Nearly surrounding the town remains of the ancient buttresses and towers of the wall which once environed it are still to be seen; while on the western shore the old Water-gate, from which the merchants embarked, still exists. In the old Domesday Book it is described as an important burgh. Southampton grew in importance at the time of the Crusades, when thousands of troops and crusaders and mailed knights embarked thence, or, weather-bound, remained encamped in the place. It soon became a great port of call for Flemish and other merchant-traders.
Southampton has great natural advantages for communication with the sea. The town is situated on a swelling point of land, bounded by the confluences of the rivers Test and Itchen, and communicating with the Solent and English Channel by the fine arm of the sea known as Southampton Water, surrounded by charming scenery, and navigable for the largest steamers. At its mouth is Calshot Castle, a coastguard station at the water’s edge, while half-way between that point and the town are the picturesque ruins of Netley Abbey. It has a tidal dock covering sixteen acres, and several graving and other docks. Consequently, it is the point of departure for the fine vessels of the Peninsular and Oriental line, the Royal Mail (West Indies and Central America), the North German Lloyds’, Hamburgh, and Havre steamships for New York, and the Union Line for African ports, besides an infinity of smaller steamships and steamboats for Havre, the Channel Islands, and the Isle of Wight. Its inhabitants consider it the Liverpool of the South; and even if this is rather an exaggerated view of the case, it has undoubtedly grown to be one of the principal ports of the kingdom. It ranks fifth in the list.[56]
And now for the story of a steamboat which attempted to run away from Southampton on her own account. This strange circumstance occurred some few years ago, and might well have been attended with disastrous results. The steam-tug Belmont was towing out to sea the Walton Hood, a passenger vessel bound for Australia, and after taking her down to the Channel, the sails were set on the ship, and the Belmont proceeded to cast her off, previous to returning to Southampton. In doing so, by some unexplained cause the ship collided with the tug, striking her with a violent crash, which knocked over her mast and funnel, and threw her upon her side. The shock also had the effect of increasing the activity of the crew, who, one and all, leaped on board the Walton Hood, leaving their steamer in charge of a dog and two cats. The steam of the Belmont was up, and after a succession of plunges and croakings she righted, and cleared the ship. Tearing away her bulwarks, she took a sweep round and made a bolt for the land. Her fate now appeared inevitable, whilst her strange manœuvres made her look like an insane vessel, rushing wildly from some pursuer. Her mast and funnel hung over the side, her bulwarks were smashed, and the long tiller was dashing wildly to and fro; the dog on board was barking, howling, and yelling fiercely, rendering the scene both ludicrous and serious. Something evidently had to be done to save her. The captain and crew, having recovered their composure, obtained a boat from the ship and started in pursuit. “Pull away, my boys; give it her!” was the quick command. “Aye, aye, sir!” was the ready response, [pg 227]and the tough oars bent to the stalwart efforts of the oarsmen. The boat sped onward in the chase, but ere this the steam-tug had on her own account altered her coarse, and by some cause or other came round, and made again for the point whence she had started. Having described a complete circle, she again started off on a voyage en zigzag, and then made direct for Calshot lighthouse. Here the men on the look-out descried her position, and having launched and manned their own boat, also started in pursuit. The race now became truly exciting, the course of the steam-tug being utterly uncertain and irresponsible, according as her helm shifted to and fro at the sport of the waters of the Channel. By this time, however, she had run some distance, and at length her speed gradually diminished, her steam giving out, when her paddles stopped from sheer exhaustion. The crew from the lighthouse were the first to board her, and her own crew coming up about twenty minutes after, she was at length got into working order, and brought safely into dock. It appears that the crew had some justification for leaving her, the vessel leaking seriously, and being in imminent peril of going down.
From Southampton Water to the beautiful Isle of Wight is a natural transition. To fully describe its coasts and fishing-villages and watering-places, and other points of interest, would occupy a large volume. Cowes and Ryde, with their regattas and generally festive look; Osborne, with its royal residence; Shanklin and Blackgang “Chines”; Ventnor and Niton; Alum Bay and “the Needles,” will be familiar to the larger number of our readers. Inseparably connected with the gay little island must ever be remembered an event which cast a gloom not merely over the households of hundreds of direct sufferers, but over the length and breadth of the entire land. Need it be said that we refer to the terrible loss of that fine training-ship the Eurydice, with its living freight of three hundred young and promising sailor lads, in sight of land and home, and just as they were nearing, after long foreign service, the haven of their hopes.
“For there came down a squall, and the snow swept the wave
Like a white winding-sheet for the brave man’s lone grave;
And with scarce time to glance a farewell at the sky,
The three hundred went down without e’en a cry.”
On the morning of March 25th, 1878, the country awoke to one of the most painful and unlooked-for catastrophes that have befallen the navy during the present century—that of the Captain hardly excepted, for certain doubts had always been felt as to how the bulky ironclad would behave in a heavy gale. “One of the finest corvettes of her class that ever floated,” said a competent authority, “commanded by a captain and officered by men of the highest professional experience, and with a crew young, but sufficiently trained, and numerous enough in nautical parlance to have ‘torn her to pieces’, capsizes, with the loss of every soul on board her but two. Such a calamity, taken in all its bearings and with such a loss of life, is unparalleled in the modern history of the navy. It is true that about forty years ago a man-of-war schooner (the Pincher), very much over-masted, was, off the ‘Owers,’ not very far from the same spot, capsized in a heavy squall, and all her hands were lost, although she was in company with a corvette at the time. But the Eurydice was not over-masted, and she went down in broad daylight and in smooth [pg 228]water. Yet where is the officer or the man—let him be the best seaman in the world—who can say, ‘Such would not have been the Eurydice’s fate had I commanded her?’ The fact is, the disaster, truly lamentable as it is, might have happened to any seaman. With a fair wind, smooth water, and within a short distance of her anchorage, running along too close under the high land of the Isle of Wight to notice the hurricane-like squall rushing down upon her in time to prepare for it, the ship was literally forced under water, the accumulating weight of which eventually capsized her beyond recovery. Adverse comments have been made on the ports being open; but with a fair wind, smooth water, and Spithead close by, what danger could possibly be apparent, to cause them to be closed after a sea-voyage so nearly ended? Had the Eurydice met with the same squall at sea she would have weathered it.”[57]
