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A howling gale of wind from the south-east, and driving snow and darkness. The light of Cap Grisnez struggling out over the blackness of the Channel, and the two Foreland lights twinkling feebly from their snow-clad heights. A night to turn in one's bed with a sleepy word of thanksgiving that one has a bed to turn in, and no pressing need to turn out of it.
Behind was Blighty, with its greatness and its sawdust. Ahead was the province of battle, with its good-fellowship and its mud. I lifted the puppy to show him his new country, but he merely exhibited boredom and a dislike of the sudden rush of air. From Cape Grisnez we steered north-east towards Calais, so as to have a clearly defined course to the aircraft depôt of Saint Gregoire.
John Laty, a well known London newspaper man wrote the following account of his second attempt: "As we draw near Cape Grisnez light, aboard the Earnest, Capt. Edward Dane, preparations are made by Mr. M. Boyton for proceeding ashore to assist in his brother's departure. A boat is lowered from the davits. It is soon manned, your artist slipping down the rope with the agility of a sailor.
He is the last straw. The boat is pulled off. The Earnest steams slowly on, for three o'clock is close at hand and that is the hour fixed for Captain Boyton's start from the Cran aux Anguilles, El Chine, about two hundred yards to the east of the Grisnez light. "Three A.M. A rocket rushes up from the boat sent ashore. It is the signal of Captain Boyton's departure.
There they were between him and Cape Grisnez, and the reinforcement meant plainly enough that mischief was in the wind. After a week so trying the Spanish crews would have been glad of a Sunday's rest if they could have had it; but the rough handling which they had gone through had thrown everything into disorder.
Then she forgot her sackcloth, for, according to the Frenchman, this was old Grisnez, pushing its inquiring nose into the sea; and beyond loomed the tall lighthouse of Calais. It was absurdly wonderful on landing at Calais to hear every one talking French.
Instead of starting from England, he decided to leave from Cape Grisnez, France, and land on any part of the English coast he could. A couple of days before the attempt, he went to Boulogne. It was arranged that he should leave at three o'clock in the morning, when the steamer containing the English correspondents would arrive.
He gathered his long cloak round his body, and went to the highest spot within his reach, about a mile from the watch-tower at Cape Grisnez, and thence he had a fine view of the vast invasive fleet and the vaster host behind it. An Englishman who loved his Country would have turned sick at heart and faint of spirit at the sight before him.
But it was now one o'clock and instead of being several miles south of Boulogne, as he had hoped, he was almost opposite and the current had already turned again to the north, thus carrying him far past the place. He determined, however, to push on and endeavor to land at Cape Grisnez, about ten miles north of Boulogne.
It is answered by a display of fire-works from the Earnest. A gun is fired and Grisnez light flickers and goes out. Day is breaking; but Captain Boyton is not discernable yet. Over the gray waters one sees through a good glass, the white fringe of surf breaking on the sandy beach, which is lined by a black mass of people behind whom is burning a large bonfire.
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