CHERBOURG. 313 



the dear old ]\Ie%ystone. The warrener's hut stood on it still : 

 and I wondered whether the old he-goat, who used to terrify 

 me as a boy, had left any long-bearded descendants. Then 

 under the Eevelstoke and Bolt Head cliffs, with just one 

 flying glance up into the hidden nooks of delicious little 

 Salcomhe, and away south west into the night, bound for 

 Cherbourc^, and a verv different scene. 



We were awakened soon after midnight by the stopping of 

 the steamer. Then a gun. After awhile another; and presently 

 a third : but there was no reply, though our coming had been 

 telegraphed from England ; and for nearly six hours we lay 

 in the heart of the most important French arsenal, with all 

 our mails and passengers waiting to get ashore ; and nobody 

 deigning to notice us. True, we could do no harm there : 

 but our delay, and other things which happened, were 

 proofs and I was told not uncommon ones of that 

 carelessness, unreadiness, and general indiscipline of French 

 arrangements, which has helped to bring about, since then, 

 an utter ruin. 



As the day dawned through fog, we went on deck to find 

 the ship lying inside a long breakwater bristling with cannon, 

 which looked formidable enouiih : but the whole thino- I was 

 told, was useless against modern artillery and ironclads : and 

 there was more than one jest on board as to the possibility of 

 running the Channel Squadron across, and smashing Cherbourg 



