Orkney Islands and trying to read the names of those deposited in the
museum there, but we had now reached another "paradise for geologists,"
this time described as a "perfect" one; we concluded, therefore, that
what the Pomona district in the Orkneys could not supply, or what Hugh
Miller could not find there, was sure to be found here, as we read that
"where the river Char filtered into the sea the remains of Elephants and
Rhinoceros had been found." But we could not fancy ourselves searching
"the surrounding hills for ammonites and belemnites," although we were
assured that they were numerous, nor looking along the cliffs for such
things as "the remains of ichthyosaurus, plesiosaurus, and other
gigantic saurians, which had been discovered there, as well as
pterodactyles," for my brother declared he did not want to carry any
more stones, his adventure in Derbyshire with them being still fresh on
his mind. We therefore decided to leave these to more learned people,
who knew when they had found them; but, like Hugh Miller with his
famous Asterolepis, a young lady named Mary Anning, who was described as
"the famous girl geologist," had, in 1811, made a great discovery here
of a splendid ichthyosaurus, which was afterwards acquired for the
nation and deposited in the British Museum.
[Illustration: HEAD OF THE ICHTHYOSAURUS.]
Charmouth practically consisted of one long street rising up the hill
from the river, and on reaching the top after getting clear of the town
we had to pass along a curved road cut deeply through the rock to
facilitate coach traffic. In stormy weather the wind blew through this
cutting with such terrific fury that the pass was known as the "Devil's
Bellows," and at times even the coaches were unable to pass through. The
road now descended steeply on the other side, the town of Lyme Regis
spread out before us, with its white houses and the blue sea beyond,
offering a prospect that dwelt in our memories for many years. No town
in all England is quite like it, and it gave us the impression that it
had been imported from some foreign country. In the older part of the
town the houses seemed huddled together as if to protect each other, and
many of them adjoined the beach and were inhabited by fishermen, while a
newer and larger class of houses was gradually being built on the hill
which rose rather abruptly at the rear of what might be called the old
town.
[Illustration: REMAINS OF ICHTHYOSAURUS DISCOVERED AT CHARMOUTH.]
A curious breakwater called the Cobb stretches out a few hundred yards
into the sea. This was originally built in the time of Edward I as a
shelter for the boats in stormy weather, but was destroyed by a heavy
sea in the reign of Edward III, who allowed a tax to be levied on all
goods imported and exported, the proceeds to be applied towards the
rebuilding of the Cobb.
[Illustration: DUKE OF MONMOUTH.]
After the death of Charles II his place was filled by his brother, who
ascended the throne as James II; but Charles had a natural son, James,
the Duke of Monmouth, who had been sent abroad, but who now claimed the
English crown. On June 11th, 1685, the inhabitants of Lyme were alarmed
by the appearance of three foreign ships which did not display any
flags. They were astonished to find that it was an expedition from
Holland, and that James, Duke of Monmouth, had arrived to lead a
rebellion against his uncle, James II. The Duke landed on the Cobb,
which at that time did not join the shore, so that he could not step on
shore without wetting his legs; but Lieut. Bagster of the Royal Navy,
who happened to be in a boat close by, jumped into the water and
presented his knee, upon which the Duke stepped and so reached the shore
without inconvenience. Monmouth then turned to Lieut. Bagster, and
familiarly striking him on the shoulder, said, "Brave young man, you
will join me!" But Bagster replied, "No, sir! I have sworn to be true to
the King, and no consideration shall move me from my fidelity." Monmouth
then knelt down on the beach and thanked God for having preserved the
friends of liberty and pure religion from the perils of the sea, and
implored the Divine blessing on what was to be done by land. He was
received with great rejoicings in Lyme, where there was a strong
Protestant element, and many joined his standard there, including Daniel
Defoe, the author of _Robinson Crusoe_, then only twenty-four years of
age. As the people generally had no grievance against James II,
Monmouth's rebellion failed from want of support, and although he raised
an army of 5,000 men by the time he reached Sedgmoor, in Somerset, he
was there defeated and taken prisoner by the King's army, and beheaded
in the same year. Defoe appears to have escaped capture, but twelve
local followers of Monmouth were hanged afterwards on the Cobb at Lyme
Regis. After Monmouth's execution a satirical ballad was printed and
hawked about the streets of London, entitled "The Little King of Lyme,"
one verse being:
Lyme, although a little place,
I think it wondrous pretty;
If 'tis my fate to wear a crown
I'll make of it a city.
We had a look through the old church, and saw a stained-glass window
which had been placed there in 1847 to the memory of Mary Anning, for
the services rendered by her to science through her remarkable discovery
of fossils in the cliffs of Lyme. There were also some chained books in
the church, one of which was a copy of the Breeches Bible, published in
1579, and so called because the seventh verse in the third chapter of
Genesis was rendered, "The eyes of them bothe were opened ... and they
sowed figge-tree leaves together, and made themselves breeches."
We passed from Dorsetshire into Devonshire as we walked up the hill
loading from Lyme Regis, and we had a fine view when we reached the
summit of the road at Hunter's Cross, where four roads meet. Here we saw
a flat stone supposed to have been the quoin of a fallen cromlech, and
to have been used for sacrificial purposes. From that point a sharp walk
soon brought us to the River Axe and the town of Axminster.
In the time of the Civil War the district between Lyme Regis and
Axminster appears to have been a regular battle-field for the contending
parties, as Lyme Regis had been fortified in 1643 and taken possession
of by Sir Walter Erie and Sir Thomas Trenchard in the name of the
Parliament, while Axminster was in the possession of the Royalists, who
looked upon the capture of Lyme as a matter of the highest importance.
In 1644 Prince Maurice advanced from Axminster with an army of nearly
five thousand Royalists and cannon and attacked Lyme from the higher end
of that town; but although they had possession of many fortified
mansions which acted as bases or depots they were defeated again and
again. The inhabitants of the town were enthusiastic about what they
considered to be the Protestant cause, and even the women, as in other
places, fought in male attire side by side with the men, to make the
enemy think they had a greater number opposed to them. The lion's share
of the defence fell to the lot of Captain Davey, who, from his fort
worked his guns with such amazing persistence that the enemy were
dismayed, while during the siege the town was fed from the sea by ships
which also brought ammunition and stores. After righting for nearly two
months and losing two thousand of his men Prince Maurice retired. The
cannon-balls that he used, of which some have been found since that time
on or near the shore, and in the outskirts of the town, weighed 17-1/2
lb.
One of the defenders was Robert Blake, the famous Admiral, who
afterwards defeated the Dutch in a great battle off Portland. He died in
his ship at Portsmouth, and his body was taken to Greenwich and
afterwards embalmed and buried in Westminster Abbey. But Charles II
remembered the part Blake had taken in the defeat of the Royalist forces
at Lyme Regis, and ordered his ashes to be raked from the grave and
scattered to the winds.
As may be imagined, in the fights between the two parties the
country-people suffered from depredations and were extensively plundered
by both sides. This was referred to in a political song entitled "The
West Husbandman's Lamentations," which, in the dialect then prevailing,
voices the complaint of a farmer who lost six oxen and six horses:
Ich had zix Oxen t'other day,
And them the Roundheads vetcht away--
A mischief be their speed!
And chad zix Horses left me whole.
And them the Cabballeeroes stole,
Chee vore men be agreed.
We were rather disappointed when we arrived at Axminster, for, having
often heard of Axminster carpets, we expected to find factories there
where they made them, but we found that industry had been given up for
many years. We saw the factory where they were formerly made, and heard
a lot about Mr. Whitty, the proprietor. He had made two beautiful
carpets, and exhibited them in London before sending them to a customer
abroad who had ordered them. They were despatched on board a ship from
the Thames, which did not arrive at its destination and was never heard
of afterwards. One of these carpets was described to us as being just
like an oil painting representing a battle scene. The carpets were made
in frames, a woman on each side, and were worked with a needle in a
machine. We saw the house where Mr. Whitty formerly resided, the factory
being at one end of it, while at the back were his dye-works, where, by
a secret method, he dyed in beautiful tints that would not fade. The
pile on the carpets was very long, being more like that on Turkey
carpets, so that when the ends were worn they could be cut off with a
machine and then the carpet appeared new again. Mr. Whitty never
recovered from the great loss of the two carpets, and he died without
revealing his secret process even to his son. The greater part of the
works was burnt down on Trinity Sunday, 1834, and though some portion
was rebuilt, it was never again used for making Axminster carpets, which
were afterwards made at Wilton, to which place the looms were removed in
1835; the industry, started in 1755, had existed at Axminster for eighty
years.
King Athelstan founded a college here in commemoration of the Battle of
Brunnenburh, fought in 937, in which fell five kings and seven earls.
The exact site of this battle did not appear to have been located,
though this neighbourhood scarcely had more substantial claims to it
than the place we passed through in Cumberland.
Axminster took its name from the river Axe, which passes near the town,
and falls into the sea at Axemouth, near Seaton; the name Axe, as well
as Exe and Usk, is Celtic and signifies water--all three being the names
of rivers. There was not much left of Axminster at the end of the Civil
War, except the church, for most of the buildings had been burnt down. A
letter written on November 21st, 1644, by a trooper from Lyme Regis to
his parents in London contained the following passage:
Hot newes in these parts: viz., the 15th of this present November wee
fell upon Axminster with our horse and foote, and through God's
mercie beat them off their works, insomuch that wee possessed of the
towne, and they betook them to the Church, which, they had fortified,
on which wee were loath to cast our men, being wee had a garrison to
look on. My brother and myselfe were both there. We fired part of the
towne, what successe we had you may reade by the particulars here
inclosed. Wee lost only one man in the taking of the towne, and had
five wounded. The Monday following wee marched to Axminster againe.
Major Sydenham having joyned with us that Lordis Day at night before,
thinking to have seized on the Church, and those forces that were in
it, but finding them so strong, as that it might indanger the loss of
many of our men, wee thought it not fit to fall upon the Church, but
rather to set the houses on fire that were not burnt at the first
firing, which accordingly we did, and burnt doune the whole toune,
unlease it were some few houses, but yet they would not come forth
out of the Church.
When Prince Charles, afterwards Charles II, was defeated at Worcester,
it was only natural that he should go amongst his friends for
protection, and a curious story was told here about his narrow escape
from his pursuers in this neighbourhood. He had stayed a short time with
the Wyndham family, near Chard, when news came that his pursuers were on
his track, and that no time must be lost, so he was sent to Coaxden, two
miles from Axminster, to take refuge with the Cogan family, relatives of
the Colonel Wyndham who took a leading part in securing his safe
retreat. He had only just gone when the soldiers arrived and insisted
upon looking through the house and searching it thoroughly; even a young
lady they met in the house was suspected of being the King in disguise,
and it was with some difficulty that they were persuaded otherwise. They
examined every room and linen chest, and then departed in full chase
towards the south. Meanwhile, Charles had arrived at Coaxden, and
entering the parlour, where Mrs. Cogan was sitting alone, threw himself
upon her protection. It was then the fashion for ladies to wear very
long dresses, and as no time was to be lost, the soldiers being on his
heels, she hastily concealed him beneath the folds of her dress. Mrs.
Cogan was in her affections a Royalist, but her husband, who was then
out upon his estate, belonged to the opposite party. Observing the
approach of the soldiers, he made towards the house, and together they
entered the room where the lady was sitting, who affected surprise at
their intrusion. The men immediately announced their business, stating
that Prince Charles had been traced very near the house, and as he must
be concealed upon the premises, they were authorised to make a strict
search for him. Assenting with apparent readiness to their object, Mrs.
Cogan kept her seat, whilst her husband accompanied the men into every
room. At length, having searched the premises in vain, they took their
departure, Mr. Cogan going out with them. Being now released from her
singular and perilous situation, the lady provided for the security of
the fugitive until it was prudent for him to depart, when, furnished
with provisions and a change of apparel, he proceeded on his journey to
Trent, and after further adventures, from thence to Brighthelmstone,
then a poor fishing town, where he embarked for France. After he had
reached the Continent Charles rewarded the lady's fidelity by sending
her a handsome gold chain and locket having his arms on the reverse,
which was long preserved in the family.
There was a curious stone in the churchyard at Axminster placed over the
remains of a crippled gentleman whose crutches were buried with him, a
copy of them being carved on the stone. He was the father of William
Buckland, the eminent geologist, who was Dean of Westminster and died in
1856.
Our next stage was Honiton, the "town of lace," and we walked quickly
onwards for about six miles until we reached the foot of Honiton Hill,
a considerable elevation which stood between ourselves and that town;
and after an upward gradient of a mile or two we gained a fine view both
of the town and the beautiful country beyond, which included Dumpdown
Hill, crowned with an ancient circular camp.
Several definitions of the word Honiton had been given, but the most
acceptable, and perhaps the correct one and certainly the sweetest, was
that of the "Honey Town," originating, it was said, at a time when the
hills which surrounded the place were covered with thyme, "sweet to the
taste and fragrant to the smell; and so attractive to the bees that
large quantities of honey were produced there." The bee-farmers even in
Saxon times were important personages, for sugar was not imported and
honey was the sweetener for all kinds of food and liquor. Honiton, like
many other towns, largely consisted of one wide street; and Daniel
Defoe, in his journey from London to Land's End, early in the year 1700,
described this "town of lace" as large and beautiful, and "so very
remarkably paved with small pebbles, that on either side the way a
little channel is left shouldered up on the sides of it; so that it
holds a small stream of fine running water, with a little square
dipping-place left at every door, so that every family in the town has a
clear running river just at their own door; and this so much finer, so
much pleasanter than that of Salisbury, that in my opinion there is no
comparison." The running streams had now disappeared both here and at
Salisbury, but we could quite understand why one was so much better than
the other, as the water running through Salisbury was practically on the
level, while that at Honiton ran down the hill and had ample fall.
Lancashire ideas of manufacturing led us to expect to find a number of
factories at Honiton where the lace was made for which the town was so
famous, but we found it was all being worked by hand by women and girls,
and in private houses. We were privileged to see some very beautiful
patterns that were being worked to adorn fashionable ladies in London
and elsewhere. The industry was supposed to have been introduced here
originally by Flemish refugees in the fifteenth century, and had been
patronised by Royalty since the marriage of Queen Charlotte in 1761, who
on that occasion wore a Honiton lace dress, every flower on which was
copied from nature. We were informed by a man who was standing near the
"Dolphin Inn," where we called for tea, that the lace trade was "a
bigger business before the Bank broke," but he could not tell us what
bank it was or when it "broke," so we concluded it must have been a
local financial disaster that happened a long time ago.
The Roman road from Bath to Exeter passed through Honiton, and the
weekly market had been held on each side of that road from time
immemorial; the great summer fair being also held there on the first
Wednesday and Thursday after July 19th. A very old custom was observed
on that occasion, for on the Tuesday preceding the fair the town crier
went round the town carrying a white glove on a pole and crying:
O yes! The Fair is begun,
And no man dare to be arrested
Until the Fair is done,
while on the Friday evening he again went round the town ringing his
bell, to show that the fair was over. The origin of this custom appeared
to be shrouded in mystery, as we could get no satisfactory explanation,
but we thought that those three days' grace must have served as an
invitation to evil-doers to visit the town.
The church contained the tomb of Thomas Marwood, who, according to an
inscription thereon, "practised Physick and Chirurgery above
seventy-five years, and being aged above 105 years, departed in ye
Catholic Faith September ye 18th Anno Domini 1617." Marwood became
famous in consequence of his having--possibly, it was suggested, by pure
accident--cured the Earl of Essex of a complaint that afflicted him, for
which service he was presented with an estate in the neighbourhood of
Honiton by Queen Elizabeth.
The "Dolphin Inn" at Honiton was where we made our first practical
acquaintance with the delectable Devonshire clotted cream, renewed
afterwards on every possible occasion. The inn was formerly the private
mansion of the Courtenay family, and its sign was one of the family
crests, "a Dolphin embowed" or bent like a bow. This inn had been
associated with all the chief events of the town and neighbourhood
during the past three centuries, and occupied a prominent position near
the market cross on the main road. In January 1688 the inn had been
willed to Richard Minify, and after his death to his daughter Ann
Minify, and it was in that year that William, Prince of Orange, set sail
for England, and landed at Torbay in Devonshire. The advanced guard of
his army reached Honiton on October 19th, and the commander, Colonel
Tollemache, and his staff occupied the "Dolphin." William was very
coldly received by the county families in Devonshire, as they remained
strongly attached to the Jacobite cause, and to demonstrate their
adhesion to the House of Stuart they planted Scotch fir trees near their
mansions. On the other hand, many of the clergy sympathised with the
rebellion, and to show their loyalty to the cause they planted avenues
of lime trees from the churchyard gate to the church porch. James II,
whom William came to replace, wrote in his memoirs that the events that
happened at Honiton were the turning-point of his fortunes, and it was
at the "Dolphin" that these events culminated, leading to the desertion
of the King's soldiers in favour of William. It seemed strange that a
popular song set to a popular tune could influence a whole army, and
incidentally depose a monarch from his throne. Yet such was the case
here.
[Illustration: EXAMPLES OF HONITON LACE. From specimens kindly lent by
Mrs. Fowler, of Honiton. The lower example is a corner of a handkerchief
specially made for Queen Mary.]
Lieutenant-General Richard Talbot, who was in Ireland in 1685, had
recommended himself to his bigoted master, James II, by his arbitrary
treatment of the Protestants in that country, and in the following year
he was created Earl of Tyrconnel, and, being a furious Papist, was
nominated by the King to the Lord Lieutenancy of Ireland. In 1688 he was
going to Ireland on a second expedition at the time that the advanced
guard of William of Orange reached Honiton, and when the advanced guard
of King James's English army was at Salisbury. It was at this critical
period that Lord Wharton, who has been described as "a political
weathercock, a bad spendthrift, and a poet of some pretensions," joined
the Prince of Orange in the Revolution, and published this famous song.
He seems to have been a dissolute man, and ended badly, although he
was a visitor at the "Dolphin" at that time, with many distinguished
personages. In the third edition of the small pamphlet in which the song
was first published Lord Wharton was described "as a Late Viceroy of
Ireland who has so often boasted himself upon his talent for mischief,
invention, and lying, and for making a certain 'Lilliburlero' song with
which, if you will believe himself, he sung a deluded Prince out of
three kingdoms." It was said that the music of the song was composed by
Henry Purcell, the organist of Westminster Abbey, and contributed not a
little to the success of the Revolution. Be this as it may, Burnet, then
Bishop of Salisbury, wrote:
It made an impression on the King's army that cannot be imagined....
The whole army, and at last the people, both in city and country,
were singing it perpetually ... never had so slight a thing so great
an effect.
Purcell's music generally was much admired, and the music to "Lilli
Burlero," which was the name of the song, must have been "taking" and a
good tune to march to, for the words themselves would scarcely have had
such a momentous result. It was a long time before it died out in the
country districts, where we could remember the chorus being sung in our
childhood's days. A copy of the words but not the music appeared in
Percy's _Reliques of Ancient English Poetry_:
Ho! broder Teague, dost hear de decree?
Lilli burlero, bullen a-la--
Dat we shall have a new deputie,
Lilli burlero, bullen a-la.
_Chorus_:
Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen a-la,
Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen a-la.
Ho! by Shaint Tyburn, it is de Talbote:
Lilli burlero, bullen a-la--
And he will cut all de English troate:
Lilli burlero, bullen a-la.
Dough by my shoul de English do praat,
Lilli burlero, bullen a-la--
De law's on dare side, breish knows what:
Lilli burlero, bullen a-la.
But if dispense do come from de Pope,
Lilli burlero, bullen a-la--
We'll hang Magna Charta and dem in a rope:
Lilli burlero, bullen a-la.
For de good Talbot is made a lord,
Lilli burlero, bullen a-la--
And with brave lads is coming a-board:
Lilli burlero, bullen a-la.
Who in all France have taken a sware,
Lilli burlero, bullen a-la--
Dat dey will have no Protestant heir:
Lilli burlero, bullen a-la.
Ara! but why does he stay behind?
Lilli burlero, bullen a-la.
Ho! by my shoul 'tis a Protestant wind:
Lilli burlero, bullen a-la.
But see de Tyrconnel is now come ashore.
Lilli burlero, bullen a-la--
And we shall have commissions gillore:
Lilli burlero, bullen a-la.
And he dat will not go to de mass,
Lilli burlero, bullen a-la--
Shall be turn out and look like an ass:
Lilli burlero, bullen a-la.
Now, now de hereticks all go down,
Lilli burlero, bullen a-la.
By Chrish and Shaint Patrick, de nation's our own:
Lilli burlero, bullen a-la.
Dare was an old Prophecy found in a bog,
Lilli burlero, bullen a-la--
"Ireland shall be rul'd by an ass and a dog":
Lilli burlero, bullen a-la.
And now dis Prophecy is come to pass,
Lilli burlero, bullen a-la--
For Talbot's de dog, and James is de ass:
Lilli burlero, bullen a-la.
_Chorus after each verse_:
Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen a-la,
Lero lero, lilli burlero, lero lero, bullen a-la.
Lilliburlero and Bullen a-la were said to have been words of distinction
used among the Irish Papists in their massacre of the Protestants in
1641--a massacre which gave renewed strength to the traditions which
made the name of Bloody Mary so hated in England.
In 1789 George III halted opposite the "Dolphin" to receive the loyal
greetings of the townspeople, and on August 3rd, 1833, the Princess
Victoria, afterwards Queen, stayed there to change horses; the inn was
also the leading rendezvous at the parliamentary elections when Honiton
returned two members to Parliament. In the eighteenth century the inn
was often the temporary home of Sir William Yonge and Sir George Yonge,
his equally famous son, and of Alderman Brass Crosby, Lord Mayor of
London, each of whom was M.P. for Honiton. The family of Yonge
predominated, for whom Honiton appeared to have been a pocket borough,
and a very expensive one to maintain, as Sir George Yonge, who was first
returned in 1754, said in his old age that he inherited £80,000 from
his father, that his wife brought him a similar amount, and Government
also paid him £80,000, but Honiton had swallowed it all! A rather
numerous class of voters there were the Potwallers or Potwallopers,
whose only qualification was that they had boiled their pots in the
parish for six months. Several attempts were made to resist their claim
to vote, but they were unsuccessful, and the matter was only terminated
by the Reform Bill of 1832; so possibly Sir George had to provide the
inducement whereby the Potwallopers gave the family their support during
the full term in which he served the free and independent electors of
Honiton in Parliament.
A hospital for lepers, founded as early as the fourteenth century, was
now used for the deserving poor; and near the old chapel, attached to
the hospital cottages, the place was pointed out to us where the local
followers of the Duke of Monmouth who were unfortunate enough to come
under the judgment of the cruel Judge Jeffreys were boiled in pitch and
their limbs exhibited on the shambles and other public places.
We had a comparatively easy walk of sixteen miles to Exeter, as the road
was level and good, with only one small hill. For the first four miles
we had the company of the small river Otter, which, after passing
Honiton, turned here under the highway to Ottery St. Mary, on its course
towards the sea. The county of Devon is the third largest in England,
and having a long line of sea-coast to protect, it was naturally warlike
in olden times, and the home of many of our bravest sailors and
soldiers. When there was no foreign enemy to fight they, like the Scots,
occasionally fought each other, and even the quiet corner known as the
Fenny Bridges, where the Otter passed under our road, had been the scene
of a minor battle, to be followed by a greater at a point where the
river Clyst ran under the same road, about four miles from Exeter. In
the time of Edward VI after the dissolution of the monasteries by Henry
VIII changes were made in religious services, which the West-country
people were not prepared to accept. On Whit-Sunday, June 9th, 1549, the
new service was read in the church of Sampford Courtenay for the first
time. The people objected to it, and compelled the priest to say mass as
before, instead of using the Book of Common Prayer, which had now become
law. Many other parishes objected likewise, and a rebellion broke out,
of which Humphrey Arundel, the Governor of St. Michael's Mount in
Cornwall, took the lead. Their army of 10,000 men marched on to Exeter
and besieged it, and they also occupied and fortified Clyst St. Mary and
sent up a series of demands to the King. Lord Russell, who had been
glutted with the spoils of the monasteries, and was therefore keen in
his zeal for the new order, was sent with a small force accompanied by
three preachers licensed to preach in such places as Lord Russell should
appoint; but he was alarmed at the numbers opposed to him, and waited at
Honiton until the arrival of more troops should enable him to march to
the relief of Exeter. Being informed that a party of the enemy were on
the march to attack him, Russell left the town to meet them, and found
some of them occupying Fenny Bridges while the remainder were stationed
in the adjoining meadow. He was successful in winning the fight, and
returned to Honiton to recruit. He then attacked the rebels on Clyst
Heath and defeated them, but it was a hard-fought fight, and "such was
the valour of these men that the Lord Grey reported himself that he
never, in all the wars he had been in, did know the like." The rebels
were mercilessly butchered and the ringleaders executed--the Vicar of
St. Thomas' by Exeter, a village we passed through the following
morning, who was with the rebels, being taken to his church and hanged
from the tower, where his body was left to dangle for four years.
We had been walking in the dark for some hours, but the road was
straight, and as we had practically had a non-stop walk from Honiton we
were ready on our arrival at Exeter for a good supper and bed at one of
the old inns on the Icknield Way, which, with several churches, almost
surrounded the Cathedral.
(_Distance walked thirty-eight miles_.)
_Saturday, November 11th._
Exeter, formerly known as the "City of the West" and afterwards as the
"Ever-Faithful City," was one of the most interesting places we had
visited. It had occupied a strong strategical position in days gone by,
for it was only ten miles from the open sea, sufficient for it to be
protected from sudden attacks, yet the river Exe, on which it is
situated, was navigable for the largest ships afloat up to about the
time of the Spanish Armada. Situated in the midst of a fine agricultural
country, it was one of the stations of the Romans, and the terminus of
the ancient Icknield Way, so that an army landed there could easily
march into the country beyond. Afterwards it became the capital of the
West Saxons, Athelstan building his castle on an ancient earthwork
known--from the colour of the earth or rock of which it was composed--as
the "Red Mound." His fort, and the town as well, were partially
destroyed in the year 1003 by the Danes under Sweyn, King of Denmark.
Soon after the Norman invasion William the Conqueror built his castle on
the same site--the "Red Mound"--the name changing into the Norman tongue
as Rougemont; and when King Edward IV came to Exeter in 1469, in pursuit
of the Lancastrian Earls Clarence and Warwick, who escaped by ship from
Dartmouth, he was, according to Shakespeare's _Richard III_, courteously
shown the old Castle of Rougemont by the Mayor. We could not requisition
the services of his Worship at such an early hour this morning, but we
easily found the ruins of Rougemont without his assistance; though,
beyond an old tower with a dungeon beneath it and a small triangular
window said to be of Saxon workmanship, very little remained. The ruins
had been laid out to the best advantage, and the grounds on the slope of
the ancient keep had been formed into terraces and planted with flowers,
bushes, and trees. As this work had originally been carried out as far
back as the year 1612, the grounds claimed to be the oldest public
gardens in England: the avenues of great trees had been planted about
fifty years later.
Perkin Warbeck was perhaps one of the most romantic characters who
visited Exeter, for he claimed to be Richard, Duke of York, who, he
contended, was not murdered in the Tower of London, as generally
supposed. As the Duke he claimed to be more entitled to the Crown of
England than Henry VII, who was then on the throne, Perkin Warbeck, on
the other hand, was described as the son of a Tournai Jew, but there
seemed to be some doubt about this. In any case the Duchess of Burgundy
acknowledged him as "her dear nephew," and his claim was supported by
Charles VIII of France and James IV of Scotland; from the former he
received a pension, and from the latter the hand of his relative Lady
Catherine Gordon in marriage.
[Illustration: ATHELSTAN'S TOWER.]
He arrived at Exeter on September 27th, 1497, with 7,000 men, and after
burning the North Gate he forced his way through the city towards the
Castle, but was defeated there by Sir Richard Courtenay, the Earl of
Devon, and taken prisoner. For some mysterious reason it was not until
November 3rd, 1499, more than two years after the battle, that he was
hanged for treason, at Tyburn. Another strange incident was that when
King Henry VII came to Exeter after the battle, and the followers of
Perkin Warbeck were brought before him with halters round their necks
and bare-headed, to plead for mercy, he generously pardoned them and set
them at liberty.
The fighting in the district we had passed through last night occurred
in 1549, the second year of the reign of King Edward VI. A pleasing
story was related of this King, to the effect that when he was a boy and
wanted something from a shelf he could not quite reach, his little
playfellow, seeing the difficulty, carried him a big book to stand upon,
that would just have enabled him to get what he wanted; but when Edward
saw what book it was that he had brought he would not stand upon it
because it was the "Holy Bible."
The religious disturbances we have already recorded were not confined to
the neighbourhood of Exeter, but extended all over England, and were the
result of an Act of Parliament for which the people were not prepared,
and which was apparently of too sweeping a character, for by it all
private Masses were abolished, all images removed from churches, and the
Book of Common Prayer introduced. It was the agitation against this Act
that caused the 10,000 Cornish and Devonian men, who were described as
rebels, incited also by their priests, to besiege the city of Exeter,
and to summon the Mayor and Council to capitulate. This the
"Ever-Faithful City" refused to do, and held out for thirty-six days,
until Lord Russell and Lord Grey appeared on the scene with the Royal
army and raised the siege.
In 1643, during the Civil War, Exeter surrendered to Prince Maurice, the
nephew of Charles I, and three years later capitulated to the Army of
the Parliament on condition that the garrison should march out with all
the honours of war.
The unhappy wife of Charles I arrived at Exeter in 1644, having a few
days previously bidden her husband "Good-bye" for the last time, a
sorrowful parting which we had heard about at Abingdon, where it had
taken place, and whither Charles had accompanied her from Oxford. She
stayed at Bedford House in Exeter, where she was delivered of a
daughter, who was named Henrietta, being baptized in the cathedral in a
magnificent new font erected especially for the occasion. The Queen left
the city on July 14th, and sailed from Falmouth to France, where she
stayed at the Court of Louis XIV. Twelve days later the King reached
Exeter, and called to see his infant daughter, and he again stayed at
Bedford House on his return from Cornwall on September 17th, 1645.
[Illustration: EXETER CATHEDRAL, WEST FRONT.]
In 1671 Charles II, his son, also passed through Exeter, and stayed to
accept a gift of £500 from the city as a testimony of its loyalty and
gratitude for his restoration and return; and the "Merrie Monarch"
afterwards sent the city a portrait of his sister, the unfortunate
Henrietta, to whom he was passionately attached. As Duchess of Orleans
she had an unhappy life, and her somewhat sudden death was attributed to
poison. Her portrait, painted by Lely, was still hanging in the
Guildhall, and was highly prized as one of the greatest treasures of the
city.
We went to see the Cathedral, but were rather disappointed with its
external appearance, which seemed dark and dismal compared with that of
Salisbury. A restoration was in progress, and repairs were being carried
out with some light-coloured and clean-looking stone, not of a very
durable nature, which looked quite beautiful when new, but after being
exposed to the weather for a few years would become as dull and
dark-looking as the other. The interior of the cathedral, however, was
very fine, and we were sorry we had not time to explore it thoroughly.
Some very old books were preserved in it--the most valuable being a
Saxon manuscript called _Codex Exoniensis_, dating from the ninth
century, and also the _Exeter Domesday_, said to be the exact transcript
of the original returns made by the Commissioners appointed by William
the Conqueror at the time of the Survey, from which the great Domesday
was completed.
The minstrel gallery dated from the year 1354, and many musical
instruments used in the fourteenth century were represented by carvings
on the front, as being played by twelve angels. The following were the
names of the instruments: cittern, bagpipe, clarion, rebec, psaltery,
syrinx, sackbut, regals, gittern, shalm, timbral, and cymbals!
Some of these names, my brother remarked, were not known to modern
musicians, and they would be difficult to harmonise if all the
instruments had to be played at the same time; his appreciation of the
bagpipe was doubtless enhanced, seeing that it occupied the second
position.
The cathedral also possessed a marvellous and quaint-looking clock some
hundreds of years old, said to have been the production of that famous
monk of Glastonbury who made the wonderful clock in Wells Cathedral,
which on striking the hour sets in motion two armoured figures of
knights on horseback, armed with spears, who move towards each other in
a circle high above the central arches, as if engaged in a tournament.
The clock at Exeter showed the hour of the day and the age of the moon,
and upon the face or dial were two circles, one marked from 1 to 30 for
the days of the month, and the other figured I to XII twice over for the
hours. In the centre was a semi-globe representing the earth, round
which was a smaller ball, the moon, painted half gold and half black,
which revolved during each month, and in turning upon its axis showed
the various phases of the luminary that it represented. Between the two
circles was a third ball representing the sun, with a fleur-de-lys which
pointed to the hours as the sun, according to the ancient theory, daily
revolved round the earth; underneath was an inscription relating to the
hours:
PEREUNT ET IMPUTANTUR
(They pass, and are placed to our account.)
The notes telling the hours were struck upon the rich-toned bell named
"Great Peter," which was placed above, the curfew or _couvre-feu_
("cover-fire") being also rung upon the same bell.
The curfew bell was formerly sounded at sunset, to give notice that all
fires and lights must be extinguished. It was instituted by William the
Conqueror and continued during the reign of William Rufus, but was
abolished as a "police regulation" in the reign of Henry I. The custom
was still observed in many places, and we often heard the sound of the
curfew bell, which was almost invariably rung at eight o'clock in the
evening. The poet Gray commences his "Elegy written in a Country
Churchyard" with--
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day;
and one of the most popular dramatic pieces in the English language,
written by an American schoolgirl born in 1850, was entitled "The Curfew
Bell." She described how, in Cromwell's time, a young Englishwoman,
whose sweetheart was doomed to die that night at the tolling of the
curfew bell, after vainly trying to persuade the old sexton not to ring
it, prevented it by finding her way up the tower to the belfry and
holding on to the tongue of the great bell. Meanwhile the old sexton who
had told her "the curfew bell _must_ ring tonight" was pulling the
bell-rope below, causing her to sway backwards and forwards in danger of
losing her life while murmuring the words "Curfew shall _not_ ring
to-night":
O'er the distant hills comes Cromwell. Bessie sees him; and her brow,
Lately white with sickening horror, has no anxious traces now.
At his feet she tells her story, shows her hands all bruised and torn;
And her sweet young face, still haggard with the anguish it had worn,
Touched his heart with sudden pity, lit his eyes with misty light.
"Go! Your lover lives!" cried Cromwell. "Curfew shall not ring to-night!"
Wide they flung the massive portals, led the prisoner forth to die,
All his bright young life before him. 'Neath the darkening English sky
Bessie came, with flying footsteps, eyes aglow with love-light sweet;
Kneeling on the turf beside him, laid his pardon at his feet.
In his brave, strong arms he clasped her, kissed the face upturned and
white,
Whispered: "Darling, you have saved me; curfew will not ring to-night!"
The "Great Peter" bell was presented to Exeter Cathedral in the
fifteenth century by Bishop Peter Courtenay, and when re-cast in 1676
weighed 14,000 lb., being then considered the second largest bell in
England. The curfew was tolled on "Great Peter" every night at eight
o'clock, and after that hour had been sounded and followed by a short
pause, the same bell tolled the number of strokes correspending with the
day of the month. This was followed by another short pause, and then
eight deliberate strokes were tolled.
Ever since the time of William the Conqueror there appeared to have been
too many churches in Exeter, for it was said that thirty-two were known
to have existed at the time of the Conquest, and that in the year 1222
the Bishop reduced the number to nineteen, of which sixteen still
remained at the time of our visit, while the sites of the remaining
three could be located. A further effort to reduce the number was made
in the time of the Commonwealth, when an Act was passed to reduce them
to four, but the accession of King Charles II prevented this from being
carried out.
One of the old churches stood at the top of a small elevation known as
Stepcote Hill, approached by a very narrow street, one half of which was
paved and the other formed into steps leading to the "Church of St.
Mary's Steps," the tower of which displayed a sixteenth-century clock.
On the dial appeared the seated figure of King Henry VIII guarded by two
soldiers, one on each side, who strike the hours; they are commonly
known as "Matthew the Miller and his two sons."
[Illustration: THE GUILDHALL, EXETER. "We thought the old Guildhall even
more interesting than the Cathedral."]
Matthew was a miller who lived in the neighbourhood, and was so regular
in his goings out and comings in that the neighbours set their time by
him; but there was no doubt that the figure represented "Old King Hal,"
and it seemed strange that the same king should have been associated by
one of the poets with a miller who had a mill in our county town of
Chester:
There dwelt a Miller hale and bold
Beside the river Dee,
He work'd and sang from morn till night,
No lark more blithe than he;
And this the burden of his song
For ever used to be--
"I envy nobody, no, not I,
And nobody envies me!"
"Thou'rt wrong, my friend," cried Old King Hal
"Thou'rt wrong as wrong can be;
For could my heart be light as thine
I'd gladly change with thee.
And tell me now what makes thee sing
With voice so loud and free,
While I am sad though I'm the King,
Beside the river Dee!"
The Miller smil'd and doff'd his cap,
"I earn my bread," quoth he;
"I love my wife, I love my friend,
I love my children three;
I owe no penny I cannot pay;
I thank the river Dee,
That turns the mill that grinds the corn
To feed my babes and me."
"Farewell," cried Hal, and sighed the while,
"Farewell! and happy be--
But say no more, if thou'd be true,
That no one envies thee;
Thy mealy cap is worth my crown,
Thy mill, my kingdom's fee;
Such men as thou are England's boast,
Oh Miller of the Dee."
[Illustration: MATTHEW THE MILLER AND HIS TWO SONS.]
We thought the old Guildhall even more interesting than the Cathedral,
the old Icknield Way, which entered the city by the High Street, passing
close to it; and in fact, it seemed as if the Hall, which formed the
centre of the civic life of the city, had encroached upon the street, as
the four huge pillars which supported the front part were standing on
the outside edge of the footpath. These four pillars had the appearance
of great solidity and strength, as also had the building overhead which
they supported, and which extended a considerable distance to the rear.
The massive entrance door, dated 1593, thickly studded with large-headed
nails, showed that the city fathers in former times had a lively sense
of self-protection from troublesome visitors. But the only besiegers now
were more apparent than real, as the covered footpath formed a
substantial shelter from a passing shower. Behind this a four-light
window displayed the Arms of France as well as those of England; there
were also emblazoned in stained glass the arms of the mayors, sheriffs,
and recorders from 1835 to 1864.
The city arms were ratified in 1564, and in the Letters Patent of that
date they are thus described:
Uppon a wreathe golde and sables, a demye-lyon gules, armed and
langued azure crowned, supportinge a bale thereon a crosse botone
golde, mantelled azure doubled argent, and for the supporters two
pagassis argent, their houes and mane golde, their winges waney of
six argent and azure.
[Illustration: PRINCESS HENRIETTA. (_From the painting by Lely, in the
Guildhall_.)]
The motto "Semper Fidelis" (ever faithful) had been bestowed on the city
by Queen Elizabeth, and Exeter has ever since been described as "The
Ever-Faithful City." There were a number of fine old paintings in the
Hall, but the one which attracted the most attention was that of the
Princess Henrietta by Sir Peter Lely. In the turret above was hung the
old chapel bell, which served as an alarm in case of fire, and bore an
inscription in Latin, "Celi Regina me protege queso ruina," or "O Queen
of Heaven, protect me, I beseech thee, from harm." The insignia case in
the Guildhall contained four maces, two swords of state, a cap of
maintenance, a mayor's chain and badge, four chains for the
sergeants-at-mace, a loving cup, and a salver. The mayor's chain dated
from 1697. The older sword of the two was given to the city by Edward IV
on the occasion of his visit in 1470, "to be carried before the mayor on
all public occasions." The sheath is wrapped in crape, the sword having
been put in mourning at the Restoration; it was annually carried in the
procession to the cathedral on the anniversary of the death of Charles I
until the year 1859, when the service in commemoration of his death was
removed from the Prayer-Book. The other sword was given to the city by
Henry VII on his visit in 1497, after his victory over Perkin Warbeck,
when "he heartily thanked his citizens for their faithful and valuable
service done against the rebels"--promised them the fullness of his
favour and gave them a sword taken from his own side, and also a cap of
maintenance, commanding that "for the future in all public places within
the said city the same should be borne before the mayor, as for a like
purpose his noble predecessor King Edward the Fourth had done." The cap
of maintenance was formerly worn by the sword-bearer on ceremonial
occasions, but was now carried on a cushion. The cap was made of black
beaver, and was preserved inside the embroidered crimson velvet cover
made in 1634. The sword of Edward IV was said to be the only existing
sword of the early English monarchs.
[Illustration: THE COMMON SEAL OF EXETER.]
The beautiful silver chains worn by the sergeants-at-mace with alternate
links of X and R, standing for Exeter, date from about the year 1500,
and were previously worn by the city waits. Exeter is the only city that
has four mace-bearers, and the common seal of the city is one of the
oldest in the kingdom, dating from 1170, and still in use.
The civic ceremonies, and especially those on Assize Sunday, are very
grand affairs. On that occasion the Judges and Corporation attend the
cathedral in state. The Judges arrive in the state-coach attired in
their robes and wigs, attended by the county sheriff in uniform, and
escorted by trumpeters and a posse of police. The Corporation march from
the Guildhall, the mayor in his sable robe and the sheriff in purple,
attended by their chaplains and the chief city officials in their robes,
and accompanied also by the magistrates, aldermen, and councillors. In
front are borne the four maces, Henry VII's sword and the cap of
maintenance, escorted by the city police. The Judges on their arrival at
the great west door of the cathedral are met by the Bishop and other
dignitaries of the Church in their robes and conducted to their official
places in the choir, whilst the beautiful organ peals out the National
Anthem.
On the third Tuesday in July a curious custom was observed, as on that
day a large white stuffed glove decorated with flowers was hung in front
of the Guildhall, the townspeople having been duly warned, to the sound
of the drum and fife, that the great Lammas Fair, which lasted for
three days, had begun; the glove was then hoisted for the term of the
fair. Lammas Day falls on the first day of August, and was in Saxon
times the Feast of First-fruits; sometimes a loaf of bread was given to
the priest in lieu of first-fruit. It seems to have been a similar fair
to that described at Honiton, but did not appear to carry with it
freedom from arrest during the term of the fair, as was the case in that
town.
The records or archives possessed by the city of Exeter are almost
continuous from the time of Edward I, and have been written and compiled
in the most careful manner. They are probably the most remarkable of
those kept by the various towns or cities in the provinces. They include
no less than forty-nine Royal Charters, the earliest existing being that
granted by Henry II in the twelfth century, and attested by Thomas
à-Becket. A herb (_Acorus calamus_ or sweet sage), which was found in
the neighbourhood of Exeter, was highly prized in former times for its
medicinal qualities, being used for diseases of the eye and in
intermittent fevers. It had an aromatic scent, even when in a dried
state, and its fragrant leaves were used for strewing the floors of
churches. It was supposed to be the rush which was strewn over the floor
of the apartments occupied by Thomas à-Becket, who was considered
luxurious and extravagant because he insisted upon a clean supply daily;
but this apparent extravagance was due to his visitors, who were at
times so numerous that some of them were compelled to sit on the floors.
It was quite a common occurrence in olden times for corpses to be buried
in churches, which caused a very offensive smell; and it might be to
counteract this that the sweet-smelling sage was employed. We certainly
knew of one large church in Lancashire within the walls of which it was
computed that 6,000 persons had been buried.
It was astonishing how many underground passages we had heard of on our
journey. What strange imaginations they conjured up in our minds! As so
few of them were now in existence, we concluded that many might have
been more in the nature of trenches cut on the surface of the land and
covered with timber or bushes; but there were old men in Exeter who were
certain that there was a tunnel between the site of the old castle and
the cathedral, and from there to other parts of the city, and they could
remember some of them being broken into and others blocked up at the
ends. We were also quite sure ourselves that such tunnels formerly
existed, but the only one we had actually seen passed between a church
and a castle. It had just been found accidentally in making an
excavation, and was only large enough for one man at a time to creep
through comfortably.
There were a number of old inns in Exeter besides the old "Globe," which
had been built on the Icknield Way in such a manner as to block that
road, forming a terminus, as if to compel travellers to patronise the
inn; and some of these houses were associated with Charles Dickens when
he came down from London to Exeter in 1835 to report on Lord John
Russell's candidature for Parliament for the _Morning Observer_. The
election was a very exciting one, and the great novelist, it was said,
found food for one of his novels in the ever-famous Eatonswill, and the
ultra-abusive editors. Four years afterwards Dickens leased a cottage at
Alphington, a village about a mile and a half away from Exeter, for his
father and mother, who resided there for three and a half years. Dickens
frequently came to see them, and "Mr. Micawber," with his ample seals
and air of importance, made a great impression on the people of the
village. Dickens freely entered into the social life of Exeter, and he
was a regular visitor on these occasions at the old "Turk's Head Inn,"
adjoining the Guildhall, where it was said he picked up the "Fat Boy" in
_Pickwick_. Mrs. Lupin of the "Blue Dragon" appeared as a character in
_Martin Chuzzlewit_, and "Pecksniff" was a local worthy whom he grossly
and unpardonably caricatured.
[Illustration: "MILE END COTTAGE," ALPHINGTON.]
On leaving Exeter we crossed the river by the Exe bridge and followed
the course of that stream on our way to regain the sea-coast, entering
the suburb of St. Thomas the Apostle, where at a church mentioned in
1222 as being "without the walls," we saw the tower from which the vicar
was hanged for being concerned in the insurrection of 1549. At
Alphington we had pointed out to us the "Mile End Cottage," formerly the
residence of the parents of Charles Dickens, and then walked on to
Exminster, expecting from its name to find something interesting, but we
were doomed to disappointment. On the opposite side of the river,
however, we could see the quaint-looking little town of Topsham, which
appeared as if it had been imported from Holland, a country which my
brother had visited seven years previously; we heard that the principal
treasures stored in the houses there were Dutch tiles. Ships had
formerly passed this place on their way to Exeter, but about the year
1290 Isabella de-Fortibus, Countess of Exeter, having been offended by
the people there, blocked up the river with rocks and stones, thereby
completely obstructing the navigation and doing much damage to the trade
of Exeter. At that time cloths and serges were woven from the wool for
which the neighbourhood of Exeter was famous, and exported to the
Continent, the ships returning with wines and other merchandise; hence
Exeter was at that time the great wine-importing depot of the country.
The weir which thus blocked the river was still known as the "Countess
Weir," and Topsham--which, by the way, unlike Exeter, absolutely
belonged to the Earls of Devon--increased in importance, for ships had
now to stop there instead of going through to Exeter. The distance
between the two places is only about four miles, and the difficulty
appeared to have been met in the first instance by the construction of a
straight road from Exeter, to enable goods to be conveyed between that
city and the new port. This arrangement continued for centuries, but in
1544 a ship canal was made to Topsham, which was extended and enlarged
in 1678 and again in 1829, so that Exeter early recovered its former
position, as is well brought out in the finely-written book of the
_Exeter Guild of Merchant Adventurers_, still in existence. Its Charter
was dated June 17th, 1599, and by it Queen Elizabeth incorporated
certain merchants under the style of "The Governors Consuls, and Society
of the Merchant Adventurers of the Citye and County of Exeter,
traffiqueing the Realme of Fraunce and the Dominions of the French
Kinge." The original canal was a small one and only adapted for boats
carrying about fifteen tons: afterwards it was enlarged to a depth of
fifteen feet of water--enough for the small ships of those days--for
even down to Tudor times a hundred-ton boat constituted a man-of-war.
This canal made Exeter the fifth port in the kingdom in tonnage, and it
claimed to be the first lock canal constructed in England. Its
importance gradually declined after the introduction of railways and the
demand for larger ships, and the same causes affected Topsham, its
rival.
[Illustration: POWDERHAM CASTLE.]
Leaving Exminster, we had a delightful walk to Powderham, the ancient
seat of the Courtenay family, the Earls of Devon, who were descended
from Atho, the French crusader. The first of the three branches of this
family became Emperors of the West before the taking of Constantinople
by the Turks, the second intermarried with the royal family of France,
and the third was Reginald Courtenay, who came to England in the
twelfth century and received honours and lands from Henry II. His family
have been for six centuries Earls of Devon, and rank as one of the most
honoured in England.
We called to see the little church at Powderham, which stood quite near
the river side, and which, like many others, was built of the dark red
sandstone peculiar to the district. There were figures in it of Moses
and Aaron, supposed originally to be placed to guard the two tablets
containing the Ten Commandments; and there were the remains of an old
screen, but the panels had suffered so severely that the figures and
emblems could not be properly distinguished. There was also under an
arch a very old monument, said to be that of the famous Isabella
de-Fortibus, Countess of Devon, who died in 1293. She was the sister of
the last Earl Baldwin de Redvers, and married William de-Fortibus, Earl
of Albemarle, in 1282. Her feet rested on a dog, while on either side
her head were two small child-angels, the dog and children being
supposed to point to her as the heroine of a story recorded in a very
old history of Exeter:
An inhabitant of the city being a very poor man and having many
children, thought himself blessed too much in that kind, wherefore to
avoid the charge that was likely to grow upon him in that way
absented himself seven years together from his wife. But then
returning, she within the space of a year afterwards was delivered of
seven male children at a birth, which made the poor man to think
himself utterly undone, and thereby despairing put them all in a
basket with full intent to have drowned them: but Divine Providence
following him, occasioned a lady then within the said city coming at
this instant of time in his way to demand of him what he carried in
that basket, who replied that he had there whelps, which she desired
to see, who, after view perceiving that they were children, compelled
the poor man to acquaint her with the whole circumstances, whom, when
she had sharply rebuked for such his humanity, presently commanded
them all to be taken from him and put to nurse, then to school, and
so to the university, and in process of time, being attained to man's
estate and well qualified in learning, made means and procured
benefices for every one of them.
The language used in this story was very quaint, and was probably the
best tale related about Isabella, the Countess of Devon; but old
"Isaacke," the ancient writer, in his history remarks that it "will
hardly persuade credit."
We could not learn what became of William her husband; but Isabella
seemed to have been an extremely strong-minded, determined woman, and
rather spiteful, for it was she who blocked the river so that the people
of Exeter, who had offended her, could have neither "fishing nor
shipping" below the weir. On one occasion, when four important parishes
had a dispute about their boundaries, she summoned all their principal
men to meet her on the top of a swampy hill, and throwing her ring into
the bog told them that where it lay was where the parishes met; the
place is known to this day as "Ring-in-the-Mire."
We passed by Powderham Castle, and saw some magnificent trees in the
park, and on a wooded hill the Belvedere, erected in 1773. This was a
triangular tower 60 feet high, with a hexagonal turret at each corner
for sight-seeing, and from it a beautiful view over land and sea could
be obtained.
With regard to the churches in this part of England, we learned that
while Somerset was noted for towers and Cornwall for crosses, the
churches in Devonshire were noted for screens, and nearly every church
we visited had a screen or traces where one had existed, some of them
being very beautiful, especially that in Kenton church, which we now
went to inspect. Farther north the images and paintings on the screens,
and even the woodwork, had been badly disfigured, but some of the old
work in Devon had been well preserved. The screens had been intended to
protect the chancel of the church from the nave, to teach people that on
entering the chancel they were entering the most sacred part of the
church, and images and paintings were placed along the screens. The same
idea, but in another direction, was carried out on the outside of the
churches; for there also the people, scarcely any of whom in those days
could read or write, were taught, by means of images and
horrible-looking gargoyles worked in stone placed on the outside of the
church and steeple, that everything vile and wicked was in the world
outside the church. The beautiful pictures and images inside the church
were intended to show that everything pure and holy was to be found
within: the image of the patron saint being generally placed over the
doorway.
[Illustration: BELVEDERE TOWER.]
[Illustration: KENTON CHURCH.]
The village of Kenton was hidden in a small dell, and possessed a
village green, in the centre of which were the remains of an old cross.
The church tower was one hundred feet high, surmounted by an unusually
tall pinnacle at each corner, the figure of a saint appearing in a
niche, presumably for protection. Kenton must have been a place of some
importance in early times, for Henry III had granted it an annual fair
on the feast of All Saints. The magnificent screen in the church not
only reached across the chancel, but continued across the two transepts
or chapels on either side, and rose in tiers of elaborate carving
towards the top of the chancel arch. No less than forty of its panels
retained their original pictures of saints and prophets, with scrolls of
Latin inscriptions alternating with verses from the Old Testament and
clauses from the Apostles' Creed. Most of the screen was
fifteenth-century work, and it was one of the finest in the county; much
of the work was Flemish. On it were images of saints, both male and
female, and of some of the prophets, the saints being distinguishable by
the nimbus or halo round their heads, and the prophets by caps and
flowing robes after the style of the Jewish costumes in the Middle Ages.
There was also a magnificent pulpit of about the same date as the
screen, and so richly designed as to equal any carved pulpit in Europe.
It was said to have been carved from the trunk of a single oak tree and
ornamented in gilt and colours.
The number of screens in the churches near the sea-coast caused us to
wonder whether some of them had been brought by sea from Flanders or
France, as we remembered that our Cheshire hero, and a famous warrior,
Sir Hugh de Calveley, who kept up the reputation of our county by eating
a calf at one meal, and who died about the year 1400, had enriched his
parish church with the spoils of France; but the lovely old oak
furniture, with beautifully figured panels, some containing figures of
saints finely painted, which he brought over, had at a recent
"restoration" (?) been taken down and sold at two pounds per cartload!
We sincerely hoped that such would not be the fate of the beautiful work
at Kenton.
We now came to Star Cross, a place where for centuries there had been a
ferry across the River Exe, between the extreme west and east of Devon.
The rights of the ferry had formerly belonged to the abbots of
Sherborne, who had surmounted the landing-place with a cross, which had
now disappeared. The ferry leads by a rather tortuous passage of two
miles to Exmouth, a town we could see in the distance across the water;
but troublesome banks of sand, one forming a rabbit warren, obstructed
the mouth of the river. We also passed through Cofton, a small village
noted for its cockles, which the women gathered along the shore in a
costume that made them resemble a kind of mermaid, except that the lower
half resembled that of a man rather than a fish. About two miles from
Cofton was the village of Mamhead, with its obelisk built in 1742, one
hundred feet high, on the top of a spur of the Great Haldon Hill. The
rector of the church here at one time was William Johnson Temple, often
mentioned in _Boswell's Life of Johnson_. He was the grandfather of
Frederick Temple, Bishop of Exeter at the time we passed through that
city, afterwards Bishop of London, and finally Archbishop of Canterbury,
to whose harsh voice and common sense we had once listened when he was
addressing a public meeting in Manchester. In the churchyard at Mamhead
was an enormous yew tree, over eight hundred years old. In 1775, when
Boswell came to see Lord Lisburne at Mamhead Park, and stayed at the
vicarage, he was so much impressed by the size and magnificence of this
great tree, that he made a vow beneath its great branches "never to be
drunk again"--a vow he soon forgot when he was out of sight of the tree.
We soon arrived at the pretty little town of Dawlish, and perhaps it was
its unique appearance that gave us the impression that we had reached
another of the prettiest places we had visited. There we halted for
refreshments and for a hurried excursion in and about the town, as we
were anxious to reach Torquay before night, where we had decided to stay
until Monday morning. We walked towards the source of the water, which
comes down from the higher lands in a series of pretty little
waterfalls, spreading out occasionally into small lakes adorned at the
sides with plots of grass and beds of flowers. The name Dawlish, we
learned, came from two Cornish words meaning "deep stream," or, as some
have it, "Devil's Water"; and behind the town on Haldon Hill was the
"Devil's Punchbowl," from which descended the water that passed through
the town, but which is in much too pleasant a position, we thought, to
be associated with his satanic majesty.
[Illustration: THE CONGER ROCK, DAWLISH]
Modern Dawlish (though "Doflisc" appears in early charters) only dated
from the year 1810, when the course of a small stream was changed, and
the pretty waterfalls made; rustic bridges were placed over it and
houses built near the banks; this scheme, which was intended to make the
fortunes of the prospectors and of the inhabitants generally, was
completed at the beginning of November in that year. But, sad to relate,
before nine o'clock on the morning of November 10th in that same year
scarcely a vestige of the improvements remained, and in place of a small
rippling stream came a great river, which swept away four houses with
stables and other buildings and eight wooden bridges. It seemed almost
as if the devil had been vexed with the prospectors for interfering with
his water, and had caused this devastation to punish them for their
audacity. But a great effort was made in 1818, and a more permanent
scheme on similar lines was completed; and Dawlish as we saw it in 1871
was a delightful place suggestive of a quiet holiday or honeymoon
resort. Elihu Burritt, in his _Walk from London to Land's End_, speaks
well of Dawlish; and Barham, a local poet and a son of the renowned
author of _Ingoldsby Legends_, in his legend "The Monk of Haldon," in
the July number of _Temple Bar_ in 1867, wrote:
Then low at your feet,
From this airy retreat,
Reaching down where the fresh and the salt water meet,
The roofs may be seen of an old-fashioned street;
Half village, half town, it is--pleasant but smallish,
And known where it happens to _be_ known, as Dawlish.
A place I'd suggest
As one of the best
For a man breaking down who needs absolute rest,
Especially too if he's weak in the chest;
Torquay may be gayer,
But as for the air
It really can not for a moment compare
With snug little Dawlish--at least so they say there.
[Illustration: ON THE COAST NEAR DAWLISH.]
The light-coloured cliffs of Dorsetshire had now given place to the dark
red sandstone cliffs of Devonshire, a change referred to by Barham in
"The Monk of Haldon," for he wrote:
'Tis certainly odd that this part of the coast,
While neighbouring Dorset gleams white as a ghost,
Should look like anchovy sauce spread upon toast.
We were now bound for Teignmouth, our next stage; and our road for a
short distance ran alongside, but above, the seashore. The change in
the colour of the cliffs along the sea-coast reminded my brother of an
incident that occurred when he was going by sea to London, about nine
years before our present journey. He had started from Liverpool in a
tramp steamboat, which stopped at different points on the coast to load
and unload cargo; and the rocks on the coast-line as far as he had
seen--for the boat travelled and called at places in the night as well
as day--had all been of a dark colour until, in the light of a fine day,
the ship came quite near Beachy Head, where the rocks were white and
rose three or four hundred feet above the sea. He had formed the
acquaintance of a young gentleman on board who was noting every object
of interest in a diary, and who, like my brother, was greatly surprised
at the white cliffs with the clear blue sky overhead. Presently the
captain came along, and the young man asked him why the rocks were
white. "Well, sir," said the captain, "the sea is as deep there as the
rocks are high, and they are so dangerous to ships in the dark that the
Government has ordered them to be whitewashed once a month to prevent
shipwreck." Out came the pocket-book, and as the captain watched the
passenger write it down, my brother looked hard in the captain's face,
who never moved a muscle, but a slight twinkle in one of his eyes showed
that he did not want to be asked any questions!
The Devon red sandstone was not very durable, and the action of the sea
had worn the outlying rocks into strange shapes. Before reaching
Teignmouth we had some good views of the rocks named "the Parson and the
Clerk," the history of which was by no means modern, the legend being
told in slightly different ways:
A great many years ago the vicar of Dawlish and his clerk had been to
Teignmouth to collect tithes, and were riding home along the cliffs on a
dark wet night when they lost their way. Suddenly they came to a house
that they did not remember having seen before. The windows were bright
and light, and they could hear the shouts and laughter of a very merry
company within; they were just wishing themselves inside when a window
was thrown open and they were invited to come in, an invitation they
very willingly accepted, and they soon began to enjoy themselves,
drinking deeply and waxing merrier every moment, the parson singing
songs that were quite unfit for a priest, entirely forgetting the
sanctity of his calling, while the clerk followed his master's example.
They stayed long, and when, with giddy heads and unsteady legs, they
rose to depart, the parson said he was sure he could not find the way,
and he must have a guide, even if it were the devil himself. The man who
had invited them into the house said he would put them on the right way
for Dawlish, and led them to the top of the road, and telling them to go
straight on, immediately disappeared. When they had gone a little way,
they thought the tide uncommonly high, as it reached their feet,
although a minute before they were sure they were on dry land; and the
more they attempted to ride away the faster rose the water! Boisterous
laughter now echoed around, and they shouted for help, and a bright
flash of lightning revealed the figure of their guide, who was none
other than the devil himself, jeering and pointing over the black stormy
sea into which they had ridden. Morning came, and their horses were
found quietly straying on the sands, but neither the parson nor his
clerk were ever seen again: but meantime two isolated rocks, in which
were seen their images, had risen in the sea as a warning to their
brethren of future generations to have no fellowship with the unfruitful
works of darkness.
From the Teignmouth side the Parson appeared seated in a pulpit the back
of which was attached to the cliff, while under him was an arch just
like the entrance to a cave, through which the sea appeared on both
sides; while the poor Clerk was some distance farther out at sea and
much lower down. We thought it was a shame that the parson should be
sitting up there, watching the poor clerk with the waves dashing over
him, as if perfectly helpless to save himself from drowning. Still, that
was the arrangement of the three-decker pulpit so common in the churches
of a hundred years ago--the clerk below, the parson above.
Our road terminated on the beach at Teignmouth, and near St. Michael's
Church, where on a tablet appeared the figure of a ship, and underneath
the following words: