About six miles off is Corfe Castle, on a hill almost in the centre of Purbeck Island. It is a picturesque ruin, and full of interesting associations. It was here that Edward, the dupe of the wily Dunstan, was murdered in the year 979, at the instigation of Elfrida, the widow of Edgar, and Edward’s mother-in-law, who wished to have her own son, poor “Ethelred the Unready,” upon the throne. A far more interesting event connected with it was the defence made by Lady Bankes, the wife of the owner, in 1643, against the Parliamentary forces. It must have been in those days a very strong place, for Lady Bankes, with her daughter and her maid-servants, assisted by five soldiers, successfully defended the middle ward against the attack of one of the storming divisions, the whole defensive force not exceeding eighty men, unprovided with cannon. It would probably have fallen, however, had not Lord Carnarvon raised the siege.
Near Swanage also, in the middle of an open heath, is the celebrated Aggie Stone, or holy stone, though it is more generally known at present as the Devil’s Nightcap. It is a long stone poised on a single point. We agreed that it was something like a giant mushroom. The country people say it was thrown from the Isle of Wight, with the intention of destroying Corfe Castle, but that, falling short, it descended where we found it, on the top of the hill, eighty or ninety feet high. We could not decide whether it was placed here by art or Nature, for similar stones exist in other places where water and the atmosphere have cleared away the surrounding earth. Papa was of opinion that it was formed by natural causes.
Getting under weigh from Swanage, we stood round Peveril Point and Durlestone Head. The wind being off shore, we kept close in with the coast, which consists of high cliffs full of fossils, we were told. As we were passing Saint Alban’s, or Saint Aldhelm’s Head, we got out our mackerel lines. We had half a dozen each, about forty fathoms long. To each line were fastened eight or ten snoods: a snood is a short line with a hook at the end. At first we baited with pieces of white linen, as the mackerel is a greedy fish, and will bite at any glittering object in the water.
“Two lines overboard will be enough, or they will be fouling each other,” observed Truck.
Oliver took charge of one, I of the other. They had not been in the water two minutes when Oliver cried out, “Hurrah, I’ve hooked a fish!” He was hauling in his line, when two more were seen skipping along on the surface, glittering in the sunlight. At the same time I felt several tugs at my line, and on hauling it in I found that I had four fish on—long, elegantly shaped fish they were, with blue grey backs and white bellies. In half an hour we had caught two dozen—more than enough for all hands for supper and breakfast.
The next morning, the wind having been very light, we ran into a little harbour of rare beauty called Lulworth Cove. The entrance is very narrow, with rugged abrupt cliffs rising far above the mast-head; and when we were once in we appeared to be in a perfect basin, the sides consisting of high white walls towering to the sky, with cottages in an opening on one side; while the sandy bottom could almost be seen through the tranquil water, clear as crystal. The cliffs consist of Portland stone. The strata in some places have a curious appearance, resembling huge twisted trees. In one side are caves of various sizes, and here also fossils in great numbers are found. Landing, we walked about two miles to Lulworth Castle, belonging to Mr Edward Weld, the son of the owner of the celebrated yachts the Lulworth and Alarm. The castle is a square-shaped building, with a tower at each corner; it has long, narrow windows, and is handsomely fitted up. Both James the First and Charles the Second at different times inhabited it, as did several later sovereigns down to William the Fourth. It formerly belonged to Cardinal Weld, who left it to his brother, the late owner.
Though interested with what we saw on shore, we were always glad to get on board and enjoy the open sea. Sailing on, we in a short time reached Weymouth Roads, and hove-to off the mouth of the river Wey, on both sides of which the town is built, with a fine esplanade extending along the shore for a considerable distance. Good old King George the Third used to reside here in a house built by his brother, the Duke of Gloucester, now turned into the “Gloucester Hotel.” One object in his coming was to sail on board a frigate commanded by his favourite captain, Sir Harry Neale.
The king frequently wanted to go much further out to sea than was considered prudent. On such occasions the captain used to propose either whist or chess. As soon as His Majesty was observed to be absorbed in the game, the ship was put about and headed back towards the shore. When the king got tired of playing, and was about to return on deck, the ship’s head was put off shore again. He either did not find out the trick played him, or was well aware that it was done for his advantage, and said nothing. The king and Sir Harry often played chess together, when the king, who played very badly, was generally beaten. Sometimes His Majesty played with some of the courtiers, on which occasions he was nearly always successful; when, however, the courtiers played with Sir Harry, they beat him. The king observing this, remarked, one day, with a smile:
“It does seem very odd, when I play with Sir Harry he beats me; when Lord So-and-So plays with him, he gets the worst of it; but when Lord So-and-So plays with me, I gain the day. Very strange—very strange.”
On one occasion the frigate was going from Portsmouth to Weymouth, when she was hailed by a boat which had come off from the shore. The captain hove-to, and an old Scotch couple came up the side. On the object of their visit being enquired, they stated that they had come all the way from Scotland to look for their son, who was on board a man-of-war; and that they had been at Portsmouth, and had searched for him in vain at a number of other seaports.