LUNDY--HISTORY OF THE ISLAND--WRECK OF THE _MONTAGU_--LUNDY OFFERED AT
AUCTION--DESCRIPTION
To visit Lundy from Ilfracombe is one of the favourite excursions with
adventurous holiday-makers. Lundy (no one who has any pretensions to
correctitude speaks of Lundy “Island”: the terminal “y” originally
“ey,” itself signifying an isle) lies twenty-three miles to the
north-west, almost midway between the coasts of North Devon and South
Wales, where the Atlantic surges meet the waters of the Bristol
Channel. The excursion-steamers that visit the island frequently in
summer are broad in the beam, of large tonnage, powerfully engined, and
in every way well-found; but there are always those among the company
who are seen to be more or less uneasy upon “the sea, the open sea, the
ever fresh, the ever free.” These are not true sons and daughters of
Britannia, you think, as, gazing upon their pallid faces, the story of
how “the captain cried ‘heave,’ and the passengers all heft,” recurs to
your reminiscent mind.
But there seems still that spice of original discovery and exploration
of the little-known, clinging to the trip to Lundy, which impels even
the worst of sailors to commit himself to the symptoms of sea-sickness,
for sake of an out-of-the-way experience: although, to be sure, the
trip to the island is now a commonplace, everyday affair.
[Illustration: LUNDY.]
Lundy has ever been a place, if not exactly of mystery, at any rate
of the wildest romantic doings. It appears to have been the “Heraclea
Acte” of the ancients, and is, in effect, a huge mass of mingled
granite and slate rock, nearly three and a half miles in length, by
about three quarters of a mile broad. It has nine miles of rugged and
extremely indented coast-line, here and there rising in abrupt cliffs
considerably over four hundred feet high. There is only one good
landing-place; on the south-east, where the height of Lamator and the
lump of rock known as “Rat Island,” shelter a little curving beach from
the heavy Atlantic wash.
The isle contains 1046 acres, chiefly of barren upland, covered with
rough grass, gorse, heather, and bracken, and inhabited at the present
day by some thirty-five persons.
Mentioned in the Welsh legends of mystery and magic, the _Mabinogion_,
Lundy was known to the Welsh as Caer Sidi. Its present title is due to
Scandinavian settlers, who named it from the “Lund,” or puffin that
then, as now, frequented it in great numbers. The real, as opposed to
the legendary, history of Lundy begins in 1199, when King John gave it
to the Knights Templars. It at that time belonged to the de Marisco
family, and was, consequently, not really in the king’s gift, but such
small considerations as those of private ownership were very frequently
overlooked by the Norman sovereigns. Moreover, the Mariscos appear
to have been at the time in rebellion against the Crown. But William
de Marisco the then lord, by no means agreed to this disposal of his
island home, and as the king had merely given it to the Templars, and
had not enforced the surrender by armed intervention, he succeeded
in keeping possession. He did even more, for he turned pirate, and
was still in undisturbed possession of the place in 1233. He had a
considerable stronghold on the heights of Lamator, overlooking the
landing-place. The remains of it, still known as “Marisco Castle,”
are at the present day incorporated with some cottages and Lloyd’s
signal-station.
There was wild blood in the Marisco veins. Sir William, a younger
son of this original William, succeeded; his elder brother, Sir
Geoffrey, having been slain in a descent upon Ireland in 1234. Sir
William himself was outlawed in the following year, for murdering an
Irish messenger, in London. Then followed what appears to have been a
trumped-up charge against him of having conspired to assassinate Henry
the Third. Threatened with the most serious consequences, William
the younger then fled to Lundy, described as “impregnable from the
nature of the place.” The account of his doings then proceeds to tell
how he “attached to himself many outlaws and malefactors, subsisted
by piracies, taking more especially wine and provisions, and making
frequent sudden descents on the adjacent lands, spoiling and injuring
the realm by land and sea, and native as well as foreign merchants.”
During four years the piracies of this desperate man continued. It does
not, however, appear that he could do otherwise than rob upon the high
seas, and really perhaps he deserves a little sympathy. Falsely accused
of plotting to assassinate the king, he had of necessity to abscond, if
he desired to save his life: and once upon Lundy, where no sufficient
sustenance grew, he was further obliged to help himself from passing
vessels. And having thus, from the mere instinct of self-preservation,
become a fugitive and a pirate, he continued (impelled by the Moorish
blood thought to run in the veins of his race) to follow the trade of
buccaneer from sheer delight in it, and from merely helping himself to
necessaries, descended to the enormity of seizing whatever he could.
It all sounds like the downward career of a good young man, as read in
religious tracts. First we see him, son of a turbulent father, with
a heritage of bad blood. Then the mere peccadillo of killing a stray
Irishman--an incident not worthy a moment’s consideration--clouds his
fair horizon. No one in those times would, in the ordinary course of
things, have thought much of that; but his father’s wild career was
doubtless remembered against him, and he was, as we have already seen,
outlawed. The rest of his descent was easy; and at last, in 1242, he
was captured--how, we are not told--“thrown into chains, and with
sixteen accomplices condemned and sentenced to die. He was executed on
Tower Hill, with especial ignominy,” his body gibbeted and divided up
into small portions, in a manner which it scarce beseems these pages to
narrate.
Then at last the island was for a time in the king’s hands. But in
1281 Richard the Second re-granted it to a descendant, and Mariscos
ruled for a while, until Edward the Second granted it to the elder
of his Despenser favourites. The force and vigour of the once-fierce
Marisco family appear to have been lacking in Herbert, their last
known representative, for he seems not to have opposed the grant
with any determination, and died in 1327; the year after the king
himself, fleeing from the plots of his wife and Mortimer, despairingly
considered for a time the project of hiding in this then almost
inaccessible retreat.
[Illustration: THE LANDING-PLACE, LUNDY.]
From that time onward, for a long period, whoever nominally possessed
Lundy, foreign pirates actually occupied it, attracted by the prospect
of rich plunder to be taken out of the ships sailing up or down
Channel, to or from Bristol. On one occasion, in the time of Henry the
Eighth, the men of Clovelly, greatly daring, fitted out an expedition
and, attacking a company of French pirates on the isle, burnt their
vessels, killed or made prisoners of them all, and thus freed the
commerce of the Channel for a space.
Not for long, for in 1564 it was found necessary to direct Sir Peter
Cary, “forasmuch as that cost of Devonshyre and Cornwall is by report
mucch hanted with pyratts and Rovers,” to make ready one or two ships,
for the purpose of suppressing them. The economical policy of the
government, as shown in these instructions, was to secure that those
thus charged with clearing out this nest of robbers should be provided
with ships and food only, and should find pay for their labour in
whatever plunder they could seize: “They must take ther benefitt of
y^{e} spoyle, and be provijded only by us of victell.” Furthermore, with
an even greater refinement of economy, it was suggested that “ye sayd
Rovers might be entyced, with hope of our mercy, to apprehend some of
the rest of ther company, which practise we have knowen doone good long
agoo in the lyke.”
These canny offers do not seem to have been eagerly responded to,
for it became necessary, twenty-three years later, for the port of
Barnstaple to fit out an expedition of its own. The town records show
this to have been successful, for items appear respecting food and
drink for prisoners taken, and for the pay of watchmen guarding them.
But any isolated efforts resulted only in temporary relief. The
position of Lundy, right in the track of ships well worth plunder, was
too tempting, and pirates used it as a base until well on into the
eighteenth century. Not only home-grown pirates, but foreigners, and
not only foreigners, but strange remote people from distant climes used
Lundy for their purposes. Thus in 1625 three Turkish vessels, manned
by buccaneers, had the impudence to land on the isle, to carry off the
inhabitants as slaves, and even to overawe Ilfracombe. Three years
later French pirates made a home here, and seem to have been dislodged
only with great trouble. In June 1860 it was declared that “Egypt was
never more infested with caterpillars than the Channel with Biscayers.
On the 23rd instant there came out of St. Sebastian twenty sail of
sloops; some attempted to land on Lundy, but were repulsed by the
inhabitants.”
Sir Bernard Grenville, then owner of the isle, in 1633 recorded the
appearance of a Spanish warship, which landed eighty men, who killed
one Mark Pollard, bound the other inhabitants, and then, taking
everything they could lay hands upon, departed.
And so forth, in many more incidents of violence and pillage. In the
reign of William and Mary, the French established a privateering base
here, and snapped up many rich prizes out of Barnstaple and Bideford.
Finally, in 1748, Thomas Benson, a native of Bideford and a landed
proprietor in that neighbourhood, took a lease of Lundy from Lord
Gower, and, contracting with the Government to export convicts to
Virginia and the other New England states, landed them here instead.
Among his other activities were the old industry of piracy and the
almost equally ancient one of smuggling. He must have been a many-sided
person, for he became in 1749 Member of Parliament for Barnstaple,
where he was extremely popular; having, among other things, presented
the corporation with a large silver punch-bowl. By some oversight,
he forgot to add a ladle, and this being hinted to him, he furnished
that also, with the inscription on it, “He that gave the Bowl gave the
Ladle.” Both remain cherished possessions of Barnstaple.
What with smuggling, breaking contracts, and finally scuttling a
vessel he had heavily insured, Benson presently found himself in a bad
way. Excise officers descended upon Lundy, and discovering a great
accumulation of excisable articles hidden away in caves, he was fined
£5,000. The vessel he had laden with pewter, linen, and salt, and
over-insured, was bound for Maryland, but the most part of her freight
was landed on Lundy, and the ship, putting out to sea again, was burnt
by Lancey, the captain. The crew, who had a hand in it, were betrayed
by one of their own number, and Lancey and a selection of his ship’s
company shortly afterwards dangled from the gibbets of Execution Dock.
Benson, author of the villainy, made away to Portugal, and in the end
died there.
Somewhere about 1780, Lundy was purchased for £1,200 by Sir John
Borlase Warren, who had the odd fancy of colonising it with Irish.
Twenty-three years later, it commanded only £700. In 1834 it passed
to Mr. William Heaven. The value was then £4,500. The present owner,
the Reverend H. G. Heaven, became curate in 1864, and is now not only
rector and proprietor, but absolute autocratic ruler of the isle. No
person, except pilots, may without his permission go beyond the beach;
but no instance has been recorded of the right being exercised and, in
practice, exploring parties go where they please.
Two recent chapters in the history of Lundy afford interesting reading.
The first is dramatic indeed, being nothing less than the wreck of
the _Montagu_, first-class battleship, on the Shutter Rock, at the
south-westerly extremity of the island, at ten minutes past two o’clock
on the foggy morning of May 30th, 1906. The _Montagu_ was one of a
squadron executing manœuvres in the West. Coming up Channel, a dense
fog shut down upon the scene and confused the reckoning of the ship’s
officers, who, thinking they were just off Hartland Point, shifted her
course into the fatal proximity of Lundy. In this perilous uncertainty
as to the exact situation of the ship, when the captain should, by
all the usages of the service, have been on deck, he was in his cabin;
and not only the captain, but also the navigating lieutenant was away
from his post, the battleship being at the time in charge of a junior
officer. Suddenly the _Montagu_ ran on to the sharp pinnacles of
the Shutter reef, and became immovable; completely impaled upon the
rocky spikes, which thrust right through the thick hull, and into the
engine-room. Thus were the lives of 750 men imperilled, and a 14,000
ton ship, launched only so recently as 1903 and costing a million and a
quarter of money, reduced to the value of old iron and steel. Captain
Adair and his navigating lieutenant were court-martialled and retired
from the service.
[Illustration: THE “MONTAGU,” ON THE SHUTTER ROCK.]
Fortunate it was for all on board that a heavy sea was not running at
the time, or all must have perished. As it happened, the _Montagu_,
although filled with water, was so immovably fixed that there was
little danger, and the crew, without much difficulty, scaled the cliffs.
The Admiralty at first endeavoured to lighten the ship by removing the
heavy guns and other tackle. Sister ships stood by while this was done,
and then “camels,” _i.e._ steel tanks filled with compressed air, were
attached to the sides, to raise her; but after months of work, it was
found useless, and the ill-fated ship was at length sold to a salvage
company for a ridiculously low sum. It is generally understood that the
company, working with a large staff for twelve months in removing the
armour-plating and other valuable parts, have made enormous profits. In
spite of the winter storms that have raged here since then, the hull
remains as firmly fixed as ever.
[Illustration:
_World’s Graphic Press._]
THE LAST OF THE “MONTAGU,” AUGUST, 1907.]
Not only the Salvage Company, but the excursion steamboats also, have
benefited largely by that disastrous error of judgment on a foggy
night, for, in the course of two summers, many thousands of people who
might not otherwise have visited Lundy, have taken the trip to see
the poor, rust-streaked wreck. They land upon the beach, and, toiling
painfully up and over the rocky spine of the island, come to a grassy
cliff’s-edge. There, below, lies the _Montagu_, and up above they sit,
perhaps a couple of hundred of people, gazing upon the reddened decks,
awash with the waves, until prudence bids them hasten back for the
steamer’s return. The owners of the excursion steamers are devoutly
hoping the wreck may last another season. They are not like the wicked
old wreckers of the Cornish coast, who often went so impiously far as
to pray: “O Lord, send us a good wreck!” but they perhaps hope that,
if any more naval commanders are about to pile up their ships on the
rocks, they may do it hereabouts, so that, at any rate, some honest
folk may profit.
The year 1906 also witnessed the attempted sale of Lundy. It was
offered by auction, at Tokenhouse Yard, on September 25th. The
auctioneer was equal to the occasion. He enlarged upon the unique
position of any one fortunate enough to become possessed of this
“little kingdom for a little king, an empire for a little emperor.” A
very little emperor, be it said. He exclaimed: “no rates, no taxes, no
motor-dust,” and narrated how there was no licensing authority, and
in short, complete freedom from the ills the harassed rate-payer of
the unhappy mainland is heir to. How much for this desirable property?
Ten thousand pounds bid, for a rent-roll of £630? £10,500, and so
on to £17,000; and thenceforward to £19,000. “Only £19,000 bid for
this little, tight little (no, _not_ tight little, for there are no
public-houses), let us say ‘bright’ little, island? Why, there is a
fortune waiting in the granite alone; and a prospect of the Government
some day making Lundy a naval base!
“All done at £19,000? Gentlemen, I am sorry to say the reserve price
of £25,000 has not been reached, and the lot is withdrawn.”
And so Lundy up to date remains, as it has been, in the hoary jokes of
over seventy years past, “the Kingdom of Heaven.”
Mr. Heaven’s residence stands near by the landing-place, and the
venerable clergyman has long been a prominent figure, walking down to
the beach occasionally, to gaze upon the people of the outer world, or
to entrust some trustworthy-looking person with a letter to be posted;
for in the official course it is only a weekly mail-service from
Instow. The modern church of St. Helena, built at a cost of £6,500, was
completed in 1897 and is capable of holding the entire population of
Lundy, eight times over. Does any one expect active colonisation?
A new lighthouse looks down from Lamator upon the landing, and lights
also the other side, where the disastrous Shutter Rock lies in wait
for shipping. It is a famous rock, finding mention in “Westward Ho,”
as the scene of the wreck of the Spanish ship, _Santa Catherina_, when
Amyas Leigh was baulked of his own personal revenge. It stands up, in
pyramidal form, outside the gloomy cleft of the “Devil’s Limekiln,”
some 370 feet deep. It is the “shutter” rock because of the popular
belief that, if it could be placed in the “Limekiln,” it would exactly
fit. Outside rises Black Rock.
Near the older lighthouse are the ruins of St. Helen’s chapel, with,
beyond it, the heights of Beacon Hill. Continuing on the western side
of the island, we come to the old Signal Battery, whence guns were
fired in misty weather, and so to Quarter Wall, built by Benson’s
convicts across the isle. A number of yawning cracks in the upland,
sloping down to the sea, are observed on the way to Jenny’s Cove. These
are called “The Earthquakes.”
“Punchbowl Valley,” “The Devil’s Chimney,” and the “Cheeses,” indicate
the weathered masses of granite in the little bay. Beyond these the
Halfway Wall goes across the island. Thenceforward, save for the
myriads of seabirds, the way is comparatively tame. Except for a
little stream--a curiosity on Lundy---no striking scenery is met
until the North Point and its modern lighthouse reached, where the
cliffs end in piles of rocks, like ruins, and the Hen and Chickens
islets are scattered about, off-shore. Here, on most days, the air
is filled with the screaming of the thousands of aquatic birds that
inhabit the crannies of the rocks. Puffins or “Lundy parrots,”
cormorants, guillemots, and gulls fly, or swim and dive, or sit in
queer contemplative rows upon the reefs, like congregations at service.
Occasionally a seal may be seen splashing off the seal rocks.
The very ground, sloping to the cliffs hereabouts, is honeycombed with
the tunnels in which the puffins make their nests. The ruins of one
of several ancient round towers, presumably old-time defences of the
isle, are met with on turning the point and making for the curious
pile of rocks called the “Mousetrap.” A track of marshy ground here
diversifies the scene. Tibbet’s Point rises 510 feet above the sea.
Beyond it is the “Templar Rock,” a cliff-profile singularly like the
helmeted face of a man. At this eastern extremity of the Half-way Wall
is a logan-stone that, owing to the decay of its support, no longer
rocks to a vigorous push. The circuit of the island is completed on
passing the deserted workings of the Lundy Granite Company and its
empty cottages.