CHAXXEL PORTS— AXD SOME OTHERS 



which seem so insignificant to us, are but 

 little smaller than the fleet which went to 

 meet the Spanish Armada here near 

 Looe. Few boats carried a score of men. 

 How incredible it seems ! 



BROKEN LEGS THAT REQUIRE X0 

 AMBULANCE 



It would be a pity to see these tiny 

 ports for the first or only time at low 

 tide; but sometimes there is no help. 

 Then, if one hears a hoarse voice calling 

 that Sallie or Lizzie or Margret "'ave 

 broke 'er leg!" "'Ervave broke 'er leg!" 

 one need not wish for an ambulance. 

 Every boat is provided with crutches or 

 "legs" to hold it level when the sea leaves 

 it on the sand. When a leg breaks the 

 vessel keels over on the ooze, messing 

 things up inside, and all hands must turn 

 out to right her and- mend the broken 

 crutch ; but if the tide be high and the 

 sea reasonable, it were well to take boat 

 and sail up the coast to Plymouth, where 

 our big steamer long since came in. 



Let us hope that the sunset was turn- 

 ing to rose and gold the tall white shaft 

 on Eddystone ; that the sea and sky were 

 softly glowing like the heart of an opal, 

 and the green hills about the sound, the 

 "monstrous lump of granite," which is 

 Dartmoor, purple in the distance, the 

 town itself gleaming white in the dusk 

 and sprinkled with lights like stars, are all 

 bathed in that level liquid light that trans- 

 figures most prosaic objects in a northern 

 landscape and makes of the loveliest har- 

 bor in England the most entrancing one 

 in the world. 



MAYFLOWER MEMORIES 



One after the other the little Cornish 

 ports bore the proud title of first in all 

 England and laid it down ; there is none 

 today that can compete with this, their 

 great Devonshire neighbor, whose rise 

 has been constant since the days of Haw- 

 kins and Drake. Three towns form mod- 

 ern Plymouth — Devonport, Stonehouse, 

 and Old Plymouth — divided from each 

 other and bitten in by much blue water, 

 which is now river mouth, now sea estu- 

 ary, with considerable naval history of 

 various kinds. 



But the casual visitor troubles himself 



little with the stone streets and stone 

 houses of the towns ; it is the sound and 

 its tributaries that engage his eyes. To 

 the right, as one enters, the Cattewater, 

 the mouth of the Plym, tucked in beneath 

 the citadel ; Sutton Pool, the home of 

 small craft of many kinds, fragrant with 

 fish and Mayflozvcr memories ; the docks 

 of the London and Southwestern Rail- 

 way ; then the broad stretch of the Hoe, 

 Plymouth's ancient bowling-green and 

 present promenade, with old Eddystone 

 lighthouse ending its days ashore as a 

 view-tower ; Sir Francis Drake challeng- 

 ing attention from his pedestal, and Brit- 

 annia, as Mr. Howells says, "leading her 

 lion out for a walk ; lions become so dys- 

 peptic if kept housed and not allowed to 

 stretch their legs in the open air !" Upon 

 the pedestal is written : "He blew with 

 His winds and they were scattered." 

 Britannia lays no claim to defeating the 

 Armada all alone. One makes no criti- 

 cism there, but a few trees would im- 

 prove the Hoe. 



Plymouth has a very considerable mer- 

 chant trade, but she lets nothing interfere 

 with her position as a fortress of the first 

 class and naval arsenal. She has only 

 grudgingly permitted ocean liners to use 

 her as a port of call, and none come far 

 up the sound nor tarry longer than to 

 discharge mail and passengers. She has 

 various reasons for not desiring them ; 

 they interfere with her plans. 



PULL UP IN A HURRY ! 



I remember well hearing, one . black 

 night, when with some difficulty we had 

 crept up the sound, our captain hailed 

 gruffly: "Pull up in a hurry there; we're 

 at target practice and you're right in the 

 line of fire !" And I also remember well — 

 but it is too scorching hot for ink — what 

 the captain replied. A very trivial an- 

 noyance, but an annoyance, is the land- 

 ing tax she charges for those not going 

 immediately out of town — two shillings, 

 I think it is — but the forewarned voyager 

 buys a thripenny ticket to Saltash, the 

 nearest station, and uses it or not as he 

 pleases. 



The citadel which Charles II built 

 as a hint to a town which had stood 

 staunchly bv Cromwell is of little use ex- 



