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!

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.

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.