A.—Middle Marine Bed. B.—Fresh-water Clays and Marls. C.—Crocodile Bed, &c., exposed. D.—Olive Bed, well exposed. E.—Lignite Bed at the top of Cliff. F.—Chama Bed. G.—Barton Clay. Fossils abundant. H.—Green Clay, with sharks’ teeth, and bones of fish. I.—High Cliff Sands rise. J.—Pebble Bed. K.—Grey Sands, interstratified with fossil-wood and iron-stone. L.—Bracklesham Sands.
Then, as you climb up to the down, on the opposite side, stretches a view, hard to be matched in England either for extent or beauty. On one side rolls the English Channel, indenting the shore with its deep bay as far as the land-locked harbour of Christchurch, shut in by Hengistbury Head and the white Swanage rocks; and, on the other, it sweeps away by the long beach of Hurst and its round gray castle. Opposite, glitter the coloured sands and chalk cliffs of Alum Bay, and the white Needle Rocks running wedge-shaped into the sea. Farther eastward, rise the treeless downs, and the breach opens across the Island to Freshwater Gate, and the two batteries, built into the cliff, one by one appear: the long scene ended at last by the houses of Yarmouth—the Solent still winding onward, like some great river.
An uninterrupted path runs, for some three or four miles, along the top of the cliff—the scene constantly changing in its beauty. Below hangs a broken under-cliff, shelving down to the sea, strewed here and there with blocks of gravel, the grass and furze growing on them just as they fell. On the shore stretch long reaches of yellow sand, separated by narrow strips of pebbles, and patches of dark green Barton clay, embossed with shells, and studded with sharks’ teeth.
Passing the Coastguard Station and the Gangway, we reach Becton Bunny—very different to Chewton, but equally lovely, with its bare wide gorge, and its beds of furze and heath fringing the edge of the cliff.[183] Very beautiful, too, are the summer sunsets seen from this point—the sun sinking far down the channel, lighting up the coloured sands of Alum Bay purple and gold, tinting the white chalk cliffs with rose and vermilion, the crimson of the sky floating on the waves as they break along the shore.
Still following the path along the top of the cliff, we pass the grave-yard, where stood the old cruciform church of Hordle—once in the middle of the village, but now only a hundred yards from the sea. Nothing of it remains except some blocks of Grey Wethers, used for its foundation, and too large to be removed. Very interesting are these stones, brought up from the shore, where, now and then, one or two may be seen at low tide, tumbled from the drift above—the same stones as those at Stonehenge, left on the top of the chalk. Gone, too, are its mill and its six salterns, mentioned in Domesday, and the village itself removed inland. The sailors, however, dredging for cement-stone or for fish, sometimes draw up great logs of wood, locally known as “mootes,” which may perhaps tell of the salterns, or the time when the Forest stretched to the sea. The salterns of the Normans and the Old-English have suffered very different fates. In Normandy the sea no longer reaches to their sites,[184] whilst here it has long since rolled over them.
Beyond this again is Mineway, reminding us, by its name, of the time when the iron-stone was collected on the shore and taken to the Sowley furnaces to be smelted.[185] Farther on, down in the valley made by the stream, which turns the village mill, mentioned in Domesday, lies Milford. The church spire rises up prettily amongst its trees, and the church itself is a good example of our village churches, built in three or four different styles. The tower is Early-English, surmounted by a string-course of Norman heads. In the north side stands a curious inserted doorway, with trefoil heading, whilst two Norman arches remain in the nave joined by Early-English, springing from black Purbeck marble shafts.
To the south stretches the long Hurst beach, formed, in much the same way as the more famous Chesil Bank, of the rolled pebbles brought up from the Barton Cliffs by the strong tides aided with the westerly gales, making a breakwater to the whole of the Solent. Now and then close to it appear the floating islands, known as the Shingles, sometimes rising for only a few hours above the sea, and at others remaining long enough to become green with bladderwort and samphire.
Across to the Isle of Wight, at the narrowest point, it is only a mile; and so fast does the Solent tide,[186] when once the ebb is felt, pour itself along the narrow gorge, that it fills up Christchurch Bay, higher than at the flood, thus making, in fact, a double high-water. At the extreme end stands Hurst Castle, built by Henry VIII., from the ruins of Beaulieu Abbey. Whatever opinion we may have of Henry’s private character, there can be but one as to his foresight and energy in defending the country. Much for this may be forgiven. Hall wrote in no exaggerated strain when he said:—“The King’s highness never ceases to study and take pains both for the advancement of the commonwealth of this his realm of England, and for the defence of the same.... Wherefore, his Majesty in his own personne took very laborious and painful journeys towards the sea-coasts. Also, he sent dyvers of his nobles and counsellors to view and search all the portes and dangers in the coastes, ... and in all soche doubtful places his Highness caused dyvers and many bulwarks and fortifications to be made.”[187] And of them, Hurst Castle, like Calshot, which we have seen, was one, and still stands, additionally fortified by guns, and guarded by the far better defences of lighthouses, and beacons, and telegraph stations.[188]
Here it was, on the 1st December, 1642, Charles I. was brought, after holding his mock court at Newport, by Colonel Cobbit, who had seized him in the name of the army. Here, too, he still showed all the foolish childishness which Laud had taught him, putting faith in the omen of his candle burning brightly or dimly,[189] which detracts so much from any interest we might otherwise feel for him in his days of care and sorrow. A closet is shown where he is said to have been confined, and where his Golden Rules are said to have hung; but from Herbert’s memoirs, evidently neither the room where he lived or slept.[190] Herbert’s account of Hurst is so graphic that I give it nearly in full:—“The wind and tide favouring, the King and his attendants crossed the narrow sea in three hours,[191] and landed at Hurst Castle, or Block House rather, erected by order of King Henry VIII., upon a spot of earth a good way into the sea, and joined to the firm land by a narrow neck of sand, which is covered over with small loose stones and pebbles; and upon both sides the sea beats, so as at spring tides and stormy weather the land passage is formidable and hazardous. The castle has very thick stone walls, and the platforms are regular, and both have several culverines and sakers mounted.... The captain of this wretched place was not unsuitable; for, at the King’s going ashore, he stood ready to receive him with small observance. His look was stern. His hair and large beard were black and bushy. He held a partizan in his hand; and, Switz-like, had a great basket-hilt sword on his side. Hardly could one see a man of more grim aspect, and no less robust and rude was his behaviour.”[192] The account is very life-like, though some allowance must be made for Herbert’s prejudices against this gaunt Puritan captain, who, we learn, by-and-by became more civil. Colonel Cobbit, in whose charge the King was, seems to have treated him with uniform respect and kindness. Charles stayed here six-and-twenty days, walking along the beach, watching the ships passing up and down the Solent, and receiving the cavaliers of Hampshire, who came for the last time to pay their respects. Then, at last, he was suddenly taken away to show at Whitehall a better courage and wisdom in death than in life.
About three miles from Milford, on the mouth of the Boldre Water, lies the port of Lymington, the Mark of the Limingas, as the neighbouring hamlet of Pennington is that of the Penningas.[193] Its manor, like that of Christchurch, once belonged to Isabella de Fortibus, and was given, with some other possessions, by Edward I., to her rightful heir, the Earl of Devon, whose arms are still quartered with those of the Corporation. It is another of those towns, which, like Christchurch, though in a very different way, is associated with the past. It has no monastic buildings, no ruins of any kind, no church worth even a glance. Yet, too, it can tell of departed greatness.