On the 25th the Lapwing was sent on ahead to Bermuda to inform the authorities of the close advent of the dock. It was now arranged that as the Terrible drew less water than any of the other ships, she should have the honour of piloting the dock through the Narrows—a narrow, tortuous, and shallow channel, forming the only practicable entrance for large ships to the harbour of Bermuda. On the morning of the 28th, Bermuda lighthouse was sighted, and the Spitfire was shortly afterwards picked up, having been sent by the Bermudan authorities to pilot the squadron as far as the entrance of the Narrows. She also brought the intelligence that it had been arranged that the Viper and the Vixen had been ordered to pilot the dock into harbour. As they neared Bermuda, the squadron were met by the naval officer in charge of the station, who, after having had interviews with the captains of the squadron and of the Bermuda, rescinded the order respecting the Vixen and the Viper, and the Terrible was once more deputed to tow the Bermuda through the Narrows. Just off the mouth of this dangerous inlet, the Bermuda being in tow of the Terrible only, the dock became uncontrollable, and would have done her best to carry Her Majesty’s ship to Halifax had not the Warrior come to her aid, after the Spitfire and Lapwing had tried ineffectually to be of assistance.
By this time, however, the water in the Narrows had become too low for the Warrior; the Bermuda had, therefore, to wait until high water next morning in order to complete the last, and, as it proved, the most perilous part of her journey. After the Warrior and the Terrible had towed the dock through the entrance of the inlet, the first-named ship cast off. The dock once more became unmanageable through a sudden gust of wind striking her on the quarter. Had the gust lasted for only a few seconds longer, the dock would have stranded—perhaps for ever. She righted, however, and the Terrible steaming hard ahead, she passed the most dangerous point of the inlet, and at last rode securely in smooth water, within a few cables’ length of her future berth, after a singularly successful voyage of thirty-six days.
It says much for the naval and engineering skill of all concerned in the transport of this unwieldy mass of iron, weighing 8,000 tons, over nearly 4,000 miles of ocean, without the loss of a single life, or, indeed, a solitary accident that can be called serious. The [pg 195]conception, execution, and success of the project are wholly unparalleled in the history of naval engineering.
Leaving Bermuda, whither away? To the real capital of America, New York. It is true that English men-of-war, and, for the matter of that, vessels of the American navy, comparatively seldom visit that port, which otherwise is crowded by the shipping of all nations. There are reasons for this. New York has not to-day a dock worthy of the name; magnificent steamships and palatial ferry-boats all lie alongside wharfs, or enter “slips,” which are semi-enclosed wharfs. Brooklyn and Jersey City have, however, docks.
Who that has visited New York will ever forget his first impressions? The grand Hudson, or the great East River, itself a strait: the glorious bay, or the crowded island, alike call for and deserve enthusiastic admiration. If one arrives on a sunny day, maybe not a zephyr agitates the surface of the noble Hudson, or even the bay itself: the latter landlocked, save where lost in the broad Atlantic; the former skirted by the great Babylon of America and the wooded banks of Hoboken. Round the lofty western hills, a fleet of small craft—with rakish hulls and snowy sails—steal quietly and softly, while steamboats, that look like floating islands, almost pass them with lightning speed. Around is the shipping of every clime; enormous ferry-boats radiating in all directions; forests of masts along the wharfs bearing the flags of all nations. And where so much is strange, there is one consoling fact: you feel yourself at home. You are among brothers, speaking the same language, obeying the same laws, professing the same religion.
MAP OF NEW YORK HARBOUR.
New York city and port of entry, New York county, State of New York, lies at the head of New York Bay, so that there is a good deal of New York about it. It is the commercial emporium of the United States, and if it ever has a rival, it will be on the other side of the continent, somewhere not far from San Francisco. Its area is, practically, the bulk of Manhattan or New York Island, say thirteen miles long by two wide. Its separation from the mainland is caused by the Harlem River, which connects the Hudson and East Rivers, and is itself spanned by a bridge and the Croton aqueduct. New York really possesses every advantage required to build a grand emporium. It extends between two rivers, each navigable for the largest vessels, while its harbour would contain the united or disunited navies, as the case may be, of all nations. The Hudson River, in particular, is for some distance up a mile or more in width, while the East River averages over two-fifths of a mile. The population of New York, with its suburban appendages, including the cities of Brooklyn and Jersey City, is not less than that of Paris.
The harbour is surrounded with small settlements, connected by charmingly-situated villas and country residences. It is toward its northern end that the masts, commencing with a few stragglers, gradually thicken to a forest. In it are three fortified islands. By the strait called the “Narrows,” seven miles from the lower part of the city, and [pg 196]which is, for the space of a mile, about one mile wide, it communicates with the outer harbour, or bay proper, which extends thence to Sandy Hook Light, forty miles from the city, and opens directly into the ocean, forming one of the best roadsteads on the whole Atlantic coasts of America. The approach to the city, as above indicated, is very fine, the shores of the bay being wooded down to the water’s edge, and thickly studded with villages, farms, and country seats. The view of the city itself is not so prepossessing; like all large cities, it is almost impossible to find a point from which to grasp the grandeur in its entirety, and the ground on which it is built is nowhere elevated. Therefore there is very little to strike the eye specially. Many a petty town makes a greater show in this respect.
Those ferry-boats! The idea in the minds of most Englishmen is associated with boats that may pass over from one or two to a dozen or so people, possibly a single horse, or a donkey-cart. There you find steamers a couple of hundred or more feet long, with, on either side of the engines, twenty or more feet space. On the true deck there is accommodation for carriages, carts, and horses by the score; above, a spacious saloon for passengers. They have powerful engines, and will easily beat the average steamship. On arrival at the dock, they run into a kind of slip, or basin, with piles around stuck in the soft bottom, which yield should she strike them, and entirely do away with any fear of [pg 197]concussion. “I may here add,” notes an intelligent writer,[115] “that during my whole travels in the States, I found nothing more perfect in construction and arrangement than the ferries and their boats, the charges for which are most moderate, varying according to distances, and ranging from one halfpenny upwards.”