We found Calais a clear town, and pressing a certain medium aspect, that was as much English as French. The position is strong, though I was not much struck with the strength of the works. England has no motive to wish to possess it, now that conquest on the Continent is neither expedient nor possible. The port is good for nothing, in a warlike sense, except to protect a privateer or two; though the use of steam will probably make it of more importance in any future war, than it has been for the last two centuries.
We found W—— safely arrived. At one of the frontier towns he had been asked for his passport, and in his fright he gave the letter of the Préfet of the Rhône, instead of the explanation I had so cleverly devised. This letter commenced with the words "Monsieur le Consul" in large letters, and occupying, according to French etiquette, nearly half of the first page. The gendarme, a vieux moustache, held his lantern up to read it, and seeing this ominous title, it would seem that Napoleon, and Marengo, and all the glories of the Consulate, arose in his imagination. He got no further than those three words, which he pronounced aloud; and then folding the letter, he returned it with a profound bow, asking no further questions. As the diligence drove on, W—— heard him say, "Apparemment vous avez un homme très-considérable là-dedans, Monsieur le Conducteur." So much for our fears, for passports, and for gendarmes!
We went to bed, with the intention of embarking for England in the morning.
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's Recollections of Europe, by J. Fenimore Cooper