A THAMES FERRY A CENTURY AND A QUARTER AGO.

DEFOE.

While so much has been said of coaches, very little notice has been taken of another mode of conveyance which has now become very important that class mentioned by Defoe in the following sketch, taken from his Great Land of Subordination, 1724. We are not bound to suppose that this is a plain relation of matter of fact, any more than the History of Robinson Crusoe; but it is a graphic sketch of life and manners worth the notice of those who study such things. It forms at least a little contribution to the history of travelling in England. A passenger who had just landed from a Gravesend boat, to pursue his journey by land, might well be thankful to "be received in a coach" like that which had been started at York near half a century before. After describing the malpractices of hackney coachmen, he proceeds :

The next are the watermen; and, indeed, the insolence of these, though they are under some limitations too, is yet such at this time, that it stands in greater need than any other, of severe laws, and those laws being put in speedy execution.

Some years ago, one of these very people being steersman of a passageboat between London and Gravesend, drown'd three-and-fifty people at one time. The boat was bound from Gravesend to London, was very full of passengers and goods, and deep loaden. The wind blew very hard at south-west, which being against them, obliged them to turn to windward, so the seamen call it, when they tack from side to side, to make their voyage against the wind by the help of the tide.

The passengers were exceedingly frighted when, in one tack stretching over the stream, in a place call'd Long-Reach, where the river is very broad, the waves broke in upon the boat, and not only wetted them all, but threw a great deal of water into the boat, and they all begg'd of the steersman or master not to venture again. He, sawcy and impudent, mock'd them, ask'd some of the poor frighted women if they were afraid of going to the Devil; bid them and the like, and then stood over again, as it were, in their prayers say

a jest. The storm continuing, he shipp'd a great deal of water that time also. By this time the rest of the watermen begun to perswade him, and told him, in short, that if he stood over again the boat would founder, for that she was a great deal the deeper for the water she had taken in, and one of them begg'd of him not to venture; he swore at the fellow, call'd him fool, bade him let him alone to his business, and he would warrant him; then used a vulgar seaproverb, which such fellows have in their mouths, "Blow Devil, the more wind, the better boat."

The fellow told him in so many words he would drown all the passengers, and before his face began to strip, and so did two more, that they might be in condition to swim for their lives. This extremely terrify'd the passengers, who, having a cloth or tilt over them, were in no condition to save their lives, so that there was a dreadful cry among them, and some of the men were making way to come at the steersman to make him by force let fly the sail and stand back for the shore; but before they could get to him the waves broke in upon the boat and carried them all to the bottom, none escaping but the three watermen that were prepar'd to swim.

It was but poor satisfaction for the loss of so many lives, to say the steersman was drown'd with them, who ought, indeed, to have died at the gallows, or on the wheel, for he was certainly the murtherer of all the rest.

I have many times pass'd between London and Gravesend with these fellows in their smaller boats, when I have seen them, in spite of the shrieks and cries of the women and the perswasions of the men passengers, and, indeed, as if they were the more bold by how much the passengers were the more afraid; I say, I have seen them run needless hazards, and go, as it were, within an inch of death, when they have been under no necessity of it, and, if not in contempt of the passengers, it has been in meer laziness to avoid their rowing; and I have been sometimes oblig'd, especially when there has been more men in the boat of the same mind, so that we have been strong enough for them, to threaten to cut their throats, to make them hand their sails and keep under shore, not to fright as well as hazard the passengers when there was no need of it.

One time, being in one of these boats all alone, coming from London to Gravesend, the wind freshen'd, and it begun to blow very hard after I was come about three or four mile of the way; and as I said above, that I always thought those fellows were the more venturous when their passengers were the most fearful, I resolved I would let this fellow alone to himself; so I lay down in the boat as if I was asleep, as is usual.

Just when I lay down, I called to the waterman, "It blows hard, water

"Nor can't your man "Well, then," says I, " and so

man," said I; can you swim?" "No, Sir," says he. swim neither?" said I. "No, Sir," says the servant, "take care of yourselves, I shall shift as well as you, I suppose: down I lay. However, I was not much disposed to sleep; I kept the tilt which they cover their passengers with open in one place, so that I could see how things went.

The wind was fair, but overblow'd so much, that in those reaches of the river which turn'd crossway, and where the wind by consequence was thwart the stream, the water went very high, and we took so much into the boat, that I began to feel the straw which lay under me at the bottom was wet, so I call'd to the waterman, and jesting told him, they must go all hands to the pump; he answered, he hoped I should not be wet; "But it's bad weather, master," says he, "we can't help it." "No, no," says I, "'tis pretty well yet, go on."

By and by I heard him say to himself, "It blows very hard," and every now and then he repeated it, and sometimes thus: ""Twill be a dirty night, twill be a terrible night," and the like; still I lay still and said nothing.

After some time, and his bringing out several such speeches as above, I rous'd as if I had but just wak'd; "Well, waterman," says I, "how d'ye go on?" "Very indifferently," says he; "it blows very hard." "Ay, so it does," says I; "where are we?" A little above Erith," says he: so down I lay again, and said no more for that time.

By and by he was at it again, "It blows a frett of wind," and "It blows very hard," and the like; but still I said nothing. At last we ship'd a dash of water over the boat's head, and the spry of it wetted me a little, and I started up again as if I had been asleep; "Waterman," says I, "what are you doing? what, did you ship a sea?" "Ay," says the waterman, "and a great one too; why it blows a frett of wind." good heart; where are we now?" reach below Woolwich.

"Well, well," says I, "come, have a "Almost in Gallions," says he, that's a

Well, when we got into the Gallions reach, there the water was very rough, and I heard him say to his man, "Jack, we'll keep the weather-shore aboard, for it grows dark and it blows a storm." Ay, thought I, had I desir'd you to stand in under shore, you would have kept off in meer bravado, but I said nothing. By and by his mast broke, and gave a great crack, and the fellow cry'd out, "Lord have mercy upon us!" I started up again, but still spoke cheerfully; "What's the matter now?" says I. “L-d, Sir," says he, "how can you sleep? why my mast is come by the board." "Well, well," says I, "then you must take a goose-wing." "A goose-wing! why," says he, "I

can't carry a knot of sail, it blows a storm." "Well," says I, "if you can't carry any sail, you must drive up under shore then, you have the tide under foot:" and with that I lay down again. The man did as I said. A piece of his mast being yet standing, he made what they call a goose-wing sail, that is, a little piece of the sail out, just to keep the boat steddy, and with this we got up as high as Blackwall: the night being then come on and very dark, and the storm increasing, I suffer'd myself to be perswaded to put in there, though five or six miles short of London; whereas, indeed, I was resolv'd to venture no further if the waterman would have done it.

When I was on shore, the man said to me, "Master, you have been us'd to the sea, I don't doubt; why you can sleep in a storm without any concern, as if you did not value your life; I never carry'd one in my life that did so; why, 'twas a wonder we had not founder'd." "Why," says I, "friend, for that you know I left it all to you; I did not doubt but you would take care of yourself;" but after that I told him my other reason for it, the fellow smil'd, but own'd the thing was true, and that he was the more cautious a great deal, for that I took no thought about it; and I am still of opinion, that the less frighted and timorous their passengers are, the more cautious and careful the watermen are, and the least apt to run into danger; whereas, if their passengers appear frighted, then the watermen grow sawcy and audacious, show themselves vent'rous, and contemn the dangers which they are really exposed to.-p. 130.

Defoe was engaged in the business of brick and tile making near Tilbury, and must consequently have had frequent occasion to make the trip from Gravesend to London. That Defoe was so engaged at Tilbury we learn from the following proclamation for his apprehension, taken from the London Gazette, dated St. James's, January 10, 1702-'3 :

WHEREAS Daniel Defoe, alias Fooe, is charged with writing a scandalous and seditious pamphlet entitled The Shortest Way with the Dissenters. He is a middle sized spare man about forty years old, of a brown complexion, and dark brown-coloured hair, but wears a wig; a hooked nose, a sharp chin, grey eyes, and a large mole near his mouth; was born in London, and for many years an hose-factor in Freeman's Yard, Cornhill, and is now the owner of the brick and pantile works near Tilbury Fort, in Essex. Whoever shall discover the said Daniel Defoe to one of Her Majesty's principal secretaries of state, or any one of Her Majesty's justices of the peace, so as he may be apprehended,

shall have a reward of fifty pounds, which Her Majesty has ordered immediately to be paid on such discovery.

He soon gave himself up; and having been tried, he stood in the pillory with great fortitude: for soon after he published his poem, entitled A Hymn to the Pillory, in which are the following singular lines:

Men that are men, in thee can feel no pain,

And all thy insignificants disdain;

Contempt, that false new word for shame,

Is, without crime, an empty name;

A shadow to amuse mankind,

But never frights the wise or well-fix'd mind

Virtue despises human scorn,

And scandals innocence adorn.

Referring to a design of putting the learned Selden into the pillory for his History of Tithes, he says smartly:

Even the learned Selden saw

A prospect of thee thro' the law;
He had thy lofty pinnacles in view,

But so much honor never was thy due.

Had the great Selden triumph'd on thy stage,
Selden, the honor of his age,

No man would ever shun thee more,

Or grudge to stand where Selden stood before.

This original poem ends with these remarkable lines, referring to himself:—

Tell them, the men that placed him here,

Are scandals to the times,

Are at a loss to find his guilt,

And can't commit his crimes.

De Foe, however, was afterwards received into favor without any concessions on his part, and proceeded straight onwards in