The mercantile trade here is small; the want of a convenient harbour where ships might ride in safety, will ever be an obstacle; there are, however, small exports of corn and imports of coal, tiles, oil cake, London porter, &c.
Perhaps there are few places, even at the distance of twenty miles from the sea, where coals are dearer than they are here; one principal reason of which is, the expence and hazard attending the unloading; to effect which the vessel is laid upon the beach at high water (which can only be done in fine weather) and when the tide is sufficiently ebbed, the coals are taken from the vessel by carts, each carrying half a chaldron, which is as much as four horses can well get up the steep and sandy road cut through the cliff.
Thus the business is carried on till the returning tide obliges them to desist till the next ebb. About two tides generally serve to complete the ship’s unloading, which is seldom of greater burthen than from sixty to seventy tons.
From the loading and unloading the vessels arises another source of picturesque amusement from the combination of horses and carts, men and boys—these employed in their different departments compose various groupes, and give a new character to the scene, by connecting maritime with rural occupations.
There are no places of public amusement, no rooms, balls, nor card assemblies. A small circulating library, consisting chiefly of a few novels, is all that can be obtained; but still for such as make retirement their aim, it is certainly an eligible situation.
The bathing machines are very commodious, and the bather a careful, attentive man. The shore, also, which is a fine firm sand, not only only renders the bathing agreeable, but when the tide retires, presents such a surface for many miles as cannot be exceeded. The sea too is one of those objects that appears to have the constant power of pleasing. Other scenes (though beautiful in themselves) by being seen constantly, either lose much of their power or become tiresome by their sameness;—it is not so with the sea—those who live constantly by the side of it, if their occupation lies within doors, seldom fail at the leisure hour of noon or eve, to pay their respects to it, even in the most stormy weather. This fondness can arise from no other source than the constant variety it produces. Its charms are various and incessant—whether its azure surface is dressed in smiles or irritated into frowns by the surly northern or eastern blast.
The cliffs in many parts are lofty and well broken, and their feet being for the most part composed of strong blue clay, are capable of making considerable resistance to the impetuous attacks of the sea; so that when the upper parts which are of a looser texture are brought down by springs, frosts or other accidental circumstances, and are carried away by the action of the tide, the feet still remain, opposing their bold projections to the fury of the storm.
It is very rare too, that there is a scarcity of shipping to adorn the scene; the trade from Newcastle, Sunderland and the Baltic, keeping up a constant succession. The different parties of pleasure, also, that assemble upon the beach in an evening, for walking, riding or reading, constitute variety and make it a very pleasant resort. But towards the close of a fine summer’s evening, when the sun declining in full splendour, tinting the whole scene with a golding glow, the sea shore becomes an object truly sublime. The noble expanse of blue waters on the one hand, the distant sail catching the last rays of the setting sun, controlled on the other by the rugged surfaces of the impending cliffs, the stillness of the scene, interrupted only by the gentle murmurs of the waves falling at your feet or perhaps by the solemn dashing of oars, or at intervals, by the hoarse bawling of the seamen;—“music in such full unison” with the surrounding objects and altogether calculated to inspire so pleasing a train of thoughts to the contemplative, solitary stroller, that he does not awake from his reverie till
“black and deep the night begins to fall.
A shade immense, sunk in the quenching gloom;
Magnificent and vast, are Heaven and earth.
Order confounded lies; all beauty void;
Distinction lost; and gay variety
One universal blot; such the fair power
Of Light, to kindle and create the whole.”
What can give a more adequate idea of the power of the divine Creator than such a scene? What can give a fuller comprehension of the compass of human invention than the intercourse which is maintained between nations through the medium of navigation? And to an Englishman can there be a more pleasing or exulting theme, than the wide extent of the commerce of Great Britain and the glory of the British Navy?—the bulwark of this happy land.