Departure from Carisbrook.—Road to Freshwater.—Yarmouth.—House
where Charles II. was entertained by Admiral Sir Robert
Holme.—Freshwater.—Rocks.—Roaring of the Sea.—Birds.—The
Razor-bill and Guillemot.—Sea-weed.
Mrs. Merton’s party had not long left Carisbrook, when she began to
think that they were not on the right road, and she asked the driver.
“Oh! yes, ma’am,” said he, “it is all right; all the ladies and
gentlemen go this road.”
“That is not what I mean,” said Mrs. Merton; “it is of very little
consequence to me what other people do, but I wish to go through
Yarmouth.”
“Oh! nobody goes through Yarmouth now, ma’am,” said the man; “all the
ladies and gentlemen go this way.”
Mrs. Merton, though exceedingly provoked, could hardly help laughing at
the obstinacy of the man.
“Well,” said she, “you now understand that I wish to go to Yarmouth;
and as I know there is a road which leads to it, and that turns out of
this road, I desire you to take us there, as soon as we reach the
turning. You understand me now,” continued she.
“It will be five or six miles out of the way,” said the man muttering.
“That is of no consequence to you,” said Mrs. Merton, “as you know we
hired your carriage by the day, to go where we liked; and the distance
we have travelled is not only very short, but you have had a long rest
at Carisbrook.”
“It is of no use saying anything more,” said Mr. Merton, interposing;
“the man must do as he is bid.”
They now proceeded a long way through narrow lanes, bordered by high
hedges, which Agnes declared was the longest and most disagreeable ride
she ever had in her life.
“You may find it tedious,” said Mrs. Merton, “but it cannot be very
long. The whole island is but twenty-four miles across, from one end to
the other, and Newport is, as nearly as possible, in the centre.”
“It is only nine miles from Carisbrook to Freshwater, the best way,”
said the driver; “but it will be a matter of fourteen miles the way you
are going.”
The rest of the party looked at each other, and smiled; and Mr. Merton
asked Agnes, in French, if she did not think obstinacy made a person
very disagreeable.
“But I do not think I ever could have been so obstinate as this man,”
said the self-convicted Agnes, whose conscience reminded her that she
had often been accused of this fault.
“It is difficult to see our own faults in the same light as they appear
to other people,” said Mrs. Merton; “but I do assure you, Agnes, that
your obstinacy has often appeared as unreasonable, and, I may say, as
disagreeable to me, as this man’s does to us all. Judge, then, in what
a light you must have appeared to your governess, to the servants, and
even to your companions, when you would persist in following your own
way, in spite of all that could be said to the contrary.”
Agnes was too much ashamed to reply; and they travelled on in silence,
till they reached the little village of Calbourn. They passed through
it without noticing the turn to Yarmouth, as Mr. and Mrs. Merton
happened to be engaged in conversation, and the driver went on his own
way. He would also have passed a second turn a few miles farther on the
road, if Agnes’s quick eye had not caught sight of the finger-post. Mr.
Merton then insisted on the man taking them to Yarmouth, which he did,
muttering and grumbling to himself all the way, and looking so
disagreeable that Agnes resolved, in her own mind, that nothing should
ever tempt her to be obstinate again.
They had a very pleasant drive, with a fine view of the sea, and of the
numerous vessels in Yarmouth Roads, as they advanced. When they passed
the turnpike, a fine healthy-looking country-woman came out with a
child in her arms, to receive the toll. She no sooner saw Mr. Merton
than she cried out, “Poor dear gentleman, how very ill he do look to be
sure!—but our fine air will soon set him up again.” Agnes was
inexpressibly shocked at this, and she looked at her papa to see how he
bore it. Mr. Merton smiled at her look of anxiety, and said, “Do not
suppose, my dear Agnes, that I am hurt at the woman’s observation; for
though such a remark would have been exceedingly rude and unfeeling in
ordinary life, it was here evidently dictated by kindness of heart. We
should never forget,” continued he, “when we are judging of the conduct
of others, that we ought to estimate their conduct by their
opportunities and habits of life, rather than by our own. You, Agnes,
are but too apt to forget this, and to fancy that people who have been
brought up in the simplest and rudest manner, should be acquainted with
all the refinements and courtesies of life.”
They now entered the pretty little town of Yarmouth, and had a fine
view of the opposite shore of Dorsetshire, with the projecting point of
land on which Hurst Castle is erected, stretching far into the sea, and
the little town of Lymington in the distance. Mrs. Merton pointed this
out to her daughter, and also told her that it was supposed that
formerly the Isle of Wight was united to the mainland at this part.
“Indeed,” continued she, “the sea at one place is, I believe, only one
mile across; and it is said there is a lane in the Isle of Wight
leading directly down to this point, which is abruptly cut off by the
sea, and which is supposed formerly to have been carried on at the
other side.”
“I think, my dear,” said Mr. Merton, laughing, “you must not attach too
much importance to that lane, as it may have merely led down to the
beach. Besides, even if the Isle of Wight was once attached to the
mainland, it must have been a long time ago; as the Romans, who took
possession of the Isle of Wight, in the reign of the Emperor Claudius,
in the year 45, describe it as an island. However,” he continued,
“after all, it is very possible that the Isle of Wight was, at some
distant period, united to the mainland, as the soil of which it is
composed, being of a chalky nature, is easily soluble in water; and,
indeed, the very name of the strait which separates the island from the
mainland, and which is called the Solent or Solvent sea, seems to
express that it has dissolved the soil which connected it with the
mainland.”
“Is that an old name?” asked Mrs. Merton. “I thought the Solent sea had
been, comparatively, a modern appellation.”
“It was the common name of the strait before the time of the Venerable
Bede,” said Mr. Merton.
Agnes, who began to get a little tired with this conversation, was glad
when the carriage stopped at a curious old house, that looked more like
an ancient manor-house than an inn; and which in fact was the very
house in which Charles II. was entertained in the year 1671, by the
gallant admiral, Sir Robert Holme.
“I remember this house well,” said Mrs. Merton; “for I was here with my
aunt about fifteen years ago, at the time when a very melancholy
calamity had just happened. A collier’s vessel from Newcastle was lying
in the roads, when the wife of the captain, who was near her
confinement, was taken ill, and sent for a doctor from the town. The
only doctor who happened to be at home was an elderly man, very much
respected by every body, whose name I have unfortunately forgotten,
though it well deserves to be remembered. The evening was dark and
inclined to be stormy, and this worthy man was advised not to venture
out to sea in such weather. However, he was determined to do his duty,
and he went. After the little baby was born, he was about to return,
but the storm had become more serious, and he determined to remain in
the vessel till morning. Unfortunately, however, a dreadful storm
arose, and the ship was lost. My aunt and I arrived at Yarmouth the
very day after the accident, and we found the whole town in agitation
and distress. Every body knew the doctor; every body respected him; and
every body was of course distressed at his untimely death. In the
kitchen of the inn were three or four sailors, who had been saved by
clinging to the rigging. I forget how many hours they had been in this
state; but I remember well that when I saw them, their arms, which were
being rubbed to restore circulation, were quite black, and so benumbed
that they could not use them.”
“I remember your mentioning the circumstance before,” said Mr. Merton,
“and I am not surprised at the impression it made on you.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Merton, “it is one thing to read of shipwrecks, and of
sailors clinging to the rigging for hours, and another to see the poor
creatures who have undergone such dreadful sufferings.”
Having now satisfied their curiosity with all that was to be seen at
Yarmouth, they re-entered the carriage and proceeded to Freshwater.
On the road they saw so many beautiful wild flowers that Agnes begged
permission to walk a little way, that she might gather some. There was
the beautiful blue Scabious, the yellow Ragwort, and a bright pink
Lychnis. In one place there was a mass of Ground Ivy, growing so
luxuriantly as to look like a garden flower; and when Agnes brought
some of this to the carriage, her papa told her it belonged to the
order of the Labiatæ or lipped plants, and made her observe the shape
of the flower, and how completely it is double-lipped, the lower lip
being more than twice the size of the upper one. Then Agnes found a
plant with small leaves like the Trefoil, and curiously coiled-up seed
pods, which she said looked like snails, or hedge-hogs. This Mr. Merton
told her was called the Spotted Medick, and that its curious pod was,
in fact, a legume like that of the pea.
[Illustration:
_Fig. 7._
GROUND-IVY.
(_Glechoma hederucea._)
]
[Illustration:
_Fig. 8._
THE SPOTTED MEDICK.
(_Medicago denticulata._)
]
The part of the island which contains Freshwater, the Needles, and Alum
Bay, is almost separated from the rest by the river Yar, which rises
behind the rock called Freshwater Gate, and runs into the sea at
Yarmouth. It thus wants only a few yards of going entirely across the
island. The geological construction of this part of the Isle of Wight
renders it peculiarly liable to change; since, as most of the rocks are
composed of chalk and flint, the softer parts of the chalk are
frequently washed away by the sea, or heavy rain, leaving the flints
and the harder part of the chalk remaining. In this manner the curious
isolated rocks at the Needles, and at Freshwater Gate have been formed,
and the numerous caverns and chines scooped out; and in this way,
doubtless, numerous other changes will take place, as long as the
island continues to exist.
[Illustration: THE ARCHED ROCK AT FRESHWATER]
Agnes was quite delighted with the appearance of the little inn at
Freshwater, which is, in fact, a summer pavilion, with several rooms,
all opening by folding doors, on a kind of terrace, shaded by a
verandah, and close to the beach.
“What a delightful place!” cried Agnes.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Merton, “this little inn has always been a favourite
of mine, and I am really sorry that the proprietor is erecting a more
magnificent mansion on the cliffs, as I am sure it is impossible that
his guests can be more comfortable anywhere than they are here.”
As soon as Mrs. Merton had ordered dinner, the whole party walked on
the beach, and never was more beautiful sea-weed than that which lay
spread at their feet. Agnes, who had promised to collect some sea-weed
to take home to her aunt Jane, was quite embarrassed with the profusion
around her; and she soon collected a great deal more than it was
possible for her to carry away, as she had only brought a small basket
from town with her for the purpose of holding it. At home, she had
thought this would be quite sufficient; but now, alas! she found that
one immense piece of sea-weed that she was dragging after her was alone
sufficient to fill her basket entirely.
“My dear Agnes!” cried Mrs. Merton, “you never can take that large
plant with you to town.”
“No, mamma,” said Agnes, sighing, “I am afraid I cannot; but only look
what a splendid thing it is.”
“It is certainly a very fine specimen,” said Mrs. Merton; “but it is of
the kind called tangle, which is common everywhere. The frond, or leafy
part, has been found in some places twenty feet long, and as broad as
the leaf of a plantain, to which, you see, it bears considerable
resemblance.”
“Here is a piece of the winged fucus,” said Mr. Merton, “which though
rare here, is common in Scotland, where we call it Badder-locks or
Henware. Look, Agnes,” continued he, addressing his daughter, “do you
observe the strong projecting rib that runs up the middle of the
leaf?—that part is frequently eaten in the North; and in some places
the flat part is eaten also.”
“Eaten!” cried Agnes, very much surprised.
“Yes,” returned her father, “I assure you that this mid-rib, when
stripped of its outer covering, affords a very important article of
food to the poorer inhabitants of the northern islands of Scotland.”
Agnes looked at the plant which she held in her hand. “What a curious
plant it is!” said she: “here is its root; but it seems to have only
leaves: has it any flowers?”
“No,” replied Mr. Merton; “this is one of the cryptogamous plants; that
is, one of those plants which have neither flowers nor seeds.”
“No seeds!” cried Agnes: “how, then, are the young plants produced?”
“By means of what are called sporules, which serve instead of seeds.”
“And what is the difference,” said Agnes, “between these sporules and
seeds?”
“Every seed,” said Mr. Merton, “contains an embryo,—that is, a
miniature plant,—which has one or two leaves, a root, and, generally,
an ascending shoot, quite small, and curiously folded up, but still
plainly to be distinguished, either by the naked eye, or with a
microscope. Now a sporule has no embryo, and no traces of a plant can
be discovered in it till it has begun to grow.”
“I am afraid that I do not quite understand you, papa,” said Agnes.
“It can hardly be expected that you should,” said Mrs. Merton; “but it
will be sufficient for you to remember that cryptogamous plants have no
flowers, and no regularly formed seeds.”
[Illustration:
_Fig. 9._
WINGED FUCUS. BLADDER FUCUS. TANGLE.
]
“You will observe, Agnes,” said Mr. Merton, “that this sea-weed does
not grow in the earth, like a land plant, but it is merely attached to
any stone or other object that it finds in the sea, to which it fixes
itself by means of its clasping roots.”
Agnes now dropped her long plant of tangle, which, it must be
confessed, was very troublesome to carry, and which was loaded with the
sand that adhered to it as she swept it along the beach; and, instead
of it, she picked up a smaller piece of what she found to be the common
Bladder-Fucus.
“This,” said Mr. Merton, “is one of the commonest of all the kinds of
sea-weed; and its popular name is Sea-wrack. It is very abundant in the
western isles of Scotland; where it is gathered in great quantities for
making kelp.”
“And what is kelp, papa?” Agnes asked.
“It is the ashes which remain after burning the Sea-wrack,” said Mr.
Merton; “and which were formerly constantly used in making glass, and
also in making soap. Large quantities of iodine are still obtained from
them.”
“Oh, I remember that iodine!” cried Agnes: “that was the medicine that
did you so much good when your knee was so dreadfully swollen.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Merton; “it is now given in all cases of swollen
joints; and it is said to remove even the goitres.”
Agnes did not ask any explanation of this; for she remembered that the
goitres are swellings in the throat, to which the inhabitants of
Switzerland, and other mountainous countries, are particularly liable:
and her father then informed her that kelp is now little used since the
duty has been taken off salt; as that and other forms of soda, and some
other alkalies, which now pay but little duty, have been found to be
more efficacious, in making both soap and glass, than kelp. “The
Sea-wrack, however,” he continued, “is still collected, chiefly for
manuring the land; though it is still used as a winter food for cattle,
and sometimes for human beings.”
When Agnes heard this, she put a little bit into her mouth; but she
found, though it had a salt taste, it was too tough to be eaten without
difficulty, and she therefore amused herself with clapping the
air-vessels in the fronds between her hands, as she went along, for she
liked to hear them crack. The party now returned home to their dinner,
after which Mr. Merton lay down on the sofa, and Mrs. Merton and Agnes
walked out again on the beach, to enjoy the roaring of the waves and
the delightful breezes from the sea. It was now nearly dark, and
nothing could be grander than the manner in which the waves rose up,
and foamed, and curled as they beat against the beach, looking, as
Agnes said, like Neptune’s horses.
Mrs. Merton and her daughter stood for some time watching the gradual
advance of the waves, when they were startled by a large Newfoundland
dog which brushed past them, and almost knocked Agnes into the sea.
Mrs. Merton was very much alarmed, and instantly went farther back to a
safer place; and then they saw a young man in a shooting-jacket, with a
gun in his hand, advance and take their former position. The young man
was evidently the master of the dog, which he was urging as much as
possible to go into the sea; but the dog, in spite of all his efforts,
stood still, wagging his tail and looking up in his master’s face, but
without making any effort to jump into the water; though the gentleman
threw several stones in, one after another, crying “Hoy, Neptune, fetch
it out my boy! fetch it out!”
“What can be the reason that the dog will not take the water?” said
Mrs. Merton, addressing an old fisherman who stood by her. “I thought
Newfoundland dogs had been particularly fond of the sea. Is it possible
that the dog being brought up in a town can make any difference?”
“The dog,” said the old sailor, “knows it’s no use going into the sea
when the tide is coming in, with a wind in shore. He would be dashed
all to pieces against the rocks in no time. Those dumb creatures have
more sense than a Cockney any day.”
The young man, apparently tired of his fruitless exertions, now
whistled his dog off, and climbing up the bank went off over the cliffs.
“What is he going to shoot?” said Mrs. Merton.
“Razor-bills and willocks,” said the old man. “There’s plenty of them
here; but I have a notion the birds will not mind him any more than the
dog did.”
“What queer names for birds,” cried Agnes; “I never heard those names
before. How I should like to see the birds!”
“Come here, miss,” said the old man, “and I’ll show them to you;” and
giving her his hand he helped her down some of the rocks, and lifted
her over others, till he placed her in a situation where she distinctly
saw a large guillemot or willock, as the man called it, sitting by
itself on the bare ledge of the rocks.
[Illustration: THE GUILLEMOT]
“Oh! dear,” cried Agnes, “what a curious bird that is. I never saw
anything like it in all my life.”
“And those are young ones,” said the man, pointing down to some little
creatures, looking like young ducks, dabbling in the sea beneath.
“But how can they ever get there?” cried Agnes, astonished at the
almost immeasurable height at which the old bird appeared to sit above
the young ones.
“The old ones carry them down on their backs,” said the old man.
This appeared perfectly incomprehensible to Agnes; but she had already
learnt by her travels not to laugh at things because she did not
comprehend them; and she therefore said nothing, while the man helped
her back to the place where her mother was waiting for her.
“I can’t show miss a razor-bill to-night,” said the man, “without going
a good way; for every bird keeps its rock to itself.”
Mrs. Merton now gave the man something for his trouble, and they
returned to the hotel, where they found Mr. Merton waiting tea for them.
Agnes was quite delighted to tell her papa what she had seen; “but I
suppose,” said she, “what the old man said about the old birds carrying
down the young ones on their backs, could not be true.”
“It appears very strange, certainly,” said Mr. Merton, “but my friend,
Mr. Waterton, who I believe knows more about birds than any other man
living, has often told me the same thing.”
“Can you tell me anything more about these birds?” asked Agnes.
“The bird you saw,” said Mr. Merton, “is generally called the foolish
guillemot, because it lays its egg on the bare rock, without any nest.
I say its egg, for each female bird is said to lay only one; on which
she sits, in an upright, and, in what appears to us, a most awkward
position, till the egg is hatched; which is generally about a month.
The young birds are at first covered with a sort of yellow down, mixed
with bristly hair; and, as they sit on narrow ledges of rock, only a
few inches in breadth, it seems wonderful how they can help tumbling
into the sea.”
“But, if each bird lays only one egg, I wonder there are so many young
ones,” said Agnes; “for I should think that a great many eggs must be
broken or stolen.”
“It is said that, if the female guillemot loses her egg, she lays
another; and, if that goes, another; so that she always has one egg to
sit upon; just as a spider is enabled to form several new webs, if you
destroy its old ones, though it would not have made the first any
larger or stronger if it had been left unmolested. Would you like to
see a willock’s egg, Agnes?”
“Very much indeed.”
Mr. Merton rang the bell; and, at his desire, the waiter procured an
egg of one of these birds from an old woman who lived in the
neighbourhood; and who, after boiling the eggs to make them keep, had
them for sale. This egg Mr. Merton purchased, and gave Agnes. It was
very large, and of a pear-shape; and its colour was a fine bluish
green, blotched and streaked with reddish brown and black.
“I cannot imagine how the people can get these eggs,” said Agnes;
“since they are laid on such narrow ledges of rock, and at such a
height above the sea.”
“It is indeed astonishing,” said Mr. Merton; “but the young men who are
brought up to the sea acquire early, wonderful activity of limbs and
steadiness of nerves; so that they can climb crags almost as easily as
you or I can walk on level ground. Besides, as most of them are very
poor, they are glad to get a few pence by the sale of these eggs, and
do not mind incurring some danger.”
“I am sure I never could accomplish such a feat,” said Agnes.
“Not at once,” said her mother; “but, if it were necessary for you to
learn to climb crags, you might easily do so by practising a little
every day; as there are very few things, indeed, that patience and
perseverance will not accomplish in time.”