always knew that business on the beach was
fearfully slack, or else that certain threatening
appearances in the weather had really escaped
my observation, and made a speedy return
advisable. Nevertheless, there seemed to be
something ignominious in being towed home
by a common pleasure-boat, and I believe now,
that I ran considerable risks in attempting to
avoid this necessity.

On the morning of the twenty-eighth of July,
'thirty-seven, I had put to sea so early as almost
to forestal my friend Å’thon, and actually met
the sun upon the rosy wave. The breeze from
the south-west was soft and steady, and I stood
right out to sea till the summer haze began
to shut out the shore—about six miles distant.
Here I lowered my sails, pumped the Eveleen
Brown, and lying down in the bottom on my
coat, began to eat my breakfast, letting the boat
drift as she would. It was now about half-
past six, and already beginning to grow warm.
With the exception of a few thin white streaks
in the heavens, and whatever might be meant
by the peculiar haze I have mentioned,
everything seemed to betoken one of those perfect
days of summer which, commencing with a cool
fresh breeze, melt to breathlessness at noon.
Great then was my astonishment, when, glancing
landward, I beheld six or seven boats, with
Jarsper conspicuous in the van, making towards
me under a press of sail.

"This is really too absurd," thought I.
"Because they lost sight of me for a moment
in the fog, they thought I had come to grief.
Now, I'll just give you a little dance, my
friends."

My sails were hoisted in a minute, and with
nearly a two-mile start, away I dashed before
the wind. The Eveleen Brown, as though
inspired with an idea similar to my own, behaved
in a manner I have never witnessed before or
since, and went hissing through the water with
an actual speed which promised to make the
chase, if persevered with, a protracted one.

With the assistance of my glass, I could
detect Jarsper standing in the bow of his boat,
and making frantic gestures in the direction, as
I thought, of a couple of seagulls; but as there
was nothing in the evolutions of those fowls to
create alarm, I merely set my little gaff-topsail,
and cracked on. Hereupon, I observed Jarsper
make one frenzied movement, as though to cast
himself overboard; then, putting about, return
shorewards, followed by his consorts.

I was now off Kemp Town. The breeze had
freshened, shifted a little eastward, and
dispersed the fog. I was considerably elated at
my success, and the idea suddenly occurred to
me of running up Channel as far as Sandgate,
where a part of my family were at the
time residing.

The distance, as far as I could guess, was
about seventy-five miles. It would be, of course,
a two days' voyage; but, with the present wind,
and nearly a whole flood-tide before me, there
was almost a certainty of making Hastings by
two or three in the afternoon. Acting upon this
determination, I shaped my course for Beachy
Head, weathered that point about noon in safety,
and then, the sea having risen rather unpleasantly,
hauled in nearer the shore. I had been
compelled to take in my topsail, and one reef of
the mainsail; but the Eveleen Brown had
comported herself nobly, and, despite the ruffled sea,
had not required more pumping than on ordinary
occasions.

For a moment the idea occurred to me of
landing at Eastbourne; but the breeze being fair
and steady, and having yet many hours of daylight,
I abandoned the prudent thought, and
stood away for Hastings. Before, however, I
was off St. Leonard's, I had reason to repent
this resolution. With the making of the ebb-
tide, the sea had roughened considerably, not
only retarding the progress of my small craft,
but occasionally sending over her low bulwarks
very embarrassing contributions to the water
she already contained. To add to my annoyance,
the wind, though light, was becoming foul. I
did not think it possible to beat up to Hastings,
and, after a moment's irresolution, put the
Eveleen's nose about, and made direct for the
nearest shore. But, alas! on nearing it, there
was no landing for me. A surf, such as I could
not have imagined would have risen so speedily,
was breaking on the rocky strand, and one
huge wave, that sent a sheet of snow twenty
yards up the beach, convinced me that my
cockleshell would be inevitably swamped in any
attempt to land. There was nothing for it but
to stand out once more to sea.

The next three hours were truly miserable.
During this interval, it needed all my care to
keep the wretched little craft from broaching to.
The tide, now once more running to the eastward,
swept me past my intended haven; but
I had great hopes of finding an even better
refuge at Rye, about the angle of the bay,
and, by dint of sculling, got, as I considered,
near enough to the land to discover the narrow
entrance.

Owing, however, to the waning light, I failed
to do this. Although within half a mile of the
beach, no opening could I discover in that
brown bulwark, on which the waves were breaking
with a very unpleasant roar.

It was now as dark as it intended to be; when,
as I was coasting slowly along, a light, like a
mighty star, sprang suddenly out of the gloom,
right ahead.

"Hurrah!" I shouted. " Folkestone!"

The tide and wind both setting me in that
direction, I steered at once for the friendly
beacon, not heeding that the shore slipped away
presently altogether from my lee, as I was aware
that the land about this point trended
considerably to the northward.

At what period I became conscious of the
rather serious nautical mistake I was committing,
I cannot precisely remember. I think it
must have been when I suddenly detected, at
an immense distance and in a totally different
direction, an assemblage of lights, which I
recognised as being, beyond all question, those