed down in the har-
bour, and as her paddle-boxes growled against the
wharf, I stepped ashore and started buying stores, for
I must get out of dock at midnight.

The time arrived at last. The arc lights blazed
forth as the dock-gates were opened. I got up my
sails, cast off my warps, and commenced playing a solo
upon the foghorn by way of intimating that the bridge
was between the Mave Rhoe and the sea. Then this
iron obstruction swung open, and the dock-keeper
barked at me in evident anger for some reason, the
nature of which I am still in ignorance of, as I slowly

1 60

xxi Getting out of Dock at Havre

drifted through the entrance. However, I made him
an elaborate bow, and began looking out for steamer
lights, and as the dock gates were all open they were
coming up the harbour in an unbroken line. Dodg-
ing them with the paltry wind I had was anxious
work, and I was glad when I got to the outer harbour,
where it would be necessary to wait until an hour
before low water in order to catch the flood up the
coast. This meant a good sleep of six hours in theory,
but in praftice, owing to the anchor dragging, I had
no more than three hours. There promised to be
the same wind that had held for two days, which
would be a leading one for my passage to Fecamp.

August 6th. — The alarm clock woke me with ajerk,
and the lovely morning breeze that was coming from
the right quarter soon blew the cobwebs off me, and
while the cheerful frizzle of eggs and bacon spluttered
upon the stove, I set the sails. I was just about to
get up the cable when I received a crack upon the
nose from the jib sheet shackle. The blood flowed
down my face, and I felt sick for a while, but bathing
it with that finest of antiseptics, good old salt-
water, I was soon all right. Then I got the hook
aboard, and waving an affedlionate good-bye to Le
Havre, I set off. Once outside the harbour the wind
fell light, and I was making little progress ; then it
dropped altogether, the boom came amidships, and
the tide was sucking me back to Le Havre. This was
a bit of the worst kind of luck. I had now missed

l6l L

From the Thames to the Seine xxi

the tide up the coast, and unless I had some wind I
should never be able to pick it up in time. I dropped
my hook overboard and hung there for an hour ;
meanwhile the sky ahead was turning into that leaden
colour which foretells wind, and soon the sails began
to shiver. There followed a hot squall, and here was
a new wind. It was coming from — note my inevi-
table luck — right ahead. I was determined, however,
to catch that tide if possible, so I took hold of the
cable and pulled for all I was worth. The anchor
would not break out. I tried for half-an-hour ; mean-
while the sea was getting up a bit, and at last by
shortening up the chain in the hollow of one of the
waves, the anchor broke out with a sickening jerk
that seemed like to have burst the sterm. I found
afterwards that I was anchored upon a patch of mud
that has caused many a big ship's anchor to drive so
deeply that the loss of anchor and cable was inevitable.
Thus it was not all bad luck with me.

I found she had as much as she could possibly stick
under her whole mainsail, and her decks were awash
to the portholes of the cabin. I kept her so, for I
was in a hurry, and stood out to sea upon a long tack ;
the leaden murk of the sky had blotted out the land,
but I held on until I thought I was about six miles
to seawards of Cape La Heve, then I came about.
If I had picked up the tide I ought to fetch the land
about half-way between that and Cape d'Antifer. On
I sailed, enjoying the exhilaration of it, and soon the

high land loomed up grey ; I was quite close to it,

162

i ^

xxi Getting out of Dock at Havre

but not far to windward of Cape La Heve. Clearly

I must make a longer seaward tack, so coming about

I set her at it, and presently one of the Havre pilot

vessels hove up and crossed my bows, only to be again

lost in the murkiness. Her skipper with his glasses,

and the crew standing by, watched me as I passed,

and I warrant they were filled with admiration for

the little strange yacht that was making such good

weather of it. On she drove until she began to

wallow a bit, and it became necessary to get a reef

down : it was a wet piece of work, for I was now in

the strength of the tide. I put her about, and had

just finished my labours when the pilot-boat hove in

sight again. I came about under her lee, and in half-

an-hour I had eaten my way so far to windward of

her, that I was able to pass her weather, and soon I

lost sight of and saw no more of her. Meanwhile

the decks of the yacht, which had opened with the

heat of the sun during the two days she had rested

in dock at Havre, were leaking so badly that positive

streams of water were pouring into the cabin. The

water had risen in her bilge until it was beginning

to make the floorboards float. I brought her upon

the land tack, and started working the pump. I was

sopping wet with the reefing, and I was glad of the

warmth caused by this exertion. Presently I looked

up from my work ; the mist had cleared away, and I

was approaching d'Antifer, whose towering heights

were glowing richly in the sun. I could just define

Fecamp in the distance down the coast. I was in

163

From the Thames to the Sei?te xxi

sight of my destination, at all events, but I was begin-
ning to realise the impossibility of getting there upon
that tide, for there was but half-an-hour of it left. I
stood off again, and when next I came close in shore
I was abreast of Etretat, struggling hopelessly against
the tide, which had now turned. The coast here-
abouts, as you will remember, is bestrewn with iso-
lated rocks, and although fishing-boats with off-shore
winds seek shelter in the little Bay of Etretat, the
present wind made it praftically useless, and the risk
of hitting a submerged rock was too great. There
was no anchorage along shore, as the cliffs drop sheer
into the water, except for a steep shingle bank here
and there, and the depth of water offshore was greater
than my length of chain. So there was nothing for
it but to tack and tack about for six and three-
quarter hours, thanking the Lord the while that I
was losing so little ground. Under these circum-
stances one may consider one's self lucky if one's boat
will sail by herself, and I am proud to say that beyond
bringing her about at the end of each tack, I never
touched the helm. Towards evening the sea had
gone down considerably, and a small sailing pleasure-
boat — the only one I came across in France — put out
of Etretat and came to have a look at me. Upon her
return the tide drifted her so far that I thought she
would not get back, but evidently she found a slack
and got in. Soon after this the lights of the little
town broke through the violet glow of sundown, and

night came on. The towering coast became a silhou-

164

xxi Getting out of Dock at Havre

ette of deep black velvet, the stars broke out one by
one, the flashes of Antifer lighthouse flicked the crests
of waves with silver glare and cast long streams of light
along the sky, and the majesty of night was over all.
The hissing of the wind and the splatter of the sea
was now not too loud to let the booming of the
breakers upon the shore insinuate their warning note.
Once I had stood rather nearer in than usual, and
from the coastguard station at the top of the heights
a red flare was shown, which was put out as soon as
I came about ; clearly I had been standing into danger,
so I gave the shore a wider berth afterwards. Then the
" jug, jug " of a propeller was heard, and a steam tramp
came ploughing past me along the coast. I don't think
anything could be more galling than the sight of a
steamer ploughing steadily on against wind and tide,
whilst you are eating your heart out tacking about
merely to save losing ground. The sound of good old
Cockney accent was coming out of her, as her green
light glided past. Soon I began to make a little pro-
gress, and glancing at the clock, the hour that had
seemed never likely to approach had arrived. The
tide had turned, and with it had come that new energy
which always seems to accompany it. The sea was
once more curling, and although it was a comfortable
whole mainsail breeze, I had quite a sporty little sail.
Bejewelled spray was scattering itself upon the forward
deck, and white surf was creeping to the bows from
out the blackness all round. Soon I picked up the

flashes of the lighthouses at the ends of Fecamp jetties,

165

From the Thames to the Seine xxii

and wary of the tide that crosses the entrances I stag-
gered through the rough and tumble of the bar into
smooth water. The huge chffs of Fagnet robbed me
of wind, and the tide was ever so slow a-taking me up
to the harbour. Not a soul was about as I climbed
up to the top of the quay, but presently, whilst I was
lighting a cigarette, a gendarme approached. He very
kindly told me that some big fishing-boats would be
coming out of dock that tide, and I had better not
stop in the outer harbour, as they were a rough lot, the
Fecamp fishermen, but get into the dock as they came
out, at high water.

It seemed useless to try to sleep with this prospe6l
in view, so I mooned around until signs of aftivity
broke the silence of the night. The dock gates then
opened, and I slipped in as the two huge fishing-boats
— the kind that go to Newfoundland to fish for cod —
were warping out.

When I was berthed I fell into my bunk and tried
to sleep, but the wretched chatter of those fishermen
echoing across the dock prevented it until the dawn
came up.

i66

ip/

'i>}^M:im

V \:^,

CHAPTER XXII

Fecamp (Preparing for the
Crossing)

I WAS aroused at lo a.m. by the harbour official, who
handed me a bill for three francs. This was the
only occasion throughout my trip upon which I had
been required to pay harbour dues. The official
explained that I should have been charged nothing
if I had entered by day.

" You must also see the Douaniers^ Monsieur," he
continued. I thought to myself, " I'll see them
hanged first," and went ashore to breakfast. Upon my
return to the yacht. Monsieur de la Douane was there.
Upon this occasion there was only one, and he was a
very angry one. He looked at me as if he were
going to get a grip on me, but when he saw the
Calais passport he quickly became all smiles.

I intended starting to cross for England that night
before the dock gates would be open, so it would be
imperative to get into the outer harbour at the top of
the present tide.

Never shall I forget the handling of those warps :

they were covered with a slimy substance composed

of fish oil, a sort of fatty grease, floating tar and tan,

167

From the Thames to the Seine xxii

from the sail and net tanning operations, and this
horrible stuff was floating upon the surface of the
dock. The dock, however, was nothing to the outer
harbour, which, added to this horrible grease, con-
tained much that travelled down the drains of the
town. This horrid stuff had coated the walls of the
harbour and the iron ladders with a solid mass of it,
which upon the walls was quite an inch thick. Ima-
gine climbing twenty feet up these ladders ! Some
idea of the tenacity with which this beastly stuff
stuck to things will be gathered, when I tell you that
I had to use methylated spirits to get it off my hands
— soap was utterly useless.

Perhaps my impressions of Fecamp, which has a
considerable reputation as a seaside resort, are biassed
by the filthy state of its harbour. For during my
hurried look round the town I found nothing pic-
turesque, and I had to go to the cliffs to find some-
thing uncommon. These cliffs have a most peculiar
effect : the strata, which from the sea appears in paral-
lel straight lines, twists about in a most confusing
way when one is looking up at it from the foot of
the cliff. There are many fine caves along the coast,
and several " blow-holes," through which the waves
thunder with a sound like cannon.

No doubt the town has many objects of interest,
and its history, which is chiefly ecclesiastical, is re-
markable.

Fecamp owes its origin to a monastery for women,

founded in the year 658 upon the spot where a fig-

168

xxii Ficamp {Preparing for the Crossing)

tree was washed up by the sea. Joseph of Ari-
mathea had placed in this tree some of the Precious
Blood.

In a marble ciborium in one of the chapels of the
abbey church some of this Precious Blood is said
to remain to this day.

There is a fountain placed upon the spot where
the sacred fig-tree was deposited by the waves, and
into its cold waters children ill with skin diseases are
often plunged.

The two huge churches date from the thirteenth
and the sixteenth century respeftively, but as they
don't look at all like it, they are uninteresting, save
perhaps to the architect, but the interiors are very
beautiful.

In another chapel of the abbey, a lovely little
tabernacle contains a stone said to be marked by a
footprint of the angel who assisted at the dedication
of the church. Its ancient Benedictine monastery
was founded by Richard the Fearless in 990, and it
has the reputation of being the only one that stood
to the north of the Seine.

It was at this monastery that William the Con-
queror kept the first Easter after the conquest of
England, and we are told of the great state that
marked the ceremonies of that occasion. Little
remains, however, of this abbey save eighteenth-
century buildings.

In the street that stretches between the beach and
the Place Thiers is the celebrated distillery where the

169

From the Thames to the Seine xxii

well-known Liqueur Benedictine is made. This con-
coftion was beloved by the Benedictine monks, from
whose recipe the liqueur is still made. Visitors may-
look over the distillery, and there is a small museum
connected with it, but neither this nor the distillery
are worth the trouble of seeing.

Fecamp doubtless set the Middle Age fashion of
having a lion upon one's tomb (such as may often be
seen upon mediaeval tombs as armorial bearings), for
the tomb of Richard Sans Peur's second son Robert,
which was, we are told, the earliest monument in
Normandy, contained this device. But the red hand
of the Revolution spread to Fecamp, and this, to-
gether with many other tombs, was destroyed.

Leaving our probings into Fecamp's past, we will
now consider the town as it concerned ourselves.

Its harbour has been described, and the description
will not induce such yachtsmen as may read this
chapter to call there.

But if Fecamp has a filthy harbour, it must be
remembered that deep-sea fishing is the chief occu-
pation of its inhabitants, which is not the cleanest
business in the world. Doubtless, when one of the
huge vessels returns, the sticky wretches have to
destroy all their clothes ; and the oil, and fish filth,
pumped out of the bilges of the boats, makes the
harbour what it is.

I did not see one of these great boats return, but I
saw one set ofi\, and as they are away for some six

months at a stretch, you may imagine what a com-

170

xxii Fecamp {Preparing for the Crossing

motion the departure causes, what good wishes,
what tears, what lingering kisses, what heart-breaking
separations. And when the tug catches hold and
slowly tows the vessel to the harbour mouth, what
a scamper of sweethearts and wives there is round the
quays and along the jetties as the big tan sails are
hoisted, mid the screams of the blocks and the hauling
cries of the fishermen. Then out to sea the tug casts
off and slowly returns to the harbour ; and upon the
jetty what waving of farewells there is as the fisher-
men slowly creep behind the towering cliff northward
upon their long voyage to the Newfoundland banks.

But what of ourselves ! We must, I thought,
soon depart upon what, for so small a boat, was no
mean adventure — the crossing of the Channel. There
would be no hand stir at our departure, and I was
reminded that there would be much work to be done
paying the leaky decks with putty before midnight.

For seven solid hours I worked, and when the tire-
some job was finished, I had that awful ladder to
climb. The gingerly way in which I climbed this
path of slime seemed to amuse the crowd of onlookers,
one of whom — a quaint-looking dwarf — I engaged
to look after the yacht and keep her against the quay
side, so that she would not take ground with her
side in the filthy mud.

I then commissioned the nearest barber to attend
my immediate needs, and it took me half-an-hour to
clean my hands.

There was a little grocery shop quite near the quay,

171

From the Thames to the Seine xxii

owned by a bright and pleasant young man who
spoke a little English. There I ordered three days'
stores in case of eventualities during the crossing.
He recommended me to the Hotel, where he said
I should get " the very best, trh bon diner ^ in
Fecamp," but this was not enough, he would run
along with Monsieur and he would see that Madame
would do her best for the English gentleman. Upon
the way he expressed astonishment at my intended
crossing, " But the petit bateau^ will it so far go ? "
he inquired, adding, '^Mais out; Monsieur is English,
and the English make possible anything of the sea."
How pleased he was when I remarked, "Just as much
as theFrenchmen do of the air,"Bleriothavingrecently
crossed the Channel in his monoplane. Whether
or not the dinner owed anything to the epiciers inter-
cession I cannot say, but it was, as he had prophesied,
" of the very best, tres bon.'''

It was quite dusk by the time the dinner was over
and I had called for the stores. The epicier came along
with them in a basket to the yacht. The dwarf was
there, doing sentry duty, but the fool had let the boat
go over on her side. I could have brained him, instead
of which I gave him a franc and told him to be out of
my sight at once, and whilst he slunk off, the epicier
lowered the basket by means of a thin line, whilst I,
with some difficulty, got aboard.

I had to wash my hands in methylated spirits before

I could handle the stores, and then the epicier hauled

up his basket, and wishing me bon voyage., I was left

172

xxii Fecamp [Preparing for the Crossing)
alone. All that I had so carefully arranged for a snug
sleep was upset by the negligence of the wretched
dwarf I was too tired to arrange it all again, so I
just threw myself down anyhow and slept until 11.45
P.M., when the alarm clock made me turn out and get
up the sails.

173

CHAPTER XXIII

Crossing the Channel

By the time I had got the sails set and all ready it
was midnight. In the harbour the sluggish water
showed no signs of wind, and the sails hung limp, but
away upon the heights of the cliff the trees could be
heard hissing under the press of a fine breeze.

I cast off my two warps, and rather than climb
that greasy ladder I left them hanging to the quay,
and the half-dozen fenders which protected the side
of the yacht were so sodden with the grease that I
pitched them overboard, and shipping one of the row-
locks in the flagstaff fitting upon the taffrail, I slowly
sculled her out. Half-an-hour had gone before I felt
the gentle heave of the sea coming up between the
dismal jetties.

The tide has a little habit of setting across the
entrances of nearly all the harbours on this coast at
a terrific rate, and but a little way from the eastern
jetty end is a mass of rocks and boulders, in the direc-
tion of which the flood-tide sets. So you can well
imagine, with such fluky wind as the huge Fagnet
point permitted me to have, how I hugged the western
jetty. The sea was breaking heavily upon the piers

174

xxiii Crossing the Channel

and all around the entrance as I passed the end of
the shorter jetty, and in spite of my caution I found
the tide carrying me rapidly on to the dangers.

However, there is a kind of Ju Jitsu connected
with the working of a tide, by which its very strength
may be turned against its evil intentions in one's own
favour. For instance, if the course of the tide is seen
to be taking one straight towards a danger, and the
boat has a little weigh, by turning your vessel's nose
towards the rush of water and about forty-five degrees
athwart it, the vessel will be carried more or less
athwart the tide according to the rate of weigh she
is under at the time ; but should the amount of weigh
be insufficient, by dropping the anchor over so that
it just drags along the bottom of the tide-way and
steering the boat to forty-five degrees, she will be
found to be moved by the tide in a direction forty-
five degrees away from the lineal direftion of the tide.

I had, however, enough weigh upon this occasion
to scrape clear, and by the time I had got beyond
the jetty, I was in the wind, which sent me bowling
along at a fine rate. I found I could just lay the
course for Newhaven with \ point to spare, the wind
coming from the N.E. true. Thus the boat would
be able to sail by herself and fetch, without my touch-
ing tiller or sheet, once the jib was brought clew to
the mast. There would be a lee-going tide, which
of course would take me to leeward, and a tide and
a bit that would shove me up to windward ; and as
I reckoned the trip would take from fifteen to eighteen

175

From the Thames to the Seine xxiii

hours, I ought to fetch well to windward of New-
haven by merely sailing upon the magnetic bearing
of the two places N. \ E.

Thus I had nothing to worry about unless the wind
changed. I was eating well to windward, to judge by
the Fecamp jetty lights, and the little yacht proudly
spurned the white combers as they raced out of the
black night towards her side. But for these white
patches one would think one was sailing upon nothing
but a darker portion of sky, such is the effe6l of night
sailing, save for the tumbling motion of the boat. I
gazed astern at this interesting coast that was fading
into the night, until I caught sight of d'Antifer light-
house away down the coast, where its flashes seemed
much dimmer than I should have thought, for it
could not have been more than fourteen nautical miles
away when it opened, and its range, as I have already
said, is supposed to be twenty-seven miles. Then
taking a good look round the dim horizon for those
smeary patches that indicate possible ships, and seeing
that the red and green side-lights of the yacht still
shone upon the spray, I turned in upon the lee bunk,
first setting the alarm so that it would wake me in
half-an-hour should I drop off to sleep. It was very
snug and warm in the cabin, but I could not sleep in
spite of the very dull book I tried to send myself off
with. The half-hour soon passed, and I got into the
well to have a look round. The compass was the
first thing I looked at. The needle was half a point
away from the lubber's line — the yacht was dead on

176

xxiii Crossing the Channel

the course, and she was keeping it a good deal better
than / could have done had I been at the tiller.

Straining my eyes I could just now and then see
very faintly the d'Antifer light. There was nothing
else in sight ; no ships, no land, nor anything save
the flashing light to remind me of land.

Once more I set the alarm and turned in ; this time
I slept, for the first sound of the alarm seemed to be
the grinding crash of a steamer's stem smashing into
the side of the Mave '^RJioe. Very relieved I was, you
may be sure, to find it only a dream. I had another
look round ; upon my lee bow, some eight or nine
miles away, was a big steamer. I could not see her
lights at first, but presently her mast-head light bit
into my straining eyes, and then her green side-light.
She would evidently cross my bows, so I had to wait
until I was clear of her before I could do any more
resting inside. It was bitterly cold, for the wind
was very fresh from the north-east. Anyhow I could
eat, and I was in the middle of a chunk of bread
and cheese by the time the steamer cleared me about
one and a half miles ahead.

I could no longer see the d'Antifer light. The
blue night was beginning to pale, and presently the
sky began to grow a warm grey, and the sea that the
night had hidden was beginning to show its ugly
teeth, and about 3.40 a.m. it began to reflect the dove-
colour of the coming dawn.

I was the only thing in sight, there was no sound
save the boiling hiss of the sea and the whistle of the

177 M

From the T'hames to the Seine xxiii

wind playing its tarantella upon the orchestra of
shrouds, halyards, and loose ropes that hung from the
mast. The swinging candle still spread a warm glow
in the cabin, and I returned to its snugness, until the
sun, glinting through the starboard porthole, fetched
me out to see it rise. The dawn was grey, which
was good ; but there was a little patch of pink, and
the blue above was leaden, both of which meant
more wind.

Anyhow, whatever came now, I had to go through
it, and expelling to have it pretty bad, I got the
Primus Stove under weigh, and its pleasant buzz,
together with the splutter of the bacon and the
crackle of the eggs, were ample compensation for
the difficulty of keeping the pan and myself balanced.
Once the whole lot took a run jump, and I fell with
my hand in an ^%%-> for the seas were very steep.
When this was cooked and eaten I made a large
kettleful of tea, which, together with milk and sugar
and a tablespoonful of brandy, I bottled, for I have
always found cold tea the very best thing to drink
under the strain of a long stretch at sea. I know it
sounds awful, but it is really quite a pleasant drink
with a nip of brandy in it.

After this I had a good swig at the halyards, and
a general tidy-up inside.

Meanwhile the sea was getting up : big swells
were coming from the windward, but the boat was
riding them like a duck. And if a shiver ran
through her whole fabric as she descended the steep

178

xxiii Crossing the Channel

hills of indigo, it was only as a duck would shake
itself.

So far very little water had come through the decks
and what there was in the bilge I pumped out, for this
is one of the many little things, the doing of which
wile away the time when sailing alone, and the habit
of leaving nothing undone which might be done, is one
which should be cultivated. Not only does this occupy
the mind, but if you get caught so that you can't do
it, the little thing you have left undone will loom big
in importance and will be sure to stand on its back legs
and jeer at you. So in anticipation of the blow which
the leaden sky told me was sure to come, I looked at
every bit of gear and satisfied myself that it was all
right. So far the gear, which was all new, had held :
I had carried away nothing, but doubtless if I had
not kept an eye on it, something would have parted.

Upon the very edge of the horizon I sighted a large
tramp making down Channel; but there was nothing
else to be seen. Soon after this, at about 8 a.m., the
sea began to look in texture like the skin of an elephant
showing little ridges upon the surface of the waves,
and the crests broke more often and very heavily ; the
lee deck was awash, and it began to let water in rather
badly. Half-an-hour later the surface of the sea was
striped with long ribbons of spindrift and big white
breakers were all around, the light through the crests
of the dark blue-black waves turned the tips of them
to emerald-green, and the underside of the feathery

spray was a paler shade of the same hue ; the wet sails

179

From the Thames to the Seine xxiii

at the lee-side refle6ted the green which softenedjnto
the bellying tan-coloured canvas like shot silk. I stood
upon the cabin top and looked ahead, for I ought soon
to be sighting Beachy Head. I could not, however, see
anything but the savage details of the water ; those
myriads of white patches as far as the eye could see
from which trailed grey curved lines of hissing suds,
which marked definitely the shape of each wave as it
gradually faded into thin films of minute bubbles. It
was a wild scene, and a month previously I should not
have liked the idea of being in the centre of it in a
4-tonner, but my little craft had inspired me with
confidence in her prowess, and my admiration of her
and the memory of what we had gone through to-
gether made me feel afterwards rather ashamed of the
anxiety I felt whilst getting down a reef. Getting
down a reef in mid-Channel in a big jump is not the
comparatively comfortable kind of thing it is in the
Thames estuary, Burnham way, as many Burnham
men will agree. In the middle of these huge tumbling
hills of water, the risk of being pitched overboard was
great ; and though I must admit there was none of that
anxiety with regard to sea-room that there is in the
Thames district — where channels are narrow and sand-
banks abound — here in this wide expanse the appal-
ling loneliness was insisted upon. In the Thames
estuary, seldom is the seaboard devoid of its crowds
of ships and barges. There even the sight of one of the
many buoys gives a feeling of company ; and though
the chances of being picked up, in that distrift, should

180

xxiii Crossing the Channel

one be pitched overboard, would probably be as remote
as in this shipless waste, this feeling of " company "
carries with it one of those unreasoned comforts that
the human heart hugs to itself.

I tried to hoist the boom, but the single part top-
ping-lift was useless, the pressure of wind upon the
bellying sail prevented its working. Every now and
then a smother of spray would take my breath away,
as its weight pressed me against the mast. How cold
it felt. My hands, which were hardened by the
strenuous work of the past three weeks, were now
crinkled with the wet like an old washerwoman's.
That topping-lift had to be got home before I could
reef and the boat was wallowing until the water was
up to the portholes, so I hurriedly fixed a small
" handy billy " tackle and got it home with that. By
this time I was pretty well out of breath, and after I
had paid off the halyards, I had a little rest, the boat
being eased by the loosened canvas, which every now
and then would flap loudly as though it would fly to
ribbons.

Rested sufficiently, I got the tack down and then
the earing home, but I could not get the reef points,
and I must say that with eyelet lacing I could have
done the work that these wretchedly primitive bits
of thin cord would not permit me to do. However,
I left the foot of the sail loose. It bellied from the
boom and every now and then had to be relieved of
the weight of water, which, from the tattoo of spray,
drained in solid streams down the sail. All this while

i»i

From the Thames to the Seine xxiii

the boat had sailed by herself and showed no inclina-
tion to pay off or luff. But dear ! oh dear, the cabin !
Through the roof and the decks water was dripping
in streams like a shower-bath ; the floor-boards were
floating about and the wholeplacewas in a terrible mess.
I set to work at the pump, thanking my stars that
the boat would sail by herself. The water was gain-
ing upon the pump ! This contraption was an evil
affair that was at the mercy of any bit of dirt or a
match stalk, either of which would prevent it working
properly. Then the longing for a sight of land took
hold of me, but there was nothing in sight, though
the boat was dead on the course whenever I looked
at the compass. For a whole hour I bailed with an
enamelled pan, and I could only just keep the water
from gaining upon me.

But after a while the water began to lower and the
sea was less cruel, and the boat was no longer dipping
her deck in. I was so absorbed in the work of bail-
ing that I had forgotten all else, but glancing upon
the starboard bow, I saw one of the finest sights I
have ever seen. There, bowling along in the heavy
sea, stately, and with the grace of a massive bird, was
a four-masted sailing-ship. What a grand sight it
was. Her sails, turned cream in the glowing sun-
shine, silhouetted themselves against the lead blue
sky ; the pale mauve-coloured shadows whose grada-
tions showed the press of wind at each seam of the
canvas ; the spider web of rigging ; the splatter of

white blocks, her rusty sides, and the huge white,

182

xxiii Crossing the Channel

snowy, cold-looking bow wave, upon which the sun
cast the shadow of her towering bowsprit, her jibs,
the dolphin striker, the " whiskers," and all the mass
of gear that goes with it. Never shall I forget the
sight of that ship. There was a little knot of men
upon the poop, who, with glasses, stared at me. They
doubtless thought I was a blithering idiot to be there,
for the deep-sea man's idea of fun at sea is expressed
by the proverb : " He who goes to sea for pleasure
would go to hell for pastime."

However I crossed her bow, and, looking ahead,
there was the landfall at last — the cream-coloured
top of Beachy Head — but it was a good fourteen
miles away, which made at least three hours and a
half longer to go.

Another hour and I was in the thick of the ship
track, where steam-tramps and liners were churning
their way up and down the Channel. As the wind
had gradually settled down to a smart whole main-
sail breeze I shook out the reef and scudded along at
a fine rate. I could now see the row of white cliffs
known as the Seven Sisters, but could not make
anything of the lowland farther down the coast,
where I knew Newhaven lay. I was well to wind-
ward of it anyhow, but the tide would soon be
setting down Channel in that direftion, so I held on
the course.

Every moment the seas were getting less as nearer
and nearer I drew to those dear white walls that
marked my native land. I crave no forgiveness for

183

From the Thames to the Seine xxiii

the sentiment, for while I write I remember the
saturated rat I was at the time, and I claim to have
been neither more nor less sentimental about those
cliffs than you or the next best man would have been
under all the circumstances, and I could have thrown
my cap in the air when I caught sight of a couple of
yachts making for the same port down the edge of
the cliffs. They looked very tiny in the distance,
but they were obviously in reality much bigger than
my little packet ; but for these I should have thought
I was much nearer the land, and as the tide was now
setting me upon the meridian of about two points
from the course, I should only just get in. I had
another hour of it, and with an ever-decreasing wind
I got into shallow water and shot between the piers
of Newhaven Harbour at 4 p.m. (August 8th).

I had been sailing sixteen hours, and had reeled
off sixty-four nautical miles, or about seventy-three
statute miles, quite two-thirds of which the boat had
done by herself, and I fully believe that if I had set
her off at Fecamp by herself, with the wind and tide
conditions I had, she would have fetched within a
quarter of a mile of Newhaven piers.

Passing the inner jetty, the harbour official asked
a second time where I was from, when I told him
1 was from Fecamp, and he then said, " Oh, you
mean Feekamp."

As the wind and tide were dead against me I had

a struggle to get up to the berthing-station ; one

of the big yachts gave it up and started tracking, and

184

xxiii Crossing the Chanfiel

I overtook the other. Then I was hailed by the
Customs officers. " Where are you from, Sir t "
they asked, and when I told them, they reminded me
firmly, but gently, that I wasn't showing my ensign.
" I am sorry," I apologised, " but I am so tired I
forgot all about it." " All right. Sir, stick it up now,
and we'll come across to you presently." I soon
spotted a good berth, and was getting a rope ready,
when a puff of wind came and gave the boat such a
rate of speed that she ran her bowsprit into the pier
before I could get to the tiller. Luckily she took it
a little to one side, and did no more damage than to
snap off the spar. This was the climax. I was soon
afterwards berthed ; and then cleared by the ex-
ceedingly agreeable chief Customs officer who, when
I thanked him for several little matters to which he
attended for me, explained that it was Sunday, and
being a day of rest, he and his men were only too
glad of a little occupation beyond their mere duty.

i8s

CHAPTER XXIV

Anti-Climax

I SPENT the following day lounging whilst the man I
had engaged to remove the filth of Fecamp alternately
worked and muttered sweet nothings at the tenacity
of the grease that was upon the Mave '^BJiois side.

I had also had a new bowsprit fitted, and a boy
had cleaned up the cabin, lamps, stove, crockery, &c.
The latter was the more necessary, because I was to
be joined by my wife and our two small boys — the
Skipper's wife and the First and Second Mites — for
the trip round to London.

It was rather a squeeze to sleep the four in so small
a craft, but with a little ingenuity in arranging beds
for the two boys up for'ard of the mast, I succeeded
in making them comfortable for the night.

The dawn was perfe6t in its indication of fine

weather, so the following day (August loth) we set

sail at about lo a.m. The day overhead was a warm

blaze of sunshine, but still that nasty leaden blue was

upon the face of the sky. The First Mite was at the

tiller ; we could just lay the course to Beachy Head.

With a very light wind we crawled to abreast the

lighthouse.

i86

xxiv Anti-Climax

What a remarkable effect this towering headland
has when illumined by brilliant sunshine. Out of the
delicate blue shadows upon its pale cream sides, we
discovered all kinds of curious shapes — faces, animals,
&c. ; one shadow made a perfeft likeness to a certain
Cabinet Minister. The First and Second Mites played
" I spy " with them. We were becalmed here for a
little while and there was a big oily swell, so I took
the tiller and sheered off seawards where I expedted
to pick up a breeze.

In the distance ahead were several Thames barges,
their red sails glowing richly in the sunlight as they
cross-tacked towards Dungeness.

By the time we had rounded the headland the
leaden haziness had increased and the coast of the
bay beyond was entirely obscured by it. I was
picking up the barges fast, and the wind had increased
a little. Then the barge farthest ahead struck her
jib topsail. " Hullo ! " I thought, " we're in for it."
The next barge lowered her main topsail. Ominous
signs. The sea was also very steep, and it began to
break a little way ahead. I warned the crew, and
the Skipper's wife put on her oilskins. Their experi-
ences of cruising were limited to the more sheltered
water between Harwich and the Thames, so I had
great misgivings as to how they would take " a blow "
out here. Soon the wind was on us, she buried her
decks and hissed along up and down the breaking
seas. The First Mite took shelter from the spray in
the cabin and could not be induced to come out ; the

187

From the Thames to the Seine xxiv

Second Mite soon had a wet and salty face, but
enjoyed it. The Skipper's wife, whom I had expe6ted
to be nervous, with feminine inconsistency was so
impressed with the wild beauty of the sea that she
simply scintillated with apparent high spirits.

I was beginning to think it was about time to get
a reef down when groans issued from the cabin. The
First Mite felt seasick. I persuaded him to come
outside, and no sooner had he put his head through
the hatch than a burst of spray caught him, and he
dived back again with a yell into the shelter of the
cabin. Then the Skipper's wife spent her time attend-
ing to the requirements of the sickly one, whilst I
got a reef down. By the time this was done, I found
the Second Mite trying to smile with a green face.
I gave him a rope to hold on to, and convinced him
that he was doing something important, which took
off the sickness for a while ; but eventually he had to
retire into the cabin.

Meanwhile I had overtaken and passed two of the
barges, and was fast overhauling the leader. I had
not the remotest notion where I was, but their com-
pany was good enough until out of the haze upon
the port quarter I saw faintly the Royal Sovereign
lightship. Good Heavens ! what slow progress !
We should not be able to get into Rye, which would
mean an all-night business, and by then the tide was
beginning to slack off.

The only thing to do was to get the crew ashore

at Hastings, and go on alone through the night. I

i88

xxiv Anti-Climax

took a bearing and found we should just fetch there
upon the starboard tack. Speeding along a little to
leeward of the barge, we kept company nearly to
Hastings, and the sea began to grow smoother as we
neared the land. Presently we could make out the
details of the town, and after a while I dropped anchor
under the lee of a stone pier at the eastern end of
the town.

Hailing a boat the crew went ashore whilst I got
their luggage together. I felt bitterly disappointed,
but evidently it was better they should not venture
farther, for the weather was not to be relied upon,
and it seemed to be demanding its pound of flesh
from me with the vindiftiveness of a Shylock.

They were surrounded by a crowd as they stepped
upon the pebbly beach, and the Skipper's wife, in
reply to a query from one of the coastguards, said the
yacht had come from France. When I got ashore
with the baggage, he said he would have to examine
the contents. When I told him I had been cleared
at Newhaven, he asked to see my papers, but as they
were aboard the yacht, he said he would take my
word for it, and added he would not have troubled
me at all but for the baggage.

The yacht lay snugly where she was, and with an
off-shore wind no better berth could be wished for,
except for the gentle heave of the sea, which to me,
seasoned as I was, was nothing.

After a cheering little dinner I found good quarters
for the crew and bade adieu to them in case the wind

From the Tha7nes to the Seine xxiv

changed, for I should then have to leave my anchorage
and be off.

However the wind died away altogether, and the
following morning when I stepped ashore, the crew
were there to meet me. The Skipper's wife an-
nounced her intention of sending the two boys back
to town and coming with me alone.

I pointed out all the possibilities, but she was firm,
and the boys, their misery forgotten, wanted to make
another start. However they were compensated by
the importance they felt at making the journey by
train alone.

The stores purchased by the Skipper's wife aboard,
we set sail at 2 p.m. We had a light breeze dead aft,
and with it we were taken under spinnaker to Dun-
geness. About an hour after we had passed there it
fell to a dead calm and the sun went down. I kept
in the red zone of the lighthouses, and although we
were too far from land to anchor, there was no tide
there, and the yacht remained perfeftly still. The
lights of Folkestone and Dover reflefted themselves
across the wide stretch of water down to the very edge
of the boat. Twenty-two miles away the flashes of
Cape Gris Nez could be distinctly seen.

The night was so warm that the Skipper's wife fell
asleep in the well, whilst I listened to the distant churn-
ing sounds of steamers on their hurrying progress up
and down Channel, and watched the window lights of
Sandgate and Folkestone go out, one by one. I was
beginning to feel drowsy — it was about 2 a.m., when

190

XXIV Anti-Climax

the Skipper's wife awoke. Shortly afterwards we were
busy cooking sausages and came near to quarrelling
about the right shade of brown that they should
be when properly cooked. Soon after this supper-
cum-breakfast was ready, a little gentle wind came
ruffling along the water and took us into water
shallow enough to anchor in, offSandgate, about half
a mile out.

The sailing from here was all made in peaceful calm
bathed in warm sunshine ; real dolcefar niente weather
rewarded the Skipper's wife, and the whole five days
spent ashore and afloat during the journey to London
contained nothing worth the telling, save perhaps the
two following incidents.

It was about sunset and we werenearingthe southern
entrance to Dover outer harbour, across which the tide
set strongly, when the wind dropped altogether and
left us wallowing there in the tide. The Skipper's
wife was visibly tired of our slow progress from Sand-
gate, and longed for a trot ashore. My chart for Dover
was an out-of-date one which indicated that staging
blocked up the other entrance which was out of sight
to the eastward.

There was a fog in the Downs from whose grey cur-
tain horns and bells were howling in exquisite strains.
I tried hard with my solitary oar to scull the yacht in,
but the tide simply swept her along broadside. Then
a steamer's syren howled at us as the Ostend boat
circled out of the fog right at us. She still held on
in her circular course towards us making for the

191

From the T'hames to the Seine xxiv

entrance. We were entirely at her mercy, for I could
do nothing with the oar, especially as I knew notwhich
side of us she intended passing, I threw it down, think-
ing it better not to confuse the steamer's helmsman
by any manoeuvre of mine. He cleared us by about
eight feet. As the big vessel shot past, I picked up the
Skipper's wife, who was rather limp, and put her out
of the possibilities of the wash which came bounding
along,but instead of breaking aboard, asl half expedted,
it went under the yacht as she met it on her quarters.
That was distinctly unpleasant, and if one took such
matters too seriously, one would perhaps give up sail-
ing yachts.

However, I then had more to think about than
might have beens, it was a case of might be, for other
steamers were about the fog-shrouded Downs and I
did not relish the night there, so I worked again at
the oar in the hopes of catching a hold of the bell
buoy near the other entrance. But before I got
there I could see there were no signs of staging across
the entrance, so working as hard as possible, I managed
to pick up the back eddy that runs westward through
this entrance with the eastern tide, and carrying us
through this eddy, took us to an anchorage near the
Pavilion Pier. That was better far than hanging on
to the bell buoy or drifting in the Downs.

Should this meet the eye of any yachtsman likely

to be placed in similar circumstances off Dover, a

knowledge of that back eddy will save a good deal

of anxiety, and though it is spoken of in the Admiralty

192

xxiv A7tti-Cli7nax

Sailing Directions, too much stress cannot be laid
upon its usefulness for yachtsmen.

The second incident took place in the night, whilst
anchored nearthe Chapman Lighthouse in theThames
awaiting the flood tide, where, in anticipation of fog,
I had brought up in shallow water, so that nothing
big could get near us.

We were aroused out of our sleep by four loud
blasts, evidently from a big steamer quite near by.
This indicated that she was going to bring up, and
as I climbed out, her cable chain rattled loudly, and
her anchor splashed over her side. I could see nothing
but my own shadow thrown from the riding-light
upon the wreathing clouds of fog. Presently, how-
ever, towering above us, I saw the faint glimmer of
a white light which was swinging round in our
direction. Had we dragged our anchor .? I wondered,
and rushing for the frying-pan I commenced to bang
away at it. This fetched out the Skipper's wife,
who with the fog-horn blew two huge blasts. " Shut
up ! " I shouted, as I hurriedly snatched it from her ;
" that means we are sailing upon the port tack ! "

When the steamer's stern, upon which the light
was fixed, had swung round well clear of us, I received
a lefture from the Skipper's wife upon the subject of
politeness, and once again asleep I dreamt that the
Morse Code had had another clause added to it, to
the effed: that when the Skipper's wife is aboard, the
signals should not have the same significance.

193

CONCLUSION

Ultimately we arrived at Hammersmith, after a
tedious crawl up the river Thames.

The yacht had covered many miles, she had carried
me safely into some delightful places, and I had seen
many quaint persons and things. However much a
man may know about the ways of the sea, there is
always more to learn, and it is just this that makes
sailing the finest sport in the world. I had had the
opportunity of learning much, but I had not learnt
enough to not want to go through it again, bad
weather and all included.

Doubtless the voyage was a big undertaking for so
small a yacht, but in spite of absolutely adverse cir-
cumstances, it was most successful.

There will be some who, having read this book,
will think I ought to thank my lucky stars I arrived
safely through the voyage. I do, and I shall do the
same about the next voyage, but t shall trust luck as
much as I did on this one — that is, not at all.

There will be others — those lucky ones who are

not limited as to the time they may spend upon a

cruise — who will think me foolish for putting to sea

upon days when passages were inevitably comfortless.

194

Conclusion

I was limited in the matter of time, but if I had not
been, it would still have been the same, for personally
I think the ideal form of cruising is to stick to a time-
sheet, letting flat calms be the only things to stop one
in the way of weather. Which system puts one in
a fair way of experiencing the whole gamut of the
sport, from those sombre days with their wild ex-
hilaration to those sunnv ones which we all love,
vs^ith their balmy, healthful languor.

Others, those hardy spirits who never know fear
themselves, will find passages — those anxious moments
— which may raise a smile. Let them smile, for
those who know not fear know not the sea, and I
can smile a happier smile, for I do know a little of
the sea.

There are others who look upon these accounts of
cruises as a glorified form of brag. Perhaps they
read like that, for buoyant spirits are apt to bubble
over in the memory of strenuous days. But surely a
man finds little to brag about whilst battling with
the awe-inspiring sea, and the more I see it the less
I trust it, but the greater is my love for it, and the
stronger is its call.

195

APPENDIX

SAILING DIRECTIONS FROM RAMSGATE VlA
CALAIS AND THE COAST PORTS TO LE
HAVRE

FRENCH SYSTEM OF BUOYAGE

The following uniform system of buoyage and beacons has been
adopted on the coasts of France.

All the buoys and beacons are characterised by colour, and by the
form of topmark. The term starboard means the right-hand side
approaching from seaward ; the term port means the left-hand side.
The term separation of channels is given to the marks placed at the
seaward extreme of middle grounds ; those at the inshore extreme
are named junction ofchanne/s marks. The marks on shoals of small
extent are named isolated danger marks.

ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE SYSTEM
(Black signifies ^/flf,^.) (Shading signifies ^^oT.) ( Blank signifies White.)

Port hand buoys.

tq6

Starboard hand buoys.

endtx

Buoys and beacons indicating separation
of channels.

Buoys indicating junction of
channels.

Buoys and beacons indicating isolated dangers.

RAMSGATE TO CALAIS

With a S.W. (true) wind, and if a calm and quick passage
is desired, choose to cross the Channel with the eastern
stream. Leave Ramsgate for South Sand Head Light-ship at
four hours before high water, taking Gull Stream for the
strongest tide. Pass Black Conical, and B. and W, Can
Buoys, to starboard. Keep them bearing one on the other
until they are about a quarter of a mile astern. Then set
course for South Goodwin Light-vessel. With S.W. (true)
breeze, the vessel should lay the course, which is S. by W.,
for the tide will set her well upon it.

Off the S.W. Goodwin B. Buoy, take the time, and if there
two hours before high water at Dover, the South Goodwin

197

From the Thames to the Seine

Light-vessel will be reached at the best time for the de-
parture, the easterly stream will then have commenced.

From South Goodwin to Calais course is S.E. \ S. If it is
a neap tide, upon a speed through the water of 4 knots
per hour it will be necessary to allow at least if points for
the tide ; or at springs 3 points. Thus the course to steer
at neaps will be S. by E. \ E, and at springs S. \ E. Upon
either of these courses, when half-way across, should the
land be sighted, it will seem as though the vessel were sail-
ing straight for Cape Blanc Nez, and Calais will seem a great
way to leeward ; but should one turn off one's course in its
diredion, the vessel will never fetch Calais. By watching
carefully one will find the tide setting the vessel in the
diredtion of Calais, away from Blanc Nez.

Keep well to windward of the western jetty until the
vessel, carried by the beam tide, nearly touches it, then bear
quickly away to clear it and shoot in. When inside there
will not be much tide to contend against. Follow the
eastern jetty until, upon sighting the dock-gates, a little
to one's right of them will be seen the pilot vessels. Drop
anchor in line with their bowsprit ends and well clear of
the line of the dock entrance, and take a stern warp ashore.
This is a comfortable berth with landing-steps, but should
the wind turn northerly, it will be well to go into dock,
for a sea tumbles in with that wind.

When entering at night a red light will have to be shown,
and by day the ensign ; either of which should be left ex-
posed until the Douaniers (Customs officers) come aboard.

CALAIS TO BOULOGNE

Leaving Calais Jetty heads at 4I- hours after high water,
the safest course is to make for the B. Buoy No. i,

198

Appe7idix

which bears W. by N. \ N. (3 miles), for there is a shoal
patch of one fathom inshore, on to which the tide sets
strongly.

From this buoy, which may be passed upon the starboard
hand, a Red Mirror Buoy bears S.S.W. \ W. (2| miles).
This marks the edge of the Ridens des Quenocs, upon which
there is a least depth of one fathom, and always a rough
sea. From this buoy, which should be passed upon the
port hand, a course S.W. by W. f W. (6 miles) will clear
Cape Gris Nez, leaving No. 2 Red Buoy, which marks
La Barrier Shoals, upon the port.

Rounding Cape Gris Nez when the lighthouse bears
upon the quarter, a course S.S.W. f S, (8 miles) will lead
into the outer harbour of Boulogne. Passing the B.
and W. Bell Buoy, which marks the Bassure de Baas about
f mile to starboard, Ambleteuse Road will be entered.
Here a very steep sea is caused by a weather-going tide.
The entrance to Boulogne should not be attempted at low
water until the tall Colonne de la Grande Armee is well
open of Creche Point, and it would be well to stand on
until you can see right up between the jetties, for there is
a patch of only a fathom to the north-eastward of the
entrance.

Yachts should bring up temporarily at the Iron Mooring
Buoy, to which the pilot vessels moor ; it lies upon the
starboard hand, where the harbour commences to widen
out from the jetties, and almost in line with the inner
end of the S.E. jetty. It is within warping distance of
the entrance to the Bassin a flot or wet dock. If staying
any length of time, it is advisable to go into dock. The
charge, if any, is very little.

199

From the Thames to the Seine

BOULOGNE TO ETAPLES

With a head wind set off so that the entrance to the Canche
will be reached at about \\ hours before high water.
Leaving the jetty ends, make to pass between the outer
breakwater, one mile distant, and the Whistling Buoy.
From there a course S.S.W. f S. (12 miles) will lead past
Cape I'Alprech (from whence the coast commences to be
low lying) to the Black Spindle Buoy, which marks the
northern edge of the estuary of the Canche. About a mile
farther south is a Red Bell Buoy which marks the southern
edge. Heave to between these buoys for an hour, and see
that the tide does not set the yacht farther in than their
line, or she will be embayed, and see also that the current
along shore does not set her farther north than the Black
Spindle Buoy, or she will have difficulty in regaining her
position. After waiting until half-an-hour before high
water, the water will have risen sufficiently to allow of
the entrance. The sailing diredlions tell of two channels
leading to Camiers Lighthouse, but no diredlions are to be
relied upon when they say, as they do here, that vessels
should not enter without a pilot. And indeed the sands
shift so extensively that the only safe guide is the system
of buoyage. The best water is to be found at first upon
a line midway between the two outer buoys and Camiers
Lighthouse, a square white tower which bears from that
position E. \ N. ; but whilst keeping on this bearing, get a
sight of the buoys farther in, especially the Red Spindle one
which marks the spit of sand at the end of Le Touquet
Point, and give it a wide berth to starboard, sounding all
the while. The sea breaks heavily hereabouts, so the
danger of touching need not be emphasised, and the tide

200

Appendix

rushes over this point at five knots. Once past this buoy,
the channel is easily seen, being marked by stout poles
stuck in stone dykes upon either side, for over two miles,
nearly to Etaples. It is well, however, to keep sounding
all the way, as there are unmarked shoal patches in this
channel.

I don't think any one would be so foolish as to attempt
this entrance at night for the fun of the thing. The Sailing
Directions and charts are unreliable, and as no pilot will
come out to you in bad weather, it is no use as a place to
run to for shelter. So I heartily recommend giving the
Canche a wide berth at night. Under those circumstances
it would be better to remain outside in not less than twenty
fathoms of water.

THE CANCHE TO THE SOMME

Between these two rivers the coast is very difficult to see
in wet weather. There is no shelter for yachts to run to
between the two places. The estuary of the Authie affords
shelter for fishing-boats, but these have to be beached.

The Canche estuary will be cleared at high water, when
the tide will be found to be setting along the coast in the
direction of Boulogne, until about five hours after high water,
when it commences to run towards the Somme.

From the Red Bell Buoy outside the Canche the course
to the Black Bell Buoy is S.S.W. J W. (eighteen miles).

With wind against tide a very steep sea runs upon the top
of the swell.

The thing to find when nearing the Somme is not so much
the Bell Buoy as Point St. Quentin. The only thing to
guide one with regard to the latter is the lead and a coast-

20I

From the Thames to the Seine

guard station, from which the spit juts out due west. The
buoys shown upon the chart look very pi6luresque, but as
they in no way mark the channel, they are quite useless for
navigational purposes. When, however, Point St. Quentin
has been picked up, sail towards Cayeux until one of the
Black Channel Buoys is sighted, then sail towards Point
Hourdel until a sight of one of the Red Buoys is obtained.
By this time the trend of the channel will be obvious if
the line of buoys which marks the edges of it cannot already
be seen. But should one first prefer to sail on to the Outer
Bell Buoy, upon rounding it, one should sail in the direftion
of Point Hourdel ; in either case the lead should be kept
going. The pilotage is compulsory for vessels over ten tons
register. The tide runs from six to seven knots at springs.
The channel is well buoyed and easy to work up to where
it branches off in one dire6lion to Le Crotoy and in the other
to St. Valery. From here it is rather confusing, and, added
to this, the current sets across the banks when they are
covered. There would be no great danger in any weather
in taking ground under the lee of a bank when as far up
the Somme as this.

The most comfortable way of getting to St. Valery would
be to bring up in the little harbour at Hourdel, and ask one
of the fishermen to point out the channels, which can from
there be seen at low water, being then mere dribbles upon
the wide expanse of sand. More especially will this advice
be appreciated when it is understood that the trend of the
channel is always shifting, the buoys being moved when
necessary.

To get into Hourdel from seawards hug the steep-to
shingle bank upon the starboard hand and the deepest water
is near the quay. If entering there from St. Valery, give
the Red Buoy (which at low water is aground) a wide berth,

202

Appendix

as there is a spit running out in its diredlion and beyond it
from the south-east side of the harbour.

The greatest care should be used, whensailing toSt. Valery,
not to miss the end of the stone dyke upon the end of which
there is a beacon, and just off the end there was a black buoy ;
this must be rounded to port.

Sail right up between this dyke and the town quay, where
will be seen scores of fishing-boats, until the channel turns
a little to starboard in the diredion of the harbour and
wharf. Any yacht drawing over six feet should have a
pilot.

THE SOMME TO LE TREPORT

With a decent leading wind leave St. Valery a little before
high water. Should the keel scrape on the sand, the vessel
must be kept going with the current ; she may scrape over
the bank, but if she is turned off the track of the current,
she will certainly stick there until the next tide, for the
sand quickly piles upon anything that happens to be athwart
the set of the tide.

Once having picked up the main channel, the Red Buoys
should be shaved upon the port hand until in deep water,
which will be found about \\ miles from Hourdel Point.

From here, with Le Crotoy just open of Point Hourdel
and Cayeux Lighthouse bearing S.E. \ S., a course S.W.
by S. will lead to Le Treport about ten miles away, in case
it cannot be seen. Usually the tall white cliffs which com-
mence at the town of Ault are visible. Ault must not be
mistaken for Treport and the course doubted. Treport is
in a valley between the white cliffs some five miles farther
down the coast, whereas Ault seems to be toppling off the
extreme end of these white cliffs on to the low ground which

203

From the Thames to the Seine

exists between these and the Somme. Moreover there is a
lighthouse at Ault upon the top of the cliff 331 feet above
the sea.

With a W.N.W. wind it will be well to get a good offing,
for the indrift is strong, and the sea farther from the shore
is not so steep as it is over the banks inshore. With a
wind from W. to S.W. it would be best to make two long
boards of it out seawards; and, as there is no shelter to
make for between the Somme and Treport save for fishing-
boats, there is no object in hugging the shore.

At lowest springs the tide at Treport recedes to within a
cable length of the jetty ends, and there is never more than
six feet upon the bar at low water. The sea breaks heavily
upon the bar, and the high cliff to westward of the entrance
causes a back eddy of wind which always sets a vessel aback
whilst she is in the midst of these rollers, so it is imperative
to have quite a lot of weigh on when entering.

When about to enter, ascertain either by the lead or by
reading the tidal signals shown upon the jetty, what depth
of water there is across the bar. Having made sure that
there is enough and to spare ; when about three-quarters of
a mile from the jetty heads, the Church of St. Jacques should
be brought to bear between these, or so that you can see
into the harbour between them. Either of these bearings
will lead clear of the hummock of shingle which piles itself
immediately to the eastward of the entrance.

Quarter of a mile from the shore to the westward of the
entrance are two patches of rocks. These must be avoided,
so if one happens to miss the entrance, it would be impera-
tive to make out to sea again at once.

Upon getting between the piers you will find the swell
still strong, and care should be taken that it does not set
you on to one or other of the jetties, for although these are

204

Appendix

of masonry, being built upon arches, they permit part of
the swell to pass through.

Yachts should bring up alongside the quay to the west-
ward or make fast to one of the fishing-boats alongside it.
When taking ground alongside these boats, care should be
used, as they have rather deep false keels and very hard
bilges, and should your yacht not draw much, she might at
low water find herself supported only by her shrouds upon
the bilge of the fishing-boat. Some of these vessels are
coated with soft tar, often a quarter of an inch thick ; so old
fenders are a necessity, and plenty of them.

When about to enter the dock, which should be done at
about half-an-hour before high water, first attrad the
attention of the bridge-keeper by blowing several blasts upon
the foghorn whilst approaching. The gate opens in to
the inner port, which like the harbour dries out. Keep
well in the middle of the channel, as there are submerged
stakes and old wrecks upon either hand. When approach-
ing the dock, give more foghorn, and when through, turn
immediately to the left and warp alongside the quay, where
the yacht will be clear of the warps of steamers as they
make their exit. The dock-keeper will supply water for
a trifle.

LE TREPORT TO DIEPPE

The current ofi^shore commences to run in the diredlion
of Dieppe at about half-an-hour after high water; so by
getting out of dock at high water, by the time the vessel
is clear of the jetties, she will have the stream with her.

By standing out well to sea, and by keeping the eastern
jetty end well open of the western one, Les Granges Rocks
will be cleared. With a northerly wind make short tacks

205

From the Thames to the Seine

across the bar until half a mile out to sea. The greatest
care should be employed not to get the vessel between stays,
for should that happen, the tide will do its best to set her
on the rocks.

Once having got this offing, the voyage to Dieppe will
be plain sailing. The course is W.S.W. about 14 miles,
the only trouble being the Ridens de Neuvillette and de
Belleville, where steep seas will be encountered with a
head wind.

A very strong tide sets out of Dieppe harbour. For a
small trifle men track small craft in, which saves a lot of
unnecessary trouble.

Care should be used not to enter about the time that a
steamer is expected (see Chapter XII).

If the docks are closed, as they doubtless would be by
the time of a vessel's arrival from Treport, she should pro-
ceed up the outer port in the direction of the Church of
St. Jacques, whose towers will be seen above the houses, and
be moored to the south quay near the entrance to the
fishing harbour. Any of the fishermen will tell one which
dock is the best to enter.

DIEPPE TO ST. VALERY-EN-CAUX

The stream in the offing commences to run towards St.
Valery-en-Caux at about one hour after high water. A
course from the jetty ends W. by N. ^ N. (5 miles) will
clear the outlying rocks which extend three-quarters of a
mile seawards oif Point d'Ailly. From thence when the
lighthouse bears abeam, a course W. (io| miles) will lead
to a point a mile seaward of the entrance and clear of the
foul ground three-quarters of a mile eastward of the end

206

Appendix

of the St. Valery jetties. Should a vessel arrive here later
than half-tide, it would not be safe for her to attempt the
entrance should she draw over 4 feet 6 inches.

The bar is always shifting, and it dries out much farther
than the chart indicates.

When entering, the deepest water will be found near
the eastern jetty.

Bringing up alongside the eastern quay near one of the
iron ladders, bollards will be found upon the quay and
chains attached to rings fixed in its side, to which vessels can
make fast, fore and aft. Beware of the sluicing operation,
which takes place at low water (see Chapter XIV). There
is a small tidal steep-to harbour for fishing-boats to the
left of the entrance to the main harbour, but as vessels
would ground upon the shingle at about an angle of thirty
degrees, fore and aft, it is inconvenient, and though one
would here escape the effect of the sluicing, it is hardly
to be recommended.

There is only one wet dock, and the best berth is along-
side the western quay. As the water used for sluicing is
suddenly released from this basin, thereby reducing the depth
some eight feet, warps should be slacked off when it takes
place. This trouble, of course, would be avoided if the craft
were warped alongside another vessel.

ST. VALERY-EN-CAUX TO FECAMP

The stream in the ofiing commences to run in the diredlion
of Fecamp at about \\ hours after high water, and it con-
tinues until about \\ hours before the next high water.

From 5- mile farther seaward, in the line of the jetties,
a course W. -^ N. (5f miles) leads to the bend in the coast

207

From the Thames to the Seine

abreast of Veulettes, from where a course W. by S. \ S.
(io|- miles) places one in position for entering Fecamp.
Having allowed a good amount for the set of the tide
across the entrance (it runs 3|-) knots and got safely be-
tween the jetties, the harbour which opens in a spacious
square will be found some distance farther in, to the right.
At the southern corner is the entrance to the basin, but by
first bringing up to an anchor in the middle of the harbour,
contact with the greasy sides of the quay will be avoided
(see Chapter XXII). There will be probably enough
water to lie afloat, but, if not, the bottom is excellent for
grounding on.

FECAMP TO LE HAVRE

The stream runs in the diredlion of Cape d'Antifer from
if hours before until 5 hours after high water. From
this headland the coast takes a sharp bend in a S.W. direc-
tion as far as Cape La Heve. Between these points there
is not much strength of tide inshore with the ebb, and
what there is, seems to set offshore. The tidal stream of
the river Seine unites with the main stream at a varying
point somewhere about six miles northward of Cape La
Heve. Therefore it will be necessary to arrive upon this
meridian not later than the Seine tide starts to flow, which
would be about \\ hours before high water at Le Havre.

The course from Fecamp to Etretat is W. f S. (yj miles),
from thence to Cape d'Antifer it is S.W. by W. (2J miles),
from there to La Heve S.W. J S. (11 J miles), and from
La Heve to the entrance to Le Havre S.E. by S. (2|-
miles).

With the wind offshore, hot squalls come down the

208

Appendix

valleys, which should be carefully watched for, as the wind
comes in a down-draught.

With a light head-wind it will probably be necessary to
anchor for one tide, as there is no sheltered anchorage, and
the shore is very steep too. When past Cape d'Antifer,
however, there is a shoal patch, opposite the coastguard
house at Bruneval, and at St. Jouin and Hennequeville are
others ; but in no case should shore be approached nearer
than \ mile, for there are submerged rocks all down the
coast.

The best guide is, of course, the lead, but in using the
lead, care should still be used not to stand in beyond the
above-mentioned distance, because it is difficult to make
sure of the ship's position, as none of the villages except
Bruneval can be seen from within two or three miles sea-
wards.

Having picked up the Bell Buoy, opposite Cape La
Heve, shave it upon the port hand and set course for Le
Havre jetties, but keep a good allowance for the set of the
tide, which is strongest immediately across the entrance.
Indeed, the northern jetty should be hugged for all it is
worth until the vessel is right on it. If one arrives by
night, and would prefer to wait until daylight to enter dock,
a good anchorage in the outer harbour is to be found
nearly opposite the Frascati Casino. Should one, however,
prefer to go straight into dock, sail up the Avant Port,
passing the outer harbour upon the port hand until a cul-
de-sac of dock-gates is reached, where the port widens.
Better still, follow the north quay until in it a wide opening
is found, which leads to the Bassin du Roi. Should the dock
not be open, the best place to wait is at the right-hand side
quay, where one can warp to bollards. When the dock-
gates are opened, upon blowing one's horn the bridge will

209 o

From the Thames to the Seine

be opened, and when in the dock, the best berth is alongside
one of the pilot boats, well clear of the entrance.

A small yacht would be comfortable here for a short
stay, but if she is making a long visit, it would be better to
take her into the Bassin du Commerce, where yachts bring
up ; this should be done by daylight if possible.

210

INDEX OF PLACES

ABBEVILLE, 59-70, 74
-^^ Aiguille d'Etretat, L', 122
Ailly, the Point d', 104, 105, 206
Aizier, 142

Alprech, Cape 1', 21, 36, 39, 200
Ambleteuse Road, 199
Amont, the Falaise d', 122
Amont, the Porte d', 122
Antifer, Cape d', 120, 124, 162,
163, 165, 176, 177, 208, 209
Arques, the river, 103
Audresselles, 21
Ault, 203
Aval, Porte d', 122

g ASSURE de Baas, the, 199

Beachy Head, 180, 183, 186
Bethune, the river, 103
Blanc Nez, 9, 20, 198
Boulogne, 21, 23, 24, 25-32, 34,
36, 52, 74, 97, 199, 200, 201
Bresle, the valley of the, 92
Brest, 100
Bruneval, 209
Burnham, 180

QAEN, 158

Calais, 7, 9-19, 71, 198
Camiers Lighthouse, the, 200
Canche, the river, 39, 41, 44,
200, 201

Carnot Breakwater, the, 38

Caudebec, 142, 144

Cayeux, 60, 74, 75, 202,

203
Chambre des Demoiselles, La,

122
Chapman Lighthouse, the, 193
Charing Cross, 2
Colonne de la Grande Armce, 32,

199
Constantinople, 128
Corvette, La, 141
Courbe, La, 142
Courgain, the, 72
Creche, Point de la, 32, 199
Criqueboeuf, 150
Crotoy, Le, 74, 202, 203

DEAL, 7

Deauville (suburb of Trou-

ville), 144, 148
Des Flaques, 142
Dieppe, 74, 94-104, 205,

206
Dives, the river, 144
Dos d'Ane, the, 142
Dover, 190, 191, 192, 197
Downs, the, 191, 192
Duclair, 143, 144
Dungeness, 187, 190
Dunkirk, 8

Index of Places

FRITH, 3

Etaples, 39, 40, 41-50, 201
Etretat, 121, 122, 164, 208
Eu, 88, 89, 90

T ES GRANGES Rocks, 205

Liane, the river, 25, 34
Liverpool, 75
Long-nose, 5
Long Reach, 3
Lower Hope Point, 4

pAGNET Point, 121, 166,

Fecamp, 120, 121, 161, 167- MAILLERAYE, La,^H3
173, 176, 184, 186, 207, '"

208

Folkestone, 26, 190

QOODWIN Sands, the, 6,

197
Gravesend, 4
Grays, 4
Greenhithe, 3
Greenwich, 3
Griz Nez, 8, 21, 22, 23, 190,

199
Gull Light-vessel, the, 6, 7
Gull Stream, 197

■LJAMMERSMITH, i, 194

Hardiers, the, 123
Harfleur, 134-136
Hastings, 188, 189
Havre, Le, 5, 74, 120, 124, 125,

127-137, 154, 159) i6o> i^ij

163, 208
Hennequeville, 150, 209
Henriville, 34
Heme Bay, 5
Heve, Cape La, 120, 124, 162,

163, 208, 209
Honfleur, 128, 139, 144, 150,

152, 153-159
Hourdel, Le, 75, 202, 203

Manneporte, La, 122
Margate, 5, 86
Mers (Treport), 81, 89
Mesnil, Le, 102
Meules, Les, 143
Montmartre, 86, 128
Montreuil-sur-mer, 48, 49

AJEUVILLE - SOUS - MON-

^^ TREUIL, 49

Newhaven, 175, 183, 184,

189
Nore, the, 4

North Foreland, the, 4, 5
Noyelles, 61, 70

QSTEND, 97
Ovens Buoy, 4

pARIS, 128, 148, 154

Paris Plage, 39, 44, 46, 47
Penne de Pic, 151
Piette, La, 143
Pollet, La, 99
Pool of London, the, 2
Portel, Le, 32, 34-36
Pourville, 104

GUILLEBCEUF, 140, 141,
144

Index of Places

J^ADICATEL, 140

Ramsgate, 5, 197
Ridens de Belleville, 206
Ridens de Neuvillette, 206
Ridens des Quenocs, the, 20
Rille, 139, 140

Roche de Sainte Olive, La, 123
Roque, La, 140
Rouen, 49, 138, 143, 144
Rye, 188

CT. AUBIN, valley of, 106

St. Jouin, 209
St, Leonard, 141
Ste. Marguerite, 104
St. Michel, Raz de, 106
St. Quentin, Point, 201, 202
St. Valery-en-Caux, 106, iio-

119, 129, 206, 207
St. Valery-sur-Somme, 26, 55,

57-61, 64, 65, 70, 71-74,

202, 203
Sandgate, 191
Seven Sisters, the, 183
Sheerness, 128
Somme River and Canal, the,

51-56, 62, 65, 71, 76, 201-

204
Southampton, 153

Southend, 4

South Foreland, 7, 8

South Sand Head, 7, 197

HTANCARVILLE, 140
■*■ Tancarville Canal, the, 134
Thames estuary, 78, 180
Tilburyness, 4
Touques, 146
Touqucs, the river, 144
Touquet, Le, 39, 45
Touquet, Le, Point, 200
Traverse, the, 142
Treport, Le, 75, 79, 81-93, 203,

204, 205
Trouville, 124, 128, 131, 137,
138, 144, 14^-150

yARANGEVILLE, 104

Vasoui, 151
Veules, 105, 118
Vieuxport, 140
Villequier, 142
Villerville, 150

RAPPING, 5

Wimereux, 32-34
Wimille, the river, 33
Woolwich, 3

Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson b' Co.
Edinburgh b' London

NORTH SEA.

Cha^rt sho>jOir\g the trc\ck

AND THE INFLUENCC OF
WINDS •« TIDES.

'^^'v^7^"''^-.'"v'';^'i'y. ' ? g

. «.>'«<tiM\ at Mw «in4.

PU\NSofDOCK5

CALAIS.

LAND . ^ ■ DRY AT -♦- WHERI TO « BEST DQCkS

-■ l_OWEST TIDES . BRIItO UP. FOR YACHTS.

BOULOGNE.

DC28 P4x

Pears, Charles, 18/3-
From the Thames to the Seine
;

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