unfortunate sailor like some monstrous Old Man of the Sea.

Outbursts of violent pressing before the dawn of the eighteenth
century, though spasmodic and on the whole infrequent, were not
entirely unknown. Times of national stress were peculiarly productive
of them. Thus when, in 1545, there was reason to fear a French
invasion, pressing of the most violent and unprecedented character was
openly resorted to in order to man the fleet. The class who suffered
most severely on that occasion were the fisher folk of Devon, "the
most part" of whom were "taken as marryners to serve the king."
[Footnote: _State Papers_, Henry VIII.--Lord Russell to the Privy
Council, 22 Aug. 1545. Bourne, who cites the incident in his _Tudor
Seamen_, misses the essential point that the fishermen were
forcibly pressed.]

During the Civil Wars of the next century both parties to the strife
issued press warrants which were enforced with the utmost rigour. The
Restoration saw a marked recrudescence of similar measures. How great
was the need of men at that time, and how exigent the means employed
to procure them, may be gathered from the fact, cited by Pepys, that
in 1666 the fleet lay idle for a whole fortnight "without any demand
for a farthing worth of anything, but only to get men." The genial
diarist was deeply moved by the scenes of violence that followed. They
were, he roundly declares, "a shame to think of."

The origin of the term "pressing," with its cognates "to press" and
"pressed," is not less remarkable than the genesis of the violence it
so aptly describes. Originally the man who was required for the king's
service at sea, like his twin brother the soldier, was not "pressed"
in the sense in which we now use the term. He was merely subjected to