UNIVERSITY OF CA RIVERSIDE, LIBRARY 3 1210 01980 9282 ftil iliiitl]!llllllllllllIi]||l!II!li««iill!lilltt!lll]lllililill!!!li!l{|!!l!!!lltI!;i!!l!HH ""4] mil' innniDi tES PEARS NORTH SEA. f'f-..: lEI^dilLAMIIDo V A- THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA RIVERSIDE ■"^^ Ex Libris Frederick & Emmanuelle D'Hauthuille-Schwartz '^^^ s \Mmsasn Chart sho\x)ing the trckck ANp THE INFLUCNCC or WINDS A( TIDES. >-<'t*>ll «• Tl«. «•«»•» al Hta «•»•! Tii« Lwd. 9t>>4* •villi Vf 4.r .1 lu t/Oir. ■MMB M^ •m«> Ub^ «v« 1^^ tf 1.. «.>.'. PIANSofDOCKS CALAIS. VECM^. .y .-'-^w .y^'-^ cg^jjiim ' , -tI 4 1 ■ ^H ■J u i 9 ^1 M ■ i M ^^1 i I I ■ ^H .:VV'i^^^^^H 1 1 1 ■ H FROM THE THAMES TO THE SEINE ol C/ VA C- i^ < ♦ tl ^L Jipf UP iL i<.-v.r5 . ii-«^ r^) . I'he Biljiy of Si, Catherine FROM THE THAMES TO THE SEINE WRITTEN AND ILLUSTRATED BY CHARLES PEARS PHILADELPHIA GEORGE W. JACOBS ^ CO. PUBLISHERS All rights reserved 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. IX 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 XV 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 3 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 4 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. 5 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, 7 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 9 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«^«/') 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. 34 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- 35 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 36 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. 37 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 38 ^^^ -4 wy* I '1' V J ^ ^ t; C) ^ 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 39 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. 40 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. 41 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, 42 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, 43 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- 44 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 45 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 46 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 47 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 48 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. 50 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 51 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 52 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 53 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 54 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 55 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. 56 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. 57 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 58 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- 59 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 60 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 6i 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 62 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 63 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- 64 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 66 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 68 '1 -: 1 /-.- >.v s — :^ y I / r < (I p. X u 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 70 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 71 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. 72 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- 73 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. 74 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 75 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- 76 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. 78 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 79 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. 80 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 82 i 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. 84 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. 85 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- 86 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 87 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. 88 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 89 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- 90 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 91 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 92 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. 93 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. 94 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 95 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. 96 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 ; 98 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 99 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''^ dm 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 f s. 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. V '>>-^ X:"-^ :