Part 3 (1/2)
We pulled up for some miles between thickly-wooded banks,--indeed, we were now pa.s.sing through a part of the New Forest. Suddenly the river took a bend, and we found ourselves off a village called Buckler's Hard.
The river here expands considerably, and we saw two or three vessels at anchor. In the last great war there was a dockyard here, where a number of frigates and other small men-of-war were built from the wood which the neighbouring forest produced. Now, the dockyard turns out only a few coasting craft. How different must have been the place when the sound of the s.h.i.+pwright's hammer was incessantly heard, to what it now is, resting in the most perfect tranquillity, as if everybody in the neighbourhood had gone to sleep! No one was to be seen moving on sh.o.r.e, no one even on board the little coasters. Not a bird disturbed the calm surface of the river.
As it was important that we should be away again before the tide fell we pulled on, that we might land close to Beaulieu itself. The scenery was picturesque in the extreme, the trees in many places coming down to the water's edge, into which they dipped their long hanging boughs. About six miles off, the artist Gilpin had the living of Boldre, and here he often came to sketch views of woodland and river scenery. We landed near the bridge, and walked on to see Beaulieu Abbey. Pa.s.sing through a gateway we observed the ma.s.sive walls, which exist here and there almost entire, in some places mantled with ivy, and at one time enclosing an area of sixteen acres or more.
A short way off was a venerable stone building, now called the Palace House, once the residence of the abbot, who being too great a man to live with the monks, had a house to himself. When convents were abolished, this was turned into a residence by the Duke of Montague, to whose family it had been granted. He enlarged and beautified it, enclosing it in a quadrangle with walls, having a low circular tower at each angle, encompa.s.sed by a dry moat crossed by a bridge. The whole building is now fitted up as a modern residence.
A short distance to the east stands a long edifice, with lofty rooms, which was undoubtedly the dormitory, with large cellars beneath it. At the south end the ancient kitchen remains entire, with its vaulted stone roof and capacious chimney, proving that the monks were addicted to good cheer; indeed, the remains of the fish-ponds, or stews, not far off, show that this was the case.
They also took care to supply themselves with fresh water, from a fine spring issuing from a cave in the forest about half a mile away, which was conveyed to the abbey in earthen pipes. That they were not total abstainers, however, is proved by the remains of a building evidently once containing the means of manufacturing wines; and close to it, in some fields having a warm southern aspect, still called the Vineyards, grew their grapes.
This abbey, indeed, stands on just such a spot as sagacious men, considering how best they might enjoy this world's comforts, would select;--a gentle stream, an ample supply of water, a warm situation, extensive meadow and pasture land, sheltered from keen blasts by woods and rising hills. The monastery was built, we are told, in the time of King John, by a number of Cistercian monks. A monkish legend, which, like most other monkish legends, is probably false, a.s.serts that the abbots of that order being summoned by the king to Lincoln, expected to receive some benefit, instead of which the savage monarch ordered them to be trodden to death by horses. None of his attendants were willing, however, to execute his cruel command. That night the king dreamed that he was standing before a judge, accompanied by these abbots, who were commanded to scourge him with rods. On awakening he still felt the pain of his flagellation; and being advised by his father-confessor to make amends for his intended cruelty, he immediately granted the abbots a charter for the foundation of the abbey.
The monks, as usual, practising on the credulity of the people, grew rich, and obtained privileges and further wealth from various sovereigns; while the Pope conferred on their monastery the rights of a sanctuary, exemption from t.i.thes, and the election of its abbot without the interference of king or bishop. In 1539 there were within their walls thirty-two sanctuary men for debt, felony, and murder. Unpleasant guests the monks must have found them, unless a thorough reformation had taken place in their characters.
Here Margaret of Anjou took shelter after the fatal battle of Barnet; and Perkin Warbeck fled hither, but being lured away, perished at Tyburn. On the abolition of monasteries, Beaulieu Abbey was granted to the Earl of Southampton, whose heiress married the Duke of Montague, from whom it descended to his sole heiress, who married the Duke of Buccleuch. The family have carefully preserved the ruins, and prevented their further destruction.
”The abbeys have had their day; but, after all, we cannot help holding them in affectionate remembrance for the service they rendered in their generation,” observed Oliver, in a somewhat sentimental tone, which made me laugh.
”They may have done some good; but that good could have been obtained in a far better way,” said papa; ”they were abominations from the first; and the life led by the monks was utterly at variance with that which Scripture teaches us is the right life to lead. We might as well regret that Robin Hood and d.i.c.k Turpin do not now exist, because they occasionally behaved with generosity to the poor, and showed courtesy to the ladies they robbed. The monasteries were the result of the knavery of one cla.s.s and the ignorance and superst.i.tion of another. Do not let the glamour of romance thrown over them ever deceive or mislead you as to their real character. When we hear of the good they did, remember that the monks were their own chroniclers. We have only to see what Chaucer says of them, and the utter detestation in which they were held by the great ma.s.s of the people, not only in Henry the Eighth's time, but long before, to judge them rightly. There are weak and foolish people, at present, urged on by designing men, who wish for their restoration, and have actually established not a few of these abominable inst.i.tutions in our free England, where girls are incarcerated and strictly kept from communicating with their friends, and where foolish youths play the part of the monks of the dark ages. I am not afraid of your turning Romanists, my boys, but it is important to be guarded on all points. Just bring the monastic system to the test of Scripture, and then you will see how utterly at variance it is from the lessons we learn therein.”
We felt very nervous going down the river, for fear we should stick on the mud, as the tide had already begun to ebb, and we might have been left high and dry in a few minutes; but, through Paul's pilotage and papa's seamans.h.i.+p, we managed to avoid so disagreeable an occurrence, and once more pa.s.sing the beacon at the mouth of the river, we steered for Cowes Roads, where we brought-up at dark. Next morning we saw the Dolphin anch.o.r.ed not far from us. To save sending on board, we got out our signals, and the instruction book which enables us to make use of them.
We first hoisted flags to show the number of the yacht in the club, and waited until it was answered from the Dolphin. We next hoisted four numbers without any distinguis.h.i.+ng flag, which showed the part of the book to which we referred, and meant, ”Are you ready to sail?” This was answered by a signal flag which meant ”Yes;” whereupon we ran up four other numbers signifying, ”We will sail immediately.”
As the Dolphin, which was to the east of us, began to get under weigh, we did so likewise; and she soon came close enough to enable us to carry on a conversation as we stood together to the westward.
The sh.o.r.es both of the mainland and of the Isle of Wight are covered thickly with woods, the former being portions of the New Forest, which at one time extended over the whole of this part of Hamps.h.i.+re, from Southampton Water to the borders of Dorsets.h.i.+re. On our left side we could see high downs rising in the distance, the southern side of which we had seen when going round the back of the island.
In a short time we came off Newton River, now almost filled up with mud.
Some way up it is a village, which, once upon a time, was a town and returned a member to parliament. The hull of a small man-of-war is anch.o.r.ed, or rather beached, on the mud near the mouth of the river, and serves as a coastguard station.
The wind s.h.i.+fting, we had to make a tack towards the mouth of Lymington Creek, which runs down between mud-banks from the town of Lymington, which is situated on the west side of the river. On a height, on the east side, we could distinguish an obelisk raised to the memory of Admiral Sir Harry Burrard Neale. He was a great favourite of George the Third, as he was with all his family, including William the Fourth. He was a very excellent officer and a good, kind man, and was looked upon as the father of his crew. At the mouth of the river is a high post with a basket on the top of it known as Jack-in-the-basket. Whether or not a sailor ever did get in there when wrecked, or whether on some occasion a real Jack was placed there to shout out to vessels coming into the river, I am not certain.
Pa.s.sing the pleasant little town of Yarmouth, the wind once more s.h.i.+fting enabled us to lay our course direct for Hurst Castle. We pa.s.sed the village of Freshwater, with several very pretty villas perched on the hill on the west side of it. Here also is the commencement of a line of batteries which extend alone: the sh.o.r.e towards the Needles. The ground is high and broken, and very picturesque, with bays, and points, and headlands. On our starboard, or northern side, appeared the long spit of sand at the end of which Hurst Castle stands, with two high red lighthouses like two giant skittles.
Besides the old castle, a line of immensely strong fortifications extend along the beach, armed with the heaviest guns, so that from the batteries of the two sh.o.r.es an enemy's s.h.i.+p attempting to enter would be sunk, or would be so shattered as to be unable to cope with any vessel of inferior force sent against her.
The old castle is a cheese-like structure of granite, and was considered, even when it stood alone, of great strength. Its chief historical interest is derived from its having been the prison of Charles the First when he was removed from Carisbrook Castle. After the failure of the treaty of Newport, Charles was brought from Carisbrook, which is almost in the centre of the Isle of Wight, to a small fort called Worsley Tower, which stood above Sconce Point, to the westward of the village of Freshwater. Here a vessel was in waiting, which carried him and a few attendants over to Hurst, where he was received by the governor, Colonel Eure, and kept under strict guard, though not treated unkindly. From thence he was removed to Windsor, and afterwards to London, where his execution took place.
As we were examining with our gla.s.ses the powerful line of fortifications, both on the Hurst beach and along the sh.o.r.e of the Isle of Wight, papa remarked that he wished people would be as careful in guarding their religious and political liberties as they are in throwing up forts to prevent an enemy from landing on our sh.o.r.es. Many appear to be fast asleep with regard to the sacred heritage we have received from our forefathers, and allow disturbers of our peace and faith, under various disguises, to intrude upon and undermine the safeguards of our sacred rights and liberties.
Presently we found ourselves in a beautiful little spot called Alum Bay.
The cliffs have not the usual glaring white hue, but are striped with almost every imaginable colour, the various tints taking a perpendicular form, ranging from the top of the cliff to the sea. If we could have transferred the colours to our pallet, I am sure we should have found them sufficient to produce a brilliant painting. West of the coloured cliffs is a line of very high white cliffs, extending to the extreme west point of the island, at the end of which appear the Needle Rocks, rising almost perpendicularly out of the sea. Once upon a time two of them were joined with a hollow, or eye, between them, but that portion gave way at the end of the last century. On the outer rock, by sc.r.a.ping the side, a platform has been formed, on which stands a high and beautifully-built lighthouse, erected some years ago. Formerly there was one on the top of the cliff, but it was so high that it was frequently obscured by mist, and was not to be seen by vessels steering for the Needles pa.s.sage.
As we stood close into the sh.o.r.e, and looked up at the lofty cliffs, we agreed that it was the grandest and most picturesque scene we had yet visited.
On the other side of the channel are the s.h.i.+ngles, a dangerous sandbank, on which many vessels have been lost. A ledge of rocks below the water runs off from the Needles, known as the Needle Ledge. When a strong south-westerly wind is blowing, and the tide is running out, there is here a very heavy sea. Vessels have also been wrecked on the Needles; and Paul Truck told us how a pilot he once knew well saved the crew of a vessel which drove in during the night on one of those rocks, which they had managed to reach by means of the top-gallant yard. Here they remained until the pilot brought a stout rope, which was hauled up by a thin line to the top of the rock, and by means of it they all descended in safety. The pilot's name was John Long.
Years before this a transport, with a number of troops on board, was wrecked just outside the Needles, in Scratch.e.l.ls Bay. Being high-water, she drove close in under the cliffs, and thus the sailors and crew were able to escape; and the next morning the cliff appeared as though covered with lady-birds, footprints of the poor fellows who had been endeavouring to make their way up the precipitous sides.