To enter the generally placid stretch of sea known as Southampton Water, in the early morning of a summer’s day or at sunset, past the crooked nose of land on which Calshot Castle stands, whether it be aboard a Castle liner or a forty-footer, is an experience of great charm. We know of few wide stretches of sea water which are so beautiful and so interesting, or where the effects of morning mists and the rose and gold of sunset skies are seen with greater charm. And as one advances up the Channel past the mouth of the pretty Hamble River, and Netley towards Hythe, where so many bring up (though with small craft it is possible to sail on past Millbrook to Redbridge and enter the Test), glimpses are seen of the edge of the distant New Forest and the green-grey trimming to the Hythe shore.

Nowadays Southampton Water is, indeed, a busy, though silent, highway, for along it pass all kinds of craft from the wherry to the stately Atlantic liner; from the white-sailed racing cutters to the barges with red-brown canvas and a look of the Thames and Rochester about them, with dingy colliers and rust-red “tramps” as a foil to pleasure craft. Different nowadays, indeed, is the Water from what it was when frigates and seventy-fours spread their wide expanse of snowy canvas to catch the light north and north-westerly airs which came down from the Hampshire highlands, and when trading brigs and East Indiamen crept up with the flood.

Hythe, but for an excess of mud which is the bugbear of most tidal estuaries, is as good a place off which to bring up as any seafarer could wish. In its sleepy narrow streets, quaint houses, and picturesque gardens lies a charm which is very grateful after a week or two on salt water. The townlet, which clings, as it were, to the outskirts of the New Forest, with its feet all the while in the water, is rightly enough beloved of artists, who, in the quaint old-time roofs and walls of its houses and cottages and its amphibious inhabitants, find types and inspiration. Here, in the flesh and in a garb which generally contains tacit concessions to the joint needs of shore life and sea life, one meets characters which might have stepped out of the pages of W.W. Jacobs’s Sunwich Port. Descendants of the men who half a century or so ago, at the darkling of the moon, made their way up the silent stretch of water, with boats loaded to the gunwales with contraband spirits, tea, and silks (after surreptitious visits to French luggers in the offing off Eaglehurst), and who, upon safe landing at dead of night, melted away with their packhorse trains into the solitudes and thickets of the New Forest.

There still hangs a romantic flavour around old-world Hythe which places it in sharp contrast to its big, up-to-date, bustling neighbour across the water. From Hythe, too, one may push one’s way up to Redbridge, in gig or dinghy, and thence onward, through green, flower-decked meadows and past rush-grown pools, with a background of swelling, wooded uplands, to historic Romsey, with its abbey (founded in 907 by Edward the Elder), which saw the coming of the Norman conquerors and knew also what terror marked the inroads of the Danes.

Southampton, the “Liverpool of the South,” whose now ruinous and picturesque walls once did such excellent service against the French pirates of long ago, and, indeed, probably saved, not alone the town, but also the county from being sacked and over-run with fire and sword, retains many historic memories in spite of the bustling spirit of modern commerce which now pervades it.

The history of the town dates from the far-off times of the Roman occupation, at a period far anterior to the date of the Christian era. Of this occupation and of the possession of the surrounding country by the Roman legions of Julius CÆsar and his successors there have been many evidences discovered in recent and former times within the confines of the town. The pulling down of ancient buildings, the making of sewers, and excavations for dock extensions have often resulted in the discovery of beautiful ornaments and burnt clay vessels dating from Roman times. And there also exist traces of the Roman road which led from Southampton northward to Winchester, and of the Roman fortified camp of Clausentum hard by at Bitterne on the River Itchen.

The first authentic record of the Saxon occupation of the town, then known as “Hanton,” “Hantune,” or “Old Hampton,” occurs in the ninth century, when the place would appear, from existing chronicles and records, to have been one of considerable importance. Several authorities, indeed, ascribe the protecting walls, and the castle and keep, situated in the north-western corner of the town, to the Saxons. Of these things, unhappily, but few traces now remain. The town, with its sheltered harbour and its rising prosperity, did not escape the attention of the Danes, who, at various times during the ninth and tenth centuries, proved such scourges to the various places on the south coast. The town, in fact, might almost have been considered at those periods as a landing-place or base from which the Danes ravaged the surrounding country and directed their attacks upon Winchester and other inland towns.

During the reigns of Ethelwolf, about 838, and Ethelbert, about 860, so well carried out were the raids of these Danish pirates, and so large was the force taking part in them, that even inland Winchester itself was reached along the ancient Roman road and plundered.

To antiquarians the fact that in the reign of Athelstan, 928, two mints were set up at Southampton will be evidence of its size and importance, and doubtless the existence of these money-making institutions had not a little to do with the fact that a few years later the Danes again made one of their descents upon the town and plundered it without mercy. Edmund Ironside, in consequence of the hold these invaders succeeded in getting upon the country, had on the decease of Ethelred to consent to a division of it with the Danish King.

During the reign of King Canute in the following century, when the Anglo-Danish Government was firmly established, Southampton was made the principal Royal residence, and, at any rate, traditionally there are many spots in the town associated with the name of this ruler. Several places in the neighbourhood of Southampton—Lymington, for one—claim to be the scene of King Canute’s historical rebuke to his courtiers. Tradition, however, places the spot at Canute’s Point, a projecting spit of land at the mouth of the Itchen.

Regarding the incident to which we have referred we cannot do better than quote Camden, who himself derived his information from that old chronicler Huntingdon. By him we are told that the king, “having caused his chair to be placed on the shore as the tide was coming in,” said to the latter, “Thou art my subject, and the ground I sit on is mine, nor can any resist me with impunity. I command thee, therefore, not to come up on my ground nor wet the soles of the feet of thy master.” But the sea, immediately coming up, wetted his feet, and he, springing back, said, “Let all the inhabitants of the earth know how weak and frivolous is the power of princes; none deserves the name of king but He whose will heaven, earth, and sea obey by an eternal decree.” “Nor,” we are told, “would he ever afterwards wear his crown, but placed it on the head of the crucifix.”

This tale, like that of the heroic Sir Bevis of Southampton (who conquered the thirty-foot high giant) and his squire Ascupart, which is inshrined in a ballad and in chap-books, may perhaps be mythical to a high degree; there are however stirring stories connected with the ancient port which may be accepted as being founded upon actual facts.

The Hanton of Danish piratical raids, burned and ravaged by those terrible scourges of our eastern and southern coasts, was, however, destined to be rebuilt again and again, and eventually become one of the great ports of the Western world and the locale of an extensive passenger traffic.

After the Danes there came from far Genoa, sailing the stormy waters of the Mediterranean and the wild stretch of the Bay of Biscay, other marauders scarcely less dreaded or less cruel; and then, when Hanton was more able to resist and when commerce came flowing towards the island kingdom from the scattered nations of the east, there sailed up the ten miles of blue-green water, so lovely and changeful as to inspire poets, the rich argosies and galleys laden with stuffs, carpets, wines, woods, gold, silver, and gems.

Since the days when Norman William defeated Saxon Harold on the bloody field of Senlac the history of Southampton becomes much more authentic and clearly defined. Indeed, in the years immediately following the Norman Conquest its importance, from its nearness to the coast of France and of Normandy and its splendidly protected harbour, was more than ever appreciated, and it soon became a favourite port of embarkation for the Norman kings on their way from England to their French duchy.

With the coming of renewed and greater prosperity the religious houses and institutions, which had suffered so severely at the hands of the Danes during the times of internecine disorder, were rebuilt, reorganised, and restarted on their careers of ecclesiastical and charitable usefulness. Many of the old churches and monasteries, of which there were not a few in the town and neighbourhood, were reopened, and in the reign of Henry I (1124) the Priory of St Dionysius was founded. The ancient walls were strengthened and rebuilt, and the castle was styled a Royal fortress by Stephen, and in the following reign the town received its Charter of Incorporation, which subsequent monarchs down to Henry VI on various occasions confirmed.

Henry VIII was, as we have already seen, keenly convinced of the value of fortifications, and after a visit paid to the town, in company with unfortunate Anne Boleyn, the defences of the town in general and the walls in particular were by his directions put into a better state. In addition the king gave a “great piece of ordnance” (a valuable gift in those days), which is still preserved and venerated; but if Henry, by these acts and the building of that outer work of defence, Calshot Castle, did something to preserve the lives and property of the citizens from foreign attack, a little later in his reign, when the suppression of the religious houses was undertaken, the town and immediate neighbourhood suffered as severely as any part of the south of England from the doings of Thomas Cromwell and his abettors. The abbeys of Beaulieu, Netley, and St Denys, the Grey Friary and other charities were suppressed, and their revenues, accumulated wealth, and priceless treasures in the shape of plate and reliquaries were seized, and whatever abuses existed, and doubtless many did, Southampton was in many ways the poorer for the confiscation.

It was one of the several places in the counties of Hants and Dorset which benefited by the liberality of King Edward VI in the matter of a Foundation Grammar School. The visit of the king and his reception at the hands of the townsfolk in 1552 was of so satisfactory a character that a Free Grammar School was founded and a building erected in Bugle Street was used for the purpose until as recent a date as 1896, when the school was transferred to a more commodious home in West Marlands. The old school building nowadays is used for the purposes of the Court for the county magistrates. Southampton was visited by “Good Queen Bess” on several occasions, and the present arms of the town date from August 4, 1575, when the Queen granted them by a patent. In them are incorporated a shield bearing the county roses, supported by two lions rampant. The shield itself is surmounted by a castle, out of which rises “a quene, in her imperial majestie, holding in the right hand the sword of justice, in the left the balance of equitie.” In addition to these appear also “two ships-proper on the sea.”

Charles I and his Court and Council came and stayed at Southampton in the first year of his reign to escape the plague, and whilst here the King renewed and extended the charter, possibly, as was often the case, for a valuable consideration.

Just forty years later the town was visited by the plague, and not only did the inhabitants die off by thousands, but the place was brought to a terrible condition of desolation and want. As in many other towns of Hampshire and the adjacent county of Dorset, a public subscription was opened, and the King (Charles II) himself headed it with a handsome donation.

Since the times to which we have thus briefly referred many Royal persons have visited Southampton, adding, by their visits, to its prosperity and prestige; but their doings have not been of engrossing interest to any save the townsfolk, and call for no detailed reference here.

Of long-past times, when knight and squire and man-at-arms passed along the High Street, which to the present day has preserved something of its old-time quaintness, and beneath the Bar Gate to the waterside, from whence they used to embark on board the transports of that day for the French wars of Edward III and Henry V, there remain many traces. Of the interesting imposing town walls which formerly enclosed the place there are—more especially along the west shore—considerable, though somewhat ruinous, portions left standing.

Once washed at high tide they are now separated from the water’s edge by a wide roadway and promenade. The walls, which are about forty feet in height, are embattled, and pierced for the discharge of arrows and firearms by the defenders. One of the most prominent features of this stretch of wall along the west shore is the fine, high corner tower—but alas! much spoiled and hidden by the modern inn literally built on to it—known as the Arundel Tower, from the fact that considerable repairs were made to the original structure in the latter half of the fifteenth century by one Thomas FitzAlan, Earl of Arundel. It was with the idea of protecting this tower from the action of the sea (which until quite comparatively recent times washed its base at every tide) that the lightermen of Southampton were by ancient custom enjoined to carry stone from the Isle of Wight and deposit it on the shore near the walls to counteract and break the force of the water.

Almost midway between the northern and southern extremities of this stretch of wall is another semi-circular tower, with a high parapet, which rejoices in the somewhat singular name of the Catch Cold Tower. Further southward along the wall stood the fourteenth-century entrance to the town known as the Bridle Gate, at the foot of Simnel Street, leading up from the waterside to the base court of the castle. The keep, a circular tower, stood on a high mound of made earth. Hard by is one of the most interesting survivals of former times, an exceptionally well-preserved vault of the late Norman period, possibly the wine store of the castle, and bearing on the stone sides of the doorway marks, we have ourselves seen, caused most probably by the porters’ shoulders as they passed through with their loads, and just beyond this is a stretch of arcaded wall, the arches of which are in different styles, on top of which runs a parapet and a walk for the sentry to pass along.

This piece of the old walls contains traces of several interesting Norman windows and doors dating from about the twelfth century. The new battlemented top afforded complete protection to the defenders and permitted them easily to cover with their arrows or shot an approaching enemy.

It is through one of the arches we have referred to—several of which were probably open for the purpose of affording means of ingress and egress for the townsfolk—that the interesting building commonly known as King John’s Palace is reached. Historians are fairly well agreed that this almost unique building—a Norman dwelling house—with its thick rough walls, tiny windows and rough-hewn rafters, was the king’s house attached to the neighbouring castle in the reign of King John, even if not used as such by other Sovereigns. An inspection of the National Records provides a considerable amount of information concerning its repair at various times, safe custody, and the fact that it was esteemed as a Royal residence. In an adjacent wall are the remains of a fine Norman fireplace, by the side of which it is even likely that Henry I waited in November, 1120, for news of the White Ship and his son, Prince William, who was drowned by its wreck off the French coast. The West Gate is another deeply interesting relic of long ago, and forms the remaining building of interest contiguous to this portion of the old town walls.

There are many scattered traces of the walls still discoverable, notably near the Royal Southern Yacht Club House, close to what is known as the Water Gate, and adjoining the God’s House Tower in the south-east portion of the anciently enclosed town and the Polymond Tower to the north-east.

The famous God’s House, Hospital, and Chapel, although the ancient house has been sadly modernized, is one of the most interesting blocks of buildings in Southampton. The last-named is also known as the French Church, or St Julian’s, from the fact that it was devoted to the use of French Protestant refugees. In the chapel lie buried the bodies of three distinguished men of Henry V’s reign, the Earl of Cambridge, Lord Scrope of Masham, and Sir Thomas Grey of Heaton, whose conspiracy and execution form a stirring incident in Shakespeare’s play, Henry V.

It was whilst the king was waiting with his assembled host in 1415 for a favourable wind to carry them to the invasion of France that a conspiracy to murder him was discovered, in which the three persons we have just mentioned were implicated. In those stirring times trials were speedily gone through, and within a very few hours of the discovery of the ringleaders in the plot they had been tried, condemned, and executed outside the Bar Gate.

Although God’s House has been modernized and has not such architectural interest as, say, the Earl of Leicester’s Hospital, Warwick, St Cross, Winchester, and others we could name, it yet forms a good example of the ancient hospitals, or alms houses, and is amongst one of the oldest still remaining in England. The chapel dates from the latter end of the twelfth century, and is in the Transitional Norman style of architecture. It is only fair to say that the restoration, so far as the interior is concerned, has been very carefully and sympathetically done. The exterior has been cased, and this, of course, has destroyed much of its interest. The chancel arch is almost Early English in character, and the doorways are of the round-headed type; and at the eastern end there is a piscina of (probably) thirteenth century workmanship.

The date of the foundation of the hospital is not certain, but it is popularly thought to have been sometime during the reign of Henry III. In the year 1332 Edward III confirmed the various grants which had been made in connexion with it, but two years later conveyed it at his queen’s instigation to the then recently founded College of Queen’s Hall, Oxford, which still holds the patronage. The ancient house buildings have now passed away, and their place has been taken by others more in keeping with modern ideas as to convenience and sanitation.

The chapel, as we have already stated, happily survives. In the reign of Elizabeth, and possibly even before that time, it was given as a place of worship for the refugees who had fled from Catholic persecution and Spanish tyranny in the Netherlands. But in the reign of Charles II complaints having been made that English Nonconformists used the place as a refuge against the harsh laws which then pressed so heavily upon them, and a complaint also having been lodged by residents in the Channel Islands that their fellow countrymen were prejudiced against the English Liturgy by the Nonconformists attending the chapel, it was ordered that in future the Liturgy and service should be conducted in the French language as at the chapel of the Savoy in London; and the service is so performed down to the present day.

The East Gate of the town as long ago as 1773 proved so great an obstruction to commerce and traffic that it was pulled down. It was not of any great historical, architectural, or antiquarian interest, and had probably been at various times “tinkered” so that little of its original features, or even materials, remained at the time of its demolition.

Southampton’s most notable and impressive survival of medieval times is found at the northern extremity of the ancient walled town, where the new town may be said to meet the old. It stands—as did Temple Bar—an interesting, though incongruous, survival amidst the noise and throng of twentieth-century traffic, houses, and bustle. Known anciently as the “Barred” Gate (corrupted eventually into the name “Bargate” it now bears), it is undoubtedly one of the “Bars of Hampton” which we find mentioned as far back as the twelfth century.

Although portions of the Bargate are of widely different periods—the arches which span the roadway and two footpaths—for example, it is still preserved very much as it stood in medieval times, and forms a most interesting example of Norman architectural work. The north front is wonderfully well preserved, and the projecting buttresses and finely-moulded arch, with the picturesque front of semi-octagonal shape, with heavy machicolations, form a very striking object on approach. This front is of somewhat later date than the central part of the gate, and the lions sejeant, now placed on either side once stood on the bridge at the far side of the ditch which ran outside.

In the reign of Queen Elizabeth a Guildhall was formed in the chamber above the main entrance gate, and this has been at various times enlarged and improved, and is now used as a police court. On the northern side it is lighted by the ancient arrow-slit windows from which approach was opposed. The justices’ room, with its uncompromising benches, where the sessions are held, contains several interesting relics of former times, among them the two paintings said to be those of the far-famed giant Sir Bevis, whose sword is preserved in the armoury of Arundel Castle, who played so great a part in medieval romance and ballads, and of his Squire Ascupart. The exploits of these two personages are of a distinctly legendary and even mythical character, but they figure considerably in the history of the town. The paintings were formerly exhibited outside on the walls of the gate tower. The ditch outside the gate was a double one, spanned by a stone bridge, which existed until a comparatively late period. The bank which extended between the two ditches was anciently set aside as an archery ground with targets where the bowmen of the town used to practise. The original Bargate was undoubtedly Saxon or early Norman, consisting of a large, square central tower, with two round flanking towers, the semi-octagonal front having been erected probably somewhere about the fourteenth century. This ancient structure is undoubtedly one of the chief attractions for the archÆologist in Southampton. Its existence has been several times of late years threatened by those who regard it as an obstruction to the traffic and commerce of the town, but hitherto the attempt to secure its demolition has failed, and it is to be hoped that the gate may be spared as an almost unique (so far as the southern counties are concerned) specimen of medieval architecture of its kind.

Although in comparatively recent times there were many other interesting Norman and fifteenth century buildings, or remains of them, in the town, some palaces of kings and princes, others fine houses of rich merchants of long ago, there remain but few and scattered traces of them nowadays.

Of ecclesiastical buildings St Michael’s Church, dating from the commencement of the twelfth century, and still retaining many of its original features, is the chief. The tower is, probably, the oldest portion of the church, the nave and aisles being of considerably later date than the original building. The latter suffered several times at the hands of the French pirates, whose descents proved such terrifying experiences for the townsfolk in the early part of the fourteenth century. The nave was burned by these marauders in 1338, and much damage was done to the other parts of the building. There are several interesting features in the interior; a very ancient font of black limestone and a small collection of chained books never fail to arouse the interest of the antiquarian. The lofty modern spire somehow strikes an inappropriate note when seen in contrast with the somewhat “squat” building, but as a landmark it has its uses.

That the Southampton of long ago was a much more picturesque and even more interesting town than that of to-day is easily understood. Leland, who was, perhaps, rather inclined to err on the side of awarding too warm praise to the places he visited and liked, refers to it in his Itinerary as possessing in the reign of Henry VIII “one of the fairest streates that ys yn any town of al England, and yt is well builded for Timbre Building,” and the impression made on the youthful King Edward VI was of a town which had “for the bigness of it as fine houses as be at London.”

In those days, too, the wealthy merchants of Southampton almost rivalled those of Bristol and Plymouth.

Southampton of to-day may be described as a fairly picturesque town, though modernity and convenience, rather than beauty, distinguish the suburbs, which are so constantly extending on all sides landward; but yachting folk find it a pleasant port, and, moored off pretty and quaint Hythe within reasonable distance of the Royal Pier, can pass a week-end or even longer comfortably enough.

Almost every seaport has its distinguishing feature, and a long acquaintance with Southampton inclines one to think that the mingling of the old with the very new is what strikes the observer most forcibly. But the greatness and spirit of Southampton is not really fully realised until one stands amid the vast docks which cover so many acres. It is interesting to imagine what the merchant-shippers of former times, whose vessels were brought alongside wooden jetties and rickety wharves, would say could they but see the immense docks, colossal cranes, and busy quays of this twentieth century town.

Here craft of all kinds come and go, taking in and discharging cargoes from every quarter of the globe, bringing to the twelfth largest port of the kingdom the wines of the south and the rich and varied merchandise of Africa, India, China, the two Americas, the West Indies, and the countries of the Levant. Amid the docks, wharves, workshops, shipbuilding yards, boiler factories, and huge, unlovely warehouses of the waterside portions of the town, it is possible to realize to some small extent the ocean-going commerce and widely spread empire of the seas held by Great Britain.

With the ever-increasing dock extensions, Southampton each year becomes less of a pleasure town and more a great centre of commerce, carrying trade and passenger traffic overseas.

Coming up the Water, at sunset, as one gazes at the lowering, smoke-hung town ahead, with its forests of masts pencilled against the lemon-hued sky, it has a strange, pictorial beauty that full daylight denies to it. The beauty of a great port half-slumbering, half-awake, with a myriad lights creeping out one by one to challenge the silvery stars.

But Southampton Water, with all its charm, will, sooner or later, be left behind by the true vagabond of the sea, and, once Calshot is rounded, one passes along the yellow, shingly shore, with its dark belt of woods heading for Lepe, and the mouth of the Beaulieu River. This somewhat tortuous and difficult tidal way takes one into the heart of Hampshire’s most lovely creek. Need’s Oar Point is well named, as many have found after getting on the delusive mud of Beaulieu Spit, and one is lucky, if the tide is making out, to get so far before the ebb becomes too strong. With the flood, which will not keep one waiting more than three or four hours, and a favouring breeze one can soon run up as far as the bend of the river just below Buckler’s Hard, where there are moorings, snug enough so long as no craft comes drifting down with the stream.

There is nothing in the south of England quite like Beaulieu River, or, perhaps, one should say like that portion of it which lies between the Solent and Beaulieu Abbey bridge, nine miles inland. Above the bridge all the various little streams of the Forest, which have filtered through bogs, meadows, and marshes, come together in a vast mere, the result partly of the natural narrowing of the valley, partly of some old monkish engineering works, and the overplus of this fresh water pours ultimately over the weir opposite the palace gate into the lower level of the salt water river. Above the bridge are water-lilies, rushes, and fresh water weeds and plants, and below it seaweed and saltings. Then for a course of nine miles there flows a broad, rapid, winding stream on its way to the distant sea through woods and meadows gay with flowers. Here, then, is a river left with sylvan banks undisfigured by either towing-path or factories, and whose grey-green waters are unvexed by fussy tugs or begrimed barges.

About five miles up from the sea is St Leonards, once a part of the abbey domain. From close by one gets one of the finest views for miles round, with peeps of Hurst Castle, the Needles’ passage, and distant Spithead, and the Isle of Wight itself, to the south, stretched out widely east and west.

The ruins of St Leonards consist of a portion of the walls of a great granary fully 220 feet in length and 50 feet in width, which is now covered with ferns sprouting from every crevice, and a beautiful little chapel, the walls, floor, and windows of which are covered with a mass of plants, weeds, and creepers. Both gables of the chapel are still standing, and from beneath the ivy peep out remains of rich carved niches and tracery. In its decay the deserted sanctuary presents a lovely picture, for flowers blossom on the walls—amongst which are to be found dog roses, cranesbill, yellow barberry, wallflowers and brambles. The ancient farmhouse, the garden of which the chapel adjoins, is a handsome old house containing low, comfortable rooms, and a row of dormer windows in the roof; and the lover of the picturesque should certainly visit lovely, though ruinous, St Leonards.

In Beaulieu River there are four tides, not two, and thus it presents a rapidly changing aspect of silvery flood and ebb, which at times leaves much of the bed bare with patches of yellow gravel and here and there little pools and saltings, where seafowl and birds disport themselves and feed, and glistening squadrons of white-plumed swans sail statelily to and fro.

Into this river, with its tiny winding creeks, which, in some instances, seem to run up into the woods themselves, in ancient times crept Danish galleys and French pirates intent upon attacking and despoiling the rich, peacefully situated, and beautiful Abbey of Beaulieu, of which, alas! few traces now remain; and thus it was that later in the history of the little red-bricked village which lies at the head of this romantic waterway, one John, Duke of Montagu, fortified his Palace of Beaulieu with moat and towers and battlements against the dreaded attack of the French privateers, who, slipping into the Solent between the Needles and Hurst Castle, made occasional raids up the Beaulieu River.

The beautiful woods which for miles clothe the river banks are probably not less ancient than the most historic portion of the New Forest itself, for there seems little doubt that the land here was wooded ground since the beginning of history. So broad is the river but a little distance below Beaulieu that, apart from the tides, there is little to suggest that it is other than an inland lake; and certainly nothing in its silent tree-clad hills to apprise the wanderer along its banks, either upwards from the sea or downwards from Beaulieu, of the existence of the strange, half-deserted village which suddenly comes upon the view round a sharp Z-like bend of the river.

Almost hidden from the sight and knowledge of man are the picturesque, though melancholy, remains of the little village which a century ago was a busy hive of industry and a veritable cradle of the British Navy of Nelson’s time; but in the single street of red-bricked dwellings, once more numerous, now weathered by the sun and wind of the passing years, is a memorial, melancholy but romantic, of the days of “the wooden walls of old England,” when the great shadow of Napoleon dominated Europe. Here nowadays, so far off the beaten track, lie fragments of the great shipbuilding yard which once flourished on the banks of Beaulieu River, and its story is worth the telling.

In the middle of the eighteenth century John, Duke of Montagu, who, in addition to his lands in this retired corner of Hampshire, owned the vast and prosperous Sugar Island of St Vincent, and inherited the rights of the ancient abbots of Beaulieu to a free harbour upon the river, conceived the idea of making a seaport upon its banks at Buckler’s Hard. His methods were characterized by great perspicacity, and soon the grants of land which he was prepared to make at a merely nominal rent, and free delivery of timber, proved the means of starting what afterwards became not only a prosperous, but also a famous, community. The name, Buckler’s Hard or Quay, was derived from a local family called Buckler, who, however, were not destined to become connected with the shipbuilding industry.

Favoured by the fact that the spot was close to an immense store of magnificent timber, then, as now, growing in the New Forest, and to the famous Iron Works of Sowley, it was scarcely surprising that the duke’s scheme ultimately turned out quite as satisfactorily as he had expected. The noble owner of the river advertised widely the fact that ships could leave it in any wind, thus demonstrating the advantages that it had over other places such as Bristol on the Severn, and some of the ports of the Thames.

This and other claims which he made had the effect of attracting to the place a firm called Wyatt and Co. In September, 1743, the Surprise, of twenty-four guns, the first battleship built upon the river, was launched. At this time the little village, which sprang up to meet the needs of the shipbuilding industry thus started, was, apparently out of compliment to its founder, known as Montagu Town; but every important reference to the place in historical records and other works is by its first name, Buckler’s Hard, and the other name must have speedily fallen into disuse.

With a rapidity which was almost magical, there sprang up rows of houses, slips, forges, and shipbuilding yards. And soon this spot of then almost primeval solitude, where oaks old and young grew side by side almost to the water’s edge, and where but for the weird and plaintive cry of seagull or peewit, and the boom of the bittern, there reigned unbroken silence, was transformed into a scene of bustle and activity, with the sound of hammer and anvil and the hum of many voices. In this secluded creek, in the dark hours of England’s need, when she stood almost alone in combating the relentless advance of the great Napoleon, were built some of the most famous ships that have ever played their part in English naval warfare. From the time of the launch of the Surprise, which was put into commission in May, 1750, when war was declared against France, to the time when the great war ended, ship after ship was launched from Buckler’s Hard, destined afterwards to play a gallant part in the struggle by sea, which only ended with Napoleon’s defeat at Trafalgar and Waterloo.

The first vessel launched, though comparatively small, had a crew of 160 men, and was at first commanded by Captain Antroby, and was destined to play a creditable part in stirring events by sea, for the Surprise captured several French vessels, amongst the number the well-known Vieux, and was actively engaged in the Mediterranean during part of her commission.

In the designing and building of many succeeding ships one family, Adams by name, seems to have played the most prominent part. The name of Henry Adams, who, when thirty years of age, undertook the control of the shipbuilding yards, which he directed for the lengthy period of sixty-two years, first appears in a deed dated 1801, made for the firm of Adams and Co. The success of the Surprise appears to have led to the greatest activity at Buckler’s Hard, and on the hillside above the winding river quite a small town grew, the importance of which will be more easily understood when it is remembered that at the time of its great prosperity upwards of 4,000 men were engaged in the yards.

From the sloops, which was the type of the first craft built, the designers proceeded by natural stages to frigates, and then battleships, which were towed down the river and round to Portsmouth to be fitted out and manned. The Surprise, of 1743, was succeeded by the Scorpion, of eighteen guns, three years later; and after a period of three years by the Woolwich, of forty-four guns. After this came the Kennington, Lion, and Mermaid, the second named having sixty guns. The Gibraltar followed in 1756, and on her first cruise captured the Glaneur, a handsome, swift, heavily armed, and strongly manned privateer, which was bought in by the Navy and renamed the Gibraltar Prize. The following year saw the launch of the Coventry, and the next year of a big frigate, the Thames, carrying thirty-two twelve-pounders. This latter ship saw a great deal of service and captured a large number of privateers from the enemy, but was at last unfortunately forced to strike her flag to the French owing to the enormous superiority of the attacking force. Whilst in the possession of the enemy she proved not less successful than when manned by British seamen and made prizes of no fewer than twenty English ships, but in 1796, after a great fight, she was recaptured, and fifteen years later, in company with the Cephalus, made a prize of eleven French gunboats and a felucca without loss, and a short time afterwards landed her marines in Sicily and, supported by men of the 62nd Regiment, defeated the French and captured a town.

A few years later the Europe, which was destined to be the flagship of the fleet in Newfoundland Waters under Vice-Admiral John Montagu, was launched; and other vessels of large tonnage, including the Vigilant, a sixty-four gun battleship of 1,374 tons, came from the Buckler’s Hard yards. The memory of one at least of the vessels, the Garland, of twenty-eight guns, was perpetuated in a ballad sung in those days by West Indian negroes, which ran—

Two vessels bearing the name of Hannibal, an honoured one in the British Navy, were launched from Buckler’s Hard, but the first had the misfortune to be captured at Sumatra by the French, who handed her crew over to the tender mercies of Tippoo Sahib, and many of them died in captivity, owing to the cruelty with which they were treated. The second Hannibal was launched about the year 1810, and not much more than twenty years ago there lived at Buckler’s Hard in one of the houses which are now, some of them, falling into positive ruin, an old man who remembered being present at the launch of this fine ship when a small boy, and who received “a quart pot of sugar” from one of the men who came to take the ship round to Portsmouth to be fitted out.

But by far the most celebrated vessel which left the slips at this Hampshire shipbuilding yard of long ago was the Agamemnon, preceded by the Brilliant and the Zephyr. This magnificent vessel was commanded by Lord Nelson at the siege of Celvi, where he lost his right eye, and afterwards took an important part in many of the actions of that time. She was one of the victorious fleet at Copenhagen, and in the action off Cape FinistÈre. But her greatest feat was when in company with the Swiftsure and the frigate Euryalus she played a gallant part in the Battle of Trafalgar.

So important did this shipbuilding yard become that King George and Queen Charlotte came on a state visit to Beaulieu in 1789, and went over to see the Illustrious leave the slips. And such was the skill of these Hampshire shipbuilders, and so considerable the resources of the place, that it is said a seventy-four gun battleship was frequently built in less than three years, although to her making went more than two thousand oaks cut in the New Forest hard by, some hundred tons of wrought iron, and thirty tons of copper rivets and nails.

There were brave doings at Buckler’s Hard in those days when the ships were launched, and this although the spot was so secluded, lying as it did just beyond the verge of the New Forest itself, and was even less accessible than it is nowadays.

To the launching came hundreds and even thousands of country folk from far and wide, with a good sprinkling of gentry in their carriages or on horseback, many of whom joined in the festivities, balls, and entertainments, which were given in a large and lofty room of the Adamses’ dwelling house. This house, which is the bottom one on the left hand side of the one remaining grass-grown and deserted street, was the scene of many festivities. The Dining Hall, that once echoed to the sounds of toasts and merriment, and of the gliding, lightly flying feet of dancers, is now little more than a lumber place in which when we were last there was a tangle of nets, fishing tackle, and boat fittings. The famous dinners given on the occasion of the signing of the contracts, or the completion of the vessels, were also in the old times given in this room. And many a Georgian beauty and many a beau, the first with powdered hair and dressed in hoop skirts and brocades, and the latter in wig, flowered waistcoat, gay coloured coat and knee breeches, must have passed up the old staircase and tripped a gay measure in the ancient dining hall.

On several occasions Royalty came in state to launch and christen the huge “wooden walls of old England,” which stood ready for the ceremony upon the slips. King George was invariably entertained in the Adamses’ house, and one can imagine the state of excitement into which the little town was thrown on the occasion of these state visits. Often, too, came news of the doings of the Buckler’s Hard ships in far-off waters, tidings of victories won over the French, and of gallant deeds done by the men who manned the vessels.

But with the end of the great French War the prosperity of the place gradually declined; and on the death of Henry Adams, at the great age of ninety-two, the building of ships at Buckler’s Hard fell away. During the zenith of its prosperity no less than sixty battleships were built in addition to many merchant vessels of large tonnage.

On the death of Henry Adams his two sons succeeded him, and for a time carried on the business. Their ultimate ruin and that of Buckler’s Hard was brought about not so much through fault as through misfortune. The builders failed to carry out a Government contract to build four men-of-war in a year, and were unwise enough to go to law with the Admiralty. They lost their case, and in consequence not only were they ruined, but the prosperity of the village, which owed its very existence chiefly to the enterprise and administrative ability of Henry Adams, rapidly declined.

Nowadays of the vast sheds which once covered the shore not a trace remains; and only a heap of overgrown brickwork marks the spot where, in the busy blacksmith’s shop, from sunrise to sunset once rang the hammer on the anvils, forging bolts which once held the great timbers of New Forest oak together.

There is left but one small street, and an isolated house or two of the former busy townlet, red-bricked, and with cross beams black with age, sloping roofs, and tiny paned windows. And almost the only indications of life are to be seen along the shore where the grass has overgrown the old slipways, and where a few children and fisherfolk now congregate, or near the tiny pier to which, during the summer months, excursion launches and small steamers occasionally come.

Down the street, once thronged with workmen, now grass-grown, as well as along the once busy road which skirts the river for some little distance towards Beaulieu on the Buckler’s Hard side, cattle wander and sheep occasionally browse. But, notwithstanding its deserted appearance, the little group of decaying houses, which looks almost a derelict cast up by the tide, has an attractiveness that comes of its traditions and picturesque situation. There stands the little street with the river flowing at its foot, a memory of a bygone age, with the walnut tree in the Adamses’ garden still surviving, green and fruitful.

And, as is only right and proper, Buckler’s Hard possesses its ghost. A grey lady who wanders at times, so the story goes, along the deserted street at nightfall; and there are tales of uncanny sights and weird sounds which are heard in several of the houses. From the bulging window of the little room in the Adamses’ house, in which so many of the battleships were laid down on paper by their designers, is a beautiful peep of the river and old slipways. And here, no doubt, stood, one eye on the paper before him, and the other on the yards and the work which was going on near the river’s brink, Henry Adams, whose descendants are to be found at the present day in various walks of life far removed from that of shipbuilding. These occasionally return to the scene of their family’s departed glories, and wander through the rooms of the old house, which has so many memories of stirring bygone days and the famous folk who once came to it.

At the end of this picturesque waterway stands Beaulieu Palace, and the ruins of the ancient Cistercian Abbey, which was founded by King John very early in the thirteenth century, and completed by his son and successor Henry III. The Abbey, which was one of the most beautifully situated in the south of England, owed its origin to a dream. According to the tradition upon which this idea is founded members of the Cistercian Order having greatly displeased the King, they were summoned by him to Lincoln, where it is said he intended to have them trodden to death by horses.

The monks escaped, however, owing to the refusal of the soldiers to carry out the King’s barbarous order. And at night the King dreamed that he was condemned at the Last Judgement to be scourged by the very monks he had intended to have slain. This dream—as did many similar ones at that time—made a great impression upon the King’s mind; and as an acknowledgement of the evil he had intended to do, he determined to found an Abbey for the accommodation of the monks of the Cistercian Order as a propitiatory act to the Almighty.

It was at Beaulieu, which name means “fair spot,” and indicates the loveliness of its situation, that he built an abbey set amid primeval forest trees, and washed by the meadow-bordered waters of the River Exe, which widens out into Beaulieu Creek. The privilege of sanctuary was conferred upon the Abbey by Pope Innocent IV about 1235, and on several occasions celebrated personages availed themselves of the protection that the Abbey was thus able to afford. Claiming sanctuary the Countess of Warwick, wife of the King Maker, took refuge here in April, 1471, after landing from France at Southampton hard by, and learning of the defeat and death of her husband at the Battle of Barnet. A few days before, too, to Beaulieu also came Margaret of Anjou, who also landed on English soil on the day of the Battle of Barnet, with reinforcements for her husband, Henry VI.

A few years later there hastened to Beaulieu a very different sanctuary seeker in the person of Perkin Warbeck, of ridiculous memory, the tool of Margaret, Duchess of Burgundy and the Yorkists, in flight before the forces of King Henry VII.

At the time of the suppression of the monasteries in 1539 to 1540 it is recorded that there were no less than thirty-two men, some with wives and families, living under the protection of the abbey walls.

After its dissolution as a religious foundation the Abbey and its lands experienced various vicissitudes; passing into the possession successively of one Thomas Wriothesley, afterwards created Earl of Southampton; then, by marriage, into that of Lord Montagu, the founder of Buckler’s Hard; and afterwards into the family of the Duke of Buccleuch, also by marriage; and lastly was settled in 1884 by the then Duke on his second son, who three years later became first Baron Montagu of Beaulieu.

The Abbey ruins are very fragmentary and much less extensive than is the case with many institutions of a similar character which were destroyed about the same time. Anciently the grounds had an area of more than a mile and a quarter, and the church—only a fragment of which now remains—then consisted of a lengthy nave, aisles, transepts with aisles, and apsed choir, with a lofty central tower crowning the whole. When the Abbey fell into the hands of the despoilers, much of the stone of which the church was built was taken away to Hurst and used to build the castle and fort at that place. Strange as it may seem there was anciently a prosperous vineyard attached to the Abbey, and wine was made in considerable quantities by the monks. Tradition asserts that grapes have been gathered as late as the middle of the eighteenth century; but of the vineyard no trace now remains save the ruins of the old winepress still visible about eighty yards north of the church.

The seat of Lord Montagu, the Abbot’s Palace, is beautifully situated amid fine trees, and in close proximity to the Abbey ruins. Since it was converted into a private residence by Thomas Wriothesley, the first secular owner, it has undergone many periods of reconstruction, which have resulted in the present somewhat castle-like building.

After a day or two in Beaulieu River most yachtsmen will be inclined to agree with us that there are few more lovely spots, and if, instead of pushing up the river as far as the bend below Buckler’s Hard, one brings up snugly just off Exbury Hard, under shelter of the tree-clad point on the West bank, one need have little fear that any other craft will foul one, whether coming down or up the river, as the tide sets off to the east shore.

To get out of Beaulieu River is a more difficult matter than to get in. To attempt the feat except on the ebb is almost bound to end in disaster, for there are plenty of shoals, and mud abounds. The great thing is to get out on the very top of the ebb, and not cross the line from one boom to another on the same side. If these two points are observed, the westward flowing stream will carry one as far as is needed, and then one can stand away along the coast to another Hampshire creek, more frequented, though less beautiful than Beaulieu, which leads up to quaint, old-world Lymington, with its memories of the old yachting and yacht-building days of three or four decades ago.

It is difficult as one brings up at the north end of Short Reach just below the baths, in sight of the town which seems to hang on the side of a hill, or moors alongside the town quay, to realize that long ago Lymington was a more important place than Portsmouth. Yet so it was, for the port of Lymington fitted out and supplied several English Sovereigns—Edward III amongst the number—with twice as many ships as the town which was destined to become the great naval station of to-day.

Lymington did not escape from French marauders, but, fortunately for the town, on one occasion the wit and charm of a certain lady named Dore so enchanted the leader of the pirates, that he went away without doing damage. The story goes that upon the landing of the pirates their leader being very hungry, he decided to put off plundering the town until his appetite was satisfied, and the house of the said Madam Dore promising the best larder, “he (the pirate leader) entered therein and made his demand. The lady of the house set before him the very best her larder provided, keeping him company with such good humour, and plying him well with good wine; when he had finished he gallantly thanked her, made his bow, and embarked without doing the smallest injury.”

The wit and resource of Lymington ladies in ancient times must indeed have been considerable, for another heroine, a Mrs Knapton, figures in a romantic story connected with the Monmouth rebellion. There was a considerable party in favour of the “Protestant Duke” in the town, and the conspirators, who sought to plan how they might best assist Monmouth, met at the house of a Mrs Knapton, and deliberated over pipes and ale. But unhappily, on the occasion of one of their meetings, intelligence reached them that a party of soldiers had entered the town with a view to arresting them. Mrs Knapton promptly hustled the conspirators out by the back windows of her house, removed the pipes and ale mugs; and in order to account for the smell of tobacco in the room muffled up her face in flannel, so that when the soldiers entered they discovered nothing but an old woman, to all appearances suffering from acute toothache, and puffing at a long “churchwarden,” evidently with a view to relieving her suffering.

The ancient townlet, with its one business thoroughfare of any importance running down precipitously to within a few score yards of the harbour itself, has in the past seen stirring times; and when the Duke of Monmouth had actually landed at Lyme Regis, intent upon driving his weak and vacillating uncle from the throne, he was proclaimed in Lymington High Street, and upwards of a hundred men marched off towards the West Country to fight in “King Monmouth’s” cause. Several Lymington men paid the penalty of their Protestant zeal with their lives, when the “Bloody Assize” of the infamous Jeffreys held session at Winchester.

In the past, too, Lymington folk were not less skilful “free traders” than the rest of the famous smugglers of the Hampshire coast, and in the waterside houses existed—and probably still exist—“tub holes” and pivoted hearthstones in and beneath which many a bale of tea and lace and keg of spirits found temporary resting places.

Nowadays, however, though Lymington possesses an old-time, sleepy air, and is picturesque with irregular buildings, and surrounded by pretty country, it has lost much of its prestige even as a yacht-building place. Visitors come, it is true, and there are excellent enclosed sea baths, and it forms a pleasant enough week-end halting place on a cruise. But were it not for the steamboat service, which causes many to pass through the town on their way to and from the Isle of Wight, it would doubtless sink into one of those “sleepy hollow” little towns which seem to have had a past, to possess a tranquil present, and will have no one can tell what sort of future save one of gentle, gradual decay. From Lymington, however, the ever attractive New Forest with its many beauty spots, is easily reached, and a day or two passed on the river, with land trips to fill in the time, is not ill spent.