the Marine Parade
twinkle in an offensive manner, as if with derision. The distant dogs of
Dover bark at me in my misshapen wrappers, as if I were Richard the
Third.

A screech, a bell, and two red eyes come gliding down the Admiralty Pier
with a smoothness of motion rendered more smooth by the heaving of the
boat. The sea makes noises against the pier, as if several hippopotami
were lapping at it, and were prevented by circumstances over which they
have no control from drinking peaceably. We, the boat, become violently
agitated--rumble, hum, scream, roar--and establish an immense family
washing-day at each paddle-box. Bright patches break out in the train as
the doors of the post-office vans are opened, and instantly stooping
figures with sacks upon their backs begin to be beheld among the piles,
descending as it would seem in ghostly procession to Davy Jones's
Locker. The passengers come on board; a few shadowy Frenchmen, with
hatboxes shaped like the stoppers of gigantic case-bottles; a few
shadowy Germans in immense fur coats and boots; a few shadowy Englishmen
prepared for the worst and pretending not to expect it. I cannot
disguise from my uncommercial mind the miserable fact that we are a body
of outcasts; that the attendants on us are as scant in number as may
serve to get rid of us with the least possible delay; that there are no
night-loungers interested in us; that the unwilling lamps shiver and
shudder at us; that the sole object is to commit us to the deep and
abandon us. Lo, the two red eyes glaring in increasing distance, and
then the very train itself has gone to bed before we are off! What is
the moral support derived by some sea-going amateurs from an umbrella?
Why do certain voyagers across the Channel always put up that article,
and hold it up with a grim and fierce tenacity? A fellow-creature near
me--whom I only know to be a fellow-creature because of his umbrella:
without which he might be a dark bit of cliff, pier, or
bulkhead--clutches that instrument with a desperate grasp that will not
relax until he lands at Calais. Is there an analogy, in certain
constitutions, between keeping an umbrella up and keeping the spirits
up? A hawser thrown on board with a flop replies, "Stand by!" "Stand by,
below!" "Half a turn ahead!" "Half a turn ahead!" "Half speed!" "Half
speed!" "Port!" "Port!" "Steady!" "Steady!" "Go on!" "Go on!"

A stout wooden wedge driven in at my right temple and out at my left, a