the Castle foot?" The stranger
made answer. "What Castle foot?" Whereupon the incensed skipper said,
"There's only one Castle foot. Tynemouth Castle." The answer was
discouraging: "If you go as you're going, you'll be at Newfoundland in a
very short time." This hero felt his way back and after many days and
much hailing of passing ships he sighted St. Abb's Head. He then said
with pride, "Ah! here's England. Aw thowt aw would fetch her." He had
really known no more of his route than a player at blind man's buff
knows of his way about a room.

Of course very many of the captains were more accomplished than the
stolid persons concerning whom so many droll legends still linger; but
the fact remains, that valuable property and valuable lives were
entrusted to men who wrought solely by rule of thumb, and that the trust
was, on the whole, very wisely bestowed. With clumsy old craft that
sailed in heavy weather as though they were dragging an anchor at the
bottom, and that missed stays on the faintest provocation, these men
carried goods to the value of millions, without incurring nearly the
loss which is borne through the failure of the smart iron steamers. They
are nearly all gone now, and the public are not much the better. Many
good judges think that in the event of a great naval war we shall feel
the need of that fine recruiting ground that lay between Spittal and
Yarmouth. The old collier sailor, illiterate as he was, and stupid as he
was in many respects, made a model man-of-war's man when he had been
drilled into shape. He was alert, obedient, and utterly careless of
danger; he had the fighting instinct developed to the point of ferocity;
he was at once strong and docile, and his very simplicity made him the
best possible instrument to be employed on dangerous enterprises. The
last specimens will soon be beyond the reach of social students. Here
and there may be found some bronzed old man who remembers when the Tyne
was little more than a ditch flooded at tide-time. He hobbles sturdily
to the pier and looks at the passing vessels with dim eyes. The steamers
pass up and down with their swaggering turmoil; the little tugs whisk
the sailing ships deftly in and out; but he will always think that the
world was better when the bar was shallow, and when the sailors worked
up stream without the aid of those unseamanlike kettles.

IN THE BAY.

The screw steamer "Coquet" left a little port on the north coast early
one