down, and thus escaped injury.  Information of the
catastrophe was at once forwarded to the Waterloo
station, and a number of men were immediately
despatched to render what assistance they could, and
to clear the line, but, fortunately, the line had been
cleared before their arrival, so that the traffic on the
railway was not impeded.

All the evening of the day of the collision I
felt like a man who has been thrown heavily out
hunting, not bone-broken, but jarred from top to
heel, with brow headache and general sense of
disturbance.  Now I began to understand why
timid men shut the carriage window when a black
tunnel swallows them: why, when a train
slackens speed or stops, a dozen staring anxious
heads emerge like tortoises from carriage
windows.  Now I know why fretful men thrust the
reeking Times into your hands just as you leave
a station, and, with fore-fingers jammed on a
small paragraph about a collision, ask you angrily
if "it isn't shameful?"

CHERBOURG.

II. IN THE TOWN.

THOUGH modern as an arsenal, and though
pre-eminently a work of art rather than of
nature, Cherbourg has a history. The reader need
not be dragged through the troublous controversies
of the French savans as to whether it
was originally Carobergus, Cherebertum, or
Chieresburg.  But it is interesting to know that
somewhere about the year 945, the Danish king,
Harold Blaataud (Blue-tooth or Black-tooth)
was lying there, and that he helped young
Richard Sans Peur, the third Duke of
Normandy, against King Louis of France.
Indeed, the whole peninsula of the Cotentin was
more or less famous during ancient times.
To the eastward of Cherbourg, a few leagues off,
lies Barfleur, whence the fatal Blanche-Nef
sailed, and drowned the heir of our King Henry
the First with a whole company of high courtiers.
Stephen carried Cherbourg by siege during his
wars with the Empress Maud; and, at the end of
that century, the place furnished a contingent to
CÅ“ur de Lion's Crusade. During Richard's
reign, by the way, the English navy took a
great start—another of the indirect results of
the Crusades.  That king issued the first
"articles of war" about A.D. 1190; a primitive
code, which punished the murderer by lashing
him to his victim's body and throwing him into
the sea.

The truth is, that Cherbourg never rose to
the distinction of a place like Portsmouth;
which is as historic, in its way, as Winchester.
Cherbourg is essentially modern, a creation of
engineering; of science; of refined skill in things
warlike.  From nature—unlike Brest, with its
noble river and bay—Cherbourg derived only a
good, though undefended roadstead, a line of rocky
coast producing plenty of excellent granite, and,
greatest attraction of all, a position facing
England in a tolerably smooth part of the
Channel.  Art has protected the Rade, or
anchorage, with an unrivalled breakwater (the
"Digue"), has constructed one of the most
convenient of dockyards, and has fortified Digue,
dockyards, rock, and coast, with lines of cannon.

The battle of the Hogue, our constant
appearance in war time off those coasts, our
success in 1758—these were the later events which
prompted the French to see what they could
make of this ancient port on the advanced
promontory of the Cotentin.  The Bourbons began
the work.  The great Vauban had been there,
and seen that the first thing needful was to
defend the Rade.  He had suggested plans; but
many years passed before anything came of his
suggestions.  In 1777, during the American
war, M. le Vicomte de la Bretonnière made a
new survey of the district, and to him was
due the notion of a Cherbourg Breakwater.
Four years passed before a resolution was come
to on the subject; but, in 1781, the Prince de
Condé, accompanied by the Ministers of War
and Marine, arrived there; a Digue was
resolved upon and commenced.

This breakwater has its own history.  The first
attempts to lay its foundation (in a line from
east to west, between two and three miles from the
shore) failed.  Every gale shook the masses of
stone which were sunk by engineers in the waves.
Pauses ensued in the work, but, nevertheless, it
advanced; and advanced in spite of storms
political as well as other.  All French governments
have done something for Cherbourg; and, while
one of the basins of the Fort Militaire, or
dockyard, bears (as we all remember) the name of
Napoleon the Third, another bears that of
Charles the Tenth.

When the Digue began to acquire solidity of
foundation, and to defy wind and wave, the
next thing was to fortify it.  Protected on the
eastern end by a rocky isle, crowned with
defensive works, it presented, also, four great
forts along its whole extent. Here, then, was
gained the immense point of a defence for the
Rade, where vessels could lie equally unassailable
by weather or squadrons.  We shall see
the Digue again presently.  But let the reader
begin by impressing on his mind that the great
feature of Cherbourg is this defence of its dockyard
and roadstead by one of the grandest works
of engineering in the world.

Meanwhile, let him accompany us from the
station at the south-eastern end, or back of the
town, and try to feel familiar with the place.
As we go along, we reach the quays; the town
lying to our left, the sea and Digue in the
distance before us, and, just at our right, the
commercial basin.  This is an oblong-shaped piece
of water for the reception of merchant craft of
such peaceful traffic as Cherbourg possesses.
We need hardly say that in this department
there is little to boast of.  A handful of brigs,
or brigantines, are lying there, generally; one
unloading pine, perhaps (with a crew so Scotch
in appearance that we go up and address a
sailor belonging to her, who answers in Norwegian),
another from Guernsey, a third from
Havre or Caen, and so on.  The quay is
sprinkled with cafés; and, pursuing your course
round it, you come out in full front of the