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

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

I intended to start again with any freshening breeze, and to get into Littlehampton for the night; therefore the small anchor and the hemp cable were used so as to be more ready for instant departure, and well it was thus.

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

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

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

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

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

How well our English word "thunder" suits the meaning in its sound, far better than tonnerre or tonitru!

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

[Picture: The Owers chart]

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

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

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

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

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

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

It may be remarked how a coast often appears quite different when you are fifteen or twenty miles out to sea, from what it does when you stand on the beach, or look from a row-boat close to the land. So now we were puzzled to find out Brighton, one's own familiar Brighton, with its dull half-sided street, neither town nor bathing-town, its beach unwalkable, and all its sights and glories done in a day. We might well be ashamed not to recognise at once the contour of the hills, which we had so often trudged over in column or in skirmish in the Volunteer Reviews.

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

We had shaken out all reefs, and now tore along at full speed, with the spray-drift sparkling in the sun, and a frolicsome jubilant sea. The delights of going fast when the water is deep and the wind is strong—ah! these never can be rightly described, nor the exulting bound with which your vessel springs through a buoyant wave, and the thrill of nerve that tells in the sailor's heart, "Well, after all, sailing is a pleasure supreme."

Numerous fishing-vessels now came out, with their black tanned sails and strong bluff bows and hardy-looking crews, who all hailed me cheerily when they were near enough, and often came near to see. Fast the yawl sped along the white chalk cliffs, and my chart in its glazed frame did excellent service now, for the wind and sea rose more again; and at length, when we came near the last headland for Newhaven, we lowered the mainsail and steadily ran under mizen and jib. Newhaven came in sight, deeply embayed under the magnificent cliff, which, at other times I could have gazed on for an hour, admiring the grand dashing of the waves, but we had to hoist mainsail again, so as to get in before the tide would set out strongly, and so increase every minute the sea at the harbour's mouth.

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

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

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

For this purpose we rowed the yawl into a quiet little river, and lashed her alongside a neat schooner, whose captain and wife and children and their little dog 'Lady' were soon great friends, for they were courteous people, as might be expected in a respectable vessel; it is generally so.

Now the Rob Roy settled into soft mud for a good rest of three days, and I went to the Inn where "Mr. Smith" landed from France in 1848, after he had given up being King Louis Philippe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER XIX.

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

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

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

The east wind baffled the yawl and a whole fleet of vessels, all of us trying to do the same thing, namely, to arrive at Beachy Head before two o'clock in the day; for, if this could be managed, we should there find the tide ebbing eastwards, and so get twelve hours of current in our favour.

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

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

After three hours' work she reached the desired six fathoms' patch of sand, just under the noble white cliff that rears its head aloft about 600 feet, standing ever as a giant wall, sheer, upright, out of the sea.

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

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

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

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

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

[Picture: Beachy Head Ghost]

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

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

It would be difficult for me to exaggerate the impressive spectacle that passed along on the dark background of this night. To shew what others thought, we may quote the following paragraph from the 'Pall Mall Gazette' of next day, the 20th of August: {260}—

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

We had noticed some rockets sent up from Eastbourne earlier in the evening; probably these were fireworks at a fete there, but the rain must have soon drowned the gala. Certainly it closed up my view of all other lights but the lightning, though sometimes a shining line appeared for a moment in the distance, perhaps from Hastings; and at one time the moon came out red and full, and exactly at the top of a vessel's lofty sails. One steamer had puzzled me much by its keeping nearly still. This drifted close up at last, and they called out, "Ahoy, there!—are you a fishing boat?" They wanted to know their bearings, as the current and shifting wind made the position of Beachy Head quite uncertain in the dark. {261} I replied to their hail—"No, I'm the yacht Rob Roy, crew of one man; don't you see my white sails?" and they answered—"See? why, who can see to-night?"

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

And yet, after a few hours of the turmoil and excitement, this state of things became quite as it were natural, so soon does one get accustomed to any circumstances, however strange at first. I even cooked hot tea; it was something to do, as well as to drink, and singing and whistling also beguiled the dark hours of eager, strained matching. In a lighter moment, once a great lumbering sloop sailed near, and we hailed her loudly, "How's the wind going to be?"—for the wind kept ever changing (but the thunder and lightning were going on still). A gruff voice answered, "Can't say; who can say—night—this sort—think it'll settle east." This was bad news for me, but it did not come true. The sloop's skipper wished for an east wind, and so he expected it.

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

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

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

So sped the storm for eight long hours, with splendours for the eye, and dark long thrills of the sublime, that stirred deep the whole inner being with feelings vivid and strong, and loosed the most secret folds of consciousness with thoughts I had never felt before, and perhaps shall never know again. The mind conjured up the most telling scenes it had known of "alone" and of "thunder," to compare with this where both were now combined.

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

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

[Picture: Map of English Channel]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now came joyous sounds from our moist crew—"Hurrah for the day! Pipe all hands to breakfast—slack out the mainsheet, here's the west wind;" and up rose the sun, well washed by the torrents of rain.

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

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

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

From this place a very low flat tongue of land stretches along in the strangest way, until at its end is the lighthouse of Dungeness. Martello towers are on the shore, but for miles outside of this, the nearest beach is all one can see; and therefore the tall lighthouse, viewed even through the glass, looked only like a small grey speck on the waves, without any land whatever between. About midday the yawl neared this very remarkable beacon, which is painted red and white; strong, lofty, and firm set on a cape of pure gravel, with here and there a house, not visible at all until you come close.

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

"Down with the helm!"—"Haul the sheet!"—"Slack the jib!" and we gave chase in great glee, and catching her soon with the boat-hook, we quickly pulled the dingey on board, and lashed her securely down to the deck, an arrangement that answered well.

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

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

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

Dover pier was, we must say, welcome to see. Often at other times we had intentionally lengthened the day's journey, in arriving near a destination sooner than it was absolutely necessary to stop the pleasure of sailing, but now we ran into Dover as fast as the flying wind would speed us.

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

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

Pope's 'Odyssey,' Book V.

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

Ibid., Book X.

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

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

Why, it was next day, and I had soundly slept on the top of the bed in my soaking wet clothes for seventeen hours!



CHAPTER XX.

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

Perhaps a sleep in wet clothes, such as we have awakened from, was more likely to do harm than any of the blasts and breezes at sea; but nothing followed, and indeed during the whole of my six voyages alone there was neither a headache nor any other ache, not even a cold, and the floating medicine-chest yawl was never opened.

Dover had been the port of departure and again of arrival, for my first canoe voyage, and the memory of that delightful tour was recalled now by seeing a canoe paddling in the harbour. On closer scrutiny it was perceived that a young lady was its crew. Now there are several fair Members {272} of our Royal Canoe Club, and we are quite prepared to ballot for some more, but the captain had not yet been fortunate enough to see one of these canoeistes on the water, so at once the dingey gave chase.

[Picture: Paddle and Parasol]

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

Henceforth I shall always know that a Rob Roy can well be matched by a Di Vernon, and how much the most gentle movement afloat can be refined by feminine grace. A few hints from the older paddler in the dingey were rapidly taken up by the apt scholar in the canoe, while her friends rowed beside us in a boat, and at length with that English pluck which so many English girls possess, she boldly steered into a steamer's swell, and then to the open sea, where, before a soft zephyr murmuring its undertone whispers, we hoisted her parasol for a sail, and the visitors on Dover pier had a novel treat in the duet between dingey and canoe.

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

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

The men of the 'Gull' with its red sides and red lantern masts, received me with surprise, but with most grateful thanks for books to read, and then they pressed their visitor to stop for dinner!

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

On this lightship there are seven men, and four more on land to relieve them regularly. {275} In the course of a lively conversation with their visitor, they said, "How lonely you must be!" Surely when the men exiled to a lightship pronounce the Rob Roy "lonely" there must be something in the charge; but my obtuse perception has not yet enabled me to find it out.

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

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

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

Rounding the Foreland in a lovely afternoon, we observed how the corn-fields had become ripe and yellow, that were only growing and green when our yawl passed the cape before. Here is the "Long Nose" buoy again, and all the familiar landmarks, and once more Margate, where the people very warmly welcomed the little Rob Roy, which they had sped on its way outward bound with a parting cheer.

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

An expedition of river discovery up the Medway seemed to be worth trying now, for no bonds of time or engagements fettered that glorious freedom of action which is one of the prize features of sailing thus. The yawl went bowling along on this new errand amid huge old hulks, tall-masted frigates, black warrior-like ironclads, gay yachts, odoriferous fishing-smacks, and a fleet of steady, brown-sailed, business-like barges. This is a pleasant and a cheerful river for some days' excursion, with a mild excitement in sailing over banks and shoals, and yet not striking once, although we had no chart.

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

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

Once fairly up among the war-ships at Chatham, the Rob Roy anchors by the Powder Magazine, and while a waterman rows away for the usual supplies—"Two eggs, pat of butter, and the 'Times'"—we inspect the Royal Engineers as they are engaged alongside at pontooning, and are frequently pulled up by the command of a smart sergeant—"Eyes—right," for they will take furtive glances at my dingey gyrating so as they had never seen boat spin round before. This comment on the dingey's shape was ventured, too, "It's for hall the world like 'alf a hegg."

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

The yawl's mast will be able to pass under the bridge, for the tide is low, and beyond it now we are in sunny green fields, and sailing on smoothly amid quiet villages, rich pastures, and the exuberant hop-grounds of thoroughly English Kent.

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

The Rob Roy got aground only once in this trip above the bridge, and that only for five minutes, which, except the bump on a rock at Bembridge, was her sole mishap of this sort, an immunity quite extraordinary from the seaman's dreaded foe, the shore. The barges that were now floating up the crowded Medway interested me exceedingly, and acquaintance was readily made with their inhabitants almost every day for the next three weeks, until it became evident that "Barge Life" is a stratum of society quite as full of character and incident as any other, and wide open for examination by those who would study a genus of mankind very little known. Large and important duties are entrusted to these men; rich cargoes are committed to their honesty and skill; families live on barges by thousands, {280} and the coasting journey of a barge is by no means an easy thing or a dull one.

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

The barges that trade to the Medway are fine, strong sea-boats; their sailing qualities are excellent, and they are improved every year by a regatta specially for them, where forty gay-dressed, bluff and burly craft compete for prizes. In this match the utmost of skill, sharpened by years of river sailing, is shewn in the wind and tide, and knowledge of intricate channels, and among such competitors "fouling is fair."

As the yawl glides on the water among hayricks and whetting scythes, one of these gallant barges floated beside us with the name on its stern—S.E.C.P.T.E.R.—dubious in import, we allow, whether it means that the stout matter-of-fact lighter has been christened as a shadowy ghost, or a royal symbol. The veriest urchin steers her, with a little fat hand on the heavy tiller twelve feet long, and a hunch of good rye-bread in his other fist. Now and then he sings out in a thin soprano, "Fayther, boat's a'ead," and his father, (hidden below), answers deep-toned, from the cabin, "Keep 'er away, lad." From him I asked, "How old is your boy?" and the parent's head popped up to see, but it was the child that smartly answered, "Eight years old." He looked five. Round the next reach the barge bears down, and shakes her sails in the wind to arrest progress a little. They have come near home, but not to stop. It is only their country house, and up steps the bargee mother from out her small boudoir in the cabin below, and jumping heavily into a boat, she pulls ashore to where a little girl is meekly waiting ready for orders—"Get the fish directly, Hagnes," and the daughter runs off fleetly and back soon, and the mother is speedily aboard again—all this marketing being done while the barge has been drifting slowly past, and then her sails are filled to continue the voyage.

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

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

The evening was too fine at Sheerness to think of anchoring, so with a sudden resolve we set off again to Southend. Here the advice of a yacht lying near was followed foolishly (get facts from experts and decide on deeds yourself), for I anchored without sounding, and too late found it was in shallow water, only eight feet by the lead, and the tide running out. To bed but not to sleep, for the water sunk to five feet, and, angry with myself, I roused at one o'clock, gave out all the rope, sheered off shore by the rudder, and then, again at rest, gained only six inches of depth; but once more sounding, there was only six inches to spare under the keel and with a strong breeze on shore. Therefore, now again on the move, we fastened the inner end of the cable to the larger anchor and heaved this out, and then payed out all the chain, and sheered with the rudder, but still she was in shoal water. Finally, as the wind increased, I had to haul in both anchors and shove out into the deep, and thus, by omitting to do right at once what was easy at the time, the whole night had been consumed by intervals of wet and needless trouble.

Life in the yawl had now become such a pleasant life, that to leave it was a duty deferred as long as possible. We ranged several times up and down the Thames, visiting many an old nook, well known in former days; Holy Haven for instance; it is now thirty-three years since we first harboured there in a little sailing-boat and spent a night with a collier captain, and learned more of coals and colliers than one could read in a week. This was done by keeping him resolutely on the point the man knew all about until he was quite pumped dry. This nice little refuge-harbour is the one I like best in all the river, with only one house—no bother from shore folks, deep channel, and clean sand to anchor in. If it were not for this narrow and safe retreat, there would often be hard times in stormy days between Gravesend and Sheerness.

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

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



CHAPTER XXI.

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

Margate has often been abused, laughed at, and snubbed, but it has never yet been properly described. How shall I describe Margate? It is too difficult to do well, and it has been too often done badly to do it again.

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

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

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

"Her Majesty is going to bathe."

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

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

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

Next there appeared the Empress and four maids of honour, who came also to the tents, the Empress going alone into one with a tasteful blue and silver drapery round it. See, now the ladies emerge from their disrobing rooms, and walk slowly down to the water between the double line of inquisitive but respectful visitors. Each lady has a coat, vest, and trousers of black silk, with the neatest of little boots, and the most winning of large-brimmed black straw hats—that of the Empress being trimmed with a narrow band of red.

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

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

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

[Picture: The Empress in the Sea]

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

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

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

Brave lads, there is still a chance for you here. England is to blame as well as you that you have been sucked by the eddies of life into criminal streams. England also rescues you. It is but dragging out indeed, but you are out of the mire. Take heart, you may carry the British flag proudly yet; the career of the sailor is open to you also, and who shall say that some gallant three-master may not yet be commanded by a sailor bred in the 'Cornwall' Reformatory school-ship at Purfleet?

As for the 'Worcester,' the lads there are already well up on the ladder of life. Sometime, if things go on thus well, we shall have Christian gentlemen as our sea-captains, for already in many things the waves are better than the shore.

When the Rob Roy returned from France, we had put on board of her some fireworks to amuse the 'Worcesters' at Erith, and in a quiet night the rockets sped aloft, and the Roman candles ejaculated fireballs, and the Chinese floats spat flame as they blazed on the flowing tide, and the red light made our sails blush deeply, and the "jack in the box" fizzed and caracoled over the deck scorching us all inordinately.

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

'Worcester' was not to be beaten by Rob Roy. Up sprang the blue-lights from her tops and yards. Ports blazed with lamps, and skyrockets whizzed into the ether. Then came best of all from young and gladsome hearts those ringing cheers, and the lively band roused up the quiet night waves with "Rob Roy MacGregor O!"

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

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

Our country just at this time wants more seamen and better seamen. The Royal Navy needs young England, and the Commercial Navy will have him, bad or good, ignorant or well taught. Our Government finding this to be so had thought of placing Training ships at various ports for the very purpose of supplying the demand for sailor boys. Doubtless they would have done this well, but it is better still if by private effort we can fill the ships. At any rate let us empty the prisons, the dens of penury, and the kerb-stones, where the young and prime material, spoiling by ignorance and neglect, wastes the vigour of our land, pesters this generation with beggars, poor-rates, and gaols, and infects and ruins the generation to come after.

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

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

We have opened our ship-decks to foreign sailors—more proud in our boast of being an asylum for the distressed than in preventing distress among our own people. By all means give foreigners fair play, but after England's boys are cared for. Charity begins at home, our home is England. English boys are far better sailors than any foreigners, who no doubt excel us in cookery and silks, and manners and despotism, but not in the hard duty bravely done, when storms lash clouds and ocean into one general foam.

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

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

The captain of the 'Chichester' says:—

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

"Ship '—-,' off the Isle of Wight.

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

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

"No more at present from your obedient servants,

"A. B. and C. D.

"God be merciful to us as sinners."

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

It will be a happy sight, and one by no means out of our reach to witness, when the gentlemen taught on the 'Worcester,' and the mates from the 'Chichester,' and the crew from the 'Cornwall,' shall man the largest, fastest vessel on the sea.

The 'Chichester' boys make a very appreciative audience when a visitor addresses them. Then they sing their hearty thanks with steady voices, and in stanzas of original poetry spun aboard ship, and sure to mean much if you can read between the lines; for London boys are both in good things and in bad the smartest of all.

After pondering on the matter during another sail, the following letter appeared in the 'Times':—

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

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

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

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

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

"J. M.

"Margate Roads."

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

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

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

"J. M.

"Temple."

By the desire of the 'Chichester' Committee I joined the 'Dolphin' at Sheerness, and with a regular salt captain, and a seaman from the Bendigo diggings, and a boy from the 'Chichester,' we weighed the cutter's anchor to bring the prize to Greenhithe.

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

Barges flocked out, clustering on the water as in my former visits here, yet the 'Dolphin' mingled with them not as in a mere play, but with a benign and holy purpose in her gait, for it was the gracious breath of Christian benevolence that wafted the 'Dolphin' on. She was a present to the homeless boys, and so a gift that shall be one time repaid by the Friend of the friendless with measure "running over."

Yantlet was passed and the Blythe and Jenkin, when sunset shrouded sleeping Father Thames. Then the ship-lights sparkled numerous on the stream, and red rays from the beacons glinted athwart our sail. Swift steamers whisked by in the dark. Tall, gaunt, sailing ships rustled their dusky canvas, and struggling little tug-boats rattled with instant paddle as they passed.

[Picture: The Gift to Boys]

Clouds withdrew from above as we neared the 'Chichester,' and the full moon came out and looked upon the "gift for boys" with her long pendant streaming in the mild and onward breeze.

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

But best of them all was the sail in the 'Dolphin.'

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

THE END.



APPENDIX. BOYS' TRAINING SHIPS.

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



ROYAL NAVY TRAINING SHIPS FOR BOYS.

There are Five regular Boys' Training Ships for the Royal Navy, accommodating 3400 boys.

The 'Impregnable,' and 'Implacable' (with 'Lion'), at Devonport (for 700 boys); 'Ganges,' at Falmouth (500 boys); 'St. Vincent,' at Portsmouth (700 boys); and 'Boscawen,' at Portland (500 boys). To each is attached a brig for cruising during the summer months. The boys go through a regular course of instruction at school, in seamanship and in gunnery, till they are "rated," after a year or a little more, as 1st Class boys, when they have a cruise in the brig. With respect to the school instruction, the principle is to give the more backward boys more schooling than the more advanced, and to this end the boys are divided into Upper School and Lower School: the Upper School boys have one forenoon and one afternoon a week in school, and the Lower School boys twice that amount. The educational attainments of the Upper School correspond to Standards VI., V., IV. of the New Code, and those of the Lower School to Standards III. and II. Of course there is the division into watches, as the routine of the ships is modelled on that of a man-of-war.

With the exception of the band boys entered from industrial schools, no boys are received who have been before a magistrate. It is gratifying to find that as many good and respectable lads as are wanted can be had for this glorious patriotic service. "The expense incurred in training seamen amounts on an average to not less than 300 to 400 pounds for every seaman in the navy:" 'British Seamen,' by T. Brassey, M.P. Longmans, 1877, page 158.

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

'AKBAR.'—(MERSEY.)

Established 1856.

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

In January, 1878, the ship parted from her moorings in a gale, and this and repairs caused an expense of about 500 pounds. The ordinary expenditure of the year is about 3800 pounds; the average number on board is 190, and of these 134 could swim.

'ARETHUSA.'—(GREENHITHE, Thames.)

Opened August, 1874.

This vessel is the new sister ship of the 'Chichester,' and is described below with the other vessel.

'CHICHESTER.'—(GREENHITHE, Thames.)

Established 1866.

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

The 'Chichester' was fitted up in 1866, and opened in January, 1867, for training homeless boys between 13 and 16 years of age for sea life. By the munificent gift of the Baroness Burdett Coutts, the 'Arethusa' was presented to the committee fully fitted up as an additional Training Ship, in 1874, and the two vessels are moored close together near the pleasant hills of Greenhithe, in Kent. The woodcut on the preceding page, representing some boys on the topsail-yard of the 'Chichester,' appeared in the Leisure Hour as one of the illustrations of an article on 'Ragamuffins' by the present writer.

[Picture: Away aloft]

The number of boys sent to sea from the 'Chichester' in the year 1877 was 117, and the number on board 176. The total number of boys received on the 'Chichester,' up to the 31st of December, 1877, was 2165. Number discharged, 2092; sent to sea, 1797.

Besides the number sent on a first voyage, the following numbers were re-shipped, not counting those who after their first voyage got ships without coming to the 'Chichester' ship-master. Shipped for second voyage, 686; for third, 451; fourth, 291; fifth, 180; sixth, 108; seventh, 72; eighth voyage, 55.

The total number of boys received on board the 'Arethusa' from 1874 to end of 1877, was 659; discharged, 450; sent to sea, 386, of whom 102 were so sent in 1877. In July, 1878, there were 400 boys on the two ships when the annual presentation of prizes took place. The total expenses for the two ships for the year 1877 amounted to 10,494 pounds 10s. 8d.

I had again the privilege of presenting the sailor boys 'Rob Roy' prizes in the Guildhall, in the presence of the veteran philanthropist the Earl of Shaftesbury, in 1880.

'CLARENCE.'—(MERSEY.)

Established 1863.

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

'CLIO.'—(MENAI STRAITS.)

Certified February, 1878.

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

'CONWAY.'—(MERSEY.)

Established 1859.

A new vessel (late the 'Nile') was substituted in 1877 for the old 'Conway,' but it was rechristened with the old name, and the cost of alterations was 6000 pounds.

It is managed by "The Mercantile Marine Association," and is intended chiefly to supply officers for the merchant navy. Boys are received from 12 to 16 years of ago. The average number of boys on board was 138, of whom 54 joined the merchant service. The number of boys received since the commencement up to 1877, was 1290, of whom 40 entered the Royal Navy, and almost all the others went into the Merchant Service.

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

'CORNWALL.'—(PURFLEET, Thames.)

Established 1859.

This is a Reformatory Ship, managed by "The School Ship Society." The boys enter between 13 and 15 years of age, sentenced to 3 years' detention under the Reformatory Schools Act. The average number of boys maintained on board in 1877 was 218. Comparative cost per head on ordinary maintenance and management 32 pounds. Industrial profits, 329 pounds. Of cases discharged in 1874, 1875, and 1876, there were doing well (December, 1877) 198, doubtful 5, convicted of crime 4, unknown 18, dead 12. In July, 1878, the Captain had heard of 114 boys at sea service, all doing well, and 26 boys visited in June, equally satisfactory, one of them in command of a large ship.

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

'CUMBERLAND.'—(CLYDE.)

Established June, 1869.

This is an Industrial School Ship. At the beginning of 1877 there were 385 boys on board, and during the year 133 were admitted, 105 were sent to sea, 11 to shore employment, 5 to their friends, 1 to a school, 6 absconded, and 1 died, leaving 389 on the roll for January 1, 1878. From the establishment up to that time, 1343 boys had been admitted, and 954 had left. Of 432 discharged in 1874, 1875, and 1876, 345 were known to be doing well, 10 indifferently, 3 convicted of crime, and 16 died of disease and casualties. The receipts for the year were 7280 pounds, including 500 pounds on contingency account. The ship is managed by a committee, of which the President is Mr. John Burns, of Castle Wemyss, who is well known for his important position as chairman of The Cunard Company (Limited), and for his hearty liberal efforts on behalf of boys who need a friend.

'ENDEAVOUR.'—(FELTHAM, Middlesex.)

Established 1866.

This is a "land ship," with boats on the river, and the following description of it is from a paper by Captain Brookes, Royal Marines, the Superintendent of the "Middlesex Industrial Schools at Feltham," where about 800 boys sent by magistrates are trained for the Army, the Navy, and various other modes of life:—

"The 150 boys composing the Nautical Section are dressed as sailors, and their everyday life is assimilated as much as possible to what it would be in a stationary Training Ship—they sleep in hammocks, live in messes, and are daily exercised in seamanship on board the full-sized model brig 'Endeavour,' built on play-ground. Boats are provided on the river at Staines for instruction in rowing, and the boys are taught to swim in a large swimming bath in the grounds.

"The brig was built in 1866, between which date and the end of last year 748 boys (about an average of 70 per annum) have been trained and sent to sea.

"There is a home at Poplar for the reception and care of boys about to be sent to sea under the charge of the shipping officer, who is duly licensed by the Board of Trade. This is a most valuable branch of the school, offering a home to lads returning from sea, who would otherwise fall into the hands of low lodging-house keepers.

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

[After many visits to the floating training ships, and inspection of the 'Endeavour,' and of the Greenwich School, where 1000 boys are trained for sea without the expense and inconveniences of a ship, I fully concur in the opinions of Captain Brookes and Capt. Burney, C.B., and I consider that the best mode of training boys for the commercial navy is to have a light and roomy building on shore with one or more "tender" brigs for cruising, and plenty of boats, and a good gymnasium and swimming bath. A floating hulk is more costly to maintain. It is inconvenient for education from want of light below, and for exercise all the winter from wet decks above, and moreover, the need of a "tender" for each hulk is already acknowledged, so that her sheet anchor is only sentiment.]

J. MACGREGOR.

'ENDEAVOUR.'—(LAND SHIP.)

About thirty-five years ago, this land-ship, with masts and sails and guns, was set up at the Norwood Poor Law Establishment, by the exertions of the late Sir J. K. Shuttleworth, Bart., and one somewhat similar and useful (to a certain extent) was established in a Union School at Stepney. Of the boys instructed by this means, 95 out of 100 voluntarily entered the Army or Navy, but doubtless the supply for sea life is now better obtained from establishments more distinctly nautical. In the report of the North Surrey District Schools "the mast and shrouds" of the Land Ship there are said to be useful in inducing boys to go to sea. (Times, September 3, 1878.)

'EXMOUTH.'—(GRAYS, Thames.)

This vessel accommodates 600 boys, and was substituted for 'The Goliath,' which was burned two years ago (as was also the old 'Warspite' at Charlton). The latest report (which is more full and clear than that of several other ships) deals with the ten months ending the 31st of December, 1877, when 545 boys were under training. These were sent from the Poor Law Unions of Poplar, St. Pancras, Stepney, Marylebone, Woolwich, and others, under the special Act, which very properly requires Metropolitan Parishes to contribute towards the maintenance of the ship, whether they use it or not. A brigantine, the 'Steadfast,' is attached as a "training tender," and accommodates thirty boys, who cruise in the Mouth of the Thames for a week at a time, when ten of them are changed. A causeway from the shore improves the approach to the 'Exmouth,' and a small house and office near the London Docks enables eight boys to be taken daily for engagement in ships.

From March, 1876, to December, 1877, 689 boys were admitted, seventy-nine were discharged to sea service, twenty-one to the Army as musicians, forty-three to their respective Unions, and one absconded.

"Every boy in the ship soaps and washes himself all over every morning with carbolic soap, and then goes through a plunge bath under inspection, having a clean towel every time he washes." The lads are remarkably healthy—there was not one death in the year. The charge for maintenance and clothing has been at the rate of 1s. per head per day. The swimming bath is sixty feet long by thirty feet broad, and the boys are classed by the number of "bath-lengths" they can swim at a stretch. At the beginning of the swimming season, 340 could not swim at all, but there were only 56 in this predicament at the end of the season. Music is taught carefully, and a band of about 60 boys plays twice a week for the other boys to dance. Of 242 boys absent from one to seven days to see their friends, only one broke his leave, and he absconded altogether.

'FAME.'—(GREENWICH ROYAL HOSPITAL SCHOOL.)

Established 1872.

This land ship is part of the splendid establishment at Greenwich for training sons of seamen and marines of the Royal Navy. Candidates must be between 10.5; and 13 years of age, physically fit, able to read an easy sentence, and with some knowledge of arithmetic.

The origin of the school was in 1692, when, after the victory of "La Hogue," an asylum was established for seamen's widows and orphans at the suggestion of Queen Mary, who died before it was accomplished.

In 1712 ten boys were instructed (in the buildings of the present Naval College, part of which had been erected in 1618), and in 1783 there were 60 boys. In 1805, there were 200 boys, and the institution was no longer a charity, but admitted officers' sons.

Another school, "The British Endeavour," started in 1798 as a private venture in London, was transferred to public management in Greenwich.

The "Royal Naval Asylum," for 680 boys and 200 girls, aided by Parliamentary grant, was amalgamated in 1821 with the other (the Royal Hospital School), forming a "Lower School" and "Upper School" for 1000 boys, in the quadrangle now occupied opposite the Royal Naval College. In 1841 the girls' school ceased. In 1860 the distinction between "Upper" and "Lower" School was given up.

In 1870 industrial work was introduced in addition to the other instruction, and the splendid land ship 'Fame' was erected in 1872, which, with boats on the river, large sized moveable models in lofty halls, and a fine swimming bath, gymnasium, class-rooms, and workshops, are the means for instructing 1000 boys most admirably under the supervision of Captain Burney, C.B., and an energetic staff. From the report of July, 1878, it appears that there were 39 pupil teachers, and 958 boys between 10 and 15 years of age. Total 997 in the school. The number of boys admitted during the year was 334, number discharged 333, of whom 99 went into Her Majesty's Service, and 4 died; 329 boys between 13 and 15 years of age now in the School, have signed continuous service engagements to serve in the Royal Navy for 10 years from the age of 18. The boys' industrial work in about 30 departments of useful labour is of great value to the school, so that the annual cost (exclusive of new buildings, but including all repairs) is under 18 pounds per head.

The punishments are under 1 per cent., and 45 per cent. of the boys can swim.

'FORMIDABLE.'—(PORTISHEAD, Bristol Channel.)

Established 1869.

This is an "Industrial School Ship" for boys between the ages of 11 and 14 years. During the eighteen months ending December 31, 1877, 84 boys had been admitted (including 41 from the London School Board), 18 from Bristol, and the rest from ten other towns, with 2 "volunteer" boys.

Of these there had been discharged during the eighteen months, 81 to the Merchant Service, 2 to the Royal Navy, 26 to friends, 5 to the Army, 13 elsewhere, and 2 died. The number of boys on board December 31, 1877, was 324. From the commencement of the ship, 800 boys had been admitted, including 50 "volunteers," and of these 366 had gone to the Merchant Service, and 27 to the Royal Navy, while 11 died. The receipts for the year, including 1500 pounds from the Treasury, and 600 pounds from annual subscriptions, amounted to 8213 pounds.

'GIBRALTAR.'—(BELFAST.)

Established 1872.

This Industrial School Ship for Protestant boys is called "The Ulster Training Ship for Homeless and Destitute Boys." The number on board the 31st of December, 1877, was 289, of whom about half could read, write, and cipher well; 64 had been admitted during the year, nearly all of them from Antrim, and of these, 33 could not read or write at all, while only 7 could read, write, and cipher well; 32 of these had lost their fathers, and 18 were orphans.

'HAVANNAH.'—(CARDIFF.)

Established 1855.

This is an old "man-of-war," banked round, so as to be a "land ship," with a causeway to the shore, and it accommodates about 70 boys, many of whom have industrial employment in gardening and as porters, &c. Of the 66 boys discharged in the three years, 1874, 1875, 1876, 58 were known to be earning honest livelihoods, 2 were convicted, 2 unknown, and 4 have died. According to the report of August, 1878, 68 boys were in the ship, of whom 61 were sent under the Industrial Schools Act. There were 2 on license, and 7 appeared to be voluntary cases. The expenditure in 1876 was about 1500 pounds, but 200 pounds was earned by the Industrial Department. In that year 3 boys went to sea, and in 1878 6 boys.

'INDEFATIGABLE.'—(MERSEY.)

This vessel was established in 1864 to train orphan and destitute boys for sea—boys from the port of Liverpool having a preference. The report issued in March, 1878, shewed the average number on board to be 250, of whom 80 had lost both parents. About 50 boys go out to life each year. The funds are from voluntary contributions, and about 5000 pounds a year is expended.

'MARS.'—(DUNDEE.)

Established 1869.

This is an "Industrial School Ship," under the Act of Parliament, and it has a "tender," "which makes men of the youngsters; she has just brought 100 tons of coals to us from Shields (July 5, 1878)." The accommodation is for 350 boys. In 1877, 122 boys were admitted and 95 discharged, leaving 350 on the register, while "there is great pressure for admission." Of the 95 boys, 6 entered the Royal Navy, 55 the Merchant Service as first class boys, 27 went to shore trades (but seven of these returned and went to sea), and 7 died. One-third of the boys admitted were unable to read at all; of 309 discharged during 3 years, 248 were "doing well."

The expenses in 1877 were about 6800 pounds.

Donations and subscriptions about 1700 pounds.

'MOUNT EDGCUMBE.'—(SALTASH, Cornwall.)

Established June, 1877.

An Industrial School Ship for boys from Devonshire and Cornwall. The boys admitted up to July, 1878, were 201; 1 had been discharged, 6 transferred, and 2 died. The number of "voluntary cases" (from 12 to 14 years old) was 3, and the number of all on board 195. Half of these could read "fairly."

'SHAFTESBURY.'—(GRAYS, Thames.)

Established 1878.

The School Board for London has found it necessary to have a training ship of its own. More than 500 boys sent at the instance of the Board were in training on board the 'Formidable,' 'Wellesley,' 'Southampton,' &c., at distant ports, where visitation and supervision could not be readily exercised. After more than six years of experience in regard to training boys for sea, the Board decided to establish their own ship in the Thames. The Admiralty was unable or at least declined to lend one of the few old hulks at their disposal, so the School Board purchased for 7000 pounds the P. and O. iron steamship 'Nubia,' and at an additional expense of more than 30,000 pounds, she was fitted up and moored in a berth prepared for her in July, 1878, close to the Poor Law ship 'Exmouth,' so as to accommodate 450 boys to be sent under the Industrial Schools Act at the instance of the Board. She is 'certified' for 350 boys, of whom 70 may be Roman Catholics. The first 6 boys were sent on board her on August 15, 1878. The vessel was rechristened with the name of 'Shaftesbury,' in honour of one who is everywhere known as the friend of the hapless and the patron of everything good. The vessel is longer and narrower than those of the old "man-of-war" type, and her four decks are lofty, giving plenty of light and air for educational and sanitary purposes, although the wider space for drill above all is necessarily curtailed. The cost of the vessel (including purchase) is repayable in 50 years by annual instalments, with interest at 3.5 per cent.

The Shaftesbury has now her full number of 500 boys (May 1880.)

'SOUTHAMPTON.'—(THE HUMBER.)

Established 1868.

The management is amalgamated with that of "The Hull Ragged and Industrial Schools." At the beginning of 1877, 234 boys were on board (all of them under the Industrial Schools Act), and 62 were admitted during the year (30 from 10 to 12, and 32 from 12 to 14 years of age), while 56 were discharged, of whom 27 went to sea, and 23 were returned to friends. Up to the end of that year 426 boys had been finally discharged from the ship. Half of these on entry could not read, write, or cipher, but all learned to do so. Many of the boys were sent at the instance of the School Board for London and eight other School Boards. The expenditure for the year was 6000 pounds.

'WARSPITE.'—(CHARLTON, Thames.)

The Marine Society established its first ship the 'Beatty,' with a crew of 40 boys, 120 years ago, and it has since sent to sea about 60,000 boys trained for sailors' life. The new ship, a fine two decker (late 'Conqueror'), in substitution for the old 'Warspite' (which was burned), and rechristened with that name, had 156 boys on board in January, 1877. 304 were afterwards admitted, 43 were sent to the Royal Navy, and 137 to the Merchant Service, leaving 269 on board at the beginning of the year 1878. Most of these are orphans or boys deserted by their parents. Out of 123 boys who returned in that year from first voyages, 117 had "very good" on their certificates. The age for admission is from 13 to 16, height from 4 feet 8 inches; 93 boys learned to swim last summer. The expenditure during the year was 11,000 pounds, including 3000 pounds for fitting up the new ship.

'WELLESLEY.'—(SOUTH SHIELDS.)

Established 1868.

This vessel is for homeless and destitute boys unconvicted of crime, but who are sent under the Industrial Schools Act, at the instance of one of the ten or more School Boards which have agreements with "The 'Wellesley' Training Ship Institution," or who come individually. From the report in June, 1877, it appears that in the twelve months preceding, 91 boys had been received, and 59 were discharged, of whom 45 went to sea. This left 307 boys on board. Of the boys discharged during 3 years, 83 per cent. were "doing well." Since the commencement of the Institution 702 boys had been received. About 1000 pounds had been contributed by the School Boards during the year, and 90 pounds for "voluntary boys," each of whom is received for 20 pounds per annum. The maintenance account for the year was about 5000 pounds.

'WORCESTER.'—(THAMES.)

This vessel was moored at Greenhithe in 1862; a larger vessel, a 72-gun frigate of 5000 tons, and rechristened 'Worcester,' was substituted in 1877. The 'Worcester' provides properly qualified officers for merchant vessels, and accommodates 200 boys. The terms are, for boys from 13 to 16 years old, 50 guineas, and for boys from 11 to 13 years old, 45 guineas per annum.

The Board of Trade allows two years passed on the 'Worcester' to count as one year's sea service, and Her Majesty gives annually a gold medal to the boy most noted for good conduct. About 30 boys passed through the ship last year.