It may afford a fair specimen of Mr. Fletcher’s dispassionate descriptive
style of writing, and at the same time serve to commemorate a notable
phenomenon much talked of at that time, to quote his account of the great
landslip at the Birches, just on the borders of the parishes of Madeley
and Buildwas.
“When I went to the spot,” says Mr. Fletcher, “the first thing that
struck me was the destruction of the little bridge that separated the
parish of Madeley from that of Buildwas, and the total disappearing
of the turnpike road to Buildwas bridge, instead of which nothing
presented itself to my view but a confused heap of bushes, and huge
clods of earth tumbled one over another. The river also wore a
different aspect; it was shallow, turbid, noisy, boisterous, and came
down from a different point. Whether I considered the water or the
land the scene appeared to me entirely new, and as I could not fancy
myself in another part of the country, I concluded that the God of
nature had shaken his providential iron rod over the subverted spot
before me. Following the track made by a great number of spectators,
who came already from the neghbouring parishes, I climbed over the
ruins and came to a field well grown with rye-grass, where the ground
was greatly cracked in several places, and where large turfs, some
entirely, others half turned up exhibited the appearance of straight
or crooked furrows, imperfectly formed by a plough drawn at a
venture. Getting from that field over the hedge, into a part of the
road which was yet visible, I found it raised in one place, sunk in
another, concave in a third, hanging on one side in a fourth, and
contracted as if some uncommon force had pressed the two hedges
together. But the higher part of it surprised me most, and brought
directly to my remembrance those places of mount Vesuvius where the
solid stony lava has been strongly marked by repeated earthquakes,
for the hard-beaten gravel that formed the surface of the road was
broken every way into huge masses, partly detatched from each other,
with deep apertures between them exactly like the shattered lava.
This striking likeness of circumstances made me conclude that the
similar effect might proceed from the same cause, namely, a strong
convulsion on the surface if not in the bowels of the earth. Going a
little farther towards Buildwas I found that the road was again
totally lost for a considerable space, having been overturned,
absorbed, or tumbled with the hedges’ that bounded it to a
considerable distance towards the river; this part of the desolation
appeared then to me inexpressibly dreadful. Between a shattered
field and the river there was on that morning a bank on which besides
a great deal of underwood grew twenty fine large oaks, this wood shot
with such violence into the Severn before it that it forced the water
in great columns a considerable height, like mighty fountains, and
gave the overflowing river a retrograde motion. This is not the only
accident that happened to the Severn; for near the Grove the channel
which was chiefly of a soft blue rock burst in ten thousand pieces,
and rose perpendicularly about ten yards, heaving up the immense
quantity of water and the shoals of fishes that were therein. Among
the rubbish at the bottom of the river, which was very deep in that
place, there were one or two huge stones and a large piece of timber,
or an oak tree, which from time immemorial had lain partly buried in
the mud, I suppose in consequence of some flood; the stones and tree
were thrown up as if they had been only a pebble and a stick, and are
now at some distance from the river, many feet higher than the
surface of it. Ascending from the ruins of the road I came to those
of a barn, which after travelling many yards towards the river had
been absorbed in a chasm where the shattered roof was yet visible.
Next to these remains of the barn, and partly parallel with the
river, was a long hedge which had been torn from a part of it yet
adjoining the garden hedge, and had been removed above forty yards
downward together with some large trees that were in it and the land
that it enclosed. The tossing, tearing, and shifting of so many
acres of land below, was attended with the formation of stupendous
chasms above. At some distance above, near the wood which crowns
that desolated spot, another chasm, or rather a complication of
chasms excited my admiration; it is an assemblage of chasms, one of
which that seems to terminate the desolation to the north-east, runs
some hundred yards towards the river and Madeley Wood; it looked like
the deep channel of some great serpentine river dried up, whose
little islands, fords, and hollows appear without a watery veil.
This long chasm at the top seems to be made up of two or three that
run into each other, and their conjunction when it is viewed from a
particular point exhibits the appearance of a ruined fortress whose
ramparts have been blown up by mines that have done dreadful
execution, and yet have spared here and there a pyramid of earth, or
a shattered tower by which the spectators can judge of the nature and
solidity of the demolished bulwark. Fortunately there was on the
devoted spot but one house, inhabited by two poor countrymen and
their families; it stands yet, though it has removed about a yard
from its former situation. The morning in which the desolation
happened, Samuel Wilcocks, one of those countrymen, got up about four
o’clock, and opening the window to see if the weather was fair he
took notice of a small crack in the earth about four or five inches
wide, and observed the above mentioned field of corn heaving up and
rolling about like the waves of the sea; the trees by the motion of
the ground waved also, as if they had been blown with the wind,
though the air was calm and serene; the river Severn, which for some
days had overflowed its banks, was also very much agitated and seemed
to turn back to its source. The man being astonished at such a
sight, rubbed his eyes, supposing himself not quite awake, and being
soon convinced that destruction stalked about he alarmed his wife,
and taking the children in their arms they went out of the house as
fast as they could, accompanied by the other man and his wife. A
kind Providence directed their flight, for instead of running
eastward across the fields that were just going to be overthrown,
they fled westward into a wood that had little share in the
destruction. When they were about twenty yards from the house they
perceived a great crack run very quick up the ground from the river;
immediately the land behind them with the trees and hedges moved
towards the Severn with great swiftness and an uncommon noise, which
Samuel Wilcocks compared to a large flock of sheep running swiftly by
him. It was then chiefly that desolation expanded her wings over the
devoted spot and the Birches saw a momentary representation of a
partial chaos! then nature seemed to have forgotten her laws: trees
became itinerant!—those that were at a distance from the river
advanced towards it, while the submerged oak broke out of its watery
confinements and by rising many feet recovered a place on dry land;
the solid road was swept away as its dust had been on a stormy
day;—then probably the rocky bottom of the Severn emerged, pushing
towards heaven astonished shoals of fishes and hogsheads of water
innumerable;—the wood like an embattled body of vegetable combatants
stormed the bed of the overflowing river, and triumphantly waved its
green colours over its recoiling flood;—fields became moveable,—nay,
they fled when none pursued, and as they fled they rent the green
carpets that covered them in a thousand pieces;—in a word, dry land
exhibited the dreadful appearance of a sea-storm. Solid earth as if
it had acquired the fluidity of water tossed itself into massy waves,
which rose or sunk at the beck of him who raised the tempest; and
what is most astonishing, the stupendous hollow of one of those waves
ran for nearly a quarter of a mile through rocks and a stony soil
with as much ease as if dry earth, stones, and rocks had been a part
of the liquid element. Soon after the river was stopt, Samuel
Cookson, a farmer who lives a quarter of a mile below the Birches, on
the same side of the river, was much terrified by a dust of wind that
beat against his windows as if shot had been thrown against it, but
his fright greatly increased when getting up to see if the flood that
was over his ground had abated he perceived that all the water was
from his fields, and that scarce any remained in the Severn. He
called up his family, ran to the river, and finding that the river
was dammed up, he made the best of his way to alarm the inhabitants
of Buildwas, the next village above, which he supposed would soon be
under water. He was happily mistaken, providence just prepared a way
for their escape; the Severn, notwithstanding a considerable flood
which at that time rendered it doubly rapid and powerful, having met
with two dreadful shocks, the one from her rising bed and the other
from the intruding wood, could do nothing but foam and turn back with
impetuosity. The ascending and descending streams conflicted about
Buildwas bridge; the river sensibly rose for some miles back, and
continued rising till just as it was near entering the houses at
Buildwas it got a vent through the fields on the right, and after
spreading far and near over them collected all its might to assault
its powerful aggressor, I mean the Grove, that had so unexpectedly
turned it out of the bed which it had enjoyed for countless ages.
Sharp was the attack, but the resistance was yet more vigorous, and
the Severn, repelled again and again, was obliged to seek its old
empty bed, by going the shortest way to the right, and the moment it
found it again it precipitated therein with a dreadful roar, and for
a time formed a considerable cataract with inconceivable fury, as if
it wanted to be avenged on the first thing that came in its way,
began to tear and wash away a fine rich meadow opposite to the Grove,
and there in a few hours worked itself a new channel about three
hundred yards long, through which a barge from Shrewsbury ventured
three or four days after, all wonder at the strangement of the
overthrow.”
Mr. Fletcher added:—“My employment and taste leading me more to search
out the mysteries of heaven than to scrutinize the phenomena of the
earth, and to point at the wonders of grace rather than those of nature;
I leave the decision of the question about the slip and the earthquake to
some abler philosopher.”
The phenomenon was nothing more nor less than a landslip, such as has
occurred time after time alongside the banks of the Severn, only upon a
larger scale than usual; and Mr. Fletcher, as was his wont, turned the
event to account by addressing the large number who had assembled to
witness what had taken place, in words of earnest and solemn import, and
by preaching again to them on the same spot the following evening.