e-belt, {55} therefore,
was at once strapped on, and two reefs put in the mainsail, and one in
the jib, and the storm mizen was set, all in regular order, when up
sprung a fine west breeze, just as we were opposite Treport, a pretty
little bathing town under some cliffs, where my night-quarters were to
be.

The book already referred to gave a rather serious account of the
difficulties of entering Treport, its shingle bar, and the high seas on
it, and the cross tide and exceedingly narrow entrance; but in an hour
more the Rob Roy had come close to all these things, and rose and fell on
the rollers chasing each other ashore.

The points to be kept in line for entering the harbour were all clearly
set forth in the book, and the signals on the pier were all faultlessly
given, while a crowd gradually collected to see the little boat run in,
or be smashed, and it was rather exciting to feel that one bump on the
bar with such a sea, and--in two minutes the yawl would be a helpless
wreck.

[Picture: Reefed in a squall]

Among the spectators, the only one who did not hold his hat on against
the wind, was an extraordinary personage who capered about shouting.
Long curly hair waved over his face; his dress was hung round with corks
and tassels; he swung a long life-line round his head, and screamed at me
words which were of course utterly lost in the breeze. This dancing
dervish was the "life saver," marine preserver, and general bore of the
occasion, and he seemed unduly annoyed to see me profoundly deaf to his
noise as I stood on the after-deck to get a wider view, holding on by the
mizen-mast, steeling with my feet, and surveying the entrance with my
glass. All the people ran alongside as the Rob Roy glided past the pier
and smoothly berthed upon a great mud bank exactly as desired, and then I
apologized to the quaint Frenchman, saying that I could not answer him
before, for really I had enough to do to steer my boat, at which all the
rest laughed heartily--but we made it up next day, and the dervish and
Rob Roy were good friends again.

Here we found the 'Onyx,' an English-built yacht, but owned by M.
Charles, one of the few Frenchmen to be found who really seems to _like_
yachting; plenty of them _affect_ it.

He was enthusiastic in his hospitality, and I rested there next day,
meeting also an interesting youth, an eager sailor, but who took sea
trips for his health, and drove from some Royal Ch