The Itchen flows into the estuary of Southampton Water, and from its
western shores spreads far away the domain of the New Forest, stretching
down into the south-western part of Hampshire. This is a remnant of the
forests that once covered the greater part of the island, and is the
most extensive left in the English lowlands. It was made a royal forest
by William the Norman, and thus continues to the present time, the
largest tract of uncultivated land and one of the finest examples of
woodland scenery in the kingdom. It covers almost the whole surface
between Southampton Water and the Avon, which is the western border of
Hampshire, but in recent years its area has been gradually curtailed,
though its extent has never been accurately measured. Stretching about
fifteen miles from east to west and twenty miles from north-west to
south-east, it includes about ninety-one thousand acres, of which
twenty-six thousand belong to private landowners, two thousand are the
absolute property of the Crown, and the remaining sixty-three thousand
acres have common and other rights due to a large number of tenants,
though the title is in the Crown. About twenty-five thousand acres are
covered with timber, but only five thousand acres of this is old timber,
the remainder having been planted with trees within the last two hundred
years. The surface is gently undulating, becoming hilly in the northern
parts; the soil is usually arid, and the scenery discloses wide expanses
of heathery moor, often marshy in the lower grounds, with here and there
copses that gradually thicken into woodland as the true forest district
is approached. The chief trees are oak and beech, which attain to noble
proportions, while there are occasional tufts of holly and undergrowth.
[Illustration: NEW FOREST, FROM BRAMBLE HILL.]
[Illustration: RUFUS'S STONE.]
Almost in the centre of the forest is the village of Lyndhurst, regarded
as the best point of departure for its survey--a hamlet with one long
street and houses dotted about on the flanks of a hill, the summit of
which is adorned by a newly-built church of red brick with bath-stone
dressings. Within this church is Sir Frederick Leighton's fresco of the
"Wise and Foolish Virgins." In the ponderous "Queen's House," near the
church, lives the chief official of the forest, and here are held the
courts. Formerly, this official was always a prince royal and known as
the lord warden, but now his powers are vested in the "First
Commissioner of Woods and Forests:" here the poacher was in former days
severely punished. The New Forest was originally not only a place for
the king's pleasure in the chase, but it also furnished timber for the
royal navy, though this fell into disuse in the Civil War. Subsequently
parts were replanted, and William III. planted by degrees six thousand
acres with trees. The great storm of 1703 uprooted four thousand fine
trees, and then again there was partial neglect, and it was not until
within a half century that a serious effort was made to fully restore
the timber. There have now been ten thousand acres planted: a nursery
for young trees has been established, and about seven hundred acres are
annually planted, the young oaks being set out between Scotch firs,
whose more rapid growth protects the saplings from the gales, and when
they are able to stand alone the firs are thinned out. About four miles
north of Lyndhurst and beyond Minstead is Rufus's Stone. Around Minstead
Manor the land has long been enclosed and cultivated, and looks as
little like a wild forest as can be imagined, while northward the ground
rises to the top of Stony Cross Hill, disclosing one of the finest views
in this region, looking down over a wide valley, with cultivated fields
on its opposite sides and woodland beyond, gently shelving to
Southampton Water, of which occasional glimpses may be had. There is an
abundance of woodland everywhere, checquered by green lawns. At our back
is the enclosed park, within which some intrenchments mark the site of
Castle Malwood, where tradition says that William Rufus passed the night
previous to his death. The king just before dawn aroused his attendants
by a sudden outcry, and rushing into the chamber they found him in such
agitation that they remained there until morning. He had dreamed he was
being bled, and that the stream from his veins was so copious that it
rose to the sky, obscuring the sun. The daylight also brought other
omens: a foreign monk at the court had been dreaming, and saw the king
enter a church, seize the rood, and rend it with his teeth; the holy
image at first submitted to the insult, then struck down the king, who,
while prostrate, vomited fire and smoke which masked the stars. The
king, whose courage had returned with daylight, made light of the monk's
tale, though he did not go to hunt as usual that morning, but after
dinner, having taken liberal drafts of wine, rode out with a small
party, including Walter Tyril, lord of Pontoise, lately arrived from
Normandy. They hunted throughout the afternoon, and near sunset the
king and Tyril found themselves alone in a glade below the castle. A
stag bounded by, and the king unsuccessfully shot at him; then another
ran past, when Tyril shot his arrow, bidden, as tradition says, by the
king "in the devil's name." The arrow struck William Rufus full in the
chest, and he dropped lifeless. Tyril, putting spurs to his horse,
galloped westward to a ford across the Avon into Dorsetshire. Soon after
a charcoal-burner named Purkis, whose descendants still live in the New
Forest, came past, found the king's body, and, placing it on his cart,
bore it, still bleeding, to Winchester. Tyril's arrow had glanced from a
tree, which long existed, but, decaying centuries afterward, Rufus's
Stone was set up to mark the spot. This became mutilated, and has been
enclosed in an iron casing, with copies of the original inscriptions on
the outside. It is now a cast-iron pillar about five feet high, with a
grating at the top, through which may be seen the stone within. It
stands on a gentle slope, not quite at the bottom of the valley, with
pretty scenery around. Tyril got his horse shod at the Avon ford, for
which offence the blacksmith afterwards paid an annual fine to the
Crown. He was not very hotly pursued, however, and made his escape into
Normandy, where he sturdily denied that the arrow was shot by him at
all, laying the blame to a conspiracy of the king's enemies, of whom he
had many.
Southward from Lyndhurst the road goes over undulating ground and
through magnificent oaks and beeches to Brockenhurst, past a heronry at
Vinney Ridge. This section contains some of the finest trees in the
forest, with plenty of dense holly and an occasional yew. The ground
discloses the bracken fern, and gray lichen clings thickly to the trunks
and branches of the trees. The woodland views along this road are
splendid, and only need the wild animals of a former era to bring back
the forest-life of mediaeval times. Off to the eastward, standing on the
little river Exe, are the foliage-clad ruins of Beaulieu Abbey, founded
by King John, and now held by the Duke of Buccleuch, who has a mansion
near by. Here was buried John's mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, and here
came the widow of Warwick the King-maker, after the battle of Barnet,
for sanctuary. Perkin Warbeck when defeated also took refuge at
Beaulieu, where he surrendered on promise of mercy. The abbey is a wreck
now, for after its dissolution we are told that its stones "went to
build Henry VIII.'s martello tower at Hurst, and its lead to repair
Calshot" on Southampton Water, while the gate-house serves as the
entrance to the modern ducal mansion, and the refectory is the parish
church. Here are the tombs of Mary Dore and Mary Do. The former was a
noted witch, "who could transform herself into a hare or cat, and
afflict or cure all the cattle in the neighborhood." The latter is
credited with more celestial attributes in the obituary that survives
her than were allotted her unfortunate companion; and the acrostic
inscription on her tomb is often quoted:
"Merciless fate (to our greate griefe and woe)
A prey hath here made of our deere Moll Do,
Rapte up in duste and hid in earthe and claye,
Yet live her soule and virtues now and aye;
Death is a debt all owe which must be paide
Oh that she knew, and of it was not afraide!"
[Illustration: BROCKENHURST CHURCH, WITH THE FAMOUS YEW AND OAK.]
To the westward of Beaulieu is Brockenhurst, a pretty forest village,
along whose main street we are told the deer formerly galloped on a
winter's night, to the great excitement of all the dogs therein. The
forest almost blends with the village-green, and on a low artificial
mound stands its church, with traces of almost every style of
architecture since the Conquest, and guarded by a famous yew and oak. At
Boldre, near Brockenhurst, lived Rev. W. Gilpin, the vicar of the
parish, the author of several works on sylvan scenery, and reputed to be
the original of the noted _Dr. Syntax_, who made such a humorous "Tour
in Search of the Picturesque." He now lies at rest under a maple
alongside his church, in which Southey was married. Ringwood is the
chief town of the western forest-border upon the level plain that forms
the Avon Valley where Tyril escaped across the ford. It is not a very
interesting place. A little way up the river, near Horton, "King
Monmouth" was captured after Sedgemoor, and from Ringwood he wrote the
abject letters begging his life from King James, who turned a deaf ear
to all entreaty. Alice Lisle, who was judicially murdered by Judge
Jeffreys for sheltering two refugees from that battle, also lived at
Moyle Court, near Ringwood. The chief inn is the "White Hart," named in
memory of Henry VII.'s hunt in the New Forest, where the game, a white
hart, showed fine running throughout the day, and ultimately stood at
bay in a meadow near the village, when, at the intercession of the
ladies, the hounds were called off, the hart secured, given a gold
collar, and taken to Windsor. The inn where the king partook of
refreshments that day had its sign changed to the White Hart. It was at
Bisterne, below Ringwood, that Madonie of Berkeley Castle slew the
dragon, for which feat King Edward IV. knighted him--a tale that the
incredulous will find confirmed by the deed still preserved in Berkeley
Castle which records the event, confers the knighthood, and gives him
permission to wear the dragon as his badge.