EXTRACTS FROM MY TRAVELLING JOURNALS. BY LORD WILLIAM LENNOX. Cowes-The Royal Marine Excursion-A Trip to the Channel Islands. The 12th of August had arrived, and I was hesitating whether to proceed to the Moors, or take a coasting tour, when a letter from a friend at Cowes relieved me from this embarras des richessesses, by offering me a cruize in his yacht, and "bed and board" during the regatta. No sooner had I made up my mind to embark on this nautical trip, than I doffed my usual morning attire, rigged myself out in a jacket and trousers, and proceeded to the Universal Coach office, Regent Circus. There, instead of finding, as one was wont to do in by-gone times, the Nimrod, or some other neat four-horse drag, ready to bowl away down the road at the rate of ten miles an hour, I found a crazy looking omnibus, which for the small consideration of eight-pence landed me at the Southampton Railway station. No sooner had I taken my place, with (like an old stager) my back to the horses-engine, I mean-than I fell into a profound reverie upon the road and rail-trams and teams-iron rails and iron greys-smoke and smoking steeds. Just as a vision of Jack Peers flitted by me, neatly handling the ribands, and giving his "tits"three chestnuts and a grey a spirt over the heath, up starts a guard soot-ably dressed in a brick-dust coloured red coat, gives a shrill whistle, and away spirts the "Fire-fly" engine, at the rate of twenty miles an hour; leaving the passengers to imagine themselves, from the noise of the rail, the smell of the oil, and the odour of the sulphur, at the last scene of some terrific, equestrian, military, melo-dramic performance at Astley's. One great drawback to pleasure in railroad travelling is the absence of all incident and anecdote. Who that remembers the box-seat with Stevenson, St. Vincent Cotton, Charles Jones, Apperley, R. Walker, Peers, Snow, Jack Adams, Bramble, Faulkner, cum multis aliis of noble and gentle blood, can forget the jest, the story, the laugh, that went round to beguile the fleeting hours? Then, as we drove through the towns, the "shooter's" merry bugle attracting hundreds of bright eyes, to get a sly peep at the passengers; then the momentary stop for changing horses, during which a glass of ale is quaffed, and a mild Havannah lit; then the stand-up lunch at the bar of some clean rural way * *The two latter dragsmen, Bramble and Faulkner, are still on a road at present uncontaminated with rail; and those who like to see a well-turned-out team, and enjoy an agreeable drive with two first-rate artists, cannot do better than take the box-seat of the Chichester coaches, "The Duke of Richmond," and "Earl of March." In a future number I may, perhaps, give some account of these two last of the fast ones. U side house, with a blooming Hebe at the bar, dispensing draughts of nectar, in the shape of "home-brewed," "cold without," "hot with," or the more refined beverages of "sherry and soda," "negus," ""perry," or "cider." Compare this with the somewhat iron-ical notice posted on the railway carriages and engine"No smoking allowed," or to the refreshments that await you at the station houses; where you see some superannuated apple woman, or a clod of a boy, presiding over a small canvas stall, in which are ostentatiously displayed, sour oranges, acrid damsons, unripe apples, tasteless pears, greasy tartlets, indigestible gingerbread, stale Bath buns, rancid Banbury cakes, imperial pop, tepid lemonade, bull's-eyes, peppermint drops, carraway comfits, burnt almonds, lollypops, stick liquorice, baked apples, and barley-sugar. The very last time I travelled to Southampton via rail, a thirsty farmer, who by his appearance looked as if he had imbibed "potations pottle deep" of strong ale, called for a bottle of soda water, to use an engine metaphor, "just to cool his coppers," and tendered half-a-crown to the antiquated hag who superintended the fixed air and water department. "Here, John," she cried, to a young imp who was carrying about a basket of oranges, "change for half-a-crown." "Ees, gran-mother," responded the urchin, fumbling in his leathern apron for two shillings and sixpence. But, like the hero of one of poor Haynes Bayly's pathetic ballads, "they found no change in him." In the mean time, whiz went the cork, nearly to the detriment of the old lady's eye, and before the fiery looking farmer could get the mug to his lips, the shrill whistle was heard, and away we went like "meteors through the sky." "Stop, stop!" cries the thirsty soul, unable to bring the effervescent draught to his parched lips. "My mug!" shouts the harridan. "Here's your change," squeaks the lad. "I'm dang'd if they ar'nt got my half-crown," growls the farmer, dashing the crockery against the brick-work of a tunnel we now entered. Such are the discomforts of railway travelling; but on the other hand, be it said, the delight of finding yourself safely landed at Southampton-a distance of nearly eighty miles-in three hours, makes up in some degree for other disadvantages. But to resume. No sooner had I reached the pier than I found my friend's yacht "lying to" off it, and his wellmanned boat awaiting me at the stairs. I was soon on board, and in less than three hours took up our moorings off West Cowes. The dinner flag was hoisted, and a right merry party sat down to partake of the luxuries of ship board, viz.-turtle soup, iced punch, Wood mill salmon, crimped soles, veal, mutton, beef, and lamb, grouse, chickens, lobsters, dry and sweet champagne, port, sherry, and claret. As the young guardsman is said to have "roughed it upon beefsteak and a bottle of port wine," so did we manage to rough it on the above sea fare. Upon the morning after my arrival at Cowes, I hoisted my flag on board the "Helena," a small cutter of 16 tons, which I chartered at the rate of one pound one per diem, and which in consequence gained her the jocose name of "the vessel from the coast of Guinea." In this same little craft, be it said, I won the cup given by Earl Fitzhardinge last season, and upon which I have had engraved the following lines, from Pope's translation of the Iliad, in honour of the frail Parisian beauty, the "Matchless Helen." "What winning graces! what majestic mien ! She moves a goddess, and she looks a queen!" The newspapers, and the last number of the Sporting Review, have given accounts of the regatta, which, generally speaking, consisted of drifting matches. I shall, therefore, pass over this subject, and bring my readers to the day upon which the Queen of the ocean arrived in Cowes harbour. It has often been remarked that one of the most brilliant sights, and one that every Englishman ought to show a foreigner upon his arrival in London, is Hyde Park during the season, so called par excellence; the numerous display of equestrians and pedestrians, the splendid equipages, the well trained horses, all speak volumes in favour of the wealth and taste of our country. I grant this to the fullest extent, but certainly a sight equal, if not greater, to my mind, was the arrival of her Majesty and the royal squadron in the roadstead of Cowes. The day was rough and squally, one upon which the soul of many a dainty dame, ay, and cavalier too, would "have sickened o'er the heaving wave. Not so, our gallant and gracious Queen. Nothing daunted with the weather, Victoria stood upon the quarter-deck, taking the deepest interest in everything connected with the navigation of the royal yacht, and proving herself to be "aye every inch a Queen," worthy to govern over our sea-girt island. It is not my intention to follow the royal party to Ryde, or to enter into the enthusiastic reception which "the fair haired daughter of the isles"-the "love of millions," received from her loyal subjects; but I cannot pass over so summarily the splendid sight that Cowes presented as, at about six o'clock in the evening of the 28th September, the Victoria and Albert yacht, bearing the royal standard, and accompanied by three of her Majesty's steamers, passed in front of the town, and anchored off the castle. As soon as the royal standard was seen approaching the harbour, the whole town was on the qui vive, and the greatest bustle and animation prevailed in every direction. A guard of honour was drawn up on the esplanade, flags were hoisted at every public place, and the whole shipping in the roads assumed the gayest attire. Royal salutes were fired from the castle, from H.M. frigate the Warspite, and sloop of war, the Modeste. The yards were then manned, a compliment which was repeated by the commodore of the royal yacht squadron, and the yachts under his command. At 9 o'clock in the evening a brilliant display of fireworks took place, both by sea and land; and the cheers that went round the fleet, and which were echoed from the shore, proved how much the monarch of the seas lives in the hearts of her subjects. At an early hour the following morning Her Majesty, accompanied by Prince Albert, proceeded in the royal barge, steered by Lord Adolphus Fitzclarence, on board the Kestrel, and then landing at East Cowes, paid a visit to one of the residences of her youth, Norris Castle. Soon after 11 o'clock the royal yacht, with the Cyclops, Lightning, and Prometheus, war steamers, got under weigh, and proceeded to the westward; the men-of-war and castle guns firing a royal salute, and every square rigged vessel manning their yards. What a contrast is the unostentatious manner in which Her Majesty proceeded to France, compared with that of the last English monarch that paid a visit to that country! When Henry VIII. embarked at Dover, in May 1520, preparatory to his interview with Francis the First, we read of "the sails and pennants being of cloth of gold, damasked," "the royal arms elaborately depicted on the front of the forecastle and the ship's stern;" and Stone informs us that the number of persons that accompanied their majesties was nearly 4334, independent of the attendants of the Cardinal Legate, Archbishop of Canterbury, and of the Dowager French Queen and her husband, the Duke of Suffolk. But to return to our narrative. No sooner had Her Majesty departed from Cowes than the following yachts prepared to sail for a handsome silver cup, the gift of Earl Fitzhardinge: Mr. Milner Gibson's, yawl, Claude, 30 tons. Hon. Grantley Berkeley's cutter, The Teazer, 22 tons. Captain Claxton's (R.N.) wherry, Waterwitch, 12 tons. The course was from West Cowes, round the buoy of the wreck of the Edgar, the light ship off Southampton, the Bramble and Leap buoys, to the Imogen yacht (Earl Fitzhardinge's), off Cowes. It was a handicap race, all the vessels receiving twelve minutes from the clipper the Waterwitch, and the Helena, 16 tons, receiving fifteen minutes from the Waterwitch, and three minutes from the other vessels. The wherry was the favourite at starting, there being scarcely wind enough for the Claude, the second favourite. After a most interesting race the yachts came in in the following order :-The Waterwitch first, the Teazer 6 minutes after, the Violet 9 minutes, The Claud 12 minutes, the Helena 16 minutes after the first; by which the cup was won by the Hon. Grantley Berkeley, in the Teazer, with six minutes to spare. Never was there a better handicap made upon the seas, and it reflected the greatest credit upon the judgment of the noble giver of the cup; for not only had his lordship to think of the respective merits of the yachts, their tonnage, speed, and capabilities of sailing upon every point of wind, but also to bear in mind the probability of the wind freshening or dying off, which to some would have proved a detriment, to others an advantage; and last, not least, the noble handicapper had to consider the nautical merits and demerits of the helmsmen, for by the laws of the race the respective owners were compelled to steer their own vessels. Captain Claxton, of the royal navy, who has devoted his life to his profession, and who "has done the state some (and no inconsiderable) service," both at home and abroad, is a first-rate seaman. The Hon. Augustus Berkeley too, was brought up on board a man-of-war, has passed many of the early years of his life afloat, serving his country with zeal, and has latterly devoted much of his time to cutter sailing, at which he is perfectly au fait. Mr. Milner Gibson most aptly blends the theoretical as well as practical part of sailing, more so probably than any other landsman. The Hon. Grantley Berkeley, who in the sports of the field has no rival, acquitted himself admirably, to the surprise of all who did not consider that his exploits per mare would be as successful as those per terram; whilst I, who a season ago scarcely knew the boom from the tiller, the jib from the gaff-topsail, the stem from the stern, the Kicker point from the Needles (and who might have fallen into the same mistake that a cockney did, who on hearing that the shipping was off Spithead, ordered horses at the George Inn, Portsmouth, "on to Spithead"), was only looked upon as a willing, though not a very promising scholar. Such were the helmsmen his lordship had to bring together, and yet so good was the handicap, that all five vessels came in within sixteen minutes of the first. At starting the Waterwitch took the lead, and kept it, followed by the Teazer and Violet, who rounded the Edgar buoy together. At starting I got foul of the Claude, and carried away her cross trees, which I fear proved no little detriment to her in the match. It was, however, purely accidental, partly owing to the yawl's anchor having drifted, and partly owing to the eagerness of my crew to get a good start. In this instance the old proverb, "most haste worse speed" was realized, for instead of getting under weigh first, I was last-and there, candour compels me to admit, I remained during the day. I, however, consoled myself with the reminiscence of my prowess in the Helena the year before, and after a most agreeable dinner on board the Imogen, during which, in conversation, we fought our battles, or rather sailed the match over again, drank to the health of the winner, inwardly hoping that the Argive Helen" would on a future occasion prove herself to be, as did her namesake of old, "rayther a fast one.' As in these discursive sketches I wish to lay before my readers all that amuses me, trusting that it will have the same effect upon them, I must not omit to mention the cause of a hearty fit of laughter to myself and some nautical friends, who on one day being becalmed off Anglesea Villa, landed there, and proceeded on foot through Gosport to the ferry. Upon entering the outward fortifications of Gosport, the following board, painted in huge white letters upon a black ground, attracted our attention at the drawbridge. "V.R. Carriages are to drive very slowly over the Lieutenant Governor." We were lost in amazement: we had read of the punishment of Ixion by Jupiter, ordering Mercury to tie him to a wheel; we had heard of chariot wheels trampling over vanquished foes, but were not prepared to meet with so arbitrary an order for the respected officer that commands the Portsmouth garrison. At last we looked more attentively, and discovered that some ingenious wag (an Irishman, I'll venture to risk a little), had most neatly obliterated one line, covering it over with black paint; not a vestige of the original line was to be seen. Upon calling the attention of the corporal of the guard to this unaccountable notice, he pointed out another board on the opposite side of the bridge, that at once dissolved the mystery; the words "drawbridge by order of the" had been erased. But to resume. The yachting season at Cowes being nearly over, I made arrangements for putting in execution a long-contemplated plan of paying the Channel Islands a visit. I pass over" the long unvarying |