The entrance to Poole Harbour, which lies at the extreme western limit of Bournemouth Bay, is one which yachtsmen have learned to approach with caution, lest they should take the ground on Hook Sand. But whatever the difficulties of navigating the tortuous channel which leads up to Poole Quay, past pretty Brownsea (to which custom has added the superfluous word “Island,” the determination “ea” or “ey” meaning island) and its imposing castle dating in part from the time of Henry VIII, maybe there is such a charm about what has been called “the Lake Land of Dorset,” that few lovers of the picturesque will pass the Haven mouth and leave it unentered.

Brownsea is, indeed, a beautiful out-of-the-world spot, with its ancient castle, once a block house of some strength, standing on guard, as it were, at the entrance to the main channel of the harbour. In the little village down by the quay, one finds a curious blending of Italian names and English dwellings, just as one finds also in the walled-in gardens of the castle relics of Italy, in the shape of medieval well-heads, etc., set amid typically English surroundings.

The castle was burnt out some years ago, and afterwards partially rebuilt, but in it is preserved a considerable amount of the old building.

On the island there is a delightful little church standing on a knoll in the centre of a woodland glade, and amid the plantations in early summer one finds a wealth of rhododendron blossoms of all kinds, scarcely to be equalled anywhere else on the south coast. The island itself is shaped like a horseshoe, and has openings towards the east, with high ground running round the edge. The views from this high pine-clad ridge, which forms so prominent a feature of the island, are extremely beautiful, and tradition states that the great Turner himself when on a visit there said that he had seen few more exquisite effects of light and shade and form in landscape than are to be found in the panorama from the western side of the ridge overlooking the beautiful Channel and the Purbeck Hills. Indeed, sunshine or storm, sunset or sunrise, it would not be easy anywhere along the coast to find more exquisite views than are to be seen in the silvery waterways of Poole Harbour, the wide stretches of moorland which environ it, and the Dorset highlands which form so impressive a background. It would indeed be difficult for an artist to find no pictures in the misty beauties of the gleaming marshland; the purple and russet of the swelling heaths, streaked here and there with patches of golden gorse; the sand dunes, gleaming yellow and jade green all around; and the wild black heath stretching ridge on ridge from the indented shores until it reaches the steep slope of Nine Barrow Down, or merges with the distant view, where the famous Agglestone lies solitary and desolate.

There is little doubt that Poole Harbour, which was probably centuries ago much more navigable than it is now, might have been made, and indeed might still be made, a place of some considerable utility as a naval station for a torpedo flotilla, and might even regain something of its prestige as a commercial port. Shut in to the south-west by the high chalk ridges of the Studland Hills, and sheltered on the east and north-east by the wooded slopes of Canford Cliffs and Parkstone, the harbour appears, when viewed from the highland, rather like a huge inland lake than a sheet of water connected directly with the sea. Not quite half the distance on the way to Wareham by the main channel, and on the northern shore of the harbour, stands the old-time and picturesque town of Poole. Concerning the origin of Poole there is still considerable difference of opinion, but most authorities are agreed that it is less ancient than has been formerly claimed for it. It would appear to be certain, from the fact that none of the older chroniclers or chronicles—William of Malmesbury, Henry of Huntingdon, Asser, and the Saxon Chronicle amongst the number—contain any mention of Poole, though referring frequently to other Dorset towns—Wareham, Wimborne, Dorchester, and Swanage, for example—that the place did not exist as a town in even Roman times. Roman remains have, however, at different times been unearthed in the neighbourhood, and there seems little doubt that the Roman by-road from Badbury Rings, now called the “Old Bound Road,” probably led down to the waterside near one of the present-day quays.

Additional evidence that no hamlet or town of any importance existed where Poole now stands, even in the year 991 A.D., is afforded by the fact that, although the chronicler records an inroad of the Danes of that year in the following terms, “The army (of the Danes) went again eastward into Fromemouth, and everywhere they went up as far as they would into Dorset,” there is no mention of their having ravaged any town on their way to Wareham. Even the great, and, on the whole, singularly complete, Domesday Book does not contain any mention of Poole, although nearly every town of which there is now a trace in Dorset appears therein.

Indeed, from the evidence we have briefly mentioned, it would appear that Wareham, for even a considerable period anterior to the Norman Conquest, was the port in this harbour, and for the existence of Poole there was not then any great reason. At all events, we know that it was from Wareham that Duke Robert of Gloucester, a natural son of Henry I, set sail in 1142, and how King Stephen, the enemy of Queen Maud, of whose cause Earl Robert was an adherent, came to Wareham in his absence and burned the town and captured the castle.

It would appear that Poole took its rise somewhere about this time (the middle part of the twelfth century), owing chiefly to the destruction of, and frequent attacks made upon, Wareham by the contending factions in those times of civil war. Probably the merchants and shipowners of Wareham established themselves at Poole, which was a point considerably nearer the sea, in consequence of the fact that the fortifications of Wareham, whilst evidently not strong enough to protect their interests, served the unfortunate purpose of attracting attack. But whatever may have been the reason for the foundation of Poole there seems little doubt that towards the end of the first half of the thirteenth century it was a town and port of considerable note and size, whilst Wareham had undoubtedly rapidly declined. It is possible, of course, that even in Stephen’s reign there was a collection of houses near where the commercial part of present-day Poole stands.

Soon after the foundation of the town, under the circumstances we have described, it had grown to be an important piece of the Manor of Canford, with some considerable, if as yet a somewhat fluctuating, foreign trade. The inhabitants would appear, from historical data which have come down to us, to have been often troubled by the imposition of taxes and burdens by the Manor, and in consequence there was the loss of security which militated against the increase in the number of foreign vessels trading to the port. To rectify this the merchant inhabitants doubtless made up their minds to obtain some charter of self-government, such as was possessed by several other towns in the county. The difficulty in the way was persuading the Lord of the Manor to grant it. The latter happened at that period to be William Longsword, son of the famous Earl of Salisbury and grandson of Fair Rosamund, who appears to have been amenable to a monetary consideration for rights which he might be supposed to be unwilling to give con amore. It was the necessity of raising money to enable him to take part in the Crusades of St Louis that made William Longsword ultimately concede the rights which the inhabitants of Poole were so anxious to obtain. He was one of the most famous of the Crusaders who fought against the Saracens in Egypt and in Palestine.

The price for which William Longsword granted to Poole the desired rights was the sum of 70 marks, the equivalent of about £475 of present-day money. The charter, which has been preserved in the archives of this ancient borough, makes it clear that the privileges for which the inhabitants were prepared to pay so considerable a sum included the exemption from ordinary duties which were levied, except that of 2s. on every ship sailing to foreign parts overseas; the right to nominate its burgesses from which the Lord of the Manor might appoint his reeve, which afterwards grew into the office of a mayor; the privilege of having the courts, to deal with matters connected with the Manor, held in the town itself at fixed periods; and that no burgess should be brought in guilty of any offence if unable, by reason of absence at sea, to appear in these courts; and that the port reeve should have power to deal with all cases relative to foreign merchants in the absence of the bailiffs of the Manor. This last a privilege which was valuable as preventive of former vexatious delays.

It may be gathered from these circumstances that at this time Poole was already a considerable port, with a busy merchant-shipping trade. The date of this first charter has been by authorities fixed as about 1248, and thus it appears that it was in the reign of Henry III that Poole first began to take its place as a town and seaport of England. A quarter of a century at least before this, however, it had been included in the lists of ports which were liable to make a contribution of ships for the King’s use, a custom intended to supply a deficiency caused by the non-existence of a Royal Navy.

In the reign of Edward III William Montacute, Earl of Salisbury, who was a distinguished soldier and fought at Crecy and Poitiers, granted the town another charter empowering the reeve to assume the title of mayor. This was in the year 1371, so that there has now been an unbroken succession of mayors in Poole for a period of upwards of five centuries. Henry VI not only gave a licence to the town to hold a market on Thursdays and to have two fairs annually, but also by letters patent gave power to the mayor and burgesses to fortify the place, and when this had been done Poole became officially a port.

Various privileges were granted by succeeding Sovereigns, and ultimately Elizabeth constituted Poole a town and county of itself with its own Court of Record, sheriff, and coroner, and other privileges. The early history of the port was probably much the same as that of other similar places on the south coast, only that Poole was in a measure protected by the tortuous channel which had to be traversed ere the town itself could be reached by water, and was therefore a safer place than some from attack. But not only had the merchantmen of Poole trading overseas to contend with foreign foes, pirates, and even the sailors of rival ports on their own coasts, but they had also on occasion to provide both ships and men for the prosecution of wars in foreign parts. Frequently the King claimed in war time all the ships which were to be found in the harbour.

There survive many writs, or records of them, addressed to the bailiffs of La Pole (as Poole was then called) for the furnishing of ships, and the three first Edwards, as well as Henry III, were pretty constant in their demands for such assistance in the prosecution of their French wars. In those days, however, the transforming of a merchant ship into a man-of-war was an infinitely simpler matter than in Nelson’s time or the present, for every merchant ship which sailed from the English ports was habitually heavily armed to enable it to resist the attacks of pirates and other foes, and therefore all that needed to be done was to put aboard her extra seamen, well-armed, and the soldiers she was to transport to a foreign shore.

More especially in the reigns of the first three Edwards was Poole called upon to supply men and vessels, and at the long blockade of Calais in 1347, four Poole ships, manned by nearly five score seamen, bore their part, as did also other men from the ancient borough in the great sea fights of the time of Sluys.

But though Poole lost both in treasure and men its full share during the French wars, there was yet greater loss destined to fall upon it, for the plague known as the Black Death, which was probably originally brought about by the caravans from Central Asia to South-Eastern Europe, and from thence spread into Italy, France, Spain, and even England, proved terribly deadly in the county of Dorset, and swept Poole with relentless destruction. Not even the great plague of three centuries later brought so much havoc in this particular district, and we are told that vessels full of the dead, unguided by human hand, floated or scoured the northern seas, carrying the curse of infection with them wherever they drifted. Commencing very early in Dorset at Melcombe Regis, it seems to have travelled inland and devastated the towns of Bridport, Dorchester, Wareham, Blandford, Spetisbury, Wimborne, Shaftesbury, and Poole. How many died at Poole it is, of course, impossible to say; but there is little doubt that this terrible visitation, which took place in 1348 and 1349, practically decimated the population of the towns we have named.

With the end of the French wars there came a time when the fortunes of England were none too bright, and a famous French seaman, John de Vienne, a nephew of the stout defender of Calais, gathered together a strong fleet, with which he successfully and terribly harried the seaboard towns of the southern coasts. Rye, Hastings, Portsmouth, the Isle of Wight, Dartmouth, and other places were attacked and partially destroyed. Poole did not escape, but was attacked and burned ere the marauder returned to his native land with much booty and renown.

About this time England was also threatened by a great fleet lying on the Flemish coasts at Sluys, which was intended to transport an invading army to these shores, but the French lingered over their preparations till too late in the year, and the great collection of ships which had mustered for the purpose of invasion was broken up, never to be reassembled. But though this menace was removed, the commerce of Poole suffered as did that of other ports from the wars on the Continent, and rumours of wars to come, for the foreign ports to which Poole ships had traded were either of themselves now hostile or were beleaguered, and thus trade in its usual sense had become well-nigh impracticable.

It was at this period, and for the reasons we have just given, that the thin border line was crossed which separated the heavily armed merchant vessels, prepared to fight if necessary, from the unashamed pirate, and Poole became noted for its piratical craft and their daring deeds from Flanders down to Portugal. The almost land-locked waters of the harbour, with tortuous and, except to natives, unknown channels, afforded just such a base for piracy as was most suitable and convenient. Indeed, it was not long before the need or circumstances of the time produced the man in the person of one Harry Paye, or Harry Page—known to the Spaniards as Arripay—who became a pirate, and afterwards in the reign of Henry IV rose to be one of the most famous of all the English corsairs, that made the English Channel a place of terror to all traders and even the coast towns of the Bay of Biscay apprehensive of his visits.

This famous pirate of Poole used to sail out of harbour with one or more well-found and well-armed vessels, with which he scoured the Channel as far east as Flanders and as far west as FinistÈre, with occasional expeditions further south to towns on the Spanish and Portuguese littoral. He was well known and feared by both the Spanish and French mercantile marines, and so successful were his operations that tradition states on one occasion after an expedition he returned to Poole with no less than a hundred vessels captured as prizes along the Breton coast. For some weeks after it would appear that Poole kept public holiday, and the inhabitants gave themselves over to all sorts of debauchery and excess; and we are further told that “many puncheons of good Porto wine and kegs of brandy were broached by the notorious pirate, and partaken of by all and sundry on the quay of Poole, and in the adjacent streets. So much so that there was scarcely a sober man in the town, and for days no one thought of business or anything save eating and drinking and making merry.”

Almost equally daring exploits by this Harry Paye, who formerly had been associated with Lord Berkeley in command of the fleet belonging to the Cinque Ports, gained for him such a reputation that in a Spanish chronicle he is spoken of as “a knight who scoured the seas as a corsair with many ships, plundering all the Spanish and French vessels that he could meet with.” His exploits were not, however, solely concerned with the seizure of ships and cargoes on the high seas, for he took and burned Gijon and FinistÈre, and amongst other notable exploits carried off the famous crucifix from the Church of Sainte Marie of FinistÈre, which was considered one of the most valuable church ornaments as well as the most holy of crucifixes in those parts. Castile was also attacked by him and his band of freebooters, and we find an entry in the same Spanish chronicle, “He did much damage, taking many persons and exacting ransomes, and although other armed ships came there also from England it was he who came oftenest.”

But though the famous Harry Paye was so successful in his expeditions, the town from which he sailed was not destined altogether to escape from the consequences of his unlawful acts. Not unnaturally a vindictive feeling sprang up against him along the French and Spanish coasts which he so frequently attacked, with the result that a desire for retaliation and revenge became very strong in the first years of the fifteenth century; and, indeed, in 1405, the French sought the aid of Henrique III, King of Castile, in a joint expedition for an attack upon Poole.

For this purpose the Spaniards collected some forty vessels and set sail for La Rochelle, where they were to be joined by the French contingent of the fleet. Eventually they reached the Cornish coast, and whilst sailing eastward towards their goal landed here and there and ravaged and burned various villages and towns. Ultimately Pero Nino, who commanded the fleet, finding himself near the retreat of the famous Harry Paye, determined to attack the town forthwith. For this purpose the Spanish and French ships entered the harbour, and sailing up it came early one morning in sight of Poole.

Apparently the town walls were not then existent, or, at all events, not in a thorough state of defence; but the French commander, no doubt with memories of the pirate’s skill and courage in his mind, thought it would be rash to attempt to take vengeance for the many depredations of the famous Poole buccaneer. A Spanish force, however, was put ashore, and a large number of houses were set on fire. The inhabitants managed to hold one of the larger buildings on the quay for some considerable time against the Spanish attack, but so fierce was the latter that the defenders at last were compelled to retreat by the rear of the building, and the besiegers on entering found the place full of arms and sea-stores of all kinds, which they carried off to their ships. Seeing some of the Spanish boats swiftly retreating down the harbour, the inhabitants rallied, and, on being reinforced from the country round about, returned to the attack of the Spaniards who had remained behind to continue the sacking of the place, and a very large number of people were killed and wounded, the brother of the pirate amongst the number.

Having in a measure carried out his intentions of taking vengeance upon the town and inhabitants of Poole for the piratical doings of Harry Paye, Pero Nino retreated to his ships and once more set sail along the coast.

No doubt the attack from which they had suffered did much to convince the townsfolk that the defence afforded by a tortuous channel of approach was not a sufficient one against attack from the Spaniards or the French, and, therefore, after a somewhat lengthy period of eight and twenty years since Pero Nino’s descent upon the place, we find in 1433 the Royal permission granted to fortify the town. We gather from contemporary records that Poole had speedily recovered from the damage done by the Spanish and French invaders, and, in fact, it even prospered by the carrying on of a retaliatory warfare with the latter, who, owing to their defeats by Henry V and the conquest by the English of Northern France, were scarcely in a position to defend themselves along the coasts.

Poole under the Tudors flourished, became a portion of the Crown property, and not only were fortifications made on the seaward side, but also on the land side. Owing largely to the fact that under the weak rule of the House of Lancaster the trade of the country in general, and of Poole in particular, greatly languished, the town undoubtedly espoused the Yorkist cause, although neither Poole nor indeed the county of Dorset appears to have taken any active part in the Wars of the Roses.

Henry of Richmond appeared in 1483 off South Haven in a single ship which had been separated from the other vessels of his fleet by a storm, and he would doubtless have landed had it not been for the fact that Poole and Dorset men favourable to Richard held the shores against him. When, in after years, he succeeded in ascending the throne he appears to have remembered the action, and the town in consequence suffered from neglect during his reign.

In Henry VIII’s reign the Manor of Canford and with it the town of Poole were granted by the King to his natural son, Henry Fitzroy, Duke of Richmond and Somerset, and during this period a block house, which was afterwards superseded by a castle, was erected on Branksea or Brownsea. The town of Poole was responsible for the manning of the block house, but the King appears to have supplied weapons and ammunition.

In the reign of Elizabeth the place suffered very considerably on account of the insecurity of trade by sea; but, notwithstanding this fact, the number of ships belonging to the port about this time was upwards of twenty, ranging from fourteen to seventy tons. Of course, compared with the ships of the present day, even the largest seems insignificant, but it should be remembered that in those days a vessel of even fifty tons was considered large, and the one in which Drake circumnavigated the world was only twice that size.

Poole during the wars in the low countries undoubtedly took some part in the struggle which was going on there between the Dutch and the armies of Alva and Parma, and it is recorded that 300 soldiers raised in the west country were embarked from Poole. The town does not, however, appear to have taken any active part in the defeat of the Armada; probably the port was unable to supply big enough ships for Drake’s fleet, but there is little room for doubt that the privateers and merchantmen of the port helped the harrying of the Spanish ships when their formation had been broken up by the gallant attack of the fleet under Drake, Hawkins, and Frobisher.

During the Civil War Poole was on the side of Parliament, as was the whole county of Dorset, save Corfe Castle, Wareham, and a few isolated dwellings of Royalist gentry; and although at one time the King’s forces succeeded in dominating the county from one end to the other and holding all but the towns of Lyme Regis on the west and Poole on the east, the Royalists were ultimately overcome, but in consequence of the Poole malignants’ attitude Charles II, on his accession to the throne, caused the fortifications of the place to be razed to the ground.

Wareham, however, was a Royalist stronghold, and, in consequence of this, a Parliamentary ship was anchored off Poole Quay, so that it might assist in the guarding of the town and command the Hamworthy Road and Ferry, by which detachments of Royalist troops frequently came and went on their way to and from Wareham.

During the Civil War the town was visited by the plague, but in the reigns of Charles II and James II it appears to have progressed steadily if slowly. Its history, however, during that time is chiefly made up of the ordinary events of a seaport of the kind and does not contain anything of much note. The sympathies of the inhabitants during the Monmouth Rebellion were distinctly in favour of the duke and against James II, but, fortunately, as events turned out, Poole escaped the terrible retribution which visited all towns which had taken an active part in the ill-starred venture of the “Protestant” duke, and although, as in other towns, the heads and quarters of rebels hanged at Poole were set up as grim memorials, there is no reason to suppose that they were necessarily those of natives of the town.

In the last years of the seventeenth century the port became once more famous for the commercial enterprise and naval gallantry of its inhabitants. In 1694 one Captain Peter Jolliffe, the owner of a small vessel named the Sea Defender, witnessed the capture of a Weymouth fishing boat by a French privateer in Studland Bay. The gallant captain, regardless of odds, forthwith went boldly to the rescue, although the privateer was at least three times his strength and size, and not only made the freebooter abandon the prize, but evidently so harried him that he ran ashore near Lulworth, where the vessel was seized by the inhabitants and the crew made prisoners. Captain Jolliffe was presented with a handsome gold chain and medal from the King as a reward for his gallant exploit.

In the following year another Poole seaman, William Thompson, master of a fishing boat which was only manned by himself, one seaman, and a boy, attacked and captured a privateer sloop hailing from Cherbourg, carrying no less than twenty men, and brought her in triumph into the harbour.

One of the most romantic portions of the history of Poole during the last two centuries is connected with the many smugglers who dwelt in the town and neighbourhood. During that period smuggling formed the livelihood of many fishermen and seaboard dwellers along the whole of the south coast. Numerous attempts were made to put down the contraband trade in consequence of a petition presented to the House of Commons by legitimate traders, who stated in it that home manufacturers were greatly decayed by reason of the quantities of goods run, and entreated the House to attempt to deal with the evil. However, notwithstanding the many endeavours on the part of the navy and coastguards to suppress smuggling, the latter was in many parts of the county of Dorset so organized and carried on with such daring that all efforts to put it down were defied, and a state of absolute terrorism was created which affected not only the inhabitants of the neighbourhood where the smugglers carried on their operations, but even, to some extent, the men of the preventive service themselves.

Poole Harbour, with its many creeks and inlets running up into wide stretches of desolate heath, formed an almost ideal district for smuggling operations, whilst the thickly wooded chines and secluded stretches of sandy beach, extending from the harbour mouth at South Haven, past what was in those days the tiny hamlet of Bourne, half-hidden amid pine woods and heather-clad valleys, to the eastern point of the bay formed by Hengistbury Head near Christchurch, were also well adapted for the “running” of rich cargoes of silks, lace, tea, tobacco, and spirits.

Indeed, this wide extending stretch of yellow sand, with its numerous chines, or “bunnies,” and its devious and unfrequented paths running inland to the outskirts of the New Forest was the scene of not a few romantic, as well as desperate, encounters between the men of the preventive service and the local smugglers, and at the loftiest part of the westernmost cliffs of the bay—then more sheer than at the present time—there is a spot where a bold and famous smuggler held one of the revenue men head downwards whilst his comrades ran the cargo on the beach below, threatening the man that if he fired his pistol or gave any other alarm he should be dropped from the height on to the beach below.

It was, however, at Poole itself that one of the most historic and daring exploits of the south-coast smugglers took place.D In September of the year 1747 one John Diamond, or Dymar, agreed to purchase from a well-known gang of smugglers a large amount of tea then lying in Guernsey, awaiting conveyance to the English coast. This was safely shipped; but, unfortunately for the smugglers’ enterprise, the vessel whilst on its way up Channel, was sighted, chased, and captured by a revenue cutter commanded by a Captain Johnson. The cargo was seized, confiscated, and carried into Poole and lodged in the Custom House. This act on the part of the authorities so aroused the anger of the persons who had found a considerable sum of money for the undertaking that the famous gang of smugglers principally interested in the business came from distant Hawkhurst in Sussex, sixty or seventy strong, and armed to the teeth, for the purpose of attacking the Custom House on Poole Quay and recovering their property. They arrived in Poole by way of Lyndhurst about eleven o’clock one Tuesday night, and, having left some thirty of their number on the different roads, the remainder of the party stealthily entered the town by a back lane. Leaving their horses in charge of several of their comrades, they immediately proceeded to break open the Custom House in defiance of the preventive men, and succeeded in possessing themselves of the confiscated tea. This amounted to many bags, with which they loaded up the pack horses and rode off across the wild heatherland lying to the north-east of the town, till they came through Fordingbridge to the New Forest, and thence finally reached their haunts in Sussex.

On their journey home this armed band of desperadoes was seen by many people, and amongst the latter was one Daniel Chater, a shoemaker of Fordingbridge, who was recognized and given a pack of tea by Diamond, the leader of the smugglers. Possibly the gift was made in the hope of purchasing Chater’s silence; but, whatever its reason, it led to the most disastrous consequences for the recipient.

A reward was ultimately issued for the apprehension of the smugglers, and upon the fact that Chater could give important evidence of identification against the law-breakers becoming known, William Calley, a king’s officer, was sent to take Chater to be examined by Major Batten, J.P., of Sussex. Unfortunately for both the Customs officer and his companion, this intention became known, and on their way they were seized by a number of smugglers, and, after having been tortured and dragged from place to place, were brutally done to death.

Although the disappearance of the two men created a hue and cry, the fact of their murder was only made certain six months after by the confession of one of the smugglers concerned in it. Fifteen men were tried at Chichester, of whom six were hanged for the crime (another, John Jackson, dying almost immediately after sentence), three others were also executed for breaking open the Customs House at Poole, and of the rest the majority got terms of transportation or were sent into the Navy as a punishment.

Although this was undoubtedly the most famous deed of the smugglers in the neighbourhood of Poole, and the doings of the Hawkhurst gang have been enshrined in the pages of G.P.R. James’ old-fashioned but exciting romance, The Smuggler, it was by no means the only crime or romantic incident connected with contraband trade in the district during the latter half of the eighteenth and early part of the nineteenth centuries. How daring and impudent the smugglers of Poole and the immediate district became is borne out by the fact that it was recognized by the authorities that it was impossible for them to capture the band or seize the contraband goods without military assistance.

As late as the year 1835 we find a record that the Mary Ann of Poole entered the harbour, supposed to be laden with coal, but really engaged in running a cargo of spirits. Of the 600 tubs which were in her 400 were successfully landed ere the true character of her freight was suspected. Although numerous other similar exploits could be related, and many interesting stories were current but a few years ago among the older folk of the district, with the advent of and growth of free trade and the increase of the population along the Dorset and Hampshire coasts, smuggling gradually declined, and at length the race of Poole smugglers became extinct.

Poole nowadays, though having a considerable trade in timber with the Baltic ports and in seaborne coal, has, on the whole, declined rather than advanced from its position as a port in its palmiest days. There are but few buildings remaining of any note, and even its chief church is an unpicturesque structure standing at the west end of the town a little north of the quay and somewhat at the back of the High Street. It is of no antiquity, although it probably stands upon the actual site of a much more ancient building. Poole is still, however, a busy seaport, and the High Street, which is of considerable length, generally wears an air of movement and enterprise, although the sea trade of the town has very much altered in character of late years. In former times it was of a much more general nature, and its ancient and prosperous trade with Newfoundland was its chief stand-by. Its shipbuilding, which was once a source of considerable prosperity, has of late years greatly declined, although some small yachts and boats are still built. The quays form one of the most interesting and busy portions of the town; and on them may be seen many types, in whose faces can still be traced some of the characteristics of the old sea dogs who fought during the latter half of the eighteenth and early part of the nineteenth centuries so gallantly and stoutly against the French.

Within the net-work of narrow alleys running in and out amongst the more solid red-brick houses that flank the quay—remnants of the prosperity of merchants long since dead—picturesque bits of architecture are discoverable, with old-time doorways hidden away in grass-grown courtyards, and fragments of the ancient town walls beautiful with lichen and weather-stained by ages of storm and stress.

The modern town has grown up rather by extension of its borders than the substitution of new buildings for old, and the older warehouses and dwellings by the waterside dating back a century or so have not, as a general rule, been pulled down to be replaced by new ones. The extension and growth of the town is chiefly marked by the more modern houses which have been built along the roads leading to Parkstone and Bournemouth on the rising ground to the north-east of the town.

Poole, picturesque of approach by water though it be, is, after all, we think, seen to the greatest advantage when viewed from the encircling highlands from the south-east, south-west, east, and north-east. Then distance lends a softness to its more unlovely part, and the haze of smoke and vapour which generally hangs above the town and the distant glimpses of the lagoon-like harbour serve to make up a picture of delight and interest.

Westward from the harbour mouth over the lofty chalk downs, at the eastern foot of which the picturesque little village of Studland nestles, lies Swanage, in a sickle-shaped bay, where, at least according to tradition, a desperate naval engagement was fought between King Alfred and the Danes. The town of late years has developed from a quiet old-time resort into a semi-fashionable watering place, which to those who knew Swanage years ago possesses less attraction.

The old town was built with stone from the famous quarries on the heights above, in the western and sharper curve of the bay, where its single street still winds tortuously from the shore inland, flanked on either side by grey stone houses, whose stone slab roofs form congenial ground in which house leek, stone crop, and many coloured lichen flourish. The architecture of old Swanage was of such charming irregularity as to give the place almost a foreign look when approached from the water, or seen at a little distance. It is upon the heights to the south-west, and along the low-lying and gradually rising ground which skirts the Bay with its fine sandy beach, and ends beneath the shelter of the bold ridge of the Purbeck Hills, that the new town has been chiefly built.

Save when an east, southerly, or south-easterly gale is blowing, Swanage is quite an ideal spot for the yachtsman to spend a few days, while the ruined, grim, and ever interesting fortress of Corfe Castle; the beautiful “Golden Bowl” at Kimmerridge; and picturesque Wareham with its historic memories provide plenty of interest in the form of excursions for those who wish to indulge in shore-going pleasures.

To the west of Swanage, along a coast line of about 22 miles, which, iron-bound at first, passes through various stages of rock, chalk, and sand, with the Dorset highlands always looming in the background, lies Weymouth, much as Swanage does, in the curve of a bay very similar in configuration, though much greater in extent.

Of old Weymouth, the objective in the past of pirates and freebooters, there nowadays remains very little. The modern town, which has sprung up gradually, spread landward and northwards, and has, in the process, slowly though surely obliterated the more ancient of its features. From its wide esplanade, running almost half the length and round the whole of the most acute curve of the bay, is a prospect of rugged coast and breezy highlands, scarcely excelled in picturesqueness and charm by any other on the Dorset seaboard. Charmingly situated, and in summer washed by the sapphire sea, modern Weymouth has nowadays taken a prominent position as a yachting port, and as a summer resort for the better type of holiday-makers.

Weymouth, in its age and the historical interest which attaches to it, has a distinction possessed by comparatively few seaside resorts. Of its antiquity there can be no question. Records there are which indicate its probable existence as a port of trade for the ancient merchants of Tyre, even before the Roman invasion of Britain. Many relics of those far-off times in the shape of ornaments, pottery, Druidical, Roman, Saxon, and Danish remains are frequently found in the neighbourhood, and undoubtedly in Roman times Weymouth was connected by a vicinal way with the great military road which passed through Dorchester.

The rise of Weymouth to a place of importance would seem to have been somewhat rapid, for in Edward I’s reign it appears to have been esteemed of too considerable a size and wealth to remain in the possession of the monks of Milton Abbey, to whom it had been granted by Athelstan, the founder. It was then taken by the Crown, and formed a portion of the dowry given by Edward I to his Spanish wife, Eleanor of Castile.

Over and over again in history during succeeding centuries, the town appears, dimly sometimes, forming as it were a background of some historical event, and at others playing a more active part in the stirring doings of troublous times. By the middle of the fourteenth century Weymouth had risen to a condition of considerable maritime importance, and at this time it supplied no less than twenty ships for the siege of Calais. The position of Weymouth will be more easily understood when it is remembered that the port of Bristol supplied only two ships more, and the port of London five; although in both cases the vessels sent were probably of considerably greater tonnage.

In 1377 the French, who had by no means forgotten the part that Weymouth had played in former years in supplying men and ships for the attacks upon them, during one of their periodic descents upon the south coast, visited Weymouth, and burnt the ships in the harbour, and also a very considerable portion of the town itself. Indeed, so greatly did the place then and subsequently suffer from the depredations of the French, that in the reign of Henry IV the inhabitants petitioned to be relieved of their Customs dues on account of their poverty, and this exemption was granted for a period of twelve years.

Referring to Weymouth, Leland the historian, writing about this time, says: “This towne, as is evidently seene, hathe beene far bigger than is now. The cause of this is layid unto the Frenchmen that yn times of warre rasid this towne for lack of defence.”

During his reign Henry VI, owing very likely to the continued attacks of the French, and with the object of rendering the place less worthy of their attentions, transferred its privileges as a port, and its wool-staple to Poole, and thus it was deprived of much of its commercial standing and trade. Nevertheless Weymouth throughout medieval times, and in stirring periods of national history, has been the port of embarkation or entry for many royal personages. Probably no more pathetic figure ever landed on the sands of Weymouth Bay than Queen Margaret of Anjou, who arrived off the town in company with her young son on April 14, 1471, in the hope of aiding her husband, King Henry VI, to regain his throne, almost at the very hour when the cause in which she had so great a stake was being lost on the fatal field of Barnet. Only a few weeks later the Queen, dethroned, and deprived of her husband, suffered disastrous defeat at Tewkesbury, where her son was assassinated after the battle.

The next royal visitors who landed at Weymouth were Philip, King of Castile, and his Queen, Joanna, who with a large fleet, numbering eighty sail, were driven on to the English coast by a violent storm, and obliged to take refuge in Weymouth Bay. The landing of the King and Queen, both of whom had been very ill, with their retinue of knights and servants, was effected with some secrecy, with the result that the alarmed country folk, when the fact leaked out, saw in this royal disembarkation not a landing brought about by force of circumstances, but an invasion, and one, Sir Thomas Trenchard, of Wolveton House, hastened to the spot with a force composed of all the available militia and his own retainers, where he was speedily followed by Sir John Carew with a like force. On discovering who the supposed invaders were, Sir Thomas Trenchard gave them a welcome, but told King Philip bluntly that he would not be allowed to return on board his ship with his followers until King Henry VII had seen him. It may be imagined that the King of Castile spent some uncomfortable moments until the Earl of Arundel arrived from London to escort him and his Queen to the capital. At that time Spain and England were by no means on friendly terms, and the sea-sick King and Queen had landed much against the advice of their captains and generals, who feared lest capture might be their fate, and the hospitality offered prove of an embarrassing kind.

During the reign of Henry VIII, on several occasions there were fears of a French invasion, and about this time the King built Sandsfoot Castle on the southern shore of the spit of land forming the Nothe, which until the building of Portland breakwater was an important landmark. Leland mentions this as being, “A right goodlie Castel havyng one open barbicane.” The shell of this still remains, and is a witness that the place was of very considerable strength, if not of great size.

For many centuries before the reign of Elizabeth, what is now usually known as Weymouth comprised two distinct towns, one bearing the name of Melcombe Regis, and the other that by which the town is now known. Both these places possess their own charters of incorporation, and, owing to the fact that there was only one harbour for both of them in medieval and even later times, long continued and violent disputes frequently arose between the respective inhabitants; and not infrequently blood was shed in the encounters which took place concerning such matters as the imposition and apportionment of Customs dues, and the common use of the harbour. By the merging of the two towns into one in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, the causes of friction were happily removed.

Several times Weymouth was attacked (as were other Dorset and Devon seaports) by the French privateers, who were little better than pirates, and infested the Channel especially during the fourteenth, fifteenth, and sixteenth centuries. On one occasion, after damaging a large number of the ships which lay at anchor in the harbour, and “cutting out” and carrying off a vessel of about sixty tons, named The Angel of La Rochelle, the privateersmen landed and did considerable damage to the houses of the town itself. The attempt to enter the harbour proper and seize other vessels therein was, however, defeated by the bravery of the townsfolk, who training some pieces of ordnance upon them repulsed the body of pirates who had landed, and drove them back to their ships with considerable loss. The pirate leader, named Purson, was so enraged by his want of success, that he threatened to return later on and burn the town to the ground. To execute this threat he appeared off the town during the following year, but owing to the diligence of the townsfolk during the time which had elapsed since his last visit, the place was so strongly fortified that he was unable to effect a landing and carry out his intentions of burning the town.

Weymouth furnished no less than six ships for Drake’s fleet in 1588, when the fear of the coming Armada so greatly affected all towns on our southern coasts. Some of these ships, too, were of considerable size for that period; one, The Golden Lion, being 120 tons. It may be gathered from this considerable contribution to the national fleet that Weymouth must have in a large measure repaired its fallen fortunes. The Weymouth vessels bore a gallant part in the running fight, between “the English bloodhounds” and the huge, unwieldy galleons, which extended from Plymouth Sound to the Bill of Portland, and one, at least, of the Armada vessels was taken by the Weymouth ships and brought into the roadstead. One can easily imagine what enthusiasm the capture of the huge, high-sterned, and altogether cumbersome Spanish vessel aroused, and how, as a contemporary writer states, “the townsfolk, waving kerchiefs and shouting with mad joy, thronged the shore, and gazed out across the rippling waves to where the prize and her captors had brought up at anchor.”

During the Civil War, which came a little more than half a century later, Weymouth and Melcombe Regis were undoubtedly more Royalist than Parliamentarian. Unfortunately for the town both forces contended hotly for its possession, and a considerable amount of damage was done to the buildings and houses, some of which until quite recent years bore traces of shots embedded in the woodwork and plastering, and also in places showed bullet holes.

The town was held by each of the contending parties in turn several times during the War, being occupied by the Earl of Caernarvon and the Royalist forces in July, 1643, without any resistance on the part of the Parliamentary party. In the following year the town changed hands once more, and suffered very considerably by the severe punishments meted out by the Parliamentarians to some of the inhabitants who had assisted the Royalist cause. Several people, amongst others John Miles Constable and Captain John Wade were hanged at Weymouth, and a good deal of the shipping on the Weymouth side of the harbour was destroyed, and part of the town burned down by the Roundhead Colonel Sydenham, who afterwards defended the place successfully during a siege which lasted eighteen days.

It was one Dennis Bond, a member for the borough, who moved during the Parliamentary session of 1654, “That the Crown and title of King should be offered to the Protector.”

Charles II intended after the Battle of Worcester to escape from Weymouth, if possible, but owing to the watch that was kept upon that port, had to abandon the attempt, although for some time he lay hiding in what is still known as the King’s “hole” at Trent House, near Sherborne.

With the tragic doings in the West of England during the Monmouth rebellion, Weymouth itself seems to have had little or no part, although it appears more than probable that some Weymouth men rallied to the standard of the ill-fated Duke at Bridport or Taunton.

The history of the town as a seaside resort commences a century later with the visit of George III in 1789. Finding it picturesque and healthy, the King afterwards made it his chief summer place of residence. Although the town was at this time, according to a contemporary writer, not much more than a straggling assemblage of fishermen’s huts, with a few family mansions and merchants’ residences along the sea-front, with a wide expanse of low, marshy ground at the back of them, it soon became a fashionable resort. Then the present-day busy and prosperous chief thoroughfare of St Mary’s Street was little more than a row of thatched cottages with a few shops and houses of larger size sandwiched in between; whilst the other street, known as St Thomas’, was an ill-paved road leading to some small houses with picturesque gardens and wooden fences in front of them.

With this first visit of King George III, the rapid rise of the town was assured, for not only did a large number of the nobility and Court officials take up their residence in attendance on the King and his family, but also numberless other fashionable folk, anxious to follow the Court, and by doing so bask in some of the glamour which surrounds royalty, came in great numbers. More houses became necessary, and as the old town then afforded few good building sites, a large number of the new residences were erected on the ground skirting the magnificent bay, and facing the sea.

Weymouth in those days must have resembled St James’s Park and the Mall, rather than a moderately prosperous seaport, for in and out of the houses along the front came perfumed Georgian dandies with their “clouded” canes and snuff-boxes in hand, to stroll along the Esplanade, where in sedan chairs stately Court ladies, rouged, patched, and crinolined, took the air attended by gallants in the gay and bright attire of the period. To Weymouth from all the district round, the country folk flocked to gaze and stare at the quality with wondering eyes, much as they would have gone to see any other sight or raree-show. The King took to bathing, and the Royal machine was, we are told, “a right Royal cumbersome and elaborate affair, and many folk daily come into the town to see His Majesty and the Court bathing in the sea-water half a furlong out from the shore. And some days the crowd be so great on the sands that people are pushed into the water against their will.”

One suspects that few types of men can from time to time have afforded Royalty more amusement of a quiet sort than provincial mayors. At all events, a Mayor of Weymouth, during one of the visits of King George to the town, was destined to afford “comic relief” to a ceremony of some importance.

The occasion was the presentation of an address of welcome to the King, and we are told that the Mayor, on approaching to present it, to the astonishment and dismay of all, instead of kneeling, as he had been told to do, seized the Queen’s hand to shake it as he might that of any other lady. Colonel Gwynne, the master of the ceremonies, hurriedly told him of his faux pas, saying, “You should have kneeled, sir.”

“Sir, I cannot,” was the reply.

“Everybody does, sir,” hotly asserted the Colonel.

The Mayor grew red, and, evidently much upset, amidst the ill-suppressed laughter of those in the immediate vicinity, who were aware of the “scene,” and had overheard the colloquy between Colonel Gwynne and his worship, exclaimed, “Damme, sir, but I’ve got a wooden leg.”

History, unfortunately, does not tell us what the King’s comment was, but that he was amused none can doubt, for Royalty in those times (as now) dearly loved a joke. But in the phrase, “a smile suffused the face of Her Majesty—unshocked by the strength of Mr Mayor’s language—and the King laughed outright,” we have one of those touches which serve to illuminate the doings of those days.

In the papers of that day, too, are to be found many interesting items, and accounts of the “rufflings” of fine gentlemen, and the frailties of fine ladies. More than one duel was fought on the stretch of sand near Sandsfoot Castle, and on the breezy upland just above the north-east curve of the bay, whilst an elopement sometimes sent an angry father and sometimes husband posting hot haste after the fugitives along the Plymouth Road.

The town was naturally much exercised concerning the long war which ended only with the defeat of Napoleon at Waterloo. The circumstance of the Court being at Weymouth during some of the most stirring events in national history at that time made it the centre of news. Indeed, the King was out riding when tidings of the great victory of the Nile was brought to him by courier, and on that night Weymouth was ablaze with delirious triumph, and the scene of astounding enthusiasm. After the King had returned from his ride, and had mastered the dispatches, he sallied forth upon the Parade, and joyously accosted every one he knew, and told them details of Nelson’s doings.

Weymouth at this period suffered, as did most coast towns, considerably from the ever-present fear of invasion; and so great was the satisfaction when peace was proclaimed after the long struggle, that an open-air dance was held in the streets of the town, in which the four Members of Parliament for the borough, and their families, took part. The number of the couples dancing was so great that, we are told, they filled the whole of the length of the main street thickly.

In the fashionable and pleasant watering-place of to-day, which has, indeed, sobered down from those stirring and somewhat uproarious times, it is difficult to trace much of the old town, but although it declined in favour somewhat in the early ’fifties and ’sixties of the last century, from the position of importance and popularity to which it had attained because of the patronage of King George and the Court, it has nowadays become one of the favourite resorts of West of England holiday folk, and is a yachting port of convenience and repute. And even amid the bustle of modern life it seems somehow or other to preserve in its atmosphere and comparative quietude of life many of those old-world characteristics which distinguish so many Dorset towns, whether they be set inland or on the coast. Weymouth possesses a good harbour and an excellent roadstead, and although it has declined of recent years as a trading port, from the position it held in ancient times, it remains popular with yachting folk by reason of its beautiful situation, and the many picturesque and interesting spots which lie in the immediate neighbourhood.

Just round the Nothe, the green and jutting headland between which and the pier the entrance to Weymouth Harbour lies, are Portland Roads, the magnificent harbour in which, when not at sea, the Home fleet frequently anchors. To every one who has yachted along the south coast, or gone down the Channel into the outer seas, this roadstead, and the Isle of Portland—which is in reality no island at all, but a peninsula—are perfectly familiar.

Known chiefly as the site of one of our chief convict prisons and of almost world-famous stone quarries, Portland, or the “Isle of Slingers,” forms a unique seamark, and is a place of considerable interest. This strange tongue of rocky land, which has been called “the Gibraltar of England,” is connected with the mainland by the wonderful Chesil Beach, which is an immense ridge or bank of pebbles some fifteen miles in length, varying in height and ranging from 170 to upwards of 200 yards in width. The beach is separated from the mainland as far as Abbotsbury by the Fleet. The word “Chesil” is Anglo-Saxon for pebble. The stones vary greatly in size, being largest at the Portland end and gradually decreasing until they become quite small at Bridport, where the beach meets the cliffs. So regular, indeed, is this decrease that fishermen landing on the shore at night can easily tell their approximate whereabouts upon taking some of the pebbles in their hands. The stones differ greatly in material and colour, being drawn by the current from all portions of the south-western coasts. There is a tradition among the Portlanders that anyone finding two pebbles alike will be paid a reward of £50, and many fruitless searches have from time to time in former years been made. That this truly marvellous agglomeration is due chiefly to the action of south-westerly gales and the obstruction presented by the Isle of Portland to their dispersion eastward is generally agreed.

There have been many wrecks upon this famous beach since the days when the Roman galleys swept along the coast filled with CÆsar’s legions down to modern times; and rescue is rendered very difficult, and sometimes impossible by the huge rollers which break upon the shingle during southerly and south-westerly gales, creating a terrible under-tow which has over and over again been fatal even to strong swimmers, who attempt to reach the shore from wrecked vessels. Indeed, such a terrible number of disasters have taken place at the Portland end of the beach, that the little creek or bay lying in the curve where the island joins it has come to be known as Dead Man’s Bay.

A little more than a century ago a fleet of transports was wrecked there, with a loss of over a thousand lives, and many miles of the coast was for weeks afterwards strewn with wreckage.

During the terrible storm of November, 1824, the Ebenezer, a sloop of nearly a hundred tons, laden with heavy stores and war material was swept from the sea right over the beach and safely deposited in the Fleet.

To the geologists, the antiquarians, and those interested in the survival of old customs Portland is of peculiar interest, and it is not wonderful that novelists should have found in the “rugged” isle an appropriate background for their romances. Victor Hugo has described the spot very fully (if somewhat inaccurately) in his L’Homme qui Rit; and the greater portion of the action of The Well-Beloved, that strangely elusive romance of Thomas Hardy, takes place upon the island, in the neighbourhood of Fortune’s Well, and Pennsylvania Castle, built by the grandson of the famous William Penn. This book contains some of the finest pen pictures of the scenery in “The Isle of Slingers” ever written.

There are two lighthouses at the southern end of the island; the lower one was built as long ago as 1789, and the higher one in 1817, rebuilt just half a century later. Both are furnished with extremely powerful lights, which can be seen for many miles along the coast.