“Most amiable of all German philosophers,” said Mr. Baxter, “are you, too, among the Philistines? Hundreds of foreigners have said exactly what you say; and none of them seem to understand what practical purpose the originators of this tunnel had in view.”
“They wanted, to prove to the barbarous nations of the Continent, that Britons may walk under water without getting wet and without umbrellas.”
“And also that there are some things which are not dreamt of in the philosophy of a German Doctor. Why, that alone would be worth the money! But now, let me tell you that this tunnel cost very little more than one-half of what Waterloo-bridge cost. Besides, how can you bridge the river so low down as this? Why you would stop all the vessels, and spoil the London harbour, for you cannot raise a bridge high enough for large sailing vessels to pass under. Well, we’ve tried another plan; since the vessels cannot pass under the bridge, we make them go over it. We’ve tried it, and we’ve done it. There’s the tunnel! It is not the architect’s fault if it does not pay. Westward the course of empire takes its way in the world generally, and in London especially, and the east suffers accordingly. Hence it was not worth while to add a carriage-road to the tunnel. The more’s the pity! But here’s the steamer!”
There’s scarcely standing room on the deck. Besides the steamers, there are Greenwich omnibuses, and there is an extra railroad running its trains every quarter of an hour from London to Greenwich—and yet, look at the crowd which surrounds us on all sides! London, too, has its tides, and its high and low water-mark; its thousands and hundreds of thousands rush into the country and back again at regular periods from one twelve hours to another. The majority of London merchants live in the country, and yet they are able to pass their days in the city. Various means and modes of conveyance, and these quick, ready, and cheap, enable them to accomplish that feat.
As we go down the river, the banks recede, and the vessels lie in smaller groups. In their place, we see the very insignificant-looking yards of the London shipbuilders, which extend almost to Woolwich, the seat of the government dockyard. Woolwich is the second depot of the country; Portsmouth is the first.
The English shipbuilders are cosmopolitans, like the organ-grinders. Little do they care for their customers’ position, religion, or nation; they build ships for every man who offers his money, and for every country, too, for Denmark, Spain, Austria, Russia, and even for France.
“We have launched many a steamer, which by this time lies in some Russian port in the Black Sea,” says Mr. Baxter.
“It’s well for you if those steamers remain where they are. But what if Russia were to send your own ships against you? You shall perish by the work of your own hands!”
“Doctor, you are vastly amusing! Some years ago, I believe it was in 1840, I saw a ship launched at this very spot, a brig, and a fine vessel she was, for the Russian fleet. The Russian Ambassador was on the platform, and so was the Consul, and a great many titled and untitled persons. An old friend, my chum at Harrow, had taken me to see the fun. Honest fellow that; a commander in Her Majesty’s service, and since dead of apoplexy. We stood by, and saw the vessel glide into the water, and I made the very same remark you made just now. Of course I meant it as a joke. But you ought to have seen how my poor friend, the Captain, laughed at it. He held his sides, and his honest red face turned blue and purple. It was a mercy that he did not then and there die of apoplexy. ‘Eh!’ cried he at last; ‘do you think they can order a fleet as they would a cargo of cheese? Let the Czar send his roubles, and our fellows will build the ships, I warrant you, and good ships too, and without any dockyard jobs. No altering the poop, no taking out boilers, no cutting in halves, eh? But what’s a vessel? Nothing whatever, sir. It’s of no use without the sailors. He can’t order them. Just order me to play the dancing-master, eh? That vessel costs a good deal of money, and our fellows—Heaven bless them!—are very fond of Russian money. They like to build ships for Russia, just because we mean to hoist the Blue Peter against their Eagle. Fear! Apprehensions, eh? Why, sir, I bless that vessel from the bottom of my heart; that is to say, I wish she may go to pieces on her first trip to Cronstadt, or that I may fall in with her with the law against her and a fair chance of some friendly conversation. Dear me! if I should ever live to see that fine Russian fleet burnt off Athens! For a fine fleet it is, sir, and we’ll burn it, too, and build the Czar another (for his money, of course), and a fine one; and if that new fleet shews its nose in British waters, why, d—n me—that’s all! What fun to see these vessels launched for the Russian service! That’s what they all think, except the Ambassador and the Consul, and that’s the reason they cheer away with such hearty good will. Just look at that old tar on the other side. He thinks of boarding her one of these fine days, eh! Well turned in the waist, eh?’ ”
“O well turned English ethics!” said Dr. Keif with a deep sigh, as he stood with folded hands, looking up to heaven. “Do you think, Mr. Baxter, that Germany too will have the good fortune to get vessels from the English dockyards in consideration of certain moneys well and truly paid, and on the strength of similar cosmopolitan principles?”