Hutchinson’s enthusiasm for these is infectious. He has no literary power of expression, but in the plain, staccato language of a hard merchant sailor and privateer he makes one jealous of the sights which he saw with his own eyes and can never be seen again. There is not to-day--certainly as regards British waters--any such craft as a brig, unless there is one small training ship still cruising about Plymouth Sound. But in his day one sometimes saw a fleet of 300 of them all turning to windward, having every one of them come out of the Tyne on the same tide. The sight of so many fine little ships crossing and recrossing each other’s bows so quickly, and with such little room, made a distinguished Frenchman hold up his hands, and remark “that it was there France was conquered.” In going through such shallow and narrow channels as Yarmouth Roads the fleet collected themselves for mutual safety. In the absence of good charts and efficient buoyage--it was not till 1830 that the singular distinction of producing the worst charts passed away from England--it was essential to use great caution in such strong tideways. The procedure was, therefore, as follows: The fleet being now together, each ship had a man in the chains heaving his lead. He sung out the soundings loud enough for his neighbours to hear. This happened in every ship; so that those vessels announcing shoal water would be recognised as getting too near the sands; that other bunch of craft declaring consistently deeper water would be in the channel, and the rest could follow their lead. In this manner the best water was always found.