re I
anchored with twenty fathoms, to wait for the reflux six or seven hours.
Often as we had to do the same thing in after days, there was always
constant employment for every hour of a long stoppage like this, with a
well-furnished tool-box, and a busy mind ever making additions,
experiments, improvements, and with books to read. Not one single moment
of the voyage ever hung heavy on the Rob Roy.

Trying to get into Boulogne at low water was an unprepared attempt, and
met its due reward; for the thing had to be done without the benefit of
my "Pilot-book," which had been put away with such exceeding care, that
now it could not anywhere be found--not after several rigorous searches
all over the boat. Finally, concluding that I must have taken the book
to London by mistake, we had to trust to nature's light and go ahead.
This does well enough for a canoe, but not for the sailing-boat, which,
if once aground, and with a sea running, it would be utterly out of the
power of one man to save. {36}

In encountering the first roller off the pier at Boulogne, she thumped
the ground heavily. At the second, again, the masts quivered, and all
the bottles rattled in my cellar. Instant decision turned her round from
the third roller, and so after bumping the ground twice again in the
retreat, we put out to sea, anchored, and got out the dingey,
half-ashamed to be discomfited thus at the very first French port. After
an hour or two spent in the dark, carefully sounding to discover the
proper channel, and to get it well into my head, the anchor was weighed,
and we entered in a poor sort of triumph upon midnight, slowly ascending
the long harbour, but looking in vain for a proper berth. All was quiet,
every one seemed to be in bed, until I came to the sluices at the end,
which just then opened, and the rush of foaming water from these bore me
back again in the most helpless plight, until I anchored near the
well-known "Etablissement," furled sails, rigged up hatch, and soon
dropped fast asleep.

Now there is a peculiarity of the French ports which we may mention here
for once for all, but it applies to every one of them, and has to be
seriously considered in all your calculations as a sailing-master.

They are quiet enough up to a certain time of night, but as the tide
serves, the whole port awakes, all the fishing vessels get ready to
start. The quays become vocal with shouts, yells, calls, whistles, and
the most stupid din