However, the gloomy voyage was duly made. One of the most experienced captains known on the route, Captain Pittock, had been chosen to pilot the venture. He had plainly a distrust of his charge and the new-fangled notion. Soon we were nearing Calais. Here was the lighthouse, and here the two embracing arms of the wickerwork pier. I was standing at the bows, and could see the crowds on the sh.o.r.e waiting. Suddenly, as the word was given to starboard or 'port,' the malignant thing, instead of obeying, took the reverse direction, and bore straight _into_ the pier on the left! Down crashed the huge flag-staff of our vessel in fragments, falling among us--and there were some narrow escapes. She calmly forced her way down the pier for nearly a hundred yards, literally crunching and smashing it up into fragments, and sweeping the whole away. I looked back on the disastrous course, and saw the whole clear behind us! As we gazed on this sudden wreck, I am ashamed to say there was a roar of laughter, for never was a _surprise_ of so bewildering a character sprung upon human nature. The faces of the poor captain and his sailors, who could scarcely restrain their maledictions on the ill-conditioned 'brute,'

betrayed mortification and vexation in the most poignant fashion. The confusion was extraordinary. She was now with difficulty brought over to the other pier. This, though done ever so gently, brought fresh damage, as the mere contact crunched and dislocated most of the timbers. The ill-a.s.sured party defiled ash.o.r.e, and we made for the banqueting-room between rows of half-jeering, half-sympathizing spectators. The speakers at the symposium required all their tact to deal with the disheartening subject. The only thing to be done was to 'have confidence' in the invention--much as a Gladstonian in difficulty invites the world to 'leave all to the skill of our great chief.' But, alas! this would not do just now. The vessel was, in fact, unsteerable; the enormous weight of the engines at the bows prevented her obeying the helm. The party set off to Paris--such as were in spirits to do so--and the shareholders in the company must have had aching hearts enough.

Some years later, walking by the Thames bank, not far from Woolwich, I came upon some ma.s.ses of rusted metal, long lying there. There were the huge cranks of paddle-wheels, a cylinder, and some boiler metal.

These, I was informed, were the fragments of the unlucky steamship that was to abolish sea-sickness! As I now walked to the end of the solitary pier--the very one I had seen swept away so unceremoniously--the recollection of this day came back to me. There was an element of grim comedy in the transaction when I recalled that the Calais harbour officials sent in--and reasonably--a huge claim for the mischief done to the pier; but the company soon satisfied _that_ by speedily going 'into liquidation.' There was no resource, so the Frenchmen had to rebuild their pier at their own cost.

Close to Calais is a notable place enough, flourishing, too, founded after the great war by one Webster, an English laceman. It has grown up, with broad stately streets, in which, it is said, some four or five thousand Britons live and thrive. As you walk along you see the familiar names, 'Smith and Co.,' 'Brown and Co.,' etc., displayed on huge bra.s.s plates at the doors in true native style. Indeed, the whole air of the place offers a suggestion of Belfast, these downright colonists having stamped their ways and manners in solid style on the place. Poor old original Calais had long made protest against the constriction she was suffering; the wall and ditch, and the single gate of issue towards the country, named after Richelieu, seeming to check all hope of improvement. Reasons of state were urged. But a few years ago Government gave way, the walls towards the country-side were thrown down, the ditch filled up, and some tremendous 'navigator' work was carried out. The place can now draw its breath.

On my last visit I had attended the theatre, a music-hall adaptable to plays, concerts, or to 'les meetings.' It was a new, raw place, very different from the little old theatre in the garden of Dessein's, where the famous d.u.c.h.ess of Kingston attended a performance over a hundred and twenty years ago. This place bore the dignified t.i.tle of the 'Hippodrome Theatre,' and a grand 'national' drama was going on, ent.i.tled

'THE CUIRa.s.sIER OF REICHSHOFEN.'

Here we had the grand tale of French heroism and real victory, which an ungenerous foe persisted in calling defeat. A gallant Frenchman, who played the hero, had nearly run his daring course, having done prodigies of valour on that fateful and fatal day. The crisis of the drama was reached almost as I entered, the cuira.s.sier coming in with his head bound up in a b.l.o.o.d.y towel! After relating the horrors of that awful charge in an impa.s.sioned strain, he wound up by declaring that _'He and Death'_ were the only two left upon the field! It need not be said there were abundant groans for the Germans and cheers for the glorious Frenchmen.

Now at last down to the vessel, as the wheezy chimes give out that it is close on two o'clock a.m. All seems dozing at 'Maritime Calais.'

The fishing-boats lie close together, interlaced in black network, snoozing, as it were, after their labours. Afar off the little town still maintains its fortress-like air and its picturesque aspect, the dark central spires rising like shadows, the few lights twinkling. The whole scene is deliciously tranquil. The plashing of the water seems to invite slumber, or at least a temporary doze, to which the traveller, after his long day and night, is justly ent.i.tled. How strange those old days, when the exiles for debt abounded here! They were in mult.i.tudes then, and had a sort of society among themselves in this Alsatia. That gentleman in a high stock and a short-waisted coat--the late Mr. Brummell surely, walking in this direction? Is he pursued by this agitated crowd, hurrying after him with a low roaring, like the sound of the waves?...

I am roused up with a start. What a change! The whole is alive and bustling, black shadowy figures are hurrying by. The white-funnelled steamer has come up, and is moaning dismally, eager to get away.

Behind is the long international train of illuminated chambers, fresh from Paris and just come in, pouring out its men and women, who have arrived from all quarters of the world. They stream on board in a shadowy procession, laden with their bundles. Lower down, I hear the _crashing_ of trunks discharged upon the earth! I go on board with the rest, sit down in a corner, and recall nothing till I find myself on the chill platform of Victoria Station--time, six o'clock a.m.

It was surely a dream, or like a dream!--a dream a little over thirty hours long. And what strange objects, all blended and confused together!--towers, towns, gateways, drawbridges, religious rites and processions, pealing organs and jangling chimes, long dusty roads lined with regimental trees, blouses, fishwomen's caps, _sabots_, savoury and unsavoury smells, France dissolving into Belgium, Belgium into France, France into Belgium again; in short, one bewildering kaleidoscope! A day and two nights had gone, during all which time I had been on my legs, and had travelled nigh six hundred miles! Dream or no dream, it had been a very welcome show or panorama, new ideas and sights appearing at every turn.

And here is my little _'orario'_:

O'clock.

1. Victoria, depart 5.0 2. Dover, arrive 7.0 " depart 10.0 3. Calais, arrive 12.44 " depart 1.0 4. Tournay, arrive 4.13 " depart 5.1 5. Orchies, arrive 6.8 " depart 6.29 6. Douai, arrive 7.6 " depart 10.8 7. Arras, arrive 10.52 " depart 11.17 8. Bethune, arrive 12.6 " depart 1.1 9. Lille, arrive 2.44 " depart 4.40 10. Comines, arrive 5.19 " depart 5.57 11. Ypres 6.42 12. Hazebrouck 7.50 13. Ca.s.sel 8.18 14. Bergues, arrive 9.6 " depart 10.4 15. St. Omer 11.37 16. Calais 12.14 17. Dover 4.0 18. Victoria 6.0

Time on journey 37 hours

This, of course, is more than a day, but it will be seen that eight hours were spent on English soil, and certainly nearly twelve in inaction.

THE END.