at the entrance,
but there are patches of 6 feet. Vessels drawing 20 ft. can
cross it (_when the sea is smooth_) at H.W. springs, and those
of 16 ft. at H.W. neaps. In S. gales there is a breaking, heavy
sea, and no vessel should then attempt the bar; in moderate S.
winds vessels may take it at high water."

The bearing of these observations on the present narrative will appear
anon. For the present, entering Salcombe with plenty of water and a
moderate S.W. breeze, we had nothing to distract our attention from the
beauty of the spot. I suppose it to be the most imposing river-entrance
on the south coast; perhaps the most imposing on any of the coasts of
Britain. But being lazy and by habit a shirker of word-painting, I must
have recourse to the description given in Mr. Arthur Underhill's _Our
Silver Streak_, most useful and pleasant of handbooks for yachtsmen
cruising in the Channel:--

"As we approach Salcombe Head (part of Bolt Head), its
magnificent form becomes more apparent. It is said to be about
four hundred and thirty feet in height, but it looks very much
more. Its base is hollowed out into numerous caverns, into
which the sea dashes, while the profile of the head, often
rising some forty or fifty feet sheer from the water, slopes
back at an angle of about forty-five degrees in one long upward
sweep, broken in the most fantastic way into numerous pinnacles
and needles, which remind one forcibly of the _aiguilles_ of the
valley of Chamounix. I do not think that any headland in the
Channel is so impressive as this."

As we passed it, its needles stood out darkly against a rare amber sky--
such a glow as is only seen for a brief while before a sunset following
much rain; and it had been raining, off and on, for a week past.
I daresay that to the weatherwise this glow signified yet dirtier weather
in store; but we surrendered ourselves to the charm of the hour.
Unconscious of their doom the little victims played. We crossed the bar,
sailed past the beautiful house in which Froude spent so many years,
sailed past the little town, rounded a point, saw a long quiet stretch of
river before us, and cast anchor in deep water. The address at the head
of this paper is no sportive invention of mine. You may verify it by the
Ordnance Map. We were in the Bag.

I awoke that night to the hum of wind in the rigging and the patter of