BAGWORTHY AND BRENDON
Simonsbath is the centre of several converging roads, all of them
waiting to help the traveller out of Exmoor before he is well in it. A
drive from Lynton or some other fairly populous or fashionable resort,
followed by a lunch at the Simonsbath Hotel, is many people’s conception
of the proper method of “doing” Exmoor; but, while pleasant enough as an
excursion, such a mode of exploration permits of only scanty guesses and
imperfect glimpses of the inner fastnesses, which seem for the most part
far away.
If the excitement of the chase be not too distracting, possibly the best
way of acquainting oneself with the country is by following the
staghounds; but should that be impracticable, the most useful advice the
writer can offer is to follow the watercourses. Any one of these, if
patiently traced, will usher the pilgrim into Nature’s mysterious
solitudes, which, if he be at all of a contemplative turn of mind, will
awaken in him many a pleasant or pensive reverie. In any case, one must
get away from the roads, the very excellence of which is evil, as
tempting to sloth.
I cannot, however, send forth an innocent person into the wilds without
referring to the bogs. Personally, I have a considerable respect for
Exmoor bogs, as I have for “they Hexëmoor vogs,” which are equally
treacherous, and make one wet through as sure and as fast as any rain;
nor is it so many years ago that Sheardon Hutch and similar names were
sounds of terror in my ears. Familiarity breeds contempt, and therefore
those at home in the district--some of them, at all events--are apt to
disparage these man-traps, which are not by any means confined to the
low lands, but are found on the summits of hills, especially the
notorious Chains. In many places black decayed vegetable matter has been
accumulating for ages to a depth of several feet, and as the rocks
beneath are of the transition class, impervious to water, the rain is
retained and saturates the bog-mould. After much wet weather, there are
spots that will not bear the weight of a man, let alone a horse, and in
riding over the moor, they constitute so real and serious a danger that
great care should be exercised to avoid getting into them. Otherwise it
may prove an impossible task to extricate the devoted “mount.” There is
one consolation--heather will not grow on those deep bogs, and wherever
its purple bells show, the ground is safe.
The Exmoor hills are variously configured. Sometimes they take the form
of a bold foreland, sometimes of a continuous ridge, sometimes of an
isolated cone or orb. A very intelligent moorman reminded me, somewhat
superfluously, when I looked in upon him on a September evening, that
all the hills have names, and queer names some of them are--_e.g._,
“Tom’s Hill,” “Swap Hill,” “Scob Hill,” etc., etc. The meaning of not a
few is anything but plain, but one “termination,” if the phrase be
permitted, speaks for itself. I allude to the expression “ball,” which
is frequent on Exmoor, and much more likely to be derived from visual
impression than any long-descended traditions of Baal, to which a late
friend of mine, out of regard for the Phœnicians and their
hill-altars, was anxious to assign it. Thus we have Cloutsham Ball
(famous as the scene of the opening-meet of the Devon and Somerset
Staghounds), Ware Ball, Ricksy Ball, Ferny Ball, and, as a gloss, Round
Hill. The intersecting valleys have somewhat the character of huge
corridors leading in and out of each other, and the smaller “combes,”
running up into the hills, may be likened to stairways of providential
appointment, for the Exmoor “sides” are not quite perpendicular. The
hill-tops and slopes are dotted with sure-footed Exmoor horned sheep and
Cheviots, beautiful long-tailed ponies, and a few red cattle. The grass
is of two sorts--a short, close variety found in the drier parts, and
tall sedge grass on wet ground, where it grows rankly. Sheep are fond of
the former when it comes up green and fresh after the annual “swalings,”
which take place in February or March. Exmoor sheep have faces like
those of the native deer, being free from wool, while the sharp-pointed
nose resembles that of a fox.
Simonsbath village is in a sheltered position on the left bank of the
Barle, and, thanks to the care of the late Sir Frederick Knight and his
father, it is further protected against the keen winterly gales by ample
plantations of fir and other trees. Hence we again mount the hills, this
time in the direction of Brendon Two Gates, where the “forest” ends.
After a time we gain a point from which a good view is obtained of the
Prayway (or Prayaway) Meads. There are no hedges here, and, with the
inconsistency of human nature, one misses them. It seems so odd to stand
and gaze over a grassy expanse that has never been enclosed, and yet has
much the look of ordinary meadow. Through the midst flows the Exe, here
quite a baby-stream; we are, indeed, not far from its source. To those
who are familiar with its lower reaches, and call to mind the river as
it appears (say) at Cowley Bridge, the sight is inexpressibly absurd.
The absence of trees and shrubs makes Prayway seem bare and forsaken.
The high sloping banks are like deserted ramparts or--but the name may
have some influence--the nave of a vast natural cathedral haunted by the
ghosts of dead Britons. Continuing our route, we arrive at a gate,
inside which is a sort of quarry known as Black Pits. The gate opens
into a common, at the other end of which is Brendon Two Gates. The
origin of this term has been explained; it may be well to add that at
present it is a misnomer.
We now for the first time catch sight of Bagworthy, lying over on the
right, and Bagworthy, as the reader may happen to remember, was, or has
been imputed to be, the stronghold of the savage Doones. This is, in a
sense, the parting of the ways. The traveller may either quit the
beaten track for the carpet of sward in quest of a shepherd’s cot,
whence he may easily proceed to the traditional site of Doone Castle and
down the Doone valley, along the Bagworthy Water, to Malmsmead, where
the Bagworthy water unites with the East Lyn, and so by Cosgate or
Brendon to Lynton; or he may stick to the road, which will take him by a
shorter cut to the same destination, by Farley and Cheriton and the
aforesaid Scob Hill. It may be that, like the mythical churchmen of old,
when asked to state which see he preferred--Bath or Wells--the
latter-day pilgrim may elect for “both.” I will assume, however, that
his immediate objective is the famous valley, and that, once there, he
will pursue without faltering the longest way round.
Technically we are no longer on Exmoor. Bagworthy, Badgworthy, or
Badgery--all are permissible forms--is in the parish of Brendon and the
county of Devon. In ancient times the wood is said to have covered a
much greater area, and a century ago some of the older shepherds could
point out its former limits. Within their recollection and since their
time, its dimensions steadily contracted, until the disappointment with
the valley, to which visitors so often and freely own, became
explicable.
Now it must be admitted that in _Lorna Doone_ there is a large spice of
exaggeration, and this quality is naturally reflected in the
illustrations with which the goodlier editions are adorned. Such
deviations from the literal have brought it to pass that nowhere is
Blackmore in so little esteem as among the hills he pictured so
lovingly. Even the humble writer of the present volume probably enjoys
on Exmoor a greater measure of esteem as a more trustworthy historian of
the neighbourhood. But, sensible people will agree, the writer of a
romance must be in a large measure a law unto himself, and he is under
not the least obligation to consult the feelings of plain folk incapable
of sharing his flights of imagination. It is a question of the light
“borrowed from the youthful poet’s dream,” and I am inclined to apply
the phrase in a somewhat distinct and definite sense. A romance--this
romance in particular--may be regarded as a fairy-tale raised to a
higher plane of evolution, and Blackmore seems to have possessed the
godlike faculty of reflecting in his pages the shining images of his
boyish fantasy, when, to copy Kingsley, every goose was a swan and every
lass a queen. On this point I shall say no more, but return forthwith to
the matter-of-fact. This includes the deep pool and the waterslide, but
the reality of Doone Castle, or its remains, cannot for various reasons
be taken for granted.
The first printed notice regarding these malefactors occurs in Mr
Cooper’s _Guide to Lynton_, published in 1851, and runs as follows:--
“The ruins of a village long forsaken and deserted stand in an adjacent
valley, which, before the destruction of the timber, must have been a
spot exactly suited to the wants of the wild inhabitants. Tradition
relates that it consisted of eleven cottages, and that here the ‘Doones’
took up their residence, being the terror of the country for many miles
round. For a long time they were in the habit of escaping with their
booty across the wild hills of Exmoor to Bagworthy, where few thought it
safe or even practicable to follow them. They were not natives of this
part of the country, but having been disturbed by the Revolution from
their homes, suddenly entered Devonshire and erected the village alluded
to. It was known from the first to the inhabitants of the neighbouring
villages that this village was erected and inhabited by robbers, but the
fear which their deeds inspired in the minds of the peasants prevented
them from attacking and destroying it. The idea is prevalent that before
their leaving home they had been men of distinction, and not common
peasants. The site of a house may still be seen on a part of the forest
called the Warren, which is said to have belonged to a person called
‘the Squire,’ who was robbed and murdered by the Doones.
“A farmhouse called Yenworthy, lying just above Glenthorne, on the left
of the Lynton and Porlock road, was beset by them one night; but a woman
firing on them from one of the windows with a long duck-gun, they
retreated, and blood was tracked the next morning for several miles in
the direction of Bagworthy. The gun was found at Yenworthy, and was
purchased by the Rev. W. S. Halliday. They entered and robbed a house at
Exford in the evening before dark, and found there only a child, whom
they murdered. A woman servant who was concealed in an oven, is said to
have heard them say to the unfortunate infant the following barbarous
couplet:
‘If any one asks who killed thee,
Tell ’m ’twas the Doones of Bagworthy.’
[Illustration: BRENDON, NEAR OARE (page 150).]
“It was for this murder that the whole country rose in arms against
them, and going to their abode in great haste and force, succeeded in
taking into custody the whole gang, who soon after met with the
punishment due to their crimes.”
This excerpt represents the legend of the Doones which Blackmore
inherited, and which it is absurd to designate as his invention. What he
did was to add colour and definition to an already existing, though
faded, tradition. How much of the substructure of _Lorna Doone_ is due
to his imaginative genius, is a fascinating problem, which, it is to be
feared, it is beyond the wit of man to solve satisfactorily. In the
above quotation, for instance, no mention occurs of the heroine, but it
does not follow that she found no place in the local tales, and
Blackmore, quite as good an authority as the writer of the guide, and on
this particular subject even better, expressly affirms the contrary.
As to the time of the Doones, Mr Cooper, it will be noticed, says “after
the Revolution.” This is altogether opposed to Blackmore’s account,
which sets back their advent to a date long anterior to 1688. Mr Edwin
J. Rawle, whose valuable _Annals of the Royal Forest of Exmoor_ entitles
him to a very respectful hearing, is absolute in rejecting any
historical basis for the tradition, the mere existence of which he
tardily acknowledges. Mr Rawle’s theory is that “Doone” really stands
for “Dane,” the sea-wolves in the olden times having harried the
neighbourhood pretty severely. I do not know what philologers may say of
this suggestion, but the vagaries of the local dialect suggest a far
more plausible explanation. In the romance John Fry speaks of his
“goon,” meaning his “gun.” Now “Dunn” is a fairly common patronymic in
the West Country, and I am informed that the natives formerly pronounced
the vowel in an indeterminate manner consistent with either spelling.
Blackmore, however, evidently regarded the name as identical with the
Scottish “Doune,” and his assertion of a high North British pedigree for
the robbers has been wonderfully seconded of late by the publication of
Miss Ida Browne’s _Short History of the Original Doones_, which, if
correct in every particular, proves amongst other things how extremely
imperfect and untrustworthy are many of the records on which the
scrupulous historian is wont to rely. Mr Rawle will not have that it is
correct, and her pleasant and plausible narrative is the object of a
fierce onslaught in his brochure, _The Doones of Exmoor_. Personally, I
have always favoured the notion that the rogues were a similar set to
the Gubbinses and Cheritons, little communities of moorland savages, and
that their rascalities, handed down from generation to generation, were
magnified and distorted in every re-telling. This solution has the
advantage of being easily reconciled with Mr Rawle’s demand for
authentic evidence of their monstrous doings and Blackmore’s and Miss
Ida’s Browne’s insistence on their Scottish nationality. To me, however,
it seems like beating the air to attempt any final settlement of the
question on our present information, and if I again refer to the lady’s
booklet--already I have given the substance of it in my _Book of
Exmoor_--it is not so much from the belief that it casts any certain
light on the actuality of the Exmoor marauders as on account of the
possibility--which she notes--that Blackmore by some means obtained
access to the evidence now in her possession.
This consists of a manuscript entitled “The Lineage and History of our
Family, from 1561 to the Present Day,” compiled by Charles Doone of
Braemar, 1804; the Journal of Rupert Doone, 1748; oral information, and
certain family heirlooms. Assuming these to be genuine, there is
obviously much likelihood, in view of the numerous points in common,
that Blackmore succeeded in getting hold of the written testimony of the
later Doones; and, indeed, the circumstance may have been the factor
which led him to elaborate the romance on a scale transcending that of
his other stories, since he must have realised that here he had struck
an entirely original vein of historical fiction.
Before quitting this part of the subject, it is desirable to present the
views of the Rev. J. F. Chanter, who has given much attention to the
problem, and whose long and intimate acquaintance with the district
invests his opinions with exceptional importance. In a letter received
from him, he remarks:--
“I may say that, as far as I am concerned, I accept as genuine the main
facts of Miss Browne’s story, but not its details, _i.e._, the
relationship between Sir Ensor and Lord Moray, or even Sir Ensor being a
knight. The title ‘Sir’ was given at that date to many who were neither
knights nor baronets, _e.g._, the clergy always; and as I find in rural
districts, even to this day, a lady of the manor is spoken of, and
written to, as Lady so-and-so. Mr Rawle’s criticism is entirely
negative; his position seems to be this:--Miss Browne’s paper states
that Sir Ensor was twin brother of Lord Moray. Now Lord Moray had no
twin brother; therefore the whole claim falls to the ground.”
To this I answer:
“1. If the claim of Charles Doone of Braemar, as to the ancestry of his
family, is wrong, it is absurd to say he had no ancestors. We are all
apt to claim as ancestors people who were not really so, and many of the
published pedigrees do this, claiming as ancestors some of the same
name, though there is no evidence of the link.
“2. The peerage is no evidence that Lord Moray had not other brothers,
though not twins. There is, for instance, evidence that Lord Moray had a
brother mentioned in no peerage I ever saw, one John Stuart who was
executed for murder in 1609.
“3. There may have been merely a tribal connection between the Doones of
Bagworthy and the Stewarts of Doune, and a tribal feud caused them to
fly to a remote spot; and they were recalled on a later Lord Moray
wanting every help when he fell from Royal favour.
“Be this as it may, Miss Browne’s story fits in so wonderfully with
Blackmore’s romance that I cannot conceive he had not heard of it. This
I can vouch for--Miss Browne did not invent it.
“Now as to Miss Browne’s documentary evidence, I had the original of
Charles Doone’s family history, and it was undoubtedly a genuine
document of the age it purported to be. I made a full copy of it. Of
other documents I only saw copies. The originals she stated to be in the
possession of a cousin in Scotland, and promised to get them for me as
soon as she could. I have, however, not seen them as yet. The relics
also seem to me genuine.”
It must not be supposed that these were Blackmore’s only sources of
information--they deal in the main with merely one side of the story.
Other material, both written and oral, was available on the spot. Mr
Chanter observes on this point: “I myself can perfectly recall that,
when I first went to a boarding-school in 1863, there was a boy there
from the Exmoor neighbourhood who used to relate at night in the
dormitories blood-curdling stories of the Doones.” That boy, it is
interesting to know, is still alive. At any rate, he was alive in July
1903, when he addressed to the _Daily Chronicle_ the following letter in
answer to a sceptical effusion from a correspondent signing himself
“West Somerset.” “‘West Somerset’ could never have known Exmoor half so
intimately as was the case with myself during my boyhood, youth, and
early manhood, or he must have heard of the Doones. During the ‘fifties’
and ‘sixties’ of last century I lived on Exmoor, knew it thoroughly, and
rarely missed a meet of the staghounds. The stories or legends of the
Doones were perfectly familiar to me. They varied much, but the germs of
the great romance were so well known and remembered by me that when it
was issued, one of its many charms was the tracing of the writer’s
embroidery of the current tales. I have hardly been in the district
since 1868, but my memory is sufficiently good to remember the names of
several from whom I heard the traditional annals. Among them were John
Perry, the old ‘wanter’ or mole-catcher of Luccombe; Larkham, the
one-armed gamekeeper of Sir Thomas Acland, and above all, Blackmore, the
harbourer of the deer.[15] The name of another old man, who allowed me
on two occasions to take down Doone stories at the inn at Brendon, has
escaped me. So familiar were these stories to me when I was a boy that I
used to retail them with curdling embellishments of my own in the
dormitory of a West-country boarding-school. The result of this was that
a room-mate of mine, either just before or just after he went to Oxford,
wove my yarns (he had not himself then ever visited Exmoor) into a
story, which he called ‘The Doones of Exmoor.’ This tale was eventually
published in some half-dozen consecutive numbers of the _Leisure Hour_.
My copy of it has long been lost, but I remember that, though it was
delayed some time by the editor, it appeared three or four years before
_Lorna Doone_. Moreover, I had a letter from Mr R. D. Blackmore, soon
after his immortal work was issued, wherein he acknowledged that it was
the accidental glancing at the poor stuff in the _Leisure Hour_ that
gave him the clue for the weaving of the romance, and caused him to
study the details on the spot. I have never been across Exmoor since
_Lorna Doone_ was published, but I am sure that I could at once find my
way either on foot or horseback to the very place that I knew so well as
the stronghold of the Doones, either from the Porlock or the Lynton
side.”
I am permitted to quote also a passage from a private letter of Miss
Gratiana Chanter (now Mrs Longworth Knocker), author of _Wanderings in
North Devon_, who is a firm believer in the Doones.
“I wish you could have a talk with old John Bate of Tippacott [he is
dead]; he gave me a most exciting description one day of how the Doones
first ‘coomed in over.’ No dates, of course; you never get them. He said
there was a farmhouse in the Doone Valley where an old farmer lived with
his maidservant. ’Twas one terrible snowy night when the Doones first
‘coomed.’ They came to the house and turned the farmer and his maid out
into the black night. Both were found dead--one at the withy bank and
the other somewhere else. He said, ‘They say, Miss, they was honest folk
in the North, but they took to thieving wonderful quick.’
“Bate, and one John Lethaby, a mason, were both at work at the building
of the shepherd’s cot in the Doone Valley, and had tales of an
underground passage they found that fell in, and that they took a lot of
stones from the huts for the shepherd’s cot.”
To return to Mr Chanter, we learn that, even before those nightly
entertainments in the dormitory, he had read about the Doones in an old
manuscript belonging to his father, and he adds that there were to be
found at that period in North Devon several such manuscripts, which, he
thinks, had a common origin, and might be traced to the tales of old
people living in and around Lynton seventy or eighty years ago. In range
of information and power of memory none might compare with a reputed
witch, one Ursula Johnson, who, though now practically forgotten, can be
proved from the parish register to have been born a Babb in 1738--not
forty years after the exeunt of the Doones. The family of Babb were
servants to Wichehalses, and one may recall the circumstance that in
chapter lxx. of _Lorna Doone_ John Babb is represented as shooting and
capturing Major Wade. Ursula was not so ignorant as many of her gossips,
and upon her marriage to Richard Johnson, a “sojourner,” could sign her
name--a feat of which the bridegroom was incapable. Her long life
reached its termination in 1826, when she was, so to speak, within sight
of ninety.
Seven years later a locally well-remembered vicar, the Rev. Matthew
Murdy, came to Lynton, and being keenly interested in the old lady’s
stories, began a collection of them. Subsequently two friends of his, Dr
and Miss Cowell, entered into his labours by “pumping” Ursula Fry, a
native of Pinkworthy on Exmoor, and Aggie Norman. Both were tough old
creatures, the former dying in 1856, at the age of ninety, and the
latter in 1860, when she was eighty-three. In Mrs Norman, who passed a
good deal of her time in a hut built by her husband on the top of the
Castle Rock, in the Valley of
[Illustration: NICHOLAS SNOW’S FARMYARD GATE (page 159).]
Rocks, Lynton, Mr Chanter identifies the original Mother Meldrum.
Mr Mundy reduced the tales to something like literary shape, and they
were then transcribed by the older girls in the National School, whose
mistress, Miss Spurrier, saw that the copies were properly executed. An
old lady residing at Lynton possesses one of the documents, dated 1848,
of which the contents include a description of the neighbourhood,
reference to Ursula Johnson, and three “legends”: those of De
Wichehalse, the Doones of Bagworthy, and Faggus and his Strawberry
Horse. In the _Western Antiquary_ of 1884, part xi., may be found an
excellent account of the manuscript by the late Mr J. R. Chanter, who
quotes the following observations by the editor:--
“The recent introduction of candles into the cottages of the
neighbouring poor has tended greatly to produce the most lamentable
decay of legendary lore: the old housewife, crouching over the
smouldering turf, no longer enlivens the tedious winter evening with
well-remembered tales of the desperate deeds of the outlaws or the
wonders wrought by the witches or wisemen, and many of the curious
legends are in danger of being consigned to utter oblivion, unless
immediately collected from the old peasants, who are falling fast: their
children being by far too much engrossed by the Jacobin publications of
the day, to pay any attention to these memorials of the days of yore.
From these causes much has already been lost.”
That R. D. Blackmore obtained a sight of one of these MSS. is, on the
face of it, extremely probable, but for certain elements of the story
he might well have been indebted to his grandfather, the Rector of Oare.
Such are the account of the great frost, the mining and wrestling
incidents, and the tales of the Doones, in chapters v. and lxix., which
the notes pronounce to be authentic, and which differ from other
versions.
I come now to the facts of the Wade episode mentioned in chapter lxx. of
_Lorna Doone_. In this same parish of Brendon is a hamlet called
Bridgeball, and on a hill just above the hamlet is Farley farm, where a
comparatively new house occupies the site of an older structure pulled
down in 1853. It was on this farm that Major Wade, one of the leaders in
the Monmouth Rebellion, was captured after the battle of Sedgemoor.
Driven ashore in an attempt to escape down the Channel, he succeeded in
concealing himself for several days among the rocks at Illford Bridges,
and made a confidante of the wife of a little farmer named How, who
lived at Bridgeball in a house of which he was the owner, while the
field behind it and a portion of land near the present parsonage were
also his property. The good woman provided him with food so long as he
continued in his rocky hiding-place, and interceded for him with a
farmer at Farley named Birch, who consented to harbour him for a time.
Situated on the verge of Exmoor, no refuge could have appeared more
secure than this isolated spot, but the event proved that Wade might
have been as safe, or safer, in a great and populous centre. To his
credit it must be recorded that, after obtaining his pardon, the gallant
gentleman did not forget his benefactress, on whom he settled an
annuity. The particulars of his capture have been preserved in the
Lansdowne MS., No. 1152, which contains the following rather dramatic
reports:--
“_To the Right Hon. the Earl of Sunderland, Principal Secretary of
State._
“BARNSTAPLE, _y_{e} 31st July 1685_.
“My Lord,--I here enclosed send your Lop. an account of y^{e}
apprehending of Nathaniel Wade, one of y^{e} late rebells. I came
to this towne to-day, and can, therefore, only give y^{r} Lop.
w^{t} relation I have from y^{e} apothecary and chirurgeon w^{ch}
they had drawn up in a letter designed for Sir Bourchier Wrey;
their examination of him is enclosed in y^{e} letter, to w^{ch} I
refer your Lop. He continues very ill of a wound given him at his
apprehending sixteen miles hence, at Braundon parish in Devon. I
designe to examine him as soon as his condition will permitt, he
promising to make large and considerable confessions; and herein,
or if he dye, I humbly desire your Lop.’^{s} directions to me at
Barnstaple, and shall herein proceed as becomes my duty to his
Majesty and your Lop.--My Lord, y^{r} Lop.’^{s} most humble
Servant,
RICHARD ARMESLEY.”
“_To the Honourable Sir Bourchier Wrey, K^{t}. and Bart., in London._
“BRENDON, _30th July ’85_.
“Hon^{rd} Sir,--This comes to give you an account of one, not y^{e}
least of y^{e} rebells, who was taken up last Monday night at a
place called Fairleigh in y^{e} p’ish of Brundun, by Jno.
Witchalse, Esq., Ric^{d} Powell, Rec^{t} of y^{e} same, Jno. Babb,
serv^{t} to Jno. Witchalse and Rob. Parris. They haveing some small
notice of a stranger to have bin a little before about y^{t}
village, came about nine of y^{e} clock at night to one Jno.
Burtchis house. As soon as they had guarded y^{e} house round, they
heard a noise. Watching closely and being well armed, out of a
little back door slipt out this person within named, and two more
as they say, and run all as hard as they cold. Babb and Parris
espieing them, bid them stand againe and againe. They still kept
running, and they cockt their pistols at them. Parris his mist
fire, but Babb’s went off, being charg^{d} w^{th} a single bullett,
w^{ch} stuck very close in y^{e} rebells right side; ye entrance
was about two inches from y^{e} spina doris. Y^{e} bullett lodged
in y^{e} under part of y^{e} right hypogastrind, w^{ch} we cut out.
Y^{e} bullett past right under y^{e} pleura; from the orifice it
entered to y^{e} other, w^{ch} we were forced to make to extract
y^{e} bullett (having strong convulsions on him): it was in
distance between six and seven inches. He was very faint, having
lost a great quantity of blood. Y^{e} orifice we made (y^{e}
bullett lying neere y^{e} cutis) was halfe an inch higher y^{n}
y^{e} other. It begins to digest, and his spirits are much revived,
only this day about 10 of y^{e} clock he was taken with an aguish
fitt, w^{ch} I suppose was caused by his hard diet and cold lodging
ever since y^{e} rout, he leaving his horse at Illfordcomb. Ever
since Tuesday last in the afternoon, Mr Ravening and myself have
bin w^{th} him, and cannot w^{th} safety move from him. We desire
to know his Maties pleasure w^{t} we shall due w^{th} his corps, if
he dyes, w^{ch} if he does before ye answer, we think to embowell
him. We will due w^{t} possible we can, for he hath assur^{d} us,
y^{t} as soon as he is a little better, he will make a full
discovery of all he knows, of w^{ch} this inclosed is part, by
w^{ch} he hopes to have, but not by merrits, his pardon. Here is
noe one y^{t} comes to him y^{t} he will talk soe freely w^{th} as
w^{th} us; if you will have any materiall questions of business or
p’sons to be askt of him, pray give it in y^{rs} to us. We will be
privat, faithfull, to o^{r} King, whome God long preserve. W^{ch}
is all at present from them who will ever make it their business to
be.--S^{r} y^{r} most humble Serv^{ts},
“Nic^{s} Cooke and HENRY RAVENING.”
The addressee was Sir Bourchier Wrey, of Tawstock, Bart., son of another
Sir Bourchier, and grandson of Sir Chichester Wrey, who married Ann,
youngest daughter of Edward Bourchier, Earl of Bath.
Bagworthy and Farley are both in the parish of Brendon, but we must not
forget that, as regards bodily presence, we are still in the Doone
valley, and not far from Oare, where, according to Rupert Doone’s Diary,
his ancestors, on quitting Scotland in 1627, first fixed their
residence. They then removed to the upper part of the Lyn valley, on an
estate bounded on one side by Oare and on the other by Bagworthy. The
Doone valley, which used to be called Hoccombe, is a glen lying between
Bagworthy Lees and Bagworthy, and Mr Chanter expresses the belief that
this name and that of “Lorna’s Bower” were first applied to the small
sidecombes by his cousins, the Misses Chanter, soon after the
publication of _Lorna Doone_. Ruins of the traditional “Castle,”
rectangular in form, are still to be traced, and consist of two groups.
Unfortunately, stones were taken from them to build an adjoining wall,
and now it is impossible to state the character of the buildings, some
of which were probably houses, and others cattle-sheds. Miss Browne,
indeed, is of opinion that they were all of the latter description, and
that the real home of the Doones was in the Weir Water valley, between
Oareford and the rise of the East Lyn. So far as Hoccombe is concerned,
Blackmore has idealised it with a vengeance. The “sheer cliffs standing
around,” the “steep and gliddening stairway,” the rocky cleft or
“Doone-gate,” the “gnarled roots,” are all purely imaginary. As regards
“Doone track” or “Doones’ path,” it directly faces the valley, and after
crossing the Bagworthy Water, ascends the Deer Park and Oare Common, and
so to Oare. Being covered with grass or hidden by heather and scrub, it
is not easy to follow, but viewed at a little distance it presents the
appearance of a broad terraced roadway, not improbably Roman, and
connecting Showlsborough Castle, near Challacombe, with the coast. The
site of the house where the “Squire” was robbed and murdered by the
Doones is still visible in the part of the forest known as the Warren
(_Lorna Doone_, chapter lxxii.).
Exmoor was once a paradise of yeomen, thrifty sons of the soil, who
owned their own farms. They consisted of two classes: those who did the
work themselves, with the assistance of their family and jobbing
workmen, to whom they paid good wages; and the owners of large farms,
where labourers were constantly employed at a shilling a day. The former
sort is entirely extinct. Many of their descendants have been merged in
the mass of common labourers; a few have risen to the rank of large
farmers; others have emigrated.
The more substantial class of yeomen is still represented in the
district. The late Mr W. L. Chorley, Master of the Quarme Harriers, was
an excellent specimen of the order, but the most relevant example is
that of the Snows, whom Blackmore treats somewhat unfairly. The family
may not have been rich in what Counsellor Doone described as the “great
element of blood,” but a genuine yeoman of the type in question would
hardly have been dubbed “Farmer Snowe,” and he certainly would not have
perpetrated such an awful lapse as “pralimbinaries.” I have been
informed by a correspondent that Blackmore apologised to the family for
his painful caricature, which was only just, in view of their actual
status and the esteem in which they are held by their neighbours. About
the year 1678, two-fifths of the manor of Oare belonged to the family of
Spurrier, and passed by marriage at the beginning of the eighteenth
century into the possession of Mr Nicholas Snow, who left it to a son of
his own name. The latter, in 1788, purchased the other three-fifths,
and, at his death in 1791, bequeathed the manor to his youngest son,
John Snow, who died without issue, leaving the property to his nephew,
Nicholas Snow--the “Farmer Snowe” of _Lorna Doone_.
It will be noticed that the Snows did not become landowners at Oare
until long after the period of the story. As for the Ridds, or Reds, the
only mention of the name in the parish register occurs in the year 1768,
when John Red was married to Mary Ley. The real Plover’s Barrows was
Broomstreet Farm, in the neighbouring parish of Culbone; at any rate, a
John Ridd was resident there. A John Fry, no mere farm-servant, was
churchwarden of Countisbury, of which Jasper Kebby was likewise a
parishioner. Plover’s Barrows has been identified by Mr Page with Mr
Snow’s residence--“according to Blackmore, anciently the farm of the
Ridds.” But in _Lorna Doone_ (chapter vii.) the two farms are
represented as adjoining, and Plover’s Barrows is evidently further
upstream (see _Lorna Doone_, chapter xiv.: “In the evening Farmer Snowe
_came up_.”) The same writer speaks of the Snows as having been seated
at Oare since the time of Alfred. Can Mr Page be thinking of John Ridd’s
boast to King Charles (_Lorna Doone_, chapter lxviii.)?
Oare Church, where the elder Ridd lay buried, where his son stole the
lead from the porch to his subsequent shame, and where the brute Carver
shot Lorna on her bridal morn, has received an addition in the shape of
the chancel
[Illustration: OARE CHURCH.]
since the last disastrous event--which, as things are, rather falsifies
the narrative. Graced with ash and sycamore, the little cemetery is as
Blackmore describes it, “as meek a place as need be.”