But the most important departure from the port was in 1620, when the Mayflower sailed for America with the “Pilgrim Fathers” on board.  She was only a little barque of 180 tons, and was sadly tossed about by the big waves in the Atlantic.  But after enduring many hardships, the emigrants landed on the barren shores of Massachusetts Bay, and named the spot where they landed “New Plymouth,” that being no doubt what Elihu Burritt had in his mind when he described Plymouth as “the Mother Plymouth sitting by the Sea,” for so many emigrants had gone from there to America and other places that there were now quite forty places named Plymouth in different parts of the world.  The place whence the “Fathers” left the port on their perilous journey was afterwards marked with a stone.  This we went to see, but we were driven off the Hoe by a heavy shower of rain.

[Illustration:  THE “MAYFLOWER STONE,” PLYMOUTH HARBOUR.]

Plymouth was also the last port of call in Europe of the ship Northumberland bound for St. Helena, with Napoleon Bonaparte on board; and we thought it a strange incident of travel that the list of distinguished visitors here in 1871 should have included (in addition to ourselves of course!) the names of the unfortunate Emperor Napoleon III, and his still more unfortunate son, who had been there about a fortnight before we arrived.  During that year the French agreed to pay the great indemnity which the Germans demanded, and which it was said laid the foundation of the prosperity of the German Empire.

(Distance walked twenty-three and a half miles.)

Wednesday, November 15th.

We left our hotel at daylight this morning, having made special arrangements last night for a good breakfast to be served in time for an early start, for we had a heavy day’s walk, before us.  We were now in sight of Cornwall, the last county we should have to cross before reaching Land’s End.  We had already traversed thirteen counties in Scotland and fourteen in England since leaving John O’ Groat’s.  But an arm of the sea named the Hamoaze separated us from Cornwall, and as our rules prevented us from crossing it either by boat or train, the question arose how we were to get across the water, which was one of the greatest naval anchorages in the world, and near the great dockyards in which the Government employed some thousands of men.  We had come that way in the hope of seeing some of the big warships near Devonport, and at length we came to the great railway bridge at Saltash.  The thought occurred to us that we might reach the Cornish coast by walking over the bridge to the other side.  We had walked across a railway bridge on one occasion in Scotland to enable us to reach Abbotsford, the former residence of the great Sir Walter Scott, so why not adopt a similar plan here?  We were some time before we could find a place where we could scale the embankment, but ultimately we got on the railway