On this occasion in Rio (it was before the revolution) the Emperor favoured me with an intimation that he would be pleased to visit the ship. He did so, and inspected her very minutely, afterwards lunching, to the great relief of his staff, who had been attending some religious ceremony for the whole of the morning, and had confided to me that they were desperately hungry. His Majesty was extremely gracious, and the function was a very pleasant one. There was no further incident on the passage, and when we got to Plymouth early one morning, we were boarded by several friends of Lord Dalhousie who came to announce that he had been appointed Secretary of State for Scotland, and how both he and the Countess must be on shore with the least possible loss of time. They had been exceedingly popular in the ship, and the following voyage every officer received from them a souvenir of a pleasant voyage. I personally cherish a little hand-painted Christmas card, for Lady Dalhousie was fond of painting and had made some wonderful studies of sunlight effects at Rio. There are few more puzzling things than a dense fog on shore, even in a well-known locality, but at sea it at times causes the most fantastic incidents, one of which I propose to now relate. We were bound down-Channel for Plymouth with a Channel pilot (Posgate) in charge, and when off the Start it came on a thick fog. I will confess that I was rather given to navigation under these conditions, so I kept on until I knew that we were not very far from Plymouth Breakwater, when the anchor was put down. Nevertheless, it is not pleasant to be anchored in the fairway of the Channel, for there is considerable risk of some one blundering into you, and a sharp look-out was being kept whenever the fog thinned a little, to pick up the breakwater light. About nine in the evening it was made out very dimly, but yet sufficiently well for me to get under way, and in a short time we picked up the Plymouth pilot, who then took charge. The fog was then heavy, but we kept the loom of the light and passed it, the pilot being very anxious to use port helm more than seemed to me to be warranted. At last I said, “How do you want to go, Pilot?” “About N.E. ½ E. sir,” was the reply, to which the London man said, “But you are E.N.E. now.” Said the Plymouth man, “Never mind, sir, port please.” At which I stopped the engines, although we were moving very slowly. Shortly after this the chief sung out from the forecastle, “A man-o’-war close ahead of us,” and immediately afterwards, “No, no, it’s the breakwater fort!” I turned astern full speed, despite remonstrances from both pilots that I should foul moorings and buoys, and as she backed out she just shaved the fort with her bowsprit, which thereby got a cant that it carried for the rest of its days. I asked the chief, East it was, if she had touched, but he like a good man said, “No,” and indeed it was the lightest possible graze.