The Stranger in France | Page 3

concealed in her workbag.
Early in the morning after we set sail, we passed through the Needles,
which saved us a very considerable circuitous sail round the southern
side of the Isle of Wight, a passage which the late admiral Macbride
first successfully attempted, for vessels of war, in a ship of the line.
The vessel, in which we sailed, was a fireship; a costly instrument of
destruction, which has never been applied during the recent war, and
only once, and that unsuccessfully, during the preceding one. We had
several of them in commission, although they are confessedly of little
utility in these times, and from the immense stores of combustibles
with which they are charged, threaten only peril to the commander and
his crew.
We soon after dropped anchor, and proceeded to Portsmouth, in search
of a packet for Havre-de-Grace. In the street, our trunks were seized by
the custom-house officers, whilst conveying to the inn, but after

presenting our keys, and requesting immediate search and restoration,
they were returned to us without further annoyance. Finding that the
masters of the french packets were undetermined when they should sail,
we resolved upon immediately leaving this celebrated seaport, and
proceeding by water to Southampton, distant about twenty-four miles;
where, after a very unpleasant passage, from its blowing with
considerable violence soon after we left Portsmouth, we arrived, in a
little wherry, about twelve o'clock at night, at the Vine inn, which is
very conveniently situated for passengers by the packets.
It will not be required of me, to attempt a minute description of the
Southampton river, at a time when I expected, with some reason, as I
afterwards understood, to sink to the bottom of it. An observation very
natural to persons in our situation occurred to me all the way, viz. that
the shores seemed to be too far distant from each other, and that had
there been less water, the scenery would have been more delightful; an
observation which, however, the next day confirmed, when it presented
the safe and tranquil appearance of a mirror.
[Illustration: Southampton.]
Finding that the packet for France was not likely to sail immediately,
we hired a boat, and proceeded down the river, to view the beautiful
ruins of Netley Abbey, in the great court of which we dined, under the
shade of aged limes, and amidst the flappings of its feathered and
restless tenantry.
As I am no great admirer of tedious details, I shall not attempt an
antiquarian history of this delightful spot. I shall leave it to more
circumstantial travellers, to enumerate the genealogies of the worthies
who occupied it at various eras, and to relate, like a monumental
entablature, when, where, and how they lived and died; it will be
sufficient to observe, that the site of this romantic abode was granted
by Henry VIII, in 1757, to a sir William Paulet, and that after having
had many merry monks for its masters, who, no doubt, performed their
matutinæ laudes and nocturnæ vigiliæ with devout exactness; that it is
at length in the possession of Mr. Dance, who has a very fine and
picturesque estate on that side of the river, of which these elegant ruins

constitute the chief ornament. The church still exhibits a beautiful
specimen of gothic architecture, but its tottering remains will rapidly
share the fate of the neighbouring pile, which time has prostrated on the
earth, and covered with his thickest shade of ivy.
Our watermen gave us a curious description of this place, and amused
us not a little with their ridiculous anacronisms.
"I tell you what," said one of them, contradicting the other, "you are in
the wrong, Bob, indeed you are wrong, don't mislead them gentlemen,
that there Abbey is in the true roman style, and was built by a man they
call----, but that's neither here nor there, I forget the name, however, its
a fine place, and universally allowed to be very old. I frequently rows
gentlefolks there, and picks up a great deal about it."
On our return the tide was at its height, the sun was setting in great
glory, the sky and water seemed blended in each other, the same red
rich tint reigned throughout, the vessels at anchor appeared suspended
in the air, the spires of the churches were tipped with the golden ray; a
scene of more beauty, richness, and tranquillity I never beheld.
CHAPTER II.
French Emigrants.--Scene on the Quay of Southampton.--Sail for
Havre.--Aged French Priest.--Their respectable Conduct in
England.--Their Gratitude.--Make the Port of Havre.--Panic of the
Emigrants.--Landing described.--Hotel de la Paix.--Breakfast
Knife.--Municipality.
During the whole of the second day after our arrival, the town of
Southampton was in a bustle, occasioned by the flocking in of a great
number of french emigrants, who were returning