and pronounced the word "Slawit" or "Sloyt," the hitherto suppressed
amusement burst in a perfect roar of laughter, the company evidently
thinking that the gentleman who had asked the question had got his
answer! Taking advantage of the general hilarity, we quietly and quickly
retreated to another and less noisy room upstairs, for the night.
(_Distance walked twenty-eight and a half miles_.)
_Wednesday, November 8th._
It must have been a great work to remove the City of Old Sarum and to
rebuild it in another position a mile or two away from its ancient site.
The removal began in 1219, and was continued during about 120 years;
Royal consent had to be obtained, as well as that of the Pope, Honorius
III. The reason then given for its removal was that Old Sarum was too
much exposed to the weather, and that there was also a scarcity of
water there--in fact "too much wind and too little water." There was
some difficulty in deciding the position on which the new cathedral
should be built, but this was solved by the Bishop shooting an arrow
from the top of the Castle of Old Sarum; wherever the arrow alighted the
new cathedral was to be built. The arrow fell very conveniently in the
meadows where four rivers ran--the Avon, Bourne, Nadder, and Wylye--and
amongst these the magnificent cathedral of Salisbury was built. The
rivers, which added to the picturesque beauty of the place, were fed by
open canals which ran through the main streets of the city, causing
Salisbury to be named at that time the "English Venice."
Nearly every King and Queen of England, from the time of Henry III, who
granted its first Charter in 1227, had visited Salisbury, and over
twenty of their portraits hung in the Council Chamber. Two Parliaments
were held in Salisbury, one in 1328 and another in 1384; and it was in
the market-place there, that Buckingham had his head cut off in 1483 by
order of his kinsman, Richard III, for promoting an insurrection in the
West of England. Henry VIII visited the city on two occasions, once with
Catherine of Aragon, and again with Anna Boleyn. James I too came to
Salisbury in 1611, and Charles II with his queen in 1665--on both these
occasions to escape the plagues then raging in London. Sir Walter
Raleigh was in the city in 1618, writing his _Apology for the Voyage to
Guiana_, before his last sad visit to London, where he was beheaded.
James II passed through the town in 1688 to oppose the landing of
William of Orange, but, hearing he had already landed at Torbay, he
returned to London, and William arrived here ten days later, occupying
the same apartments at the palace.
But the chief object of interest in Salisbury was the fine cathedral,
with its magnificent Decorated Spire, the highest and finest in England,
and perhaps one of the finest in Europe, for it is 404 feet high, forty
feet higher, we were informed, than the cross on the top of St. Paul's
Cathedral in London. This information rather staggered my brother, for
he had an exalted opinion of the height of St. Paul's, which he had
visited when he went to the Great Exhibition in London in 1862.
On that occasion he had ascended the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral from
the inside by means of the rickety stairs and ladders provided for that
purpose, and had reached the golden ball which supported the cross on
the top, when he found it already occupied by two gentlemen smoking
cigars, who had arrived there before him, and who kindly assisted him
into the ball, which, although it only appeared about the size of a
football when seen from the city below, was big enough to hold four men.
They also very kindly offered him a cigar, which he was obliged to
decline with thanks, for he did not smoke; but when they told him they
came from Scotland, he was not surprised to find them there, as Scotsmen
even in those days were proverbial for working their way to the top not
only of the cathedrals, but almost everywhere else besides. The "brither
Scots" were working to a previously arranged programme, the present item
being to smoke a cigar in the golden ball on the top of St. Paul's
Cathedral. When my brother began the descent, he experienced one of the
most horrible sensations of his life, for hundreds of feet below him he
could see the floor of the cathedral with apparently nothing whatever
in the way to break a fall; so that a single false step might have
landed him in eternity, for if he had fallen he must have been dashed
into atoms on the floor so far below. The gentlemen saw he was nervous,
and advised him as he descended the ladder backwards not to look down
into the abyss below, but to keep his eyes fixed above, and following
this excellent advice, he got down safely. He always looked back on that
adventure in the light of a most horrible nightmare and with
justification, for in later years the Cathedral authorities made the
Whispering Gallery the highest point to which visitors were allowed to
ascend.
We did not of course attempt to climb the Salisbury spire, although
there were quite a number of staircases inside the cathedral, and after
climbing these, adventurous visitors might ascend by ladders through the
timber framework to a door near the top; from that point, however, the
cross and the vane could only be reached by steeple-jacks. Like other
lofty spires, that of Salisbury had been a source of anxiety and expense
from time to time, but the timber used in the building of it had been
allowed to remain inside, which had so strengthened it that it was then
only a few inches out of the perpendicular. When a new vane was put on
in 1762 a small box was discovered in the ball to which the vane was
fixed. This box was made of wood, but inside it was another box made of
lead, and enclosed in that was found a piece of very old silk--a relic,
it was supposed, of the robe of the Virgin Mary, to whom the cathedral
was dedicated, and placed there to guard the spire from danger. The
casket was carefully resealed and placed in its former position under
the ball.
A very large number of tombs stood in the cathedral, including many of
former bishops, and we were surprised to find them in such good
condition, for they did not appear to have suffered materially in the
Civil War. The very oldest were those that had been removed from Old
Sarum, but the finest tomb was that of Bishop Giles de Bridport, the
Bishop when the new cathedral was completed and consecrated. He died in
1262, and eight carvings on the stone spandrel above him represented the
same number of scenes in his career, beginning with his birth and ending
with the ascent of his soul into heaven. The figure of a boy in full
episcopal robes, found under the seating of the choir in 1680, and named
the "Boy Bishop," was an object of special interest, but whether it was
a miniature of one of the bishops or intended to represent a "choral
bishop," formerly elected annually by the choir, was unknown.
There were also tombs and effigies to the first and second Earls of
Salisbury, the first, who died in 1226, being the son of Henry II and
Fair Rosamond, of whom we had heard at Woodstock. He was represented in
chain armour, on which some of the beautiful ornaments in gold and
colour still remained. His son, the second Earl, who went twice to the
Holy Land as a Crusader under St. Louis, was also represented in chain
armour and cross-legged.
Near this was the tomb of Sir John Cheney, a man of extraordinary size
and strength, his thigh-bone measuring 21 inches, whose great armour we
had seen in Sir Walter Scott's house at Abbotsford. He was bodyguard to
Henry of Richmond at the Battle of Bosworth Field, near which we passed
at Atherstone. Sir William Brandon was Richmond's standard-bearer, and
was cut down by King Richard himself, who tore his standard from him
and, flinging it aside, rode at Sir John Cheney and hurled him from his
horse just before he met his own fate.
[Illustration: SALISBURY CATHEDRAL. "The fine Cathedral, with its
magnificent Decorated spire, the highest and finest in England--perhaps
the finest in Europe, for it is forty feet higher than the Dome of St.
Paul's in London."]
There are a large number of pillars and windows in Salisbury Cathedral,
but as we had no time to stay and count them, we accepted the numbers
given by the local poet as being correct, when he wrote:
As many days as in one year there be,
So many windows in this Church we see;
As many marble pillars here appear
As there are hours throughout the fleeting year; (8760)
As many gates as moons one year does view.
Strange tale to tell; yet not more strange than true.
The Cathedral Close at Salisbury was the finest we had seen both for
extent and beauty, the half-mile area of grass and the fine trees giving
an inexpressible charm both to the cathedral and its immediate
surroundings. The great advantage of this wide open space to us was that
we could obtain a magnificent view of the whole cathedral. We had passed
many fine cathedrals and other buildings on our walk whose proportions
were hidden by the dingy property which closely surrounded them, but
Salisbury was quite an exception. True, there were houses in and around
the close, but these stood at a respectful distance from the cathedral,
and as they had formerly been the town houses of the aristocracy, they
contained fine old staircases and panelled rooms with decorated
ceilings, which with their beautiful and artistic wrought-iron gates
were all well worth seeing. The close was surrounded by battlemented
stone walls on three sides and by the River Avon on the fourth,
permission having been granted in 1327 by Edward III for the stones from
Old Sarum to be used for building the walls of the close at Salisbury;
hence numbers of carved Norman stones, fragments of the old cathedral
there, could be seen embedded in the masonry. Several gate-houses led
into the close, the gates in them being locked regularly every night in
accordance with ancient custom. In a niche over one of these, known as
the High Street Gate, there was a statue which originally represented
James I, but when he died it was made to do duty for Charles I by taking
off the head of James and substituting that of Charles, his successor to
the throne, with the odd result that the body of James carried the head
of Charles!
There were many old buildings in the city, but we had not time to
explore them thoroughly. Still there was one known as the Poultry Cross
nobody could fail to see whether walking or driving through Salisbury.
Although by no means a large erection, it formed one of the most
striking objects in the city, and a more beautiful piece of Gothic
architecture it would be difficult to imagine. It was formerly called
the Yarn Market, and was said to have been erected about the year 1378
by Sir Lawrence de St. Martin as a penance for some breach of
ecclesiastical law. It consisted of six arches forming an open hexagon,
supported by six columns on heavy foundations, with a central pillar
square at the bottom and six-sided at the top--the whole highly
ornamented and finished off with an elaborate turret surmounted by a
cross. It was mentioned in a deed dated November 2nd, 1335, and formed
a feature of great archaeological interest.
[Illustration: POULTRY CROSS, SALISBURY.]
The old portion of St. Nicholas' was in existence in 1227, and in the
Chorister's Square was a school established and endowed as far back as
the year 1314, to support fourteen choristers and a master to teach
them. Their costumes must have been rather picturesque, for they were
ordered to be dressed in knee-breeches and claret-coloured coats, with
frills at the neck instead of collars.
Quite a number of ancient inns in Salisbury were connected with the old
city life, Buckingham being beheaded in the yard of the "Blue Boar Inn"
in the market-place, where a new scaffold was provided for the occasion.
In 1838 a headless skeleton, believed to be that of Buckingham, was dug
out from below the kitchen floor of the inn.
The "King's Arms" was another of the old posting-houses where, when King
Charles was hiding on Salisbury Plain in the time of the Civil War,
after the Battle of Worcester, a meeting was held under the guidance of
Lord Wilmot, at which plans were made to charter a vessel for the
conveyance of the King from Southampton to some place on the Continent.
Here we saw a curiosity in the shape of a large window on the first
floor, from which travellers formerly stepped on and off the top of the
stage-coaches, probably because the archway into the yard was too low
for the outside passengers to pass under safely. There was also the
"Queen's Arms," with its quaint porch in the shape of a shell over the
doorway, and the "Haunch of Venison," and others; but in the time of the
Commonwealth we might have indulged in the luxury of staying at the
Bishop's Palace, for it was sold at that time, and used as an inn. It
must have had rough visitors, for when the ecclesiastical authorities
regained possession it was in a very dilapidated condition.
One of the oldest coaching-houses in Salisbury in former years was the
"George Inn," mentioned in the city records as far back as the year
1406; but the licence had lapsed, and the building was now being used
for other purposes. Its quaint elevation, with its old-fashioned
bow-windows, was delightful to see, and in the year 1623 it was declared
that "all Players from henceforth shall make their plays at the George
Inn." This inn seemed to have been a grand place, for Pepys, who stayed
there in 1668, wrote in his _Diary_ in his quaint, abrupt, and
abbreviated way: "Came to the George Inne, where lay in a silk bed and
very good diet"; but when the bill was handed to him for payment, he was
"mad" at the charges.
We left Salisbury with regret, and with the thought that we had not seen
all that we ought to have seen, but with an inward resolve to pay the
ancient city another visit in the future. Walking briskly along the
valley of the river Nadder, and taking advantage of a field road, we
reached the village of Bemerton. Here George Herbert, "the most
devotional of the English poets," was rector from 1630 to 1632, having
been presented to the living by Charles I. Herbert was born at
Montgomery Castle, near the Shropshire border, and came of a noble
family, being a brother of the statesman and writer Lord Herbert of
Chirbury, one of the Shropshire Herberts. He restored the parsonage at
Bemerton, but did not live long to enjoy it. He seems to have had a
presentiment that some one else would have the benefit of it, as he
caused the following lines to be engraved above the chimneypiece in the
hall, giving good advice to the rector who was to follow him:
If thou chance for to find
A new house to thy mind,
And built without thy cost.
Be good to the poor
As God gives thee store
And then my labour's not lost.
It was here that he composed most of his hymns, and here he died at what
his friend Izaak Walton described in 1632 as "the good and more pleasant
than healthful parsonage." A tablet inscribed "G.H. 1633" was all that
marked the resting-place of "the sweetest singer that ever sang God's
praise." Bemerton, we thought, was a lovely little village, and there
was a fig-tree and a medlar-tree in the rectory garden, which Herbert
himself was said to have planted with his own hands. Here we record one
of his hymns:
Let all the world in every corner sing
My God and King!
The Heavens are not too high.
His praises may thither fly;
The earth is not too low,
His praises there may grow.
Let all the world in every corner sing
My God and King!
Let all the world in every corner sing
My God and King!
The Church with psalms must shout,
No door can keep them out;
But above all the heart
Must bear the longest part.
Let all the world in every corner sing
My God and King!
The old church of Chirbury belonged to the Herberts, and was noted for
its heavy circular pillars supporting the roof, which, with the walls,
were so much bent outwards that they gave one the impression that they
would fall over; but nearly all the walls in old churches bend that way
more or less, a fact which we always attributed to the weight of the
heavy roof pressing on them. At one village on our travels, however, we
noticed, hanging on one of the pillars in the church, a printed tablet,
which cleared up the mystery by informing us that the walls and pillars
were built in that way originally to remind us that "Jesus on the cross
His head inclined"; and we noticed that even the porches at the entrance
to ancient churches were built in the same way, each side leaning
outwards.
A great treat was in store for us this morning, for we had to pass
through Wilton, with its fine park surrounding Wilton House, the
magnificent seat of the Herberts, Earls of Pembroke and Montgomery. Our
first impression was that Wilton was one of the pleasantest places we
had visited. Wiltshire took its name from the river Wylye, which here
joins the Nadder, so that Wilton had been an important place in ancient
times, being the third oldest borough in England. Egbert, the Wessex
King, had his palace here, and in the great contest with Mercia defeated
Beornwulf in 821 at Ellendune. A religious house existed here in very
early times. In the reign of Edward I it was recorded that Osborn de
Giffard, a relative of the abbess, carried off two of the nuns, and was
sentenced for that offence to be stripped naked and to be whipped in the
churches of Wilton and Shaftesbury, and as an additional punishment to
serve three years in Palestine. In the time of Henry VIII, Anne Boleyn
wished to give the post of abbess to a friend, but King Henry had
scruples on the subject, for the proposed abbess had a somewhat shady
reputation; he wrote, "I would not for all the gold in the world clog
your conscience nor mine to make her a ruler of a house, which is of so
ungodly a demeanour, nor I trust you would not that neither for brother
nor sister I should so bestain mine honour or conscience." This we
thought to be rather good for such a stern moralist as Henry VIII, but
perhaps in his younger days he was a better man than we had been taught
to believe.
Wilton suffered along with Old Sarum, as the loss of a road was a
serious matter in those days, and Bishop Bingham, who appeared to have
been a crafty man, and not at all favourable to the Castellans at Old
Sarum, built a bridge over the river in 1244, diverting the main road of
Icknield Way so as to make it pass through Salisbury. As Leland wrote,
"The changing of this way was the total cause of the ruine of Old
Saresbyri and Wiltown, for afore Wiltown had 12 paroche churches or
more, and was the head of Wilesher." The town of Wilton was very
pleasant and old-fashioned. The chief industry was carpet-making, which
originally had been introduced there by French and Flemish weavers
driven by persecution from their own country. When we passed through the
town the carpet industry was very quiet, but afterwards, besides Wilton
carpets, "Axminster" and "Brussels" carpets were manufactured there,
water and wool, the essentials, being very plentiful. Its fairs for
sheep, horses, and cattle, too, were famous, as many as 100,000 sheep
having been known to change owners at one fair.
[Illustration: WILTON HOUSE FROM THE RIVER.]
We were quite astonished when we saw the magnificent church, on a
terrace facing our road and approached by a very wide flight of steps.
It was quite modern, having been built in 1844 by Lord Herbert of Lea,
and had three porches, the central one being magnificently ornamented,
the pillars resting on lions sculptured in stone. The tower, quite a
hundred feet high, stood away from the church, but was connected with it
by a fine cloister with double columns finely worked. The interior of
the church was really magnificent, and must have cost an immense sum of
money. It had a marble floor and some beautiful stained-glass windows;
the pulpit being of Caen stone, supported by columns of black marble
enriched with mosaic, which had once formed part of a thirteenth-century
shrine at Santa Maria Maggiore in Rome, some of the stained glass also
belonging to the same period.
The great House of Wilton, the seat of the Herberts, had been built in a
delightful situation on the site of the old monastery, amidst beautiful
gardens and grounds. It was a veritable treasure-house for pictures by
the most famous painters, containing a special gallery filled almost
exclusively with portraits of the family and others painted by Vandyck.
The collection included a good portrait of Prince Rupert,[Footnote: See
page 303.] who gave the army of the Parliament such a lively time in the
Civil War, and who is said, in spite of his recklessness, to have been
one of the best cavalry officers in Europe. Queen Elizabeth stayed three
days there in 1573, and described her visit as "both merrie and
pleasante." During this visit she presented Sir Philip Sidney, the
author of _Arcadia_, with a "locke of her owne hair," which many years
afterwards was found in a copy of that book in the library, and attached
to it a very indifferent verse in the Queen's handwriting. Charles I,
it was said, visited Wilton every summer, and portraits of himself,
Henrietta Maria and their children, and some of their Court beauties,
were also in the Vandyck gallery.
Wilton Park attracted our attention above all, as the rivers Wylye and
Nadder combined to enhance its beauty, and to feed the ornamental lake
in front of the Hall. There were some fine cedar trees in the park, and
as we had often seen trees of this kind in other grounds through which
we had passed, we concluded they dated from the time of the Crusades,
and that the crusaders had brought small plants back with them, of which
these trees were the result. We were informed, however, that the cedar
trees at Wilton had only been planted in the year 1640 by the Earl of
Devonshire, who had sent men to collect them at Lebanon in the Holy
Land. Thus we were compelled to change our opinion, for the trees we had
seen elsewhere were of about the same girth as those at Wilton, and must
therefore have been planted at about the same period. The oak trees in
the park still retained many of their leaves, although it was now late
in the autumn, but they were falling off, and we tried to catch some of
them as they fell, though we were not altogether successful. My brother
reminded me of a verse he once wrote as an exercise in calligraphy when
at school:
Men are like leaves that on the trees do grow,
In Summer's prosperous time much love they show,
But art thou in adversity, then they
Like leaves from trees in Autumn fall away.
But after autumn and winter have done their worst there are still some
bushes, plants, or trees that retain their leaves to cheer the traveller
on his way. Buckingham, who was beheaded at Salisbury, was at one time a
fugitive, and hid himself in a hole near the top of a precipitous rock,
now covered over with bushes and known only to the initiated as
"Buckingham's Cave." My brother was travelling one winter's day in
search of this cave, and passed for miles through a wood chiefly
composed of oak trees that were then leafless. The only foliage that
arrested his attention was that of the ivy, holly, and yew, and these
evergreens looked so beautiful that he occasionally stopped to admire
them without exactly knowing the reason why; after leaving the great
wood he reached a secluded village far away from what was called
civilisation, where he inquired the way to "Buckingham's Cave" from a
man who turned out to be the village wheelwright. In the course of
conversation the man informed him that he occasionally wrote poetry for
a local newspaper with a large circulation in that and the adjoining
counties. He complained strongly that the editor of the paper had
omitted one verse from the last poem he had sent up; which did not
surprise my brother, who inwardly considered he might safely have
omitted the remainder. But when the wheelwright showed him the poem he
was so pleased that he asked permission to copy the verses.
The fairest flower that ever bloomed
With those of bright array
In Seasons' changeful course is doomed
To fade and die away;
While yonder's something to be seen--
It is the lovely evergreen!
The pretty flowers in summer-time
Bring beauty to our land,
And lovely are the forest trees--
In verdure green they stand;
But while we gaze upon the scene
We scarcely see the evergreen!
But lo! the wintry blast comes on,
And quickly falls the snow;
And where are all the beauties gone
That bloom'd a while ago?
While yonder stands through winter keen
The lovely-looking evergreen!
Our lives are like a fading flower,
And soon they pass away,
And earthly joys may last an hour
To disappear at close of day;
But Saints in Heaven abide serene
And lasting, like the evergreen!
My brother felt that here he had found one of nature's poets, and no
longer wondered why he had admired the evergreen trees and bushes when
he came through the forest.
[Illustration: COL. JOHN PENRUDDOCKE.]
In about two miles after leaving Wilton we parted company with the River
Nadder, and walked along the road which passes over the downs to
Shaftesbury. On our way we came in sight of the village of Compton
Chamberlain, and of Compton House and park, which had been for centuries
the seat of the Penruddocke family. It was Colonel John Penruddocke who
led the famous "forlorn hope" in the time of the Commonwealth in 1655.
He and another champion, with 200 followers, rode into Salisbury, where,
overcoming the guards, they released the prisoners from the gaol, and
seizing the two judges of assize proclaimed Charles II King, just as
Booth did in Cheshire. The people of the city did not rise, as they
anticipated, so Penruddocke and his companions dispersed and rode away
to different parts of the country; eventually they were all taken
prisoners and placed in the Tower of London. Penruddocke was examined
personally by Cromwell at Whitehall, and it was thought for a time that
he might be pardoned, but ultimately he was sent to the scaffold. He
compared the steps leading up to the scaffold to Jacob's ladder, the
feet on earth but the top reaching to heaven; and taking off his doublet
he said, "I am putting off these old rags of mine to be clad with the
new robes of the righteousness of Jesus Christ." The farewell letters
between him and his wife were full of tenderness and love, and what he
had done was doubtless under the inspiration of strong religious
convictions. It was said that it was his insurrection that led to the
division of the country into military districts, which have continued
ever since. The lace cap he wore on the scaffold, blood-stained and
showing the marks of the axe, was still preserved, as well as his sword,
and the beautiful letters that passed between him and his wife, and the
Colonel's portrait was still to be seen at the mansion.
About a mile before reaching Shaftesbury we left Wiltshire and entered
the county of Dorset, of which Shaftesbury was said to be the most
interesting town from an antiquarian point of view. Here the downs
terminate abruptly, leaving the town standing 700 feet above the sea
level on the extreme point, with precipices on three sides. Across the
far-famed Blackmoor Vale we could quite easily see Stourton Tower,
standing on the top of Kingsettle Hill, although it was twelve miles
distant. The tower marked the spot where, in 879, King Alfred raised his
standard against the Danes, and was built in 1766, the inscription on it
reading:
Alfred the Great A.D. 879 on this summit erected his standard against
Danish invaders. To him we owe the origin of Juries, the
establishment of a Militia, the creation of a Naval Force. Alfred,
the light of a benighted age, was a Philosopher, and a Christian, the
father of his people, the founder of the English monarchy and
liberty.
In the gardens near that tower the three counties of Dorset, Somerset,
and Wilts meet; and here in a grotto, where the water runs from a jar
under the arm of a figure of Neptune, rises the River Stour, whose
acquaintance we were to form later in its sixty-mile run through Dorset.
Shaftesbury had been a stronghold from the earliest times, and so long
ago, according to Geoffrey of Monmouth, who was born A.D. 1100, that an
Eagle spoke to the people who were building the walls words that even he
dare not write. Elgiva, the queen of the Saxon King Edward the Elder,
was buried in the Abbey at Shaftesbury, as were also the remains of
Edward the Martyr, who was murdered by Elfrida his step-mother in 980.
When the bones of this canonised king began to work miraculous cures,
there was a rush of pilgrims to the town, which at one time contained
twelve churches. King Canute, it was stated, died here in 1035; and in
1313 Elizabeth, the wife of Robert Bruce of Scotland, was brought to the
Abbey as a prisoner. The building was demolished in the time of Henry
VIII, all that remained of it being what is known as the old Abbey wall.
Most of the old churches had disappeared too, but under St. Peter's
there was a wine-cellar belonging to a public-house displaying the
strange sign of the "Sun and Moon." The proximity of inns to churches
we had often noted on our journey, but thought _this_ intrusion had been
carried rather too far, although the age of the church proclaimed it to
be a relic of great antiquity. We must not forget to record that between
Wilton and Shaftesbury we saw a large quantity of pheasants feeding
under some oak trees. We counted more than twenty of them, and had never
seen so many gathered together before. Among them we noted three that
were white, the only white pheasants we had ever seen.
Leaving Shaftesbury, we crossed over one section of the Blackmoor Vale,
or what we might describe as the Stour country, for there were many
place-names in which the word Stour occurred. The place where the River
Stour rises is known as Stourhead; and we had seen a monument, rather a
fine one, in Salisbury Cathedral, to the murderer, Lord Charles
Stourton. Three holes on each side of the monument represented the
sources of the Stour at Stourhead, and these figured in the armorial
bearings of the family. Lord Charles was hanged with a silk cord instead
of the usual one made of hemp, the execution taking place in Salisbury
Market-place in 1556; his crime was the murder of two of the family
agents, father and son. His own four agents were hanged at the same time
along with him, and a piece of twisted wire resembling the halter was
suspended over his tomb for many years, to remind people of his
punishment and crime.
We took the precaution of getting our tea before leaving Shaftesbury, as
there was some uncertainty about the road to Sturminster, where,
attracted by the name, we expected to find a minster or cathedral, and
had therefore decided to make that town our next stage. We could see a
kind of mist rising at several points in the valley as we descended the
steep hill leading out of the town in the direction of the Stour valley.
No highway led that way except one following a circuitous route, so we
walked at a quick pace along the narrow by-road, as we had been
directed. Darkness soon came over us, and we had to moderate our speed.
We met very few persons on the road, and saw very few houses, and it
seemed to us a marvel afterwards that we ever reached Sturminster (or
Stourminster) that night. It would have been bad enough if we had been
acquainted with the road, but towards the close of our journey we could
hear the river running near us for miles in the pitch darkness, and
although my brother walked bravely on in front, I knew he was afraid of
the water, and no doubt in fear that he might stumble into it in the
dark. We were walking in Indian file, for there was no room to walk
abreast in safety, while in places we had absolutely to grope our way.
We moved along
Like one who on a lonely road
Doth walk in fear and dread.
And dare not turn his head,
For well he knows a fearful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.
It is perhaps unnecessary to explain that the "fearful fiend" was not
either my brother or myself, but some one supposed to be somewhere in
the rear of us both; but in any case we were mightily pleased when we
reached the "King's Arms" at Sturminster, where we were looked upon as
heroes, having now walked quite 1,100 miles.
(_Distance that day, twenty-eight miles_.)
_Thursday, November 9th._
A sharp frost during the night reminded us of the approach of winter,
and we left Sturminster early this morning with the determination of
crossing the county of Dorset, and reaching the sea-coast that night,
thence to follow the coast-line as far as was consistent with seeing all
the sights we could, until we reached the Land's End. We again crossed
the bridge over the River Stour by which we had entered the town in the
black darkness of the previous night, and were careful not to damage any
of the six arches of which it was composed, as a notice inscribed on the
bridge itself stated that any one damaging any portion of it would be
guilty of felony and liable to transportation for life! We had not been
able to find any special object of interest in the town itself, although
King Edgar had given the manor to the monks of Glastonbury. Even the old
church, with the exception of the tower, had been pulled down and
rebuilt; so possibly the old and well-worn steps that had formed the
base of the cross long since disappeared might claim to be the most
ancient relic in the town. The landlord of the inn had told us that
Sturminster was famous for its fairs, which must have originated in very
early times, for they were arranged to be held on saints' days--St.
Philip and Jacob's, and St. Luke's respectively.
[Illustration: ALL THAT REMAINS OF STURMINSTER CROSS]
After crossing the bridge we climbed up the small hill opposite, to view
the scant ivy-clad ruins of Sturminster-Newton Castle, which was all
that remained of what was once a seat of the Saxon Kings, especially of
Edgar and Edward the Elder. We had a pleasant walk for some miles, and
made good progress across the southern end of the Vale of Blackmoor, but
did not keep to any particular road, as we crossed the country in the
direction of some hills we could occasionally see in the distance.
Eventually we reached Cerne-Abbas, where we were told we ought to have
come in the springtime to see the primroses which there grew in immense
profusion. We had heard of the "Cerne Giant," whose fixed abode was now
the Giant's Hill, immediately behind the village, and whose figure was
there cut out in the turf. Formerly this monster caused great loss to
the farmers by eating their sheep, of which he consumed large
quantities. They were quite powerless to stop him, owing to his immense
size and the enormous club he carried; but one day he had eaten so many
sheep that he felt drowsy and lay down to sleep. He was seen by the
farmers, who could tell by his heavy breathing that the giant was fast
asleep, so they got together all their ropes and quietly tied his limbs
and fastened him to the earth; then, attacking him with their knives and
axes, they managed to kill him. This was a great event, and to celebrate
their victory they cut his figure in the chalk cliff to the exact
life-size, so that future generations could see what a monster they had
slain. This was the legend; and perhaps, like the White Horses, of which
there were several, the Giant might have been cut out in prehistoric
times, or was it possible he could have grown larger during the
centuries that had intervened, for he was 180 feet in height, and the
club that he carried in his hand was 120 feet long! Cerne Abbas was a
very old place, as an early Benedictine Abbey was founded there in 987,
the first Abbot being Aelfric, who afterwards became Archbishop of
Canterbury. It was at Cerne that Queen Margaret sought refuge after
landing at Weymouth in 1471. Her army had been defeated at Barnet on the
very day she landed; but, accompanied by a small force of French
soldiers, she marched on until she reached Tewkesbury, only to meet
there with a final defeat, and to lose her son Edward, who was murdered
in cold blood, as well as her husband Henry VI. Very little remained of
the old abbey beyond its ancient gateway, which was three stories high,
and displayed two very handsome double-storeyed oriel windows.
We now followed the downward course of the River Cerne, and walking
along a hard but narrow road soon reached the village of Charminster.
The church here dated from the twelfth century, but the tower was only
built early in the sixteenth century by Sir Thomas Trenchard of
Wolfeton, whose monogram T.T. appeared on it as well as in several
places in the church, where some very old monuments of the Trenchard
family were also to be seen. Wolfeton House was associated with a very
curious incident, which materially affected the fortunes of one of
England's greatest ducal families. In 1506 the Archduke Philip of
Austria and Joanna his wife sailed from Middelburg, one of the Zeeland
ports, to take possession of their kingdom of Castile in Spain. But a
great storm came on, and their ship became separated from the others.
Becoming unmanageable, it drifted helplessly down the Channel, and to
make matters worse took fire just when the storm was at its height, and
narrowly escaped foundering. Joanna had been shipwrecked on a former
occasion, and when her husband came to inform her of the danger, she
calmly put on her best dress and, with all her money and jewels about
her, awaited her fate, thinking that when her body was found they would
see she was a lady of rank and give her a suitable burial. With great
difficulty the ship, now a miserable wreck, was brought into the port of
Weymouth, and the royal pair were taken out with all speed and conveyed
to the nearest nobleman's residence, which happened to be that of Sir
Thomas Trenchard, near Dorchester, about ten miles distant. They were
very courteously received and entertained, but the difficulty was that
Sir Thomas could neither speak Spanish nor French, and the visitors
could not speak English. In this dilemma he suddenly remembered a young
kinsman of his, John Russel of Berwick House, Bridport, who had
travelled extensively both in France and Spain, and he sent for him
post-haste to come at once. On receipt of the message young Russel lost
no time, but riding at full gallop, soon arrived at Wolfeton House. He
was not only a good linguist, but also very good-looking, and the royal
visitors were so charmed with him that when King Henry VII sent the Earl
of Arundel with an escort to convey Philip and Joanna to see him at
Windsor Castle, Russel went with them, and was introduced to King Henry
by his royal guests as "a man of abilities, fit to stand before princes
and not before meaner men." This was a good start for young Russel, and
led to the King's retaining him at Court. He prospered greatly, rising
high in office; and in the next reign, when Henry VIII dissolved the
monasteries, Russel came in for a handsome share of the spoils,
including Woburn Abbey; he was created a peer, and so founded the great
house of Bedford, made a dukedom in 1694 by William III. One of his
descendants, the third son of the sixth Duke of Bedford, was Lord John
Russell (the name being then able to afford an extra letter), who
brought the Great Reform Bill into Parliament in the year 1832. He was
Prime Minister then and in several subsequent Parliaments, and his name
was naturally a household word all over the kingdom; but what made my
brother more interested in this family was that as early as the year
1850 he was nicknamed "Lord John," after Lord John Russell, who was then
the Prime Minister.
We were now quite near Dorchester, but all we knew about that town
previously was from a song that was popular in those days about "Old
Toby Philpot," whose end was recorded in the last verse, when--
His breath-doors of life on a sudden were shut,
And he died full as big as a Dorchester butt!
Our expectations of finding a brewery there were fully realised, and, as
anticipated, the butts we saw were of much larger dimensions, especially
about the waist, than those we had seen farther north. If "Toby" was of
the same proportions as one of these he must have been quite a
monstrosity.
We were surprised to find Dorchester such a clean and pretty town.
Seeing it was the county town of Dorset, one of the most ancient
settlements in England, and the Durmovaria of the Romans, we expected to
find some of those old houses and quaint passages so common to ancient
county towns; but we learned that the old town had been destroyed by a
fire in 1613, and long before that (in 1003) Dorchester had been burnt
to the ground by the Danes. It had also suffered from serious fires in
1622, 1725, and 1775, the last having been extinguished by the aid of
Johnny Cope's Regiment of Dragoons, who happened then to be quartered in
the town. But the great fire in 1613 must have been quite a fearful
affair, as we saw a pamphlet written about it by an eye-witness, under
the title of _Fire from Heaven_. It gave such a graphic description of
what such a fire was like, that we copied the following extract, which
also displayed the quaint phraseology and spelling peculiar to that
period:
The instrument of God's wrath began first to take hold in a
tradesman's worke-house ... Then began the crye of fier to be spread
through the whole towne man, woman and childe ran amazedly up and
down the streetes, calling for water, so fearfully, as if death's
trumpet had sounded a command of present destruction. The fier began
between the hours of two and three in the afternoone, the wind
blowing very strong, and increased so mightily that, in a very short
space, the most part of the town, was tiered, which burned so
extreamely, the weather being hot, and the houses dry, that help of
man grew almost past ... The reason the fier at the first prevailed
above the strength of man was that it unfortunately happened in the
time of harvest, when people were most busied in the reaping of their
corne, and the towne most emptyest, but when this burnying Beacon of
ruyne gave the harvestmen light into the field, little booted it to
them to stay, but in more than reasonable hast poasted they homeward,
not only for the safeguard of their goods and houses, but for the
preservation of their wives and children, more dearer than all
temporall estate or worldly abundance. In like manner the
inhabitantes of the neighbouring townes and villages, at the fearful
sight of the red blazing element, ran in multitudes to assist them,
proffering the dear venture of their lives to oppresse the rigour of
the fier, but all too late they came, and to small purpose showed
they their willing minds, for almost every streete was filled with
flame, every place burning beyond help and recovery. Their might they
in wofull manner behold merchants' warehouses full of riche
commodities on a flaming fier, garners of breade corn consuming,
multitudes of Wollen and Linnen Clothes burned into ashes, Gold and
Silver melted with Brasse, Pewter and Copper, tronkes and chestes of
Damaskes and fine linnens, with all manner of rich stuffs, made
fewell to increase this universe sole conqueror.... The fierceness of
the fier was such that it even burnet and scorchet trees as they
grew, and converted their green liveries into black burned garments;
not so much as Hearbes and Flowers flourishing in Gardynes, but were
in a moment withered with the heat of the fier.... Dorchester was a
famous towne, now a heap of ashes for travellers that passe by to
sigh at. Oh, Dorchester, wel maist thou mourn for those thy great
losses, for never had English Towne the like unto thee.... A loss so
unrecoverable that unlesse the whole land in pitty set to their
devotions, it is like never to re-obtain the former estate, but
continue like ruinated Troy, or decayed Carthage. God in his mercy
raise the inhabitants up againe, and graunt that by the mischance of
this Towne both us, they and all others may repent us of our sins.
Amen.
It was computed that over three hundred houses were destroyed in this
great fire; but the prayer of the writer of the pamphlet, as to the
town's being raised up again, had been granted. The county of Dorset
generally, lies in the sunniest part of England, and the town was now
prospering and thoroughly healthy, the death-rate being well below the
average: did not the great Dr. Arbuthnot leave it in despair with the
remark, "In Dorchester a physician can neither live nor die"?
Dorchester was one of the largest stations of the Romans in England, and
their amphitheatre just outside the town was the most perfect in the
country, the Roman road and Icknield ways passing quite near it. There
were three great earthworks in the immediate neighbourhood--the Maumbury
Rings or Amphitheatre, the Poundbury Camp, and the far-famed Maiden
Castle, one of the greatest British earthworks; in fact Roman and other
remains were so numerous here that they were described as being "as
plentiful as mushrooms," and the whole district was noted for its
"rounded hills with short herbage and lots of sheep." We climbed up the
hill to see the amphitheatre, which practically adjoined the town, and
formed one of the most remarkable and best preserved relics of the Roman
occupation in Britain. It was oval in shape, and had evidently been
formed by excavating the chalk in the centre, and building up the sides
with it to the height of about thirty feet. It measured 345 feet by 340,
and was supposed to have provided ample accommodation for the men and
beasts that figured in the sports, in addition to about 13,000
spectators.
In the year 1705 quite 10,000 people assembled there to witness the
strangling and burning of a woman named Mary Channing, who had murdered
her husband. This woman, whose maiden name was Mary Brookes, lived in
Dorchester with her parents, who compelled her to marry a grocer in the
town named Richard Channing, for whom she did not care. Keeping company
with some former gallants, she by her extravagance almost ruined her
husband, and then poisoned him. At the Summer Assizes in 1704 she was
tried, but being found pregnant she was removed, and eighteen weeks
after her child was born, she was, at the following Lent Assizes,
sentenced to be strangled and then burned in the middle of the area of
the amphitheatre. She was only nineteen years of age, and insisted to
the last that she was innocent.
About a hundred years before that a woman had suffered the same penalty
at the same place for a similar offence. This horrible cruelty was
sanctioned by law, in those days, in case of the murder of a husband by
his wife; and the Rings were used as a place of execution until the year
1767.
There was a fine view of the country from the top of the amphitheatre,
and we could see both the Poundbury Camp and the Mai-Dun, or "Hill of
Strength," commonly called the Maiden Hill, a name also applied to other
hills we had seen in the country. The Maiden Hill we could now see was
supposed to be one of the most stupendous British earthworks in
existence, quite as large as Old Sarum, and covering an area of 120
acres. It was supposed to be the Dunium of which Ptolemy made mention,
and was pre-Roman without a doubt. At Dorchester the Romans appear to
have had a residential city, laid out in avenues in the direction of
Maumbury Camp, with houses on either side; but the avenues we saw were
of trees--elm, beech, and sycamore.
The burial-places of the Romans were excavated in the chalk, and this
being naturally dry, their remains were preserved much longer there than
if they had been buried in damp soil. Many graves of Roman soldiers had
been unearthed from time to time, and it was discovered that the chalk
had been scooped out in an oblong form to just the exact size of the
corpse. The man was generally found buried on his side with his knees
drawn up to his chest, all sorts of things being buried with him,
including very often a coin of the then reigning emperor placed in his
mouth. His weapon and utensils for eating and drinking, and his
ornaments, had been placed as near as possible to the positions where he
had used them in life; the crown of his head touched one end of the
oval-shaped hole in which he had been buried and his toes the other. The
tomb was exactly in the shape of an egg, and the corpse was placed in it
as tightly as possible, like a chicken in its shell. Women's ornaments
were also found buried with them, such as pins for the hair and beads
for the neck; but we did not hear of any rings having been found amongst
them, so possibly these tokens of slavery were not worn by the Roman
ladies. We might have found some, however, in the local museum, which
was full of all kinds of old things, and occupied a house formerly
tenanted by that man of blood---Judge Jeffreys, whose chair was still
preserved, and whose portrait by Lely was sufficient alone to proclaim
his brutal character. In the time of Monmouth's rebellion in 1685 Judge
Jeffreys began his "Bloody Assize" at Dorchester. Monmouth had landed at
Lyme Regis in the south of the county, and the cry was "A Monmouth! A
Monmouth! The Protestant Religion!" and a number of Puritans had joined
his standard. More than three hundred of them had been taken prisoners
and were awaiting their trial at Dorchester, the county town. Jeffreys
let it be known that their only chance was to plead guilty and throw
themselves on the mercy of their country, but in spite of this two
hundred and ninety-two received sentence of death. Twenty-nine of these
were despatched immediately, and about ninety were executed in various
parts of the country, their bodies being brutally dismembered and
exposed in towns, villages, and hamlets. Great efforts were made to save
one young gentleman named Battiscombe, who was engaged to a young lady
of gentle blood, a sister of the Sheriff; she threw herself at the feet
of Jeffreys to beg for mercy, but he drove her away with a jest so
shocking to decency and humanity that it could not be repeated, and
Battiscombe perished with the others. Altogether three hundred persons
were executed, more were whipped and imprisoned, and a thousand sold and
transported to the Plantations, for taking part in this rebellion, the
money going as perquisites to the ladies of the Court. Jeffreys rose to
be Lord Chancellor, but falling into disgrace after the abdication of
James II, he was committed to the Tower of London and there died in
1689, before he could be brought to trial. It saddened us to think that
this brute really belonged to our own county, and was at first the
Justice for Chester. The following entry appeared in the records of the
town:
To a Bill for disbursements for ye Gallows. Burning and boiling ye
Rebels, executed p. order £116 4s. 8d. Paid Mr. Mayers att ye Beare,
for so much hee pd. for setting up of a post with ye quarters of ye
Rebells att ye town end as p. his Bill 1s. 6-1/2d.
These entries bear evidence of this horrible butchery; but the
Dorcestrians seem to have been accustomed to sights of this kind, as
there had been horrible persecutions of the Roman Catholics there in the
time of Queen Elizabeth--sequel perhaps to those of the Protestants in
the time of Queen Mary--one man named Pritchard was hanged, drawn, and
quartered in 1583, and in 1584 four others were executed.
Dorchester, like other places, could boast of local celebrities. Among
these was John White, who in 1606 was appointed rector of Dorchester and
held that office until the day of his death in 1648. He was the son of
one of the early Puritans, and was himself a famous Puritan divine. At
the Assembly of Divines at Westminster in 1643 he was said to have
prayed before the House of Commons in St. Margaret's for an hour and a
half, in the hope that they might be induced to subscribe to the
"Covenant" to resist the encroachments of Charles I on religious
liberty.
He was a pioneer in the New England movement, and was virtually the
founder of Massachusetts, in America. From the first he took a most
active part in encouraging emigration and in creating what at that time
was known as New England, and he was also the founder of the New England
Company. It was in 1620 that the good ship _Mayflower_ arrived at
Plymouth with Robinson's first batch of pilgrims from Holland on their
way across the Atlantic. It is not certain that White crossed the ocean
himself; but his was the master-mind that organised and directed the
expeditions to that far-distant land, and he was ably seconded by Bishop
Lake, his friend and brother Wykehamist.
[Illustration: JOHN ENDICOTT, FIRST GOVERNOR OF MASSACHUSETTS.]
He also influenced John Endicott, "a man well known to divers persons of
note" and a native of Dorchester, where he was born in 1588, to take an
active part in developing the new Colonies, and mainly through the
influence of White a patent was obtained from the Council on March 19th,
1628, by which the Crown "bargained and sold unto some Knights and
Gentlemen about Dorchester, whose names included that of John Endicott,
that part of New England lying between the Merrimac River and the
Charles River on Massachusetts Bay."
At the time this "bargain" was made very little was known about America,
which was looked upon as a kind of desert or wilderness, nor had the
Council any idea of the extent of territory lying between the two
rivers. This ultimately became of immense value, as it included the site
on which the great town of Boston, U.S.A., now stands--a town that was
founded by pilgrims from Boston in Lincolnshire with whom John White was
in close contact.
John Endicott sailed from Weymouth in the ship _Abigail_, Henry Gauder,
Master, with full powers to act for the Company. The new Dorchester was
founded, and soon afterwards four "prudent and honest men" went out from
it and founded Salem. John White procured a patent and royal charter for
them also, which was sealed on March 4th, 1629. It seemed the irony of
fate that on the same day 147 years afterwards Washington should open
fire upon Boston from the Dorchester heights in the American War of
Independence.
A second Dorchester was founded in America, probably by settlers from
the second Dorchester in England--a large village near which we had
passed as we walked through Oxfordshire, where in the distance could be
seen a remarkable hill known as Dorchester Clump. Although it had been a
Roman town, the city where afterwards St. Birinus, the Apostle of
Wessex, set up his episcopal throne from 634 to 707, the head of the See
of Wessex, it was now only a village with one long street, and could not
compare with its much larger neighbour in Dorset. Its large ancient
church, with a fine Jesse window, gave the idea of belonging to a place
once of much greater size. The "hands across the sea" between the two
Dorchesters have never been separated, but the pilgrims now come in the
opposite direction, thousands of Americans visiting Dorchester and its
antiquities; we heard afterwards that the American Dorset had been
presented with one of the tessellated pavements dug up from a Roman
villa in what we might call "Dorchester, Senior," in England, and that a
memorial had been put up in the porch of Dorchester Church inscribed as
follows:
In this Porch lies the body of the Rev. John White, M.A., of New
College, Oxford. He was born at Christmas 1575. For about forty years
he was Rector of this Parish, and also of Holy Trinity, Dorchester.
He died here July 21st, 1648. A man of great godliness, good
scholarship, and wonderful ability. He had a very strong sway in this
town. He greatly forwarded the migration to the Massachusetts Bay
Colony, where his name lives in unfading remembrance.
[Illustration: STATUE OF WILLIAM BARNES.]
Another clergyman, named William Barnes, who was still living, had
become famous by writing articles for the _Gentleman's Magazine_ and
poems for the _Dorset County Chronicle_, and had published a book in
1844 entitled _Poems of Rural Life in Dorset Dialect_, some of which
were of a high order. They were a little difficult for us to understand
readily, for these southern dialects did not appeal to us. After he died
a statue was erected to his memory, showing him as an aged clergyman
quaintly attired in caped cloak, knee-breeches, and buckled shoes, with
a leather satchel strung over his shoulder and a stout staff in his
hand. One of his poems referred to a departed friend of his, and a verse
in it was thought so applicable to himself that it was inscribed on his
monument:
Zoo now I hope this kindly feäce
Is gone to find a better pleäce;
But still wi vo'k a-left behind
He'll always be a-kept in mind.
Thomas Hardy, the founder of Rochester Grammar School in 1569, was the
ancestor of Admiral Hardy, Nelson's flag-captain, who received the great
hero in his arms when the fatal shot was fired at Trafalgar, and whose
monument we could see on Blackdown Hill in the distance. Not the least
distinguished of this worthy family is Thomas Hardy, the brilliant
author of the famous series of West-country novels, the first of which
was published in 1872, the year after our visit.
Our next stage was Bridport, and we had been looking forward to seeing
the sea for some time past, as we considered it would be an agreeable
change from the scenery of the lonely downs. We passed by Winterbourne
Abbas on our way, and the stone circle known as the "Nine Stones." The
name Winterbourne refers to one of those ancient springs common in chalk
districts which burst out suddenly in great force, usually in winter
after heavy autumn rains, run for a season, and then as suddenly
disappear.
[Illustration: BRIDPORT.]
Bridport was an important place even in the time of Edward the
Confessor, when it contained 120 houses and a priory of monks. It was
the birthplace of Giles de Bridport, the third Bishop of Salisbury,
whose fine tomb we had seen in that cathedral, and who died in 1262; of
him Leland wrote, "he kivered the new Cathedral Church of Saresbyrie
throughout with lead." In the time of the Plantagenet kings Bridport was
noted for its sails and ropes, much of the cordage and canvas for the
fleet fitted out to do battle with the Spanish Armada being made here.
Flax was then cultivated in the neighbourhood, and the rope-walks, where
the ropes were made, were in the streets, which accounted for some of
the streets being so much wider than others. Afterwards the goods were
made in factories, the flax being imported from Rusfia.
We did not quite reach the sea that night, as it was a mile or two
farther on; but we put up at the "Bull Hotel," and soon discovered we
had arrived at a town where nearly all the men for ages had been
destined for the army or navy, and consequently had travelled to all
parts of the world--strong rivals to the Scots for the honour of being
found sitting on the top of the North Pole if ever that were discovered.
King Charles II was nearly trapped here when he rode into the town in
company with a few others and put up at the "George Inn." The yard of
the inn was full of soldiers, but he passed unnoticed, as they were
preparing for an expedition to the Channel Islands. Charles received a
private message that he was not safe, and that he was being pursued, and
he and his friends hastily departed along the Dorchester road.
Fortunately Lord Wilton came up, and advised them to turn down a small
lane leading to Broadwindsor, where Charles was immediately secreted; it
was lucky for him, as the pursuing party passed along the Dorchester
road immediately afterwards, and he would certainly have been taken
prisoner if he had gone there. A large stone was afterwards placed at
the corner of Lea Lane, where he turned off the high road, and still
remained there to commemorate that event, which happened on September
23rd, 1651.
One Sunday morning in 1685 about three hundred soldiers arrived in the
town from Lyme Regis, where the Duke of Monmouth had landed on his
unfortunate expedition to seize the crown of his uncle James II. They
were opposed by the Dorset Militia and fired upon from the windows of
the "Bull Inn," where we were now staying, being eventually forced to
retire.
In still later years Bridport was kept alive in anticipation of the
hourly-expected invasion of England by the great Napoleon, who had
prepared a large camp at Boulogne, the coast of Dorset being considered
the most likely place for him to land.
(_Distance walked thirty miles_.)
_Friday, November 10th._
We left the "Bull Hotel" a little before daylight this morning, as we
had a long walk before us, and in about half an hour we reached Bridport
Quay, where the river Brit terminates in the sea, now lying before us in
all its beauty. There were a few small ships here, with the usual knot
of sailors on the quay; but the great object of interest was known as
the Chesil Bank, "one of the most wonderful natural formations in the
world." Nothing of the kind approaching its size existed elsewhere in
Europe, for it extended from here to Portland, a distance of sixteen
miles, and we could see it forming an almost straight line until it
reached Portland, from which point it had been described as a rope of
pebbles holding Portland to the mainland. The Bank was composed of white
flint pebbles, and for half its distance from the Portland end, an inlet
from the sea resembling a canal, and called "the Fleet," passed between
the land and the Bank, which was here only 170 to 200 yards wide: raised
in the centre and sloping down to the water on either side. The pebbles
at the Bridport end of the Bank were very small, but at the Portland end
they were about three inches in diameter, increasing in size so
gradually that in the dark the fishermen could tell where they had
landed by the size of the pebbles. The presence of these stones had long
puzzled both British and foreign savants, for there were no rocks of
that nature near them on the sea-coast, and the trawlers said there
were no pebbles like them in the sea. Another mystery was why they
varied in size in such a remarkable manner. One thing was certain: they
had been washed up there by the gigantic waves that rolled in at times
with terrific force from the Atlantic; and after the great storms had
swept over the Bank many curious things had been found, including a
large number of Roman coins of the time of Constantine, mediæval coins
and antique rings, seals, plates, and ingots of silver and
gold--possibly some of them from the treasure-ships of the Spanish
Armada, which were said to have been sunk in the Bay. Geologists will
explain anything. They now assert that the Bank is the result of tidal
currents which sweep along the coast eastwards--that they have destroyed
beds in the cliff containing such pebbles, and as the current loses
strength so the bigger and heavier stones are dropped first and the
smaller only reach the places where the current disappears.
[Illustration: CHESIL BEACH, PORTLAND.]
This portion of the sea, known as the West Bay, was the largest
indentation on the coast, and on that account was doubly dangerous to
ships caught or driven there in a storm, especially before the time when
steam was applied to them, and when the constant traffic through the
Channel between Spain and Spanish Flanders furnished many victims, for
in those days the wrecks were innumerable. Strange fish and other
products of the tropical seas had drifted hither across the Atlantic
from the West Indies and America, and in the fishing season the fin
whale, blue shark, threshers and others had been caught, also the sun
fish, boar fish, and the angler or sea-devil. Rare mosses and lichens,
with agates, jaspers, coloured flints and corals, had also been found on
the Chesil Bank; but the most marvellous of all finds, and perhaps that
of the greatest interest, was the Mermaid, which was found there in June
1757. It was thirteen feet long, and the upper part of it had some
resemblance to the human form, while the lower part was like that of a
fish. The head was partly like that of a man and partly like that of a
hog. Its fins resembled hands, and it had forty-eight large teeth in
each jaw, not unlike those in the jaw-bone of a man. Just fancy one of
our Jack-tars diving from the Chesil Bank and finding a mate like that
below! But we were told that diving from that Bank into the sea would
mean certain death, as the return flows from the heavy swell of the
Atlantic which comes in here, makes it almost impossible for the
strongest swimmer to return to the Bank, and that "back-wash" in a storm
had accounted for the many shipwrecks that had occurred there in olden
times.
From where we stood we could see the Hill and Bill of Portland, in the
rear of which was the famous Breakwater, the foundation-stone of which
had been laid by the Prince Consort, the husband of Queen Victoria, more
than twenty years previously, and although hundreds of prisoners from
the great convict settlement at Portland had been employed upon the work
ever since, the building of it was not yet completed.
The stone from the famous quarries at Portland, though easily worked, is
of a very durable nature, and has been employed in the great public
buildings in London for hundreds of years. Inigo Jones used most of it
in the building of the Banqueting Hall at Whitehall, and Sir Christopher
Wren in the reconstruction of St. Paul's Cathedral after the Great Fire,
while it had also been used in the building of many churches and
bridges.
We had expected to find a path along the cliffs from Bridport Quay to
Lyme Regis, but two big rocks, "Thorncombe Beacon" and "Golden Cap," had
evidently prevented one from being made, for though the Golden Cap was
only about 600 feet above sea-level it formed the highest elevation on
the south coast. We therefore made the best of our way across the
country to the village of Chideoak, and from there descended into
Charmouth, crossing the river Char at the entrance to that village or
town by a bridge. On the battlement of this bridge we found a similar
inscription to that we had seen at Sturminster, warning us that whoever
damaged the bridge would be liable to be "transported for life," by
order of King George the Fourth."
Charmouth had been one of the Roman stations and the scene of the
fiercest battles between the Saxons and the Danes in 833 and 841, in the
reigns of Egbert and Ethelwolf, in which the Danes appeared to have been
victorious, as they were constantly being reinforced by
fellow-countrymen arriving by sea. But these were practically forgotten,
the memories of them having been replaced in more modern times by events
connected with the Civil War and with the wanderings of "Prince
Charles," the fugitive King Charles II. What a weary and anxious time he
must have had during the nineteen days he spent in the county of Dorset,
in fear of his enemies and watching for a ship by which he could escape
from England, while soldiers were scouring the county to find him!
[Illustration: HOUSE WHERE KING CHARLES LODGED IN CHARMOUTH.]
He wrote a _Narrative_, in which some of his adventures were recorded,
and from which it appeared that after the Battle of Worcester and his
escape to Boscobel, where the oak tree in which he hid himself was still
to be seen, he disguised himself as a manservant and rode before a lady
named Mrs. Lane, in whose employ he was supposed to be, while Lord
Wilton rode on in front. They arrived at a place named Trent, a village
on the borders of Somerset and Dorset, and stayed at the house of Frank
Wyndham, whom Charles described in his _Narrative_ as a "very honest
man," and who concealed him in "an old well-contrived secret place."
When they arrived some of the soldiers from Worcester were in the
village, and Charles wrote that he heard "one trooper telling the people
that he had killed me, and that that was my buff coat he had on," and
the church bells were ringing and bonfires lighted to celebrate the
victory. The great difficulty was to get a ship, for they had tried to
get one at Bristol, but failed. In a few days' time, however, Wyndham
ventured to go into Lyme Regis, and there found a boat about to sail for
St. Malo, and got a friend to arrange terms with the owner to take a
passenger "who had a finger in the pye at Worcester." It was arranged
that the ship should wait outside Charmouth in the Charmouth Roads, and
that the passenger should be brought out in a small boat about midnight
on the day arranged. Charles then reassumed his disguise as a male
servant named William Jackson, and rode before Mrs. Connisby, a cousin
of Wyndham's, while Lord Wilton again rode on in front. On arrival at
Charmouth, rooms were taken at the inn, and a reliable man was engaged
who at midnight was to be at the appointed place with his boat to take
the Prince to the ship.
Meantime the party were anxiously waiting at the inn; but it afterwards
appeared that the man who had been engaged, going home to change his
linen, confided to his wife the nature of his commission. This alarmed
her exceedingly, as that very day a proclamation had been issued
announcing dreadful penalties against all who should conceal the Prince
or any of his followers; and the woman was so terrified that when her
husband went into the chamber to change his linen she locked the door,
and would not let him come out. Charles and his friends were greatly
disappointed, but they were obliged to make the best of it, and stayed
at the inn all night. Early in the morning Charles was advised to leave,
as rumours were circulating in the village; and he and one or two others
rode away to Bridport, while Lord Wilton stayed at the inn, as his horse
required new shoes. He engaged the ostler at the inn to take his horse
to the smithy, where Hamnet the smith declared that "its shoes had been
set in three different counties, of which Worcestershire was one." The
ostler stayed at the inn gossiping about the company, hearing how they
had sat up with their horses saddled all the night, and so on, until,
suspecting the truth, he left the blacksmith to shoe the horse, and went
to see the parson, whom Charles describes as "one Westly," to tell him
what he thought. But the parson was at his morning prayers, and was so
"long-winded" that the ostler became tired of waiting, and fearing lest
he should miss his "tip" from Lord Wilton, hurried back to the smithy
without seeing the parson. After his lordship had departed, Hamnet the
smith went to see Mr. Westly--who by the way was an ancestor of John and
Charles Wesley--and told him the gossip detailed to him by the ostler.
So Mr. Westly came bustling down to the inn, and accosting the landlady
said: "Why, how now, Margaret! you are a Maid of Honour now."
"What mean you by that, Mr. Parson?" said the landlady.
"Why, Charles Stewart lay last night at your house, and kissed you at
his departure; so that now you can't be but a Maid of Honour!"
Margaret was rather vexed at this, and replied rather hastily, "If I
thought it was the King, I should think the better of my lips all the
days of my life; and so you, Mr. Parson, get out of my house!"
Westly and the smith then went to a magistrate, but he did not believe
their story and refused to take any action. Meantime the ostler had
taken the information to Captain Macey at Lyme Regis, and he started off
in pursuit of Charles; but before he reached Bridport Charles had
escaped. The inn at Charmouth many years afterwards had been converted
into a private house, but was still shown to visitors and described as
the house "where King Charles the Second slept on the night of September
22nd, 1652, after his flight from the Battle of Worcester," and the
large chimney containing a hiding-place was also to be seen there.
[Illustration: OMBERSLEY VILLAGE: "THE KING'S ARMS," WHERE CHARLES II
RESTED DURING HIS FLIGHT AFTER THE BATTLE OF WORCESTER, 1652.]
Prince Charles and some friends stood on the tower of Worcester
Cathedral watching the course of the battle, and when they saw they had
lost the day they rushed down in great haste, and mounting their horses
rode away as fast as they could, almost blocking themselves in the
gateway in their hurry. When they reached the village of Ombersley,
about ten miles distant, they hastily refreshed themselves at the old
timber-built inn, which in honour of the event was afterwards named the
"King's Arms." The ceiling, over the spot where Charles stood, is still
ornamented with his coat of arms, including the fleur-de-lys of France,
and in the great chimney where the smoke disappears above the ingle-nook
is a hiding-place capable of holding four men on each side of the
chimney, and so carefully constructed that no one would ever dream that
a man could hide there without being smothered by the smoke. The smoke,
however, is drawn by the draught past the hiding-place, from which there
would doubtless be a secret passage to the chamber above, which extended
from one side of the inn to the other. In a glass case there was at the
time of our visit a cat and a rat--the rat standing on its hind legs and
facing the cat--but both animals dried up and withered like leather,
until they were almost flat, the ribs of the cat showing plainly on its
skin. The landlord gave us their history, from which it appeared that it
had become necessary to place a stove in a back kitchen and to make an
entrance into an old flue to enable the smoke from the stove-pipe to be
carried up the large chimney. The agent of the estate to which the inn
belonged employed one of his workmen, nicknamed "Holy Joe," to do the
work, who when he broke into the flue-could see with the light of his
candle something higher up the chimney. He could not tell what it was,
nor could the landlord, whom "Joe" had called to his assistance, but it
was afterwards discovered to be the cat and the rat that now reposed in
the glass case. It was evident that the rat had been pursued by the cat
and had escaped by running up the narrow flue, whither it had been
followed by the cat, whose head had become jammed in the flue. The rat
had then turned round upon its pursuer, and was in the act of springing
upon it when both of them had been instantly asphyxiated by the fumes in
the chimney.
With the exception of some slight damage to the rat, probably caused in
the encounter, they were both almost perfect, and an expert who had
examined them declared they must have been imprisoned there quite a
hundred years before they could have been reduced to the condition in
which they were found by "Holy Joe"!
The proprietors of the hostelries patronised by royalty always made as
much capital out of the event as possible, and even the inn at Charmouth
displayed the following advertisement after the King's visit:
Here in this House was lodged King Charles.
Come in, Sirs, you may venture;
For here is entertainment good
For Churchman or Dissenter.
[Illustration: MISS MARY ANNING.]