Anstis Cove deserves a special visit. Passing from the Strand, under
an avenue of trees opposite the Post-Office, and leaving the Public
Gardens on the right hand, the visitor will go as straight as the
road will permit till he comes in sight of St. Matthias' Church. The
road to the right leads down to Anstis Cove. He will notice among the
ferns and trees a door in the mossy bank, like the entrance to a
hermitage in the wilderness. It is the door of the venerable Kent's
Cavern. Persons who are now employed by the Torquay Natural History
Society will guide the visitor and supply candles. The vast cavern is
six hundred and fifty feet in length, with small caverns and
corridors, which are most dangerous without a guide, rugged, wet, and
slippery. Some years ago the skeleton of a woman who had lost her way
was found. No one now enters without a guide. In some parts the
cavern is so low that the visitors are obliged to crawl and squeeze,
but in other parts it is 30 feet high. The eminent geologist, Dr.
Buckland, here discovered the bones of rhinoceros, elephants, lions,
wolves, bears, hippopotami, and hyaenas--beasts of prey that haunted
the forests of prehistoric England before the times of the Celts.
Rude implements which have been found in the cavern prove that in
very remote times it was the resort of savage tribes. The cavern is
now in process of careful examination by qualified persons, at the
expense of the British Association, to whom they make periodical
reports. Fossil remains which have been, discovered may be seen at
the museum of the Natural History Society, in Park Street, between
the hours of ten and four daily.
But Anstis Cove is the object of our search. Proceeding down the
shady lane, taking the first turning on the left hand, we find a
gateway leading to a footpath among all kinds of bushes and shady
trees, down to the pebbly beach. The lofty limestone cliff of Walls
Hill is before us--such rocks as are nowhere else to be seen. They
seem like huge monsters creeping into the ocean. Here, amongst huge
rocks on the shore, are the bathing machines. The water is clear as
crystal. Rowing-boats are also here for hire, and here the strata of
the neighbouring cliffs hanging over the sea can be examined. Here is
a cottage, too, where lobsters and picnic viands may be procured. On
the beach the fossil Madrepore is often found.
We were the only visitors at the boarding-house, where the cleanliness
and the catering were all that could be desired. The young ladies vied
with each other to make our visit a pleasant one, and after a good
supper we stayed up relating some of our adventures until the clock
struck ten, when we retired for a well-earned rest, having walked quite
179 miles that week.
(_Distance walked twenty-three and a half miles_.)
_Sunday, November 12th._
We rose at our usual early hour this morning, and were downstairs long
before our friends anticipated our arrival, for they naturally thought
that after our long walk we should have been glad of an extra hour or
two's rest; but habit, as in the time of Diogenes, had become second
nature, and to remain in bed was to us equivalent to undergoing a term
of imprisonment. As boot-cleaning in those days was a much longer
operation than the more modern boot-polish has made it, we compromised
matters by going out in dirty boots on condition that they were cleaned
while we were having breakfast. It was a fine morning, and we were quite
enchanted with Torquay, its rocks and its fine sea views on one side,
and its wooded hills on the other, with mansions peeping out at
intervals above the trees. We could not recall to mind any more
beautiful place that we had visited.
[Illustration: TORQUAY FROM WALDON HILL IN 1871.]
After breakfast we attended morning service at the church recommended by
our host, but after travelling so much in the open air the change to the
closer atmosphere of a church or chapel affected us considerably.
Although we did not actually fall asleep, we usually became very drowsy
and lapsed into a dreamy, comatose condition, with shadowy forms
floating before us of persons and places we had seen in our travels. The
constant changes in position during the first part of the Church Service
invariably kept us fairly well alive, but the sermon was always our
chief difficulty, as during its delivery no change of posture was
required. When the service began, however, we were agreeably surprised
to find that the minister who officiated was none other than the
clergyman who had so kindly interested himself in finding us lodgings
yesterday. This awakened our interest in the service, which we followed
as closely as we could; but when the vicar announced his text, beginning
with the well-known words, "They that go down to the sea in ships," we
were all attention, for immediately our adventures in the North Sea came
into our minds, and the ocean, that great work of the Almighty, is so
graphically described in that 107th Psalm, and the dangers of the
sailors with their fears and hopes so clearly depicted, that we record
the whole text, as it appeared in the versified rendering of the Psalms,
in the hope that some one may "read, mark, learn and inwardly digest":
They that go down to the sea in ships: and occupy their business in
great waters; these men see the works of the Lord, and His wonders in
the deep. For at His word the stormy wind ariseth, which lifteth up
the waves thereof. They are carried up to the heaven, and down again
to the deep: and their soul melteth away because of the trouble. They
reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their
wit's end. So when they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, He
delivereth them out of their distress. For He maketh the storm to
cease, so that the waves thereof are still. Then are they glad,
because they are at rest, and so He bringeth them unto the haven
where they would be. O that men would therefore praise the Lord for
His goodness, and declare the wonders that He doeth for the children
of men.
The preacher referred feelingly to a great storm or tornado which had
visited the South Coast about six years before, when a large number of
ships, sheltering in Torbay, were swept out by a sudden change in the
wind and over forty of them were sunk. This happened in the month of
January, when drifting snow filled the eyes of the spectators, who were
within hearing distance but could render no assistance. The Brixham
sailors acted most bravely and saved many lives, but over one hundred
people were drowned. We could see that some members of the congregation
still mourned the loss of friends who had perished on that sad occasion.
We were well pleased with the service, and after a short ramble returned
to our lodgings for dinner at one o'clock, afterwards adjourning to the
drawing-room, where we were presently joined by our host, who suggested
a walk that afternoon to see the beautiful views in the neighbourhood, a
proposition to which we readily assented.
[Illustration: THE OUTER HARBOUR, BRIXHAM.]
But while he was getting ready my brother happened to strike a few
chords on the piano, which immediately attracted the attention of the
two young ladies, who told us they had seen us at church, where they
were in the choir. They were beginning to learn some pieces to sing at
Christmas, and, producing a pianoforte copy, asked my brother to play
the accompaniment while they tried them over. He made some excuses, but
they said they knew he could play as soon as they heard him strike the
chords; so, as his excuses were not accepted, he had to submit to the
inevitable---not altogether unwillingly. They had only just begun when
their father came into the room and claimed our company for the promised
walk, and, as I was the only member of the party ready to join him, we
went out with the understanding that they would follow us. After walking
a short distance I suggested waiting for them, but the gentleman assured
me they knew the way he always went on Sundays, and would be sure to
find us. I enjoyed the company of our host, as he seemed to know the
history of the whole neighbourhood, and possessed a fund of information
ready at command concerning every object of interest we saw. He pointed
out Portland in the far distance, where convicts worked, and where the
stones used for sharpening scythes were produced. He also told me that
formerly Torquay consisted merely of a few cottages inhabited by
fishermen, but some nobleman bought the place for £13,000, and let the
ground in lots on short leases for building purposes. Now that it was
covered with fine houses, he received tens of thousands a year from
chief rent, while many of the houses would come to his family in a few
years' time.
It surprised me greatly how much I missed my brother's company. We had
never been separated for so long a period during the whole of our
journey, and at every turn I found myself instinctively turning round to
see if he were following. It was a lovely walk, but when we reached the
house on our return, neither my brother nor the young ladies were to be
found, and it was nearly time for the five-o'clock tea before they
returned. They all looked very pleasant, and assured us they had
followed us as promised, and the young ladies seemed able to convince
their father that they had done so; but to my mind the matter was never
satisfactorily cleared up, and I often reminded my brother in after
years about those two young ladies at Torquay, who, by the way, were
very good-looking. Many years afterwards some poetry was written by a
lady who must have been an authority on the "Little Maids of Devon," for
she wrote:
Oh! the little maids of Devon,
They've a rose in either cheek,
And their eyes like bits of heaven
Meet your own with glances meek;
But within them there are tiny imps
That play at hide and seek!
Oh! the little maids of Devon,
They have skins of milk and cream,
Just as pure and clear and even
As a pool in Dartmoor stream;
But who looks at them is holden
With the magic of a dream.
Oh! the little maids of Devon,
They have honey-coloured hair.
Where the sun has worked like leaven.
Turning russet tones to fair,
And they hold you by the strands of it,
And drive you to despair.
Oh! the little maids of Devon,
They have voices like a dove,
And Jacob's years of seven
One would serve to have their love;
But their hearts are things of mystery
A man may never prove!
We all attended church again for evening service, and after supper
passed the evening singing hymns, in which I was able to join, some of
them very beautiful and selected because they had been composed by
people connected with the County of Devon. One of them was written by
Charlotte Elliott, who died at Torquay in 1871, the year we were there,
and still a favourite even in these later years, the first verse being:
Just as I am, without one plea
But that Thy Blood was shed for me,
And that Thou bidd'st me come to Thee,
O Lamb of God, I come.
The first vicar of Lower Brixham was the Rev. Henry Francis Lyte, who at
fifty-four years of age began to suffer from consumption, and who, when
he knew he had not long to live, prayed that he might be enabled to
write something that would live to the glory of God after he was dead.
As a last resource he had been ordered by the doctors to go to the
Riviera, where he died at Nice a month later. The night before he
started he preached his farewell sermon, and, returning to his house as
the sun was setting over the ships in the harbour, many of which
belonged to the fishermen he had laboured amongst for so many years, he
sat down and wrote that beautiful hymn:
Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;
The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide;
When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me.
Then there was the Rev. A.M. Toplady, for some time vicar of Broad
Hembury, near Honiton. While walking out with some friends in Somerset,
he was caught in a storm, and the party sheltered in a well-known cave
by the roadside, where, standing under its rocky entrance, he wrote this
famous hymn:
Rock of ages, cleft for me.
Let me hide myself in Thee;
Let the Water and the Blood,
From Thy riven Side which flow'd,
Be of sin the double cure,
Cleanse me from its guilt and power.
All these hymns are sung in every part of the world where the English
tongue is spoken.
The two ladies were good singers, one soprano and the other contralto,
while I sang tenor and my brother tried to sing bass; but, as he
explained, he was not effective on the lower notes (nor, as a matter of
fact, on the high ones either). He said afterwards it was as much as he
could do to play the music without having to join in the singing, and at
one point he narrowly escaped finishing two bars after the vocalists.
Still we spent a very pleasant evening, the remembrance of which
remained with us for many years, and we often caught ourselves wondering
what became of those pretty girls at Torquay.