FROM THE NORTH
FORELAND TO
PENZANCE
[Illustration]
[Illustration: PORTSMOUTH. H.M.S. ST. VINCENT]
FROM THE NORTH
FORELAND
TO PENZANCE
BY CLIVE HOLLAND · ILLUSTRATED BY
MAURICE RANDALL
[Illustration]
LONDON
CHATTO & WINDUS
NEW YORK: DUFFIELD & COMPANY
MCMVIII
_All rights reserved_
_To the Most Noble
THE MARQUESS OF ORMONDE
K.P., P.C., Commodore of the Royal Yacht
Squadron, with his Permission, this Book of
the South Coast is inscribed_
PREFACE
In the following pages, dealing with the most important or most
picturesque of the harbours and seaports of the South Coast from the
North Foreland to Penzance, no attempt has been made either to give
“guide book information” which can be easily obtained elsewhere; or to
afford technical sailing directions, soundings, or nautical information
of the type to be found in such books as Cowper’s admirable “Sailing
Tours,” “The Pilot’s Guide,” or in the Admiralty Charts. Rather has
it been the object of the author to deal with the picturesque side of
the various places described, and to give something of their story and
romance, both past and present.
That the coastline covered by the present volume has much of interest
few will deny. It is, indeed, the one which has played the most
strenuous and historic part in the history of our Island Kingdom.
In times of war it has experienced all the terror and excitement which
comes in the train of outgoing battle fleets and incoming victorious
galleons, men-of-war, and privateers. In times of peace it has known
not a little of the romance of wrecking, smuggling, and the pure joy of
life which is borne inland by soft, salt breezes and cleansing winds.
Of its beauty those can tell who like ourselves have coasted along
its varying shores of high chalk cliffs, shingle, sand, and fretted
granite. Indeed, where salt water meets land there must ever be
something worth seeing, recording, and depicting.
A special element of interest attaches to the work of the artist whose
sympathetic pictures adorn the book, in that for many years he has
been associated with the sea and the Southern Coast, and has voyaged
many thousands of miles upon the great waters. His work will speak for
itself, but it seems singularly appropriate that a practical yachtsman
should illustrate a work of this character.
Of necessity the writing of a volume like the present one, covering in
a comparatively brief space a large field, has entailed much research
as well as knowledge gained by visits, in some cases on many different
occasions, to the places dealt with and described. And it is equally
impossible to avoid mentioning and saying a great many things which
have been said before, and in a sense using material already contained
in existing books dating from Domesday, Leland, Hakluyt, and Hals to
the most recent of modern times, and also county histories.
The author’s thanks are more especially due to Messrs. A. & C. Black
for kind permission to make use of material, the inclusion of which
was unavoidable, relating to the history of Dorset ports and havens
in particular, previously appearing in somewhat different form in his
book “Wessex,” of which they hold the copyright; to W. K. Gill, Esq.,
for permission to make use of material, collected by him from various
ancient sources, contained in his interesting booklet “Sketches of the
Past of Poole”; to the proprietors of the Homeland Association Ltd.,
for a like permission to make use of the substance of matter contained
in several of their excellent “literary” guides, more especially
relating to Sussex, Devon, and Cornish ports; to Commander the Hon.
Henry N. Shore, R.N., the author of that interesting and exhaustive
volume “Smuggling Days and Smuggling Ways” for valuable help and
information; and to a number of friends and others for information
willingly afforded on the occasion of our visiting the various places
described.
Amongst other books which have been consulted for details regarding
ancient historical events of a local character and customs may be
mentioned those of the Rev. John Prince, of Berry Pomeroy, Devon;
Jonathan Couch’s “History of Polperro”; Mr Arthur H. Norway’s “History
of the Post Office Packet Service between 1793 and 1815”; Mudie’s
“History of Hampshire”; “The Illustrated History of Portsmouth”; “The
History of the Civil War in Hampshire”; J. D. Parry’s “Coasts of
Sussex” (1833); Mr Montagu Burrows’s “Cinque Ports”; “The Complete
History of Cornwall”; and many smaller pamphlets published from 1700
to 1845. Use has also been made of the old files of “The Hampshire
Independent,” “The Dorset County Chronicle” and other local newspapers,
and the Records of various towns.
CONTENTS
_Chap._
I. The North Foreland, Ramsgate, Deal, Dover, Hythe,
and some other Cinque Ports _Page_ 1
II. Newhaven, Shoreham, Littlehampton 40
III. Portsmouth, Ryde, Cowes, Yarmouth 72
IV. Southampton, Beaulieu River, Lymington 112
V. Poole, Swanage, Weymouth, Portland 142
VI. Bridport, Lyme Regis, Axmouth, Sidmouth 173
VII. The Coast to Teignmouth, Torquay, Brixham 190
VIII. Dartmouth, Kingsbridge, Plymouth and the Sound 225
IX. St Looe, Polperro, Fowey, Mevagissey, and some Coves 267
X. Falmouth, Gerrans, St Mawes, Penzance 301
ILLUSTRATIONS
Portsmouth: H.M.S. St Vincent _Frontispiece_
South Foreland _Facing p._ 10
The Outward Mail, Dover 18
Beachy Head 50
Low Tide at Littlehampton 64
Portsmouth: Entrance to Harbour 86
Fareham 92
Cowes: Summer 98
Yarmouth, I.O.W. 108
Southampton 120
The Needles 130
Poole Harbour 150
The Nothe, Weymouth 162
Bridport 174
Lyme Regis 178
Fishing for Mackerel off Exmouth 194
Torquay Harbour: Entrance 212
Brixham 222
Dartmouth 230
Kingsbridge 246
Cremill Point, Plymouth 254
Plymouth Breakwater 262
Looe 276
Fowey 286
St Anthony’s Lighthouse, Falmouth 304
Falmouth: Flushing Side 316
Helford Creek 322
Heavy Weather off Land’s End 326
A Breeze off the Lizard 328
Penzance 332
From the Foreland to Penzance
Chapter I
The North Foreland--Ramsgate--Deal--Dover--Hythe, and some other Cinque
Ports
The great headland, famous as the North Foreland, dazzling white on a
bright summer’s day, and grey when the weather is cloudy; capped with
green turf which is by turns, according to the season, the greenest
and the least green in England, is familiar to all who have gone down
Channel from the Thames estuary, and to many who have only crossed it.
On the summit of this historic and impressive cliff, at whose foot, by
turns, lap the waves of a quiet sea and rage the surges of winter’s
gale, stands the lighthouse which has an interest to all seafarers
beyond its saving power and guidance, in that it is in fact the oldest
along the coast. Though much altered and enlarged, its present tower
is substantially the same as the one commenced in the reign of the
Merry Monarch in 1663. So that for nearly two and a half centuries
the light has shone forth over the waste of waters as one old writer
says “for the guidance of mariners, as a token of human kindness, and
incidentally to the glory of God.”
Many historic events have taken place off the North Foreland, but none
perhaps of greater moment than the fierce naval battle between the
English and Dutch fleets on June 2, 1653, each numbering close upon 100
vessels, though the latter had some numerical superiority. Then in
sight of “all who thronged the headland the great fight went on between
the big shipps until the Dutchmen were beaten.”
The English had already gained a victory over the Dutch off Portsmouth
a few months before, and now the fleet under the command of Blake,
Monk, and Deane, whose name as a naval commander, is, we imagine,
almost unknown to the majority of his countrymen of the present day,
inflicted a crushing defeat upon the Dutch, six of whose best ships
were taken, eleven sunk, and the remainder driven to take shelter in
Calais Roads. This engagement was one of a series which took place in
the home waters during the years 1652-1675.
On one’s way round to Ramsgate one passes Broadstairs--now a favourite
summer resort--which in the middle of the sixteenth century was a place
of some importance, having ninety-eight houses, eight boats and other
vessels from two to eighteen tons, with forty men employed in the
seafaring industries; and its famous church of Our Lady, on passing
which in ancient times we are told vessels “lowered their topsails and
wafted their ‘ancients’ in salute.”
Ramsgate Harbour, however, is not an ideal place in which to make any
prolonged stay. It is not commodious; nor is it distinguished by what
is termed “every modern convenience.” The outer basin is little more
than mud at low water, and the inner--well, most people avoid docks if
there is a chance of having fresh and sufficient water under a yacht’s
keel. But Ramsgate itself is an interesting and historic town, and is
situated on the Isle of Thanet, which literally teems with romantic
memories of the past. Those of the sea rovers of the Cinque Ports, the
sturdy seamen of the Elizabethan age, the bold and daring smugglers of
the Georgian and early Victorian eras.
Ramsgate is undoubtedly of very ancient origin. Even in pre-Roman times
it was probably a place of some importance and consequence. Indeed,
the numerous remains which have from time to time been found in the
neighbourhood, more especially on the East Cliff, go far to prove the
contention that in the days of the Roman occupation it served as a
kind of outer port or station to Rutupiae. Its position was such as to
enable it to defy the silting up, as well as those other changes which
were destined as the ages went by to stultify and destroy some of its
immediate neighbours and sometime rivals. Though the haven afforded
was too small and not well protected enough to attract to it any great
measure of the trade that flowed up Channel to London from even early
times, Ramsgate has for many centuries been a fishing port, and a place
of some considerable moment to the Isle of Thanet itself. Even in the
early years of the fourteenth century it was a town of some size, and
it had one great possession in the fine old church of St Lawrence which
dates from the reign of King John.
There are indeed so many romantic and historical memories connected
with Ramsgate that the story of them is difficult to condense within
reasonable limits. Just across the bay, in the meadows of a farm, more
than thirteen centuries ago, landed St Augustine, a peaceful conqueror.
Near this spot, six and a half centuries before, the world-conqueror
Julius Cæsar had grounded his galleys, and his soldiers--fired by the
example of a standard bearer--had leaped into the water, forcing a
landing in the face of the menacing and oncoming Britons.
There in the year 597 amid the water meadows stood the Saint, with the
River Stour flowing between him and the Saxon King who had come down to
see what manner of man Augustine might be, but had “entreated the Saint
to approach no closer lest he should be a magician and work the King
ill” until he had satisfied himself that he (Augustine) was no wizard.
The running water between in those times was held to be a sure bar to
the exercise of magical arts. When the King had satisfied himself that
the Saint and his followers were not to be feared he crossed over the
river, and sat and listened to what they had to say. Every one knows
the story. How St Augustine “came to stay.” How in the end the King
who had received him with friendliness and hospitality was driven out
of his own. And then, to come further down the ages, the ease-loving
descendants of St Augustine and his monks were themselves told to
depart by another King, less mild mannered and hospitably inclined
than the Saxon Monarch of a thousand years before. “Bluff King Hal”
would have none of them, though, perhaps, it was neither their morals
(or want of them) nor their pride that chiefly induced him to make the
clean sweep of them that he did.
Westward from the harbour and in the valley lies Minster, concerning
the founding of which there is a monkish legend of some interest.
After King Egbert had murdered his cousins and “buried them under
his throne” he, doubtless fearing they might prove troublesome, was
seized with remorse. As so often happened in those remote days his
remorse, and desire that his lady cousin, whose brothers he had thus
foully murdered, should forgive him, was turned to good account by
Mother Church, who from history appears to have made a pretty constant
practice of profiting by rich sinners and bleeding those who others
bled. The lady in question agreed to consider the matter settled if
the King would but give her (this was the Archbishop of Canterbury’s
solution) as much land as a hind could run over, so that she might
found a monastery to her murdered brothers’ memory. Egbert, who,
tradition asserts, had been much disturbed meanwhile by ghostly
visitants, agreed; and the religious house was duly founded.
The daughter of the foundress, named Mildred, ruled over the community,
and afterwards was canonized. But the monastery was not destined to
remain long undisturbed. A band of Danish pirates landed, attacked,
and burned the institution to the ground, and carried off to a more
secular life the prettiest of the virgin nuns they found incarcerated.
Possibly some of them found their new circumstances less dull than
their old life of seclusion. A little later Canute gave the land
on which the monastery had stood to the Priory of St Augustine at
Canterbury. Then arose a difficulty. St Mildred being long dead had
been left by the Danish marauders where she lay buried. They had,
indeed, no use for the bones of saints or dead womenfolk. And now
the Abbot of Canterbury wished to remove the body to his church. The
people of Thanet naturally opposed the idea. St Mildred was their most
valued and cherished possession. Pilgrims came to visit her grave, and
when pilgrims came there were material advantages accruing. The Saint
herself appears to have refused this “translation” to Canterbury. But
in the end she was not proof against the gentle and logical wooing of
the Abbot of St Augustine’s, and she went away with him or he carried
her off, whichever way one may read a story that is not quite clear in
this regard. The men of Thanet followed to Canterbury with a view to
recovering their property; but were unsuccessful, and St Mildred “did
many wonderfull workes and miracles at that place.”
Richborough Castle hard by is a fine ruin, and has great interest for
those to whom the dim and obscure ages of national history appeal.
The remains of this old fortress of the time when Romans held sway
in Britain are amongst the most interesting in the South of England.
It has been frequently referred to by writers of that period, under
its Roman designation of Rutupiae, and was the castle of an important
town or settlement until the recession of the sea did away with its
usefulness as a place of habitation for seafaring people.
One can well imagine the effect of its massive towering and
threatening walls upon the Saxon pirates of the days when Rutupiae was
in its prime, and formed, with the castle of Regulbium or Reculver,
the defences and wards to the entrance of the then wide and navigable
Wantsum. But like so many of the outposts of civilization of those
latter days of Imperial Rome’s world-wide sway, it was destined to be
abandoned. And when the last legion marched in A.D. 436 to the coast
to depart over seas never to return, it was not long ere the invading
Anglo-Saxon pirates took and sacked the great stronghold of Rutupiae,
and practically destroyed its very fabric.
Ramsgate of late years has in a measure come to the front as a holiday
resort, but to most seafarers along the coast it will always be the
past of the town rather than the present that will possess abiding
interest. Until comparatively recent years it continued to bear its
share of the burdens attaching to the Cinque Ports; and even nowadays
is in a measure under the control of Sandwich, its ancient head, and as
a “vill” of the latter submits to the jurisdiction of its recorder. It
is one of the ancient non-corporate members of the Cinque Ports.
In coming down Channel to Dover one passes several historic towns
connected with the ancient Confederacy, consisting originally of
Sandwich, Dover, Hythe, Romney, and Hastings, to which were afterwards
added Rye and Winchelsea (making seven, notwithstanding which the
old French and original name has always been retained), but none of
these can nowadays be looked upon in the light of harbours. We may,
perhaps, as well here as anywhere else whilst passing the old-time port
of Sandwich, with its “limbs” Deal, Walmer, Kingsdown and Ringwold,
spare a little space for a brief sketch of the Cinque Ports as a
whole. The Confederacy, which came to be known under that designation,
cannot fail to be of interest to all Britons as being the undoubted
germ of the Royal Navy, in those far-off times when the Channel was
a frequent battle-ground, and these ancient ports loomed large in
history. Originally brought into existence by Saxon monarchs, they were
afterwards constituted by William I and succeeding kings, who required
them to supply ships for the defence of the coasts. The Charter dated
1278 of Edward I is the real basis upon which their liberties are
founded. This charter, the earliest which has now actual existence,
settled many outstanding grievances, and conferred several important
new privileges in addition to confirming the old ones. The essential
part runs “And it is by this deed made clear that they shall possess
their liberties and acquittances henceforth in the fullest and most
honourable manner that they and their forerunners have ever had in
the times of the Kings Edward the Confessor, William I, William II,
King Henry our great-grandfather, and the Lord King Henry our father,
by reason of the Charters of these aforenamed kings, as those said
Charters, in possession of the Barons.” Then follows a statement that
these same ancient grants and Charters had been seen by the King.
There is, unfortunately, no space at our command to mention in detail
the many interesting customs in connexion with the Cinque Ports. One
of those most prized in the Middle Ages was the carrying of a pall or
canopy of silk over the head of the King at the coronations, extended
tent-wise by four long lances attached to the four corners held by four
barons of the Ports. They were, we are told by Roger de Hoveden, on the
occasion of the coronation of Richard I, “followed into Westminster
Abbey by a whole crowd of earls, barons, knights and others, cleric and
lay.”
As will have been gathered from the Charter to Edward I, the
Confederacy is of very ancient origin, and in fact had an existence
prior even to the reign of Edward the Confessor. At any rate, it is
clear from existing records, traditionary beliefs, and historical
data, that William of Normandy was well alive to the usefulness
and importance of the Cinque Ports as a means of keeping open the
communicating link of Channel seaway with his Duchy; as well as for the
general defence of the Kingdom of England, over which he had come to
reign, against the periodical incursions of Danish and other pirates.
Henry III by an ordinance dated about 1229 stated in clear terms what
he required of the Confederacy. It was ordered that the latter should
supply--what for those times must be considered the large number of--57
ships; each having for crew 21 men and a boy. And these were to serve
the King for not less than 15 days in every year at their own costs
and charges, and so long after the said period of fifteen days as
contingencies might require. But in the event of an extended term of
service payment was to be made. One gathers what is probably not a very
inaccurate idea of the relative size and importance of the different
towns at that period from the number of ships each supplied. We find
Dover sent 21, Winchelsea 10, Hastings 6, and Hythe, Sandwich, Rye, and
Romney 5 each.
But to supply ships for the defence of the realm against the King’s
enemies was not a burden without compensations. Many special privileges
were granted to the towns from time to time, amongst them were those of
self-government, the privilege for the freemen to carry the title of
“barons,” and the freedom to trade without paying any toll with every
corporated town in the kingdom. The inhabitants, too, were exempt from
military duties or service. The honour of bearing a canopy over the
King and Queen (mentioned by Shakespeare, and re-asserted so recently
as at the time of King Edward VII’s coronation) we have already
referred to.
Although much of the history of these seven ancient towns, which
ultimately formed the Cinque Ports, is unhappily lost to us, the
existing records or customals give the student a very good idea of
the life of the various periods to which they have reference. One, not
the least interesting, was that of giving notice of the need to elect
a mayor by a trumpeter at midnight. And woe betide him who refused to
take the necessary oath of allegiance to the Ports and the Sovereign.
Any who did was promptly ejected from his house, which was forthwith
sealed up. At Dover the punishment was even more severe, as the house
was generally pulled down.
Another custom, which obtained at both Romney and Hythe, was the
presentation by the corporations of those towns of “porpuses”
(porpoises) to the lord’s table at Saltwood. We have never, so far as
we know, tasted porpoise. It may be good; but, as the American said of
another dish, “it sounds strong.”
Amongst the purely medieval institutions in connexion with the Cinque
Ports, the Romney Play in those far off times had a great reputation,
“drawing crowdes of folk from the other townes, and from afar off in
Kent and Sussex,” to witness its representation. There are frequent
references to it in the Lydd records; and in the Port papers one finds
the accounts and costs relating to these old-time pageants, even
the prices paid for “wigges,” false beards, erection of the stage,
“floats,” the scenery, costumes, and the labour of the scribe, who
appears to have in a measure united the office of author with that of
stage manager. The Play was a municipal undertaking, like those of
other famous towns. The subjects of the Plays varied somewhat, but
the majority appear to have been at least founded upon a religious or
sacred basis, or to have been a monkish interpretation of some legend,
and were in fact Old Mysteries.
It is difficult to look upon the Romney of to-day and believe that
Leland, who visited it in the reign of Henry VIII, was correct
in stating that it had been a good haven “yn so much that withyn
remembrance of men shyppes have cum hard up to the towne, and cast
ancres yn one of the churchyardes.” He goes on to say, too, that at
the period of his visit the sea was “two myles from the towne, so sore
thereby decayed that wher ther wher 11 great paroches and chirches
sumtyme, is now scarece one....”
Most of the Cinque Ports were destined ultimately to decay from the
same reason--recession of the sea, caused by what is known as the
“Eastward Drift.” And the last great part that they played in the naval
history of England was their gallant conduct when the Spanish Armada
threatened our shores. Then we find that the ancient spirit, which had
animated them in Norman times, flamed up once more--the final flicker
of expiring consequence--as of old “to its full height of medieval
patriotism”; and, we are told by the same authority, “though their own
vessels were poor little craft, the Ports contrived to raise among
themselves the sum of £43,000, and to ‘set out’ with that money a handy
little squadron of thirteen sail, which did its duty under the orders
of Lord Henry Seymour.” Thirteen sail would to some seem ominous; but
evidently the Cinque Ports folk were not superstitious. Tradition
asserts that these men, who amongst other things, and in addition to
sending the thirteen ships to Drake’s Armada Fleet, watched the coast
in their poor little craft and “crayers,” also prepared the material
for the fire-ships which were destined to bring about, though not
actually to accomplish, the final disintegration of the Spanish Fleet.
That they contributed their fair share of powder and shot, and energy
in manning and manœuvring the ships they had supplied there is ample
evidence. They in due course received the special thanks of Queen
Elizabeth for their services, and also for the part they played in the
lodgement, victualling, and transporting over seas of the troops for
her French and Portuguese expeditions, which had so much to do with the
final checking of Spain’s power for harm against England.
[Illustration: SOUTH FORELAND]
Various legislative measures of modern times have taken away from the
Cinque Ports many of their ancient privileges, but they still retain
the one of being quite independent of county jurisdiction in many
important particulars. The office of Lord Warden is an honorary one
and has been at various times held by many of the most distinguished
statesmen of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Amongst those who
have held the post may be mentioned William Pitt, Lord Palmerston, the
Duke of Wellington, Earl Granville, the Marquis of Salisbury, and Lord
Curzon.
On our way to Dover, however, to return to our course, we must pass
Sandwich, “the settlement on the sand,” which during the fifteenth
century had been gradually declining until towards the end of Henry
VIII’s reign it was but a ghost of its former self. Considering Henry’s
quarrel with the Holy Father at Rome it was somewhat an irony that
the final blow to Sandwich’s prosperity as a port was dealt it by the
sinking in the fairway of a large ship owned by the Pope. Over this the
sand and mud collected rapidly, practically blocking the channel, and
causing the downfall of what was at one time one of the chief ports in
the south.
Off Deal one truly sails over the graves of men. Many and many a
gallant ship (some of historic note) has brought up in the Downs, and
alas! failed to find substantial holding ground when the critical
moment arrived. This was the case on November 26, 1703, when the
English fleet took shelter there, and during one night of a great gale
lasting fourteen days a large number of ships, mostly with all hands,
were lost by driving on the Goodwins, including the _Stirling Castle_,
_Mary_, and _Northumberland_, each of 70 guns.
Of these fatal and historic sands, nowadays happily well-provided with
lights, a poetess has written:
What wealth untold
Far down, shining through their stillness lies!
Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold,
Won from ten thousand royal argosies.
Yet more, the billows and the depths have more!
High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast!
They hear not now the booming waters roar,
The battle thunders will not break their rest.
Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave--
Give back the true and brave.
Deal, indeed, has continued to exist as a place of some importance
almost entirely because of its propinquity to the Downs, and the
consequent presence of numbers of ships. In the old days, too, the
town was the scene of many smuggling exploits and affrays between the
pressgang which used to periodically raid the place, and carry off
“most of the sturdy seamen manning vessels weather bound in the Downs,
much to their own and their captain’s chagrin.” It was, indeed, one of
the most profitable of all Kentish towns for such operations.
Walmer with its historic and ivy-clad Castle, the official residence
of the Warden of the Cinque Ports and Constable of Dover Castle,
stands above the low-lying shore line, one of the three castles which
anciently kept the Downs. Both Deal and Walmer, the former with its
long pier, have latterly become holiday resorts of the usual type.
A shingly beach in both cases stretches in front of rows of modern
lodging and apartment houses which face the sea. It is generally
supposed that it was on the beach between Deal and Walmer that in
July, 1495, the impostor Perkin Warbeck, with a handful of followers
numbering about 600 in all, attempted to land. Nearly a third of the
“invaders” were taken prisoners by the trained bands of Sandwich, and
were afterwards executed chained together two and two, and their bodies
disposed of for hanging in chains all along the coasts of Kent and
Sussex. “Where they rotted to the terrifying of all for many yeares.”
It is an incident not entirely without humour that Perkin Warbeck
should have chosen to disembark some of his “force” within a mile or
two of the spot traditionally identified as the landing place of Cæsar,
where also the great Napoleon intended to land.
The coast now increases in height until one reaches charming St
Margaret’s Bay, with a few houses almost standing on the beach itself,
and others blinking at one from the cliff above. A favourite resort for
picnics, but affording unsatisfactory shelter. On the summit of the
cliff and a short distance inland stands a fine Norman church worth
visiting, if time permits, from Dover. From the top of the cliff there
is one of those unrivalled panoramas to which the higher portions of
the Kent and Sussex coasts so admirably lend themselves. It extends
over the far stretching expanse of Channel, south, east, and west; with
the sea traffic of an Empire passing almost at one’s feet.
There is a curious story with an Eugene Aram flavour about it
concerning a murder of long ago which was committed by a soldier on the
road into Dover from St Margaret’s. He appears to have been of a hardy
as well as a murderous nature, for after committing the crime he stuck
the walking stick, with which he had killed his comrade, in the earth
in a field, boasting that he was sure to escape detection until the
stick took root. The latter was of sycamore wood. The soldier went on
foreign service, and did not return (so the story goes) for some years.
He came along the road which had for him such a tragic memory, and was
astounded to find that the stick had grown into a tree. This discovery
so horrified and unnerved him that he promptly went back to Dover and
gave himself up to the authorities.
The South Foreland is now close on our starboard bow--that magnificent
headland which the veteran nautical novelist Mr Clark Russell says is
“surely the most incomparable of all vantage grounds for the marine
dreamer. It is not only that every fathom of the gleaming water that
the eye wanders over is vital with historic tradition, and rich with
the most romantic of the hues which give to our own national story the
shining complexion it wears; it is still the busiest of old maritime
highways; fifty oceanic contrasts fill every hour....” There are,
indeed, many types of craft still to be met with and seen in the Downs,
from “the dainty clipper model in iron, lifting an almost fairy-like
fabric of wire rigging and soaring yards, and swelling snow-white
canvas to the skies” to “the huge ocean passenger steamer, noiselessly
thrusting her nose through it faster than a gale of wind could have
thundered an old line-of-battle ship along.” Then, sometimes, too,
there are the white-winged yachts bound for Dover Harbour after a run
out into the Channel, or from the Thames estuary bound much farther
westward to Cowes, or even Dartmouth or Penzance. Or the Thames barge
hugging the coast; a tramp rust-red, and high out of the water in
ballast, till she looks like nothing so much as a long, deep cigar
box, rounded at both ends, and with a funnel stuck far astern or in
the middle, as the builders may have thought best; or sometimes a
smart _chasse marée_, the like of which in the old days did service as
privateers out of Calais, or as smugglers out of Boulogne, Dunkirk, or
Gravelines.
We are inclined to agree that there is no strip of open water like the
Channel off Deal and Dover for interest and variety.
On rounding the towering and magnificent South Foreland one gets one’s
first glimpse of Dover when coming from the eastward. It is not very
satisfying until one has actually entered the Bay, which is one of
the finest artificial havens in the world. It has been the custom in
the past of those who simply pass through Dover on their way to or
from the Continent to decry it. We could produce more uncomplimentary
remarks concerning the “ugliness,” “poverty,” “dullness,” etc., of
Dover (perhaps written by those to whom a Channel swell had been less
than kind) than of almost any other place of which we have personal
knowledge. But to those who approach “the ancient town of Dover with
its many memories, its commanding castle, its impressive pharos”
leisurely from the sea on a fine day, we can conceive of no feelings
being aroused than those of interest and admiration. There is something
eternal in the appearance of this sole true survivor of the famous
Cinque Ports, which makes it possible for one to realize that much of
what one sees, at all events at a first glance, is what has been looked
upon by countless generations from the time when Cæsar’s eagle eye
rested upon Shakespeare’s Cliff, and travelled up the valley which lies
snug in the shelter of and runs inland between the two o’er-topping
cliffs. But whilst we may linger amid historic memories Cæsar passed on
to an easier landing a little way further up the coast.
When one is snugly inside the breakwater, things begin to assume
greater distinctness. There is the Castle and pharos still, but in the
serried rows of houses, the Marine Parade along the front, the pier
on which are numerous trains made or in the process of making up, and
the air of bustle, one begins to realize that Dover’s greatness has
not entirely departed, and that one has come to a prosperous and not a
decaying port, a lively garrison town, a naval depôt of consequence,
a commercial centre for miles round, and a popular holiday resort.
And when one contemplates the vast harbour works, which have cost
upwards of three and a half million pounds sterling and enclose a
water space measuring upwards of 610 acres, one can easily see that
Dover’s future may be as useful, as brilliant and as prosperous as
has been her past. In this huge haven, which is entirely free from
rocks or sandbanks, the largest battleships afloat can anchor in safety
under the protection of the countless heavy guns of the forts. Already
there is a flotilla of submarines stationed here, and the roadstead is
full of life and movement from sunrise to sunset. The harbour has two
excellent and adequate approaches, one between the Admiralty Pier and
Southern Breakwater, 800 feet in width; the other between the Southern
Breakwater and the Eastern Arm 600 feet in width.
Dover is nowadays a capital port for yachtsmen. The town is historic,
picturesque, and quaint. It has just the narrow streets on a somewhat
larger scale that one meets with in the smaller ports in Cornwall down
west. Streets which seem as though squeezed in “where never such were
meant to be,” with the two hillsides over-topping them as though thrust
aside in high dudgeon. Then inland there is the newer and perhaps
smarter town, with villa residences scattered on the sides of the Dour
valley, and delightfully situated.
Up above the harbour stands the Castle, a grey, grim survival of an
heroic age. It has been fortified from time out of mind. And there
are yet existing, notwithstanding all that has been done to add to it
and restore it, traces of both Roman and Saxon defences. It was this
important fortress, with the not less essential “well of water in it,”
that weak Harold undertook to deliver up to William of Normandy as soon
as the breath should pass out of Edward the Confessor’s body. But a
few days after the Battle of Hastings, which took place on October 14,
1066, and resulted in the defeat of Harold and the slaying of upwards
of 30,000 men, William captured the Castle, and appointed as Constable
his half-brother, Odo of Bayeux. Most of the walls and towers are of
Norman date, and are probably the work of John de Fiennes, the second
Constable. The massive and well-preserved keep dates from the reign of
Henry II, and other portions of the Castle are of various subsequent
periods.
One of the most shameful events in connexion with the story of the
Castle is that of King John’s submission there to Pandulph, the Pope’s
legate. Three years after this event, in the spring of 1216, Louis
VIII of France, who had come over convoyed and supported by a powerful
fleet under the command of Eustace the Monk, was before Dover Castle
to besiege it after having landed at Stonor and captured Hastings and
Rye. He also burnt Sandwich, which refused to yield to him. Some of his
force joined with that of the revolting barons, and not only overran
Kent, but even penetrated to London, of which they took possession.
The garrison of Dover we are told was to the last degree inefficient,
feeble, and ill-provisioned. But the commander poor, harried King John
had placed in it, with jurisdiction over the Cinque Ports generally,
was one of the most able and strongest men of his age, Hubert de Burgh
by name. To his courage, resource, and endurance must be placed the
credit of the successful defence of the last hope of England against
the establishment of a French sovereignty. At length Louis, finding
himself unable to reduce the Castle or persuade De Burgh to yield,
raised the siege. He had failed; and his father’s remark was justified,
“By the arm of St James, my son then has not obtained one foot of land
in England.”
Whilst Louis was being driven from his quarry the fleet under Eustace
was dispersed and almost destroyed; partly through the gallant efforts
of the ships and seamen of the Cinque Ports, and partly by a tempest.
Next year, however, Blanche de Castile, Louis’ wife, and a bold and
enterprising princess, got together a fleet of “over-powering strength,
full of knights and soldiers,” which was as before put under the
command of Eustace, the renegade Cinque Port Monk, who had learned
what he knew of seamanship and daring from those he was about to
attack. But Hubert de Burgh and the men of the Ports in the forty ships
lying in Dover Bay were not to be frightened by Eustace, that “pirata
nequissimus” (most vile pirate) as the chroniclers of the time not too
harshly label him. They decided that it was essential that he should
be beaten at sea. If he were to effect a landing the troops he brought
might turn the tide of battle and a foreign yoke yet be borne by
England.
There are, fortunately, several fairly full and good accounts of this
ancient sea battle, in which the courage and seamanship, destined ever
to distinguish the men of the Cinque Ports, was splendidly exemplified.
The French fleet (we are condensing and modernizing one of the best of
the accounts which have come down to us) consisted of upwards of one
hundred vessels, and the command of the troops with which they were
crowded had been given to one Robert de Courtenay, a distinguished
knight, connected (so ’tis said) with the Royal house of France itself.
[Illustration: THE OUTWARD MAIL, DOVER]
They trimmed their sails from Calais towards the mouth of the Thames,
but the ever-watchful De Burgh and his bold men had descried their
coming from the heights above Dover, and at once weighed anchors,
and hastened (though the wind was light) to meet them. They did not,
however, because of their much inferior size and numbers, deliver a
direct attack, but kept their “luff”--a sea term used at that period
even as nowadays--till they were nearer France than England. The French
commander, unable to comprehend this manœuvre, called out tauntingly
that the English thieves were bound for Calais in anticipation of
finding it undefended, and in preference to fighting and being
defeated. But he was destined soon to discover his error. When well
to windward the English ships suddenly put their helms hard up, and
bore right down on the French. The latter, quite unprepared for this
startling development in the attack, were thrown into confusion.
They were apparently too heavily laden to be easily manœuvred; and
although, to do him justice, Eustace fought his ships well, they had
no chance from the outset of coping successfully with the splendidly
handled and lightly burdened English vessels. One can imagine something
of the fight from these old chronicles, which say that some of the
French vessels were run down (though on more than one instance the
English boat suffered severely in “ramming” her opponent) and sunk;
others were grappled with and boarded much to the discomfiture of the
enemy, as De Burgh’s men had been told to jump aboard and cut the
halliards so that the sails fell upon the Frenchmen and incommoded
and entangled them. It might be thought that these tactics were good
enough to ensure a victory, but the men of the Cinque Ports left
nothing to chance, and in addition to the usual methods of offence
had laid in a stock of quicklime, which as they sheered alongside (of
course to windward) was thrown with blinding effect in the faces of the
Frenchmen, who lined the sides of their vessels to repel the boarders.
The combined result of these ingenious methods of attack supported
by courage and address was a complete victory. It is said that only
fifteen ships escaped--probably the leading vessels with which the
English did not come up. The general was taken a prisoner; and,
unfortunately for him, Eustace himself was found hidden on the ship
of Robert de Courtenay, and was dragged from his place of concealment
in the hold by a bastard son of King John. In those days justice did
not tarry long on the way. There was a sharp sword ready. And there on
the deck the renegade was summarily beheaded, “and ys blood ran yn ye
scuppers, and thence ynto ye sea.”
Many gallant French knights, we learn, sooner than suffer capture,
which was otherwise inevitable, leaped into the sea in their armour and
speedily sank.
It is satisfactory to know that the spoil taken and the ransoms
obtained for the French nobles who were captured were such as to
“greatly enrich the seamen, so that for the rest of their days they
could dwell in comfort.”
A picturesque and impressive touch was lent to the homecoming of the
victors, who were met by a great procession of bishops and clergy, who
had anxiously watched the issue of the fight from the summit of Dover
cliffs. Seldom we may readily believe was a victory more welcome, for
with this crushing naval defeat and the destruction of his force for
invasion Louis was compelled to relinquish all hope of ascending the
throne of England. And to ensure his escape to France he made a treaty
which finally disposed of any claim he thought he possessed.
The Cinque Ports folk of that age learned in a rough school, and it
is perhaps little to be wondered at that occasionally, when truces
of a temporary character had been entered into between this country
and France or Spain, they failed to observe them with any degree of
promptness or completeness, but went on “plundering and harrying their
natural enemies the French,” until the King had on several occasions to
interfere, and call them to book.
It is, doubtless, to these acts, and others brought about by general
orders issued by different Sovereigns in succeeding reigns, that the
charges of piracy which have been levelled in the past and by some
present-day writers against the men of the Cinque Ports are traceable.
Matthew Paris, amongst other historians, charges them distinctly not
only with piracy on the French, but with robbing and murdering their
own fellow countrymen. A careful examination of the circumstances and
facts leading up to this charge leads one to think that they were
possibly guilty. But it must be remembered in extenuation that the
age in which Paris lived was a lawless and disturbed one. The orders
received by the men of the Cinque Ports were frequently of a general
character to carry fire and sword along the enemy’s coasts, and it is
little to be wondered at if the hardy seamen who frequently fought
at long odds were not the most scrupulous of victors, and sometimes
failed to discriminate to a nicety between legal and illegal predatory
warfare. The very freedom of the privileges they enjoyed as citizens
of the Ports made them less accountable than they doubtless otherwise
would have been to the King’s properly constituted authority. Certain
it is that on several occasions in the Middle Ages the men of the Ports
were not backward in entering into a little war of their own, to their
immediate and great advantage. They were pirates in just the same way
as were the men and adventurers of the Devon and Cornish ports, and the
French hailing from Morlaix, St Malo, and other Norman and Breton ports
in those times.
It is, however, impossible to inquire further into this fascinating
period of our naval history. In the records of the Cinque Ports which
still exist there is enough material for a score of romances. Suffice
it to say that the same adventurous spirit which made these seamen
in medieval times such stout and successful defenders of the narrow
seas caused them in a later age to rank amongst the most daring and
resourceful as well as the most successful of smugglers.
But to return to Dover Castle, in whose history, indeed, is enshrined
that of the town itself. At the outbreak of the Civil War between
Charles and his Parliament it was garrisoned by Royalists. The story
of its capture reads more like a piece of pure romance than actual
fact. But here is the tale. It occurred to an enterprising handful of
Roundheads, led by a citizen of Dover named Dawkes or Drake, to attempt
the taking of the fortress. Their plan, simple in the extreme, was to
climb up the steep cliff on the sea side, which it was not thought
necessary to guard, and thus surprise the garrison. Accompanied by a
score or so of fellow Roundheads, Dawkes succeeded in scaling the
cliff face and surprising the Royalists, who hastened to surrender
under the impression that the attack was supported by a strong force.
Never, perhaps, fell so strong a place so easily, save when treachery
had something to do with the matter, and in this case it was lack of
courage and information, not the work of traitors, which led to the
garrison’s undoing. Thus fell Dover Castle to a handful of enterprising
Puritans; and although the King made repeated attempts to recover
possession of so commanding a fortress, he did not succeed, “the
strongest Royalist force being easily repulsed by those that were
within.”
At the Restoration, however, Charles II found Dover citizens among the
most loyal and enthusiastic to bid him welcome back to his own again.
It was the effusiveness of the greeting given him which caused the King
to remark to one of his courtiers, “Oddsfish, man, these good folk
appear so happy to see us that surely it was our own fault we did not
come before.”
Pepys tells us that the Mayor solemnly presented the King with
a handsomely bound copy of the Bible! A present regarding the
appropriateness of which many members of the Court must have had grave
doubts. One can imagine with what inward amusement the pleasure-loving,
gallant Charles declared to the cheering, banner-waving throng
surrounding him that the Bible was “the thing of all others he loved
most in the world.”
Just forty-eight years later Dover cliffs were thronged to see a fleet
pass on its way, whither the people who strained their eyes to catch a
glimpse of it did not then know. It was that of William of Orange come
to free them from the weak tyranny of James II, and as it passed in
line with the Castle the nearest ships saluted the English flag which
floated in the breeze on the Keep, and far away across the grey waters
of the Channel could be seen the smoke of the Calais guns returning
the salute of the French flag by the Dutch ships on that side. Thus
sailed over practically the same water the argosies of peace just as
had sailed a century before those of Spain and of war. The eyes which
gazed out at them were not those of aforetime; but the same spirit of
anxiety doubtless animated most of the watchers on the headland.
A century later, when Napoleon was gathering his legions and his
transports at Boulogne for the invasion of England, Dover was still
a busy place. “There was a constant stir in the town,” we are told,
“made chiefly by the coming and going of couriers between it and
the metropolis, and the activity of those engaged upon the works
of defence, and the presence in our midst of many thousands of
volunteers.” Not that all was business, for with the military and the
additional civilian element came the ladies, all, however, prepared
to take instant flight on the rumoured, let alone actual, approach of
that great bugabo, Napoleon, and where they came there was sure to
be junketing and gaiety, even in the midst of the stern preparations
for _la guerre à l’outrance_. Post shays, mail coaches and private
carriages, as well as transport wagons and carriers’ carts, made the
road from Dover to London busy night and day; and along the sea-front,
as well as in the narrow streets of the town itself, were to be seen
fashionable ladies and their beaux “gossiping, and often shivering in
simulated horror at the mention of the terrible name which just then
filled all minds,” so that Dover was almost at times like Hyde Park.
It is unnecessary to add that the fortifications of the Castle
underwent a thorough overhauling, thereby being immensely strengthened,
and ever since that time, almost from year to year, additions and
modern improvements have been made until it is not too much to say that
they are now amongst the most efficient and powerful in the world.
And up above one, as one lies at anchor, amongst the most modern and
destructive of weapons, with its muzzle directed seaward, stands that
beautiful piece of ordnance known as Queen Elizabeth’s Pocket Pistol.
It is no less than twenty-four feet in length and was cast at Utrecht
in 1544, and presented by the Dutch to the Queen. The inscription which
it bears in Low Dutch finds a popular but inaccurate translation in the
well-known couplet:
Load me well and keep me clean,
I’ll carry my ball to Calais Green
A rough literal translation, however, reads somewhat as follows:
Men call me breaker of rampart and wall;
’Tis true over hill and dale I can hurl my big ball.
In the Castle and town of Dover there are several interesting old
buildings and churches. The Castle Church of St Mary is of the greatest
interest, more especially to architects and antiquarians, as it is
undoubtedly one of the oldest ecclesiastical buildings in the country.
It is thought to stand on the site of the Roman Prætorium, and by some
authorities is stated to incorporate within its walls some portions of
that ancient structure, which was converted to the uses of a Christian
church in the third century. Previous to its restoration (one might
also add rescue) in 1860 by Sir Gilbert Scott it was used as a coal
cellar! The ancient Roman pharos (which had its fellow on the western
heights and served to guide the Roman galleys to port from Gaul across
the Channel) stands close to the church. Nowadays it is roofless and
ivy-clad, and much of the ancient work is obscured by later masonry,
but it forms an interesting and romantic object for all seafarers. It
was for a considerable period used as a belfry, but its bells were (so
the story goes) filched by Sir George Rooke, the capturer of Gibraltar,
who carried them off to Portsmouth and had them melted down!
In the town itself both St Mary’s and St James’s Churches are worth
attention, the latter more particularly as it was anciently the
place at which the old Cinque Ports Court of Admiralty used to meet.
The Maison Dieu in the same street, now forming a portion of the
municipal buildings, was founded by the famous and gallant Constable
of Dover, Hubert de Burgh, in the reign of King John, for the use
and entertainment of pilgrims, soldiers, and seamen returning from
abroad or foreign service. The foundation had a resident master and
several brethren and sisters attached to it, and was in the Middle Ages
extremely wealthy. After its suppression by Henry VIII the hall, the
only remaining portion of the ancient buildings, was set apart for use
as a brew house, and at a later period was used as a naval victualling
store. It was acquired in 1834 by the Corporation, and restored in
1860. The stained glass windows and portraits of the kings of England,
Lord Wardens, and others in the building are worth examination.
Of modern Dover not much need be said. It differs in its main
characteristics little from the usual garrison town, and possesses
most, if not all, of the advantages and disadvantages of such places.
If the harbour were not so fine, and the historic interest so enduring,
we fancy few pleasure seekers on blue water would make it a port of
call.
From Dover to Rye (passing Folkestone, Hythe, and New Romney) is a
matter of twenty-seven miles. Once outside the harbour a straight
course can be laid for Dungeness, eighteen miles distant. Folkestone
Harbour is a pleasant one, and the town is lively and bustling. The
proximity of Shorncliffe Camp (used by Sir John Moore of Corunna fame)
adds materially to the life of the place. The approach from the sea,
after passing along miles of shore, gradually decreasing in height and
mostly pebbly, is pleasant and picturesque. And in the famous Leas,
which may be said to be “the Hoe” of Folkestone, the town possesses
one of the most pleasant and healthful promenades on the south coast.
Although Folkestone is mentioned in the Domesday Book as a fishing port
called Folchestan, it has even more ancient history attaching to it.
Nowadays its harbour is a busy one, for it is one of the cross Channel
traffic ports, and although many who merely pass through may remember
the town chiefly for its passenger traffic it has a great goods traffic
also. In the warehouses along the quay, where the cargoes which have
been unloaded are examined and the duties levied by the Custom House
officials, we have seen merchandise from almost every quarter of the
globe, both manufactured and raw material. Silks and velvets from
Lyons; gloves, boots, hats from Parisian houses, artificial flowers and
feathers from the same; ostrich feathers from South Africa in their
queer-looking cardboard tubes; bales of woollen and cotton goods;
watches from Switzerland; pottery and metal work from Austria; wines
from France and Italy; and perfumes from Paris, from Italy, and from
the famous manufactories at Grasse in the south of France--in a word,
everything which goes to meet the demands of modern life and modern
luxury. Then there is the daily trade of the Continent--the flowers,
fruit, eggs, and vegetables which arrive nightly in huge consignments
and make the quays such scenes of life and bustle. Yes, Folkestone is a
busy and interesting seaport as well as a pleasant harbour and holiday
place.
But everything is not quite modern in Folkestone. There lies to
the north of the Outer Harbour an old town, of whose existence
comparatively few of the thousands of visitors who come to it or pass
through it annually know anything. Those who love the old rather than
the new; narrow alleys and quaint architecture, rather than wide
streets, broad promenades, up-to-date shops and prim villas, will find
here a mine of interest, like the famous author of _The Ingoldsby
Legends_, who writes: “Its streets, lanes and alleys--fanciful
distinctions without much real difference--are agreeable enough to
persons who don’t mind running up and down stairs; and the only
inconvenience at all felt by such of its inhabitants as are not
asthmatic is when some heedless urchin tumbles down a chimney, or an
impertinent pedestrian peeps in at a garret window.”
Folkestone is still a fishing port, though the industry is not what it
used to be. In recent years there has been a revival of those ancient
medieval ceremonies of blessing the sea and thanksgiving for the
harvest of the sea which were anciently so common.
In the latter years of the eighteenth and the first four decades of
the nineteenth centuries, however, smuggling was with many of the
fisherfolk a much more popular means of obtaining a livelihood than
fishing. The whole of the outer portion of the town was honeycombed
with cellars, secret passages, and “tub holes,” in which the contraband
goods were stored until they could be finally and profitably disposed
of. The nearness of Folkestone to the French coast made frequent trips
across possible, and the smugglers were doubtless favoured by the
laxity which was said to prevail amongst the coastguards on the Kentish
and Sussex coast at the period when smuggling was at its height.
For some years previous to 1831 a blockade of the coast had been
instituted, and for a time smuggling was “under a cloud”; but on the
removal of the blockade in 1830 there was a great revival, in the Deal,
Walmer, and Folkestone districts especially. Many flagrant cases of
connivance occurred in the two years immediately following the removal
of the blockade, and numbers of men were dismissed from the preventive
service. That the bribes given by the smugglers and their agents were
substantial was, of course, natural, seeing that the rewards for
seizures were so high. We are told in several records[A] that as much
as a thousand pounds was not infrequently shared amongst the officers
and men of a coastguard station after the capture of a big cargo, the
lowest share, that of the boatmen, being some £85 to £90. Little wonder
need be experienced then when it is stated that “many a sentry on night
duty could reckon on seeing £40 by keeping his eyes shut.” A way of
expressing the case of a truly Hibernian character. Women confederates
of the smugglers were frequently employed to corrupt the men of the
preventive service, and so common a practice had this become that a
special order was issued along the Sussex and Kent coasts which is
substantially as follows: “Having reason to believe and fear that an
attempt will be made to corrupt our men through the medium of females,
it is ordered that patrols hold no communication when on duty with any
person, either male or female.”
[A] _Smuggling Days and Smuggling Ways_, by the Hon. H. N.
Shore, R.N.
But the Kentish and Sussex smugglers did not stop at bribery or
corruption. If it was felt that either an informer had been at work, or
that the coast was too well guarded to make a successful run possible,
it was the practice of the smugglers to make their arrangements to
assemble in force sufficiently strong to overpower the patrol and then
the cargo was run under the “preventives’” very noses. As a rule, the
“runs” made upon the Kentish and Sussex coasts were what was known
as “direct.” That is to say, the boats which brought over the goods
were sufficiently small or of sufficiently light draught to permit of
their being beached or brought close inshore without the necessity (as
was the case further west) of transhipment of the bales and tubs into
smaller boats to be rowed ashore. The type of craft most in favour in
the Deal and Folkestone districts were galleys, rowing ten or twelve
oars and very fast, which could easily make the cross Channel passage
in three or four hours in favourable weather. Or what were known as
“tub-boats,” mere shells, which would not ride out a gale, knocked
together out of the flimsiest and cheapest materials, and consequently
of so little value (compared with the cargoes they conveyed) that
they were frequently abandoned after the run, and were never troubled
about in the case of a surprise, but left to their fate and to capture
with little distress on the part of their owners. As a rule, these
“tub-boats” were towed across Channel by French luggers, which left
them when they had been brought within a mile or two of the coast, when
sweeps were got out and the flimsy but heavily laden craft were brought
inshore or beached.
Amongst the most famous of the larger smuggling craft of the district
may be mentioned the _Black Rover_, of Sandwich, which had a most
ingenious method of concealing goods in tin cases; the _Isis_, of Rye,
which was fitted with a false bow; and the _Mary Ann_, of the same
place, fitted with a false keel. A Folkestone boat taken in 1828 was
found to have a most ingenious concealment “running from the stern to
the transom, and from keel up to the underpart of the thwarts.”
How profitable smuggling was few people nowadays, we fancy, realize.
There is, of course, the vague knowledge surviving that great fortunes
were made by the most successful smugglers, but the amount of profit
upon a single successful run is not generally known.
A very common practice was for a number of people to “club” together to
provide the funds for a “run,” which generally ruled at £1 per “tub.”
Some would, say, take fifty shares (i.e., “tubs”); others more or less
as the case might be. The captain of a likely vessel was engaged to
make the trip for a lump sum varying in amount according to the size of
the cargo, seldom, however, falling much below £100. Then the men of
the crew would have to be paid from £25 down to £10 a piece, according
to the amount involved and the demand for men at the time. In France
the “tubs” would cost from 17s. to 18s., and each English sovereign was
worth in purchasing value about twenty-one shillings; but, taking it
all round, to the persons engaged in financing the run the cost would
amount to £1 per “tub,” the difference being taken by the captain for
incidental expenses, such as sinkers, rope, food for crew on trip, etc.
Then there would be an additional £1 to pay for each “tub” successfully
“run” and delivered to the adventurers. The total cost was thus about
£2 per tub; the value of each on this side of the Channel _had the
duty been paid_ £6 to £6 5s. Then it should not be forgotten that the
spirit was so greatly above proof (generally 70%, and sometimes as high
as 180%) that it could be diluted to twice, three, or even four times
its bulk, so that each “tub” would ultimately produce from £12 to £20.
Or in profit--less, of course, the amount paid to the captain and men
of the boat--£10 to £18 per tub according to the amount of dilution
which the strength of the original spirit allowed. On a cargo of 200
“tubs” or more it will be easily seen that the profit to be divided
was enormous, and if the venture was that of a single individual
half-a-dozen successful runs would almost make his fortune.
In the event of a cargo being seized the loss was in a very much less
proportion. It consisted merely of the £100 paid the captain, the
amount paid the men in the boat, and £1 per tub. It is little wonder
then that, in the days to which we refer, smuggling was rife all along
the coast from the North Foreland to Penzance.
How prosperous the smuggling trade of Folkestone was in the early years
of the last century may be gathered from the following statement made
by an old smuggler of Lydd. This old man used frequently to run across
Channel in one of the smuggling galleys, taking with him a quantity
of English guineas (which could easily be disposed of at Gravelines,
Calais, or Boulogne for twenty-five to thirty shillings apiece), the
proceeds of which he would invest in a cargo of tobacco, silk, lace,
and spirits. In this way he made, if the “run” were successful, a
double profit. On occasion, too, he would obtain valuable information
regarding the movements of the French fleet, and then on his way back
across the Channel he would run alongside any English man-o’-war he
came across, and let them know all he had been able to learn. This same
smuggler used to say that in those times guineas were so common amongst
the smuggling fraternity that they used to play pitch and toss with
them.
A not uninteresting light upon the way in which Napoleon financed his
wars is to be gathered from the following statement, which is taken
from O’Meara’s _Napoleon at St Helena_: “I got bills on Vera Cruz,
which certain agents sent by circuitous routes ... to London, as I
had no direct communication. The bills were discounted by merchants
in London, to whom ten per cent, and sometimes a premium, was paid as
their reward.... Even for the equipping of my last expedition after
my return from Elba a great part of the money was raised in London.”
Napoleon also added that the gold was brought over to France by the
smugglers.
There also would appear but little doubt that the smugglers were few of
them above selling information to the French of the movements of the
English fleet, the mobilization of troops, and the progress of works
for the defence of the country from invasion. At all events, Napoleon
abundantly testified that he was kept informed by them of “every
important occurrence and movement of the enemy (English) by these men.”
Their treachery was suspected by the authorities, but we believe
comparatively seldom discovered and brought home to the traitors.
No wonder then that Folkestone old town is, or certainly was but a few
years ago, a nest of ingenious hiding-places, relics of the smuggling
days, which were often so cleverly constructed that their discovery was
only made when a beam had been removed, or alterations had to be made,
and sometimes not until the house in which they were was entirely
pulled down.
There are, of course, many smuggling stories connected with Folkestone
houses. One of the best is as follows: On a certain night in November
in the year 1826 a cargo had been successfully run between Hythe
and Folkestone by a noted smuggler, and a portion of it had been
brought into the latter town and safely secreted. However, one of the
Folkestone coastguards got wind of the fact, and in the very early
morning appeared with a strong band of “preventives” in the street in
which the smuggler’s house stood. Their summons did not at once meet
with an answer, but at length, after repeated hammerings on the door
and shutters of the windows of the ground floor, which noise aroused
the whole street, Nancy Morris, the daughter of the smuggler, thrust
her head from the upper window and, rubbing her eyes as though aroused
out of sleep, inquired what was wanted.
“Open in the King’s name!” exclaimed the officer in command. “And look
sharp about it, my lass, or ’twill be the worse for you, and your old
fox of a father.”
Nancy did not hurry downstairs, but after a few moments the door was
opened, the “preventives” streamed into the kitchen, and then, seeing
no one save the girl and a child, a boy of about twelve asleep in a
nook by the fire, several of the men went upstairs. No one was to be
discovered, however. But the officer was not satisfied. He decided
to remain on guard himself, and, after whispering to two or three
of his men (for smugglers were at times rough customers to manage
single-handed) to be handy if required, he sat down to pass the time as
best he might. Nancy was pretty; the coastguard lieutenant was a sailor
man. Nancy was also resourceful, and a gentle flatterer to boot. And so
it is little wonder that the lieutenant succumbed to her charms, drank
her health, fell incontinently into a doze, which, by reason of Miss
Nancy’s having drugged the cognac, became a deep sleep. And then down
the chimney, at a signal from his clever daughter, crept sturdy William
Morris, choking a bit with the smoke, but otherwise no worse. A few
moments later a trap was lifted in the floor of the back-kitchen and
the smuggler disappeared. Nancy let down the flap, re-sanded the floor
carefully, and returned to attempt to arouse the unwelcome guest.
By the time he was brought to himself and to a knowledge that he had
most probably been tricked, William Morris was sitting comfortably in
the parlour of a house several hundred yards away, having reached that
haven of refuge at first by an underground passage leading to a near-by
house, and afterward by a back alley.
The lieutenant had nothing to boast of, and as there was not much to
his credit at all in the adventure he kept his own counsel. Nancy was
profuse in her expressions of delight at his “nice rest.”
“Sir,” said she, “you must indeed have needed it sadly.”
And we can well imagine her laughter when the house door closed after
her crestfallen guest.
It was not till comparatively recent years that this old house was
pulled down, and the connecting passage, “tub hole,” under the back
kitchen floor, and the hiding-place in the chimney stack, about 7 ft.
by 2 ft. by 3ft., were disclosed.
Many more like yarns were current years ago, but we must up anchor and
set our faces once more westward.
The coastline from Folkestone onwards decreases in height, but
Dungeness lies ahead, known as the most dangerous of all headlands
between the North Foreland and Spithead. As we drop Folkestone astern
and cruise along the pleasant shore, with the high range of the Downs
behind it inland, one passes Hythe of historic memory, now a clean,
modern town, though no longer a port; and behind it Saltwood, with the
ancient tower breaking through the encompassing woods. Here it was
that the murder of the great Archbishop Thomas A’Becket was planned,
and hence the murderers, headed by one Ranulf de Broc, owner of the
stronghold, set forth on their dastardly mission. It was to the castle
also they afterwards returned to find (so tradition tells us) that the
table set in the great hall for their entertainment and refreshment
declined to bear the viands, whilst the torches kindled to give them
light turned sickly and flickered out.
Soon Dungeness looms ahead with the wide stretching Romney Marsh,
beloved in ancient times by outlaws, and in later ones the rendezvous
of the most desperate and successful of the Kentish smugglers, on our
starboard quarter. Reminiscent of Holland, and having its saving dyke
in Dymchurch Wall three miles long, it was in the early years of the
last century a wild desolate expanse so given over to the smugglers
that they were powerful enough to make one parson at least give
them the freedom of one of the aisles of his church as a store for
contraband. But the parsons of those days were not above receiving a
“tub” which had never paid duty for themselves, and a bale of silk or
lace for their wives and daughters.
The Romney Marsh has been, from time immemorial, the refuge of
malefactors in the broadest sense of the word. Here, in Saxon times,
doubtless hid recalcitrant thanes and vassals; and in the Middle Ages
those who had put themselves outside the protection of the Church, or
had broken the law; later, some of the pirates of the Cinque Ports,
whose predatory expeditions at times were on the point of embroiling
not only the fisherfolk of the adjoining coast upon which they preyed,
but even the two nations to which they belonged; afterwards hunted
Royalists took refuge here until some opportune moment for escaping to
France presented itself: then, later still, in the early Georgian era,
those who adhered to the Stuarts met and plotted and drank “to the
King over the water”; and, but a little later still, escaped prisoners
of war were secreted in its midst till the smugglers, who were
generally concerned in their escape, could arrange on some favourable
night to convey them across Channel. What stirring romances could be
written of the dark and secret doings of Romney Marsh?
Once round Dungeness, however, and Rye is before one. It is not
nowadays much of a port, indeed, as such its greatness has departed,
leaving it a quaint, old-world place, with an air of the seventeenth
and early eighteenth centuries hanging about it. It is almost
impossible to believe that once it was a flourishing and important
place, one of the seven head ports--not merely a “limb” of the
Confederacy--and capable as late as the reign of George II of affording
a haven of refuge for large ships.
There is delightful country in the immediate vicinity, for Rye is
at the confluence of the valley of the three streams, the Rother,
Tillingham, and Brede. In the architecture of Rye, if one has ventured
into its harbour, which is nowadays difficult of entrance and exit,
one finds some delightful bits of almost medieval date: hoary roofs
and towers and moss-grown walls. It is difficult to believe that once
the “French walked the streets, slaying all they could meet with,
afterwards burning the houses.” Just as they did, we may remark, at
Sandwich, Winchelsea, Yarmouth, Dartmouth, and many another town upon
our south coast. No one who comes into Rye Haven should leave it
without going up to Rye town and inspecting the ancient parish church,
which shares with several others the distinction of being the largest
in England. In it is the oldest clock in the country, and the North
Chapel is an exquisite piece of thirteenth-century work.
Off Rye and Winchelsea took place on August 29, 1350, the great fight
between the fleet of Edward III and the Spaniards (L’Espagnols sur
mer), in which the latter, superior in size and numbers, were defeated
with a loss of twenty-six out of their forty large ships. From
Winchelsea Queen Philippa anxiously watched the varying fortunes of the
day. She had more than an impersonal interest in the result, for in the
thick of the manœuvring vessels, where the fight was fiercest, we are
told was the ship on which were the King himself and his two sons.
The Winchelsea at which William the Conqueror landed in 1067, with its
seven hundred houses and more than two score inns, was swept away by
the sea, although the site on which it stood was destined once again in
the course of the centuries to emerge as dry land. The commencement of
the disasters which ultimately overwhelmed the town is thus described
by an anonymous (?) author much quoted by Grose and others: “In the
month of October, 1250, the moon, upon her change, appearing exceeding
red and swelled, began to show tokens of the great tempest of wind that
followed, which was so huge and mightie, both by land and sea, that
the like had not been lightlie knowne, and seldome, or rather never,
heard of by men then alive. The sea forced contrarie to his natural
course, flowed twice without ebbing, yeelding such a rooring that the
same was heard (not without great wonder) a farre distance in from the
shore.” We are further told that the sea was strangely phosphorescent,
and that the mariners could not save their ships, “three tall ships
perishing without recoverie, besides other smaller vessels.” And,
moreover, several of the churches and some three hundred of the houses
were “drowned.” Though, doubtless, frightened, the inhabitants did not
desert their stricken town. Perhaps they would have been wiser had
they done so, for thirty-seven years later, on February 4, 1287, the
remaining portion, to all intents and purposes, was (to use Holinshed’s
quaint word) “drowned.”
The new Winchelsea, which has, in a measure at least, come down to
us at the present time, was speedily commenced under the patronage
of Edward I himself. Into this town, and through its then prosperous
streets, marched 3,000 French three-quarters of a century later, in
1359, “to its great harme and terrible destruction.” This was not by
any means the last time that the hereditary enemies of the inhabitants
of the Cinque Ports landed, for they were successful then, and again
in 1378, after having been driven off two years before by the militant
Abbot of Battle Abbey with great loss. These French attacks were, to a
large extent, retaliatory measures for those of the men of Winchelsea;
and at last, in consequence of the piratical doings of the latter, we
are told by Pennant, Prince Edward attacked the town, took it by storm,
and put to the sword all the chief offenders, saving the rest, to whom
he granted much better terms than they had any right to expect.
Now Winchelsea is suffering from the gentle decay which seems to
envelop rather than attack places which have once been ports and are so
no longer by reason of Nature’s want of kindliness. Amidst its pleasant
houses and pretty gardens, in which all flowers that love the sun and
the salt air of the coast flourish amazingly, one seems to breathe the
atmosphere of somnolent repose, tinctured with the salt which rests
upon lip and cheek to tell of the not far distant sea which once lapped
the foot of its now vanished castle.
Winchelsea’s fine church, dating from Edward I’s time, was unhappily
destroyed by the French, who left only the chancel and side aisles
standing. This fragment, isolated in the midst of a green God’s acre,
is, however, well worth visiting. The roof beams of the building are
said to have been made from the timber of wrecked or dismantled ships,
“stuff the like of which is seldom nowadays found,” as a well-known
antiquary puts it.
The chief glory of the church, however, lies in the marvellously
carved canopied tombs of those merchant princes and admirals of the
Cinque Ports of long ago, Gervaise and Stephen Alard, grandfather and
grandson. There are few, if any, finer in Sussex.
The old Grey Friars Priory, or what was left of it, was the habitation
in Georgian times of two brothers, George and Joseph Weston by name,
who, whilst apparently pursuing the peaceful and respectable avocations
of country gentlemen, were actually highwaymen, the terror of the
Kentish and Sussex high roads and those of counties further afield,
and, withal, were daring and successful robbers of coaches. They were
eventually “taken” and ultimately hanged, amid much excited interest,
at Tyburn. It is they and their adventures which form the basis of
Thackeray’s unfinished romance, _Denis Duval_, which he wrote on the
spot in a house standing near the churchyard.
Thackeray, in a letter to the editor of the _Cornhill Magazine_, in
which he gives a good many interesting details of the incidents upon
which his story is founded, whilst referring to other Winchelsea and
Rye characters, says of the Westons: “They were rascals, too. They
were tried for robbing the Bristol mail in 1780, and, being acquitted
for want of evidence, were tried immediately afterward on another
indictment for forgery; Joseph was acquitted, but George was capitally
convicted.” Joseph was not destined to escape, however, for, as the
novelist goes on to say, “Before their trials they and some others
broke out of Newgate, and Joseph fired at and wounded a porter who
tried to stop him on Snow Hill. For this he was tried and found guilty
on the Black Act, and hung along with his brother.”
It was in the churchyard of Winchelsea that John Wesley, who was almost
always travelling about the country, preached his last open-air sermon,
in 1790, under the shelter of the great tree on the western side, “to
many folk,” we are told, “some few of which were converted so that
tears ran a-down their cheeks.”
And thus the greatness of Winchelsea, stranded as it is from the
lapping of the channel surges, though the boom of them when angry can
be heard, is of the past.