Below the Bridge, the river, for more than a mile, pursues a straight
course with a uniform breadth. It then bends in a north-easterly
direction for a mile or so, when it turns southward, passing Deptford
and Greenwich. Now, a hundred years ago, for two miles and more below
the bridge, the ships lay moored side by side in double lines, with a
narrow channel between. There were no docks; all the loading and the
unloading had to be done by means of barges and lighters in the
stream. One can hardly realize this vast concourse of boats and barges
and ships; the thousands of men at work; the passage to and fro of the
barges laden to the water's edge, or returning empty to the ship's
side; the yeo-heave-oh! of the sailors hoisting up the casks and bales
and cases; the shouting, the turmoil, the quarrelling, the fighting,
the tumult upon the river, now so peaceful. But when we talk of a
riverside parish we must remember this great concourse, because it was
the cause of practices from which we suffer to the present day.
Of these things we may be perfectly certain. First, that without the
presence among a people of some higher life, some nobler standard,
than that of the senses, this people will sink rapidly and surely.
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