In seals, especially, he was tempted to make the curves of the ship's hull run parallel to the circumference of the seal. In that which belonged to the master of the _Sainte Catherine de Cayeux_, which fought at Sluys in 1340, the exterior curve of the hull of the ship represented upon it is really concentric with the seal itself. In almost every other case--up to the fifteenth century at any rate--the hulls of the ships shown on seals of this description approximate to this shape, and, generally speaking, are of crescent form, with fighting-stages or "castles" at the bow and stern. There are a few exceptions, which are more likely to be correct, as their designers evidently made up their minds not to be led away from the truth. In the rather fascinating pictures that appear in mediæval manuscripts, too, the monkish artists had to work in a small space, in which they wanted to put a great deal of ornamental and other detail. They probably knew little or nothing about nautical affairs into the bargain. In the result their ships present the same crescent-shaped hulls as those in the seals of the period, and give the impression of being very small affairs indeed, thanks to the large-sized nobles and men-at-arms with which they are densely packed. [Illustration: Seal of Demizel, master of the barque _Sainte Catherine de Cayeux_, 1340 (From _Histoire de la Marine Française_, by kind permission of the author, Monsieur C. de la Ronière.) An example of the impossible ship. Note how the engraver has made the keel exactly parallel to the circumference of the seal. It makes a handsome and effective seal, but can hardly be accepted as a picture of a ship of 1340.] The reason of this quaint method of representing ships and their crews or passengers is not far to seek. Who has not seen a child's first attempts to draw the human face in profile? He outlines the forehead, the nose, and chin, and puts in the back of the head easily and to his own satisfaction. Then he pauses and deliberates. The eyes are what he is puzzling over. He knows that, though everybody has one nose, one forehead, and one chin, he has _two_ eyes. What about them? He may think that one eye looks most suitable, but still he doesn't like to leave the other one out. So, as often as not, he puts in a couple, one about the right place and the other somewhere towards the back of the head. [Illustration: Wreck of the White Ship, 1120 Another example of the impossible-ship picture. There were said to be 300 souls on board! Observe the rudder, which proves the date of the original drawing to be much later than 1120--probably 100 or 150 years.]