The Kentish CoastHarper, Charles G. (Charles George)
History
The Kentish Coast
Harper, Charles G. (Charles George)
Kent (England) -- Description and travel
Much has already been said of the dangers of the Goodwins, but they
are not altogether evil. Like human beings, they are compact of good
and ill. Their useful and beneficent function is to provide a kind of
natural breakwater forming the roadstead famous for centuries in naval
and mercantile shipping annals as “the Downs”:
“All in the Downs the fleet lay moored,”
as the song goes, in Gay’s “Black-eyed Susan.”
Here, in the comparatively smooth water of this anchorage, stretching
from Walmer, past Deal, nearly to Sandwich, the navies of Rodney’s and
Nelson’s times gathered, either for strategical reasons or in stress
of weather. The Downs--whose name comes from _dunes_, referring to
the Goodwin Sands and the wild wastes of sand-dunes between Deal and
Sandwich--are safe and sheltered in all winds, except a southerly
gale; and thus in old times, when tempests blew from any other quarter,
all the shipping in the Channel made haste to ride out the storm in
these waters. In those times four hundred vessels were often seen
at once sheltering here; but steamships are less dependent upon the
weather, and, now that sailing-vessels are comparatively few, the Downs
are never so crowded as of yore.
The days when the Downs were crowded with many a ship that in the
fine old descriptive phrase--which really was description and not
imagination--“walked the water like a thing of life,” are long since
done, and now the vessels that in fewer numbers ride out the worst of
the Channel gales here are things of iron that sit deep and wallow
in the water like the tanks they really are; things of steam, with
a walking-stick by way of mast and quite innocent of bowsprit. They
are vessels in the truest and most exact form of the word, floating
tanks, made to hold things, not ships that sit upon the water, as the
old sailing-ships did, like swans, or, as the poet says, “walked the
water.” There are walks and walks, and I figure the gait of an old
frigate, or even of a barque or brigantine, under full canvas, not as
a pedestrian’s stride, but as the graceful carriage of a lady in a
spacious drawing-room.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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