Away we went, through the great arched tunnel, now and then hearing the faint rumble of vehicles sound above, as we pass beneath some great thoroughfare. We know exactly what quarter of the city we are beneath by the little blue china signs, bearing the names of the streets, which are posted at intervals along the walls, and every now and then pass intersecting sewers discharging their floods into the main artery. We ride smoothly along for a mile or two, are switched off into side passages, back into the main one, ride perhaps a mile or so more, then come to a stop, and ascend into a square of the city far distant from where we started, convinced that this is the most admirable system of sewage that could possibly be devised, and that for sanitary purposes nothing could be better. Not only, let it be borne in mind, is the sewage carried off beneath the ground, but even the very sewers themselves kept so clean and neat, and withal so perfectly ventilated, that ladies and gentlemen may pass through them without soiling their clothing or offence to the senses.
We were told that, when completed, there would be nearly four hundred miles of these sewers, and that not only could they be made use of for conveying the waste drainage of the city away, but could be used for the purpose of underground communication of troops from one point of the city to another, in case of revolutionary riots, when passage above ground might be disputed for four times the number.
[CHAPTER XV.]
And now we were once more to cross that narrow strip of troubled water which separates Gallic shores from perfide Albion, and whose horrors doubtless have much to do with the dread that so many travelled Englishmen have of crossing the Atlantic. But as has often been remarked, one may cross the Atlantic with scarce a qualm, and yet be utterly prostrated, for the time being, on the vile little tubs of passenger boats in crossing the English Channel—a trip which the tourist inwardly, with what inwards are left of him, thanks Providence is made in less than two hours. The good fortune of a comparatively smooth sea, quiet, bright day, and passage made without a single case of seasickness, which was vouchsafed us when coming over, did not attend us on our return trip, which was made from Boulogne to Folkestone.
On arrival at the French pier, a good stiff breeze in our faces, and ominous white caps to the waves outside, indicated to us what we were to expect. We sought the captain, an Englishman. "Was there no other accommodation than the deck," with its suggestive pile of wash-bowls? The close little cabin was already fully occupied.
"No, sir; better keep on deck—shall be over in little more than an hour."
We remembered the captain's nationality, and the weakness of his countrymen, and determined to make the usual trial.
"Captain, isn't there a private state-room? (looking him fixedly in the eye, and jingling some coin musically in one of my pockets).