Next morning, soon after breakfast, we went on shore to pay a visit to
the dockyard. On entering, papa was desired to put down his name; and
the man seeing that he was a captain in the navy, we were allowed to go
on without a policeman in attendance, and nearly lost ourselves among
the storehouses and docks. As we walked past the lines of lofty sheds,
we heard from all directions the ringing clank of iron, instead of, as
in days of yore, the dull thud of the shipwright's mallet, and saw the
ground under each shed strewed with ribs and sheets of iron ready to be
fixed to the vast skeletons within. Papa could not help sighing, and
saying that he wished "the days of honest sailing ships could come back
again." However, he directly afterwards observed, "I should be sorry to
get back, at the same time, the abuses, the wild doings, and the
profligacy which then prevailed. Things have undoubtedly greatly
improved, though they are bad enough even now."
Tramways and railways, with steam locomotives, run in all directions.
Formerly, papa said, the work was done by yellow-coated convicts with
chains on their legs. They have happily been removed from the dockyard
itself, and free labourers only are employed. Convicts, however, are
still employed in various extensive public works.
Of course we visited Brunel's block machinery, which shapes from the
rough mass of wood, with wonderful accuracy and speed, the polished
block fit for use. Huge lathes were at work, with circular saws and
drills, sending the chips of wood flying round them with a whizzing and
whirring sound. So perfect is the machinery that skilled artisans are
not required to use it. Four men only are employed in making the
shells, and these four can make with machinery as many as fifty men
could do by hand. On an average, nineteen men make one hundred and
fifty thousand blocks in the course of the year.
Leaving the block house, we went to the smithy, where we saw Nasmyth's
steam hammer, which does not strike like a hammer, but comes down
between two uprights. On one side is a huge furnace for heating the
material to be subjected to the hammer. Papa asked the manager to place
a nut under it, when down came the hammer and just cracked the shell.
He then asked for another to be placed beneath the hammer, when it
descended and made but a slight dent in the nut.
Soon afterwards a huge mass of iron, to form an anchor, was drawn out of
the furnace; then down came the hammer with thundering strokes, beating
and battering it until it was forced into the required shape, while the
sparks flying out on all sides made us retreat to a safer distance.
One of the largest buildings in the dockyard is the foundry, which is
considered the most complete in the world. We looked into the sheds, as
they are called, where the boilers for the ships are constructed, and
could scarcely hear ourselves speak, from the noise of hammers driving
in the rivets. Many of the boilers were large enough to form good-sized
rooms. We walked along the edge of the steam basin. It is nine hundred
feet long and four hundred broad. The ships, I should have said, are
built on what are called the building slips, which are covered over with
huge roofs of corrugated iron, so that the ships and workmen are
protected while the building is going forward.
Before leaving we went into the mast-house, near the entrance to the
yard. Here we saw the enormous pieces of timber intended to be built
into masts--for masts of large ships are not single trees, but composed
of many pieces, which are bound together with stout iron hoops. Here
also were the masts of ships in ordinary. They would be liable to decay
if kept on board exposed to the weather. Each mast and yard is marked
with the name of the ship to which it belongs. The masts of the old
Victory are kept here, the same she carried at Trafalgar. Not far off
is the boat-house, where boats from a large launch down to the smallest
gig are kept ready for use.
We looked into the Naval College, where officers go to study a variety
of professional subjects. When papa was a boy the Naval College was
used as the Britannia now is--as a training-school for naval cadets.
Finding an officer going on board the Excellent--gunnery ship--we
accompanied him. We were amused to find that the Excellent consists of
three ships moored one astern of the other, and that not one of them is
the old Excellent, she having been removed. Our friend invited us to
accompany him on board an old frigate moored a little way up the
harbour, from which we could see some interesting torpedo experiments.
As we pulled along he gave us an explanation of the fish torpedo--a
wonderful instrument of destruction which has been invented of late
years. It is a cylinder, which carries the explosive material at one
end and the machinery for working the screw which impels it at the
other. It can be discharged through a tube with such accuracy that it
can strike an object several hundred yards off. On getting on board the
old frigate, we found a large party of officers assembled. We were to
witness the explosion of two other sorts of torpedoes. One was used by
a steam launch, the fore part of which was entirely covered over by an
iron shield. The torpedo was fixed to the end of a long pole, carried
at the side of the launch. At some distance from the ship a huge cask
was moored, towards which the launch rapidly made her way. The pole,
with the torpedo at the end, was then thrust forward; the concussion
ignited it the instant it struck the cask and blew it to fragments.
Another launch then approached a large cask floating with one end out of
the water, to represent a boat. An officer stood up with a little ball
of gun-cotton in his hand, smaller than an orange, to which was attached
a thin line of what is called lightning cotton, the other end being
fastened to a pistol. As the launch glided on he threw the ball into
the cask. The boat moved away as rapidly as possible, when the pistol
being fired, in an instant the cask was blown to atoms. What a fearful
effect would have been produced had the innocent-looking little ball
been thrown into a boat full of men instead of into a cask!
Another experiment with gun-cotton was then tried. A piece not larger
than a man's hand was fastened to an enormous iron chain fixed on the
deck of the ship. We were all ordered to go below, out of harm's way.
Soon afterwards, the gun-cotton having been ignited by a train, we heard
a loud report; and on returning on deck we found that the chain had been
cut completely in two, the fragments having flown about in all
directions.
The chain of a boat at anchor was cut by means of a piece of gun-cotton
fixed to it, and ignited by a line of lightning cotton fired from one of
the launches. This showed us how the chain-cable of a ship at anchor
might be cut; while a torpedo boat might dash in, as she was drifting
away with the tide and the attention of her officers was engaged, to
blow her up.
The chief experiments of the day were still to come off. We saw a
number of buoys floating in various directions some way up the harbour.
A launch advanced towards one, when the buoy being struck by the pole,
the charge of a torpedo some twenty yards away was ignited, and the
fearful engine exploding, lifted a huge mass of water some thirty or
forty yards into the air. How terrible must be the effects when such a
machine explodes under a ship! As soon as the torpedoes had exploded,
the boats pulled up to the spot, and picked up a large number of fish
which had been killed or stunned by the concussion--for many did not
appear to be injured, and some even recovered when in the boats.
Papa, though very much interested, could not help saying that he was
thankful these murderous engines of war had not been discovered in his
time. It is indeed sad to think that the ingenuity of people should be
required to invent such dreadful engines for the destruction of their
fellow-creatures. When will the blessings of the gospel of peace be
universally spread abroad, and nations learn war no more?
We next pulled over to the Gosport side, to visit the Royal Clarence
Victualling Establishment, which papa said was once called Weovil. Here
are stored beef and other salted meats, as well as supplies and
clothing; but what interested us most was the biscuit manufactory. It
seemed to us as if the corn entered at one end and the biscuits came out
at the other, baked, and all ready to eat. The corn having been ground,
the meal descends into a hollow cylinder, where it is mixed with water.
As the cylinder revolves a row of knives within cut the paste into
innumerable small pieces, kneading them into dough. This dough is taken
out of the cylinder and spread on an iron table, over which enormous
rollers pass until they have pressed the mass into a sheet two inches
thick. These are further divided and passed under a second pair of
rollers, when another instrument cuts the sheets into hexagonal
biscuits, not quite dividing them, however, and at the same time
stamping them with the Queen's mark and the number of the oven in which
they are baked. Still joined together, they are passed into the ovens.
One hundredweight of biscuits can be put into one oven.
On the Gosport side we went over some of the forts, which are of great
extent. The longest walk we took was to Portsdown Hill, for the sake of
visiting the Nelson Monument. On it is an inscription:--
To the Memory of
Lord Viscount Nelson.
By The Zealous Attachment Of All Those Who
Fought At Trafalgar--To Perpetuate
His Triumph And Their Regret.
mdcccv.
We had a magnificent view from the top of the monument, looking
completely over Gosport, Portsmouth, and Southsea, with the harbour at
our feet, and taking in nearly the whole line of the Isle of Wight, with
the Solent, and away to the south-east, Saint Helen's and the English
Channel. Later on we pulled five miles up the harbour, to Porchester
Castle, built by William the Conqueror. For many centuries it was the
chief naval station of the kingdom, modern Portsmouth having sprung up
in the reign of Henry the First, in consequence of Porchester Harbour
filling with mud.
It was here, during the war with Napoleon, that several thousands of
French prisoners were confined, some in the castle, and others on board
the bulks. They, of course, did not like to be shut up, and many
attempting to escape were suffocated in the mud. They were but scantily
supplied with provisions, though they were not actually starved; but a
French colonel who broke his parole wrote a book, affirming that on one
occasion an officer who came to inspect the castle, having left his
horse in the court-yard, the famished prisoners despatched the animal,
devouring it on the spot; and, by the time the owner returned, the
stirrup-irons and bit alone remained!
Portsmouth is a very healthy place, although from its level position it
might be supposed to be otherwise. It has a wide and handsome High
Street, leading down to the harbour.
The Fountain, at the end of the High Street, no longer exists as an inn,
but has been converted by Miss Robinson into a Soldiers' and Sailors'
Institute. We went over the whole establishment. At the entrance are
rooms where soldiers and sailors can see their friends; and then there
is a large bar, where, although no intoxicating drinks can be obtained,
tea, coffee, and beverages of all sorts are served. Near it is a large
coffee-room. Passing through the house, we entered a very nice garden,
on the right of which there is a bowling-green and a skittle-alley; and
we then came to a very handsome hall which serves for religious
meetings, lectures, concerts, teas, and other social gatherings. There
were also rooms in which the men can fence or box. A large reading-room
(with a good library) and Bible-classroom are on the second floor; and
at the top of the house are dormitories, making up a considerable number
of beds for soldiers, as also for their wives and families, who may be
passing through Portsmouth either to embark or have come from abroad.
There is a sewing-room for the employment of the soldiers' wives. A
Children's Band of Hope meets every week. There is even a smoking-room
for the men, and hot or cold baths. Indeed, a more perfect place for
the soldier can nowhere be found. Miss Robinson herself resides in the
house, and superintends the whole work, of which I have given but a very
slight description. I should say that this most energetic lady has also
secured several houses for the accommodation of soldiers' families, who
would otherwise be driven into dirty or disreputable lodgings.
Another philanthropist of whom Portsmouth is justly proud is John
Pounds, who though only a poor shoemaker, originated and superintended
the first ragged school in the kingdom. Near the Soldiers' Institute is
the John Pounds' Memorial Ragged School, where a large number of poor
children are cared for. It is very gratifying to know that many of our
brave soldiers and sailors are also serving under the great Captain of
our salvation, and fighting the good fight of faith, helped in so doing
by good servants of God.
The town of Portsmouth was until lately surrounded by what were called
very strong fortifications; but the new works have rendered them
perfectly useless, and they are therefore being dismantled--a great
advantage to the town, as it will be thrown open to the sea-breezes.
A light breeze from the eastward enabled us to get under weigh just at
sunrise, and to stem the tide still making into the harbour. Sometimes,
however, we scarcely seemed to go ahead, as we crept by Block House Fort
and Point Battery on the Portsmouth side.
Once upon a time, to prevent the ingress of an enemy's fleet, a chain
was stretched across the harbour's mouth. We had got just outside the
harbour when we saw a man-of-war brig under all sail standing in. A
beautiful sight she was, her canvas so white, her sides so polished!--on
she stood, not a brace nor tack slackened. Papa looked at her with the
affection of an old sailor. It was an object which reminded him of his
younger days. "You don't see many like her now," he observed.
Presently, as she was starting by us, a shrill whistle was heard. Like
magic the sails were clewed up, the hands, fine active lads--for she was
a training vessel--flew aloft, and lay out on the yards. While we were
looking, the sails were furled; and it seemed scarcely a moment
afterwards when we saw her round to and come to an anchor not far from
the Saint Vincent. "That's how I like to see things done," said papa.
"I wish we had a hundred such craft afloat; our lads would learn to be
real seamen!"
He and Paul were so interested in watching the brig, that for the moment
their attention was wholly absorbed. As we got off the Southsea pier we
began to feel the wind coming over the common; and being able to make
better way, quickly glided by the yachts and small vessels anchored off
it, when we stood close to one of those round towers I have described,
and then on towards Spithead.
Spithead is so called because it is at the end of a spit or point of
sand which runs off from the mainland. We passed close over the spot
where the Royal George, with nine hundred gallant men on board,
foundered in August, 1782. She was the flag-ship of Admiral
Kempenfeldt. He was at the time writing in his cabin, where he was last
seen by the captain of the ship, who managed to leap out of a stern port
and was saved, as was the late Sir Philip Durham, port-admiral of
Portsmouth, then one of the junior lieutenants. The accident happened
from the gross negligence and obstinacy of one of the lieutenants. In
order to get at a water-cock on the starboard side, the ship had been
heeled down on her larboard side, by running her guns over until the
lower deck port-sills were just level with the water. Some casks of rum
were being hoisted on board from a lighter, bringing the ship still more
over. The carpenter, seeing the danger, reported it to the lieutenant
of the watch, who at first obstinately refused to listen to him. A
second time he went to the officer, who, when too late, turned the hands
up to right ship, intending to run the guns back into their former
places. The weight of five or six hundred men, however, going over to
the larboard side completely turned the hitherto critically balanced
scale; and the ship went right over, with her masts in the water. The
sea rushing through her ports quickly filled her, when she righted and
went down, those who had clambered through the ports on her starboard
side being swept off. Two hundred out of nine hundred alone were saved.
Among these was a midshipman only nine years old, and a little child
found fastened on to the back of a sheep swimming from the wreck. He
could not tell the names of his parents, who must have perished, and
only knew that his name was Jack, so he was called John Lamb. None of
his relatives could be found, and a subscription was raised and people
took care of him, and having received a liberal education, he entered an
honourable profession.
Some years ago the remains of the ship were blown up by Sir C. Pasley,
and many of the guns recovered. Close to the spot, in the days of bluff
King Harry, the Mary Rose, after an action with a French ship, went down
with her gallant captain, Sir George Carew, and all his men, while his
crew were attempting to get at the shot-holes she had received.
In 1701, the Edgar, 74 guns, which had just arrived from Canada, blew
up; her crew and their friends were making merry when they, to the
number of eight hundred, miserably perished.
While at anchor here also, the Boyne, of 91 guns, caught fire. All
efforts to put out the flames were unavailing; but the greater number of
her crew escaped in boats. As she drifted from Spithead towards
Southsea, her guns continued to go off, until touching the shore, she
blew up with a tremendous explosion.
The ships at Spithead now are of a very different appearance from those
formerly seen there. Among them was the Minotaur, which, in consequence
of her great length, is fitted with five masts. Just as we were passing
her she got under weigh, papa said, in very good style; and certainly,
when all her canvas was set, she looked a fine powerful sea-going craft.
The Devastation came out of the harbour, and stood on towards Saint
Helen's. She certainly looked as unlike our notions of a man-of-war as
anything could be, though, as Paul Truck observed, "she would crumple up
the Minotaur in a few minutes with her four thirty-five ton guns,
powerful as the five-masted ship appears."
Though she looked only fit for harbour work, Paul said that she had been
out in heavy weather, and proved a fair sea-boat. The only place that
people live on, when not below, is the hurricane-deck. In this centre
structure are doorways which can be closed at sea. They lead down into
the cabins below, as well as to the hurricane-deck, out of which rise
the two funnels and an iron signal-mast. This is thick enough to enable
a person to ascend through its inside to a crow's-nest on the top, which
serves as a look-out place. From it also projects the davits for
hoisting up the boats. On the hurricane-deck stands the captain's
fighting-box, cased with iron. Here also is the steering apparatus and
wheel. When in action, all the officers and men would be sent below
except the helmsmen, who are also protected, with the captain and a
lieutenant, and the men inside the turrets working the guns. These are
so powerful that they can penetrate armour six inches thick at the
distance of nearly three miles.
We brought-up for a short time at the end of Ryde Pier, as papa wished
to go on shore to the club. The pier-head was crowded with people who
had come there to enjoy the sea-breeze without the inconvenience of
being tossed about in a vessel. The town rises on a steep hill from the
shore, with woods on both sides, and looks very picturesque. To the
west is the pretty village of Binstead, with its church peeping out
among the trees.
We were very glad, however, when papa came on board, and we got under
weigh to take a trip along the south coast of the island. The wind and
tide suiting, we ran along the edge of the sand-flats, which extend off
from the north shore, passing a buoy which Paul Truck said was called
"No Man's Land." Thence onwards, close by the Warner lightship.
As we wanted to see a lightship, the yacht was hove-to, and we went
alongside in the boat. She was a stout, tub-like, Dutch-built-looking
vessel, with bow and stern much alike, and rising high out of the water,
which is very necessary, considering the heavy seas to which she is at
times exposed. The master, who knew Paul Truck, was very glad to see
us, and at once offered to show us all over the vessel.
The light was in a sort of huge lantern, now lowered on deck; but at
night it is hoisted to the top of the mast, thirty-eight feet above the
water, so that it can be seen at a distance of eight miles. It is what
is called a reflecting light. I will try and describe it.
Within the lantern are a certain number of lights and reflectors, each
suspended on gimbals, so that they always maintain their perpendicular
position, notwithstanding the rolling of the vessel. Each of these
lights consists of a copper lamp, placed in front of a saucer-shaped
reflector. The lamp is fed by a cistern of oil at the back of the
reflector. This being a revolving light, a number of reflectors were
fixed to the iron sides of a quadrangular frame, and the whole caused to
revolve once every minute by means of clockwork. The reflectors on each
side of the revolving frame--eight in number--are thus successively
directed to every point in the horizon; and the combined result of their
rays form a flash of greater or less duration, according to the rapidity
of their revolution. In the fixed lights eight lamps and reflectors are
used, and are arranged in an octagonal lantern; they do not differ much
in appearance from the others.
The master told us that the invention was discovered very curiously. A
number of scientific gentlemen were dining together at Liverpool--a
hundred years ago--when one of the company wagered that he would read a
newspaper at the distance of two hundred feet by the light of a farthing
candle. The rest of the party said that he would not. He perhaps had
conceived the plan before. Taking a wooden bowl, he lined it with
putty, and into it embedded small pieces of looking-glass, by which
means a perfect reflector was formed; he then placed his rushlight in
front of it, and won his wager. Among the company was Mr William
Hutchinson, dock-master of Liverpool, who seizing the idea, made use of
copper lamps, and formed reflectors much in the same way as the
gentleman before mentioned.
Everything about the ship was strong, kept beautifully clean, and in the
most admirable order. The crew consists of the captain and mate, with
twelve or fourteen men, a portion of whom are on shore off duty. The
life is very monotonous; and the only amusement they have is fishing,
with reading and a few games, such as draughts and chess. They had only
a small library of books, which did not appear very interesting. Papa
left them a few interesting tracts and other small books, and gave them
a short address, urging them to trust to Christ, and follow His example
in their lives. They listened attentively, and seemed very grateful.
They have a large roomy cabin, and an airy place to sleep in. The
captain has his cabin aft, besides which there is a large space used as
a lamp-room, where all the extra lamps and oil and other things
pertaining to them are kept. They seemed happy and contented; but when
a heavy gale is blowing they must be terribly tossed about. Of course
there is a risk--although such is not likely to occur--of the vessel
being driven from her moorings. In case this should happen, they have
small storm sails, and a rudder to steer the vessel. When this does
happen it is a serious matter, not only to those on board, but still
more so to any ships approaching the spot, and expecting to find
guidance from the light.
Standing on, we passed close to the Bembridge or Nab Light-vessel. This
vessel carries two bright fixed lights, one hoisted on each of her
masts, which can be seen at night ten miles off, and of course it can be
distinguished from the revolving Warner light. Farther off to the west,
at the end of a shoal extending off Selsea Bill, is another lightship,
called the Owers.
Having rounded Bembridge Ledge, we stood towards the white Culver
cliffs, forming the north side of Sandown Bay, with lofty downs rising
above Bembridge. Near their summits are lines of fortifications,
extending westward to where once stood Sandown Castle, near which there
is now a large town, although papa said he remembered when there was
only a small inn there, with a few cottages. On the very top of the
downs is a monument erected to Lord Yarborough, the king of yachtsmen,
who died some years ago on board his yacht, the Kestrel, in the
Mediterranean. He at one time had a large ship as his yacht, on board
which he maintained regular naval discipline, with a commander, and
officers who did duty as lieutenants. It was said that he offered to
build and fit out a frigate, and maintain her at his own expense, if the
government would make him a post-captain off-hand, but this they
declined to do.
Standing across the bay, we came off a very picturesque spot, called
Shanklin Chine, a deep cut or opening in the cliffs with trees on both
sides. Dunnose was passed, and the village of Bonchurch and Ventnor,
climbing up the cliffs from its sandy beach. We now sailed along what
is considered the most beautiful part of the Isle of Wight,--the
Undercliff. This is a belt of broken, nearly level ground, more or less
narrow, beyond which the cliffs rise to a considerable height, with
valleys intervening; the downs in some places appearing above them.
This belt, called the Undercliff, is covered with trees and numerous
villas.
At last we came off Rocken End Point, below Saint Catherine's Head.
This is the most southern point of the island. On it stands a handsome
stone tower, 105 feet high, with a brilliant fixed light upon it. The
village of Niton stands high up away from the shore.
It now came on to blow very fresh. There was not much sea in the
offing; but, owing to the way the tide ran and met the wind, the bottom
being rocky, the water nearer the shore was tossed about in a most
curious and somewhat dangerous fashion, for several "lumps of sea," as
Truck called them, came flop down on our deck; and it was easy to see
what might be the consequences if an open boat had attempted to pass
through the Race. Paul told us that good-sized vessels had been seen to
go down in similar places. One off Portland is far worse than this in
heavy weather.
Farther on is a curious landslip, where a large portion of the cliff
once came down, and beyond it is Blackgang Chine, a wild, savage-looking
break in the cliffs, formed by the giving way of the lower strata.
Farther to the west, towards Freshwater Gate, the cliffs are
perpendicular, and of a great height, the smooth downs coming to their
very edge.
Some years ago a picnic party, who had come over from Lymington, had
assembled on that part of the downs, having come by different
conveyances. Among them was a boy, like one of us--a merry fellow, I
dare say. After the picnic the party separated in various directions.
When the time to return had arrived, so many went off in one carriage,
and so many in another. In the same way they crossed to Lymington in
different boats. Not until their arrival at that place was their young
companion missed, each party having supposed that he was with the other.
What could have become of him? They hoped against hope that he had
wandered far off to the east, and had lost his way. Then some of the
party recollected having seen him going towards the edge of the cliff.
He was a stranger, and was not aware how abruptly the downs terminated
in a fearful precipice. It was too late to send back that night. They
still hoped that he might have slipped down, and have lodged on some
ledge. At daybreak boats were despatched to the island. At length his
mangled remains were found at the foot of the highest part of the cliff,
over which he must have fallen and been dashed to pieces. Papa said he
recollected seeing the party land, and all the circumstances of the
case.
Here, too, several sad shipwrecks have occurred, when many lives have
been lost. A few years ago, two ladies were walking together during a
heavy gale of wind, which sent huge foaming billows rolling on towards
the shore. One, the youngest, was nearer the water than the other, when
an immense wave suddenly broke on the beach, and surrounding her,
carried her off in its deadly embrace. Her companion, with a courage
and nerve few ladies possess, rushed into the seething water, and
seizing her friend, dragged her back just before the hungry surge bore
her beyond her depth, Papa gave us these anecdotes as we gazed on the
shore. We had intended going completely round the island; but the wind
changing, we ran back the way we had come, thus getting a second sight
of many places of interest.
It was dark before we reached the Nab; but steering by the lights I have
described, we easily found our way towards the anchorage off Ryde. At
length we sighted the bright light at the end of the pier, and we kept
it on our port-bow until we saw before us a number of twinkling lights
hoisted on board the yachts at anchor. It was necessary to keep a
_very_ sharp look-out, as we steered our way between them, until we came
to an anchorage off the western end of the pier.
The next morning, soon after daybreak, when we turned out to enjoy a
swim overboard, we saw, lying close to us, a fine sea-going little
schooner, but with no one, excepting the man on watch, on deck. We had
had our dip, and were dressing, when we saw a boy spring up through the
companion hatch, and do just what we had done--jump overboard.
"I do declare that must be Cousin Jack!" cried Oliver. "We will
surprise him."
In half a minute we had again slipped out of our clothes, and were in
the water on the opposite side to that on which the schooner lay. We
then swam round together; and there, sure enough, we saw Jack's ruddy
countenance as he puffed and blew and spluttered as he came towards us.
"How do you do, Brother Grampus?" cried Oliver.
In another moment we were all treading water and shaking hands, and
laughing heartily at having thus met, like some strange fish out in the
ocean. Greatly to our delight, we learned that the schooner we had
admired was Uncle Tom Westerton's new yacht, the Dolphin; and Jack said
he thought it was very likely that His father would accompany us, and he
hoped that he would when he knew where we were going.
This, of course, was jolly news. We could not talk much just then, as
we found it required some exertion to prevent ourselves being drifted
away with the tide. We therefore, having asked Jack to come and
breakfast with us, climbed on board again. He said that he would gladly
do so, but did not wish to tell his father, as he wanted to surprise
him.
A short time afterwards, Uncle Tom Westerton poked his head (with a
nightcap on the top of it) up the companion hatchway, rubbing his eyes,
yawning and stretching out his arms, while he looked about him as if he
had just awakened out of sleep. He was dressed in a loose pair of
trousers and a dressing-gown, with slippers on his feet.
"Good morning to you, Uncle Tom!" shouted Oliver and I.
"Hullo! where did you come from?" he exclaimed.
"From Portsmouth last. This is papa's new yacht; and we are going to
sail round England," I answered.
Just then papa, who had no idea that the Dolphin was close to us, came
on deck. The surprise was mutual.
Uncle Tom and Jack were soon on board; and during breakfast it was
settled that we should sail together round England, provided papa would
wait a day until uncle could get the necessary provisions and stores on
board; and in the mean time we settled to visit Beaulieu river and
Cowes, and at the latter place the Dolphin was to rejoin us next day.
We, as may be supposed, looked forward to having great fun. We had
little doubt, although the Lively was smaller than the Dolphin, that we
could sail as fast as she could, while we should be able to get into
places where she could not venture.
As soon as breakfast was over, while the Dolphin stood for Portsmouth to
obtain what she wanted, we got under weigh, and steered for the mouth of
Beaulieu river. On our way we passed over the Mother Bank, a shoal off
which vessels in quarantine have to bring up; and here are anchored two
large mastless ships,--one for the officers and men of the quarantine
guard, the other serving as a hospital ship. We next came off Osborne,
where the Queen lives during the spring,--a magnificent-looking place,
with trees round three sides, and a park-like lawn descending to the
water's edge. Before the Queen bought it, a good-sized private house
stood here, belonging to a Mr Blackford, whose widow, Lady Isabella,
sold it to Her Majesty. A small steam yacht lay off the land, ready to
carry despatches or guests.
Bounding Old Castle Point, we opened up the harbour, and came in sight
of the West Cowes Castle, and the handsome clubhouse, and a line of
private residences, with a broad esplanade facing the sea, and wooded
heights rising above it; and beyond, looking northward, a number of
villas, with trees round them and a green lawn extending to the water.
The harbour was full of vessels of all descriptions, and a number of
fine craft were also anchored in the Roads. We thought Cowes a very
pleasant-looking place. It was here that the first yacht club was
established. The vessels composing it are known _par excellence_ as the
"Royal Yacht Squadron;" and a regatta has taken place here annually for
more than half a century. Ryde, Southampton, and Portsmouth, indeed
nearly every seaport, has now its clubhouse and regatta. The chief are
Cowes, Ryde, Torquay, Plymouth, Cork, Kingston, and the Thames. Each
has its respective signal flag or burgee. That of Cowes is white, of
Ryde red, and most of the others are blue, with various devices upon
them. At Cowes, some way up the harbour, on the west side, are some
large shipbuilding yards. Here a number of fine yachts and other
vessels are built. Mr White, one of the chief shipbuilders, has
constructed some fine lifeboats, which are capable of going through any
amount of sea without turning over; and even if they do so, they have
the power of righting themselves. He has built a number also to carry
on board ships, and very useful they have proved on many occasions.
Ships from distant parts often bring up in the Roads to wait for orders;
others, outward-bound, come here to receive some of their passengers.
Very frequently, when intending to run through the Needle passage, they
wait here for a fair wind, so that the Roads are seldom without a number
of ships, besides the yachts, whose owners have their headquarters here,
many of their families living on shore.
We agreed, however, that we were better off on board our tight little
yacht, able to get under weigh and to go anywhere without having to wait
for our friends on shore.
Leaving Cowes harbour on our port quarter, we stood for Leep Buoy, off
the mouth of the Beaulieu River. Hence we steered for the village of
Leep, on the mainland. Truck knowing the river well, we ran on until we
came to an anchor off the village of Exbury. Here it was thought safer
to bring up, and proceed the rest of the distance in the boat. The
river above Exbury becomes very narrow, and we might have got becalmed,
or, what would have been worse, we might have stuck on the mud.
We pulled up for some miles between thickly-wooded banks,--indeed, we
were now passing 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 shipwright'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 shore,
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. Passing through a
gateway we observed the massive 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, encompassed 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, asserts 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 tithes, 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 Dick 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 class and the ignorance and superstition 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 mass 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
institutions 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 seamanship, we managed to avoid so disagreeable an occurrence,
and once more passing 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 anchored 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 distinguishing 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 shores 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 Hampshire, from
Southampton Water to the borders of Dorsetshire. 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
anchored, or rather beached, on the mud near the mouth of the river, and
serves as a coastguard station.
The wind shifting, 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.
Passing the pleasant little town of Yarmouth, the wind once more
shifting enabled us to lay our course direct for Hurst Castle. We
passed 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 shore
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 shores an enemy's ship 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 glasses the powerful line of
fortifications, both on the Hurst beach and along the shore 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 shores. 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 scraping
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 passage.
As we stood close into the shore, 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 Shingles, 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 Scratchells 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.
Further round is a large cavern, in which it is said a Lord Holmes--a
very convivial noble and Governor of Yarmouth Castle--used to hold his
revels with his boon companions. But were I to book all the stories we
heard, I should fill my journal with them.
When we were a short distance outside the Needles, a superb steam
frigate passed us with topsails and top-gallant sails set, steering down
channel. Papa looked at her with a seaman's eye. "Well--well, though
she is not as beautiful as an old frigate, she looks like a fine
sea-boat, and as well able to go round the world as any craft afloat,
and to hold her own against all foes."
Just at sunset, a light wind blowing, we took the bearings of the
Needles and Hurst lights, and stood for Swanage Bay, on the Dorsetshire
coast.