The Exe
'Goodly Ex, who from her full-fed spring
Her little Barlee hath, and Dunsbrook her to bring
From Exmore; when she hath scarcely found her course,
Then Creddy cometh in ...
... her sovereign to assist;
As Columb wins for Ex clear Wever and the Clist,
Contributing their streams their mistress' fame to raise.
As all assist the Ex, so Ex consumeth these;
Like some unthrifty youth, depending on the court,
To win an idle name, that keeps a needless port;
And raising his old rent, exacts his farmers' store
The landlord to enrich, the tenants wondrous poor:
Who having lent him theirs, he then consumes his own,
That with most vain expense upon the Prince is thrown:
So these, the lesser brooks unto the greater pay;
The greater, they again spend all upon the sea.'
DRAYTON: _Poly-olbion_.
The river Exe rises in a bog on Exmoor, beyond the borders of
Somersetshire. 'Be now therefore pleased as you stand upon Great
Vinnicombe top ... to cast your eye westward, and you may see the first
spring of the river Exe, which welleth forth in a valley between
Pinckerry and Woodborough,' says Westcote.
But our author has no feeling for the rolling hills, and noble lines,
and hazy blue distances of Exmoor, and without one word of praise
continues: 'Let us for your more ease, and the sooner to be quit of this
barren soil, cold air, uneven ways, and untrodden paths, swim with the
stream the better to hasten our speed.'
The first little town that the Exe comes to in Devonshire is Bampton,
nowadays best known, perhaps, for its pony-fairs, when (so runs one
account) 'Exmoor ponies throng the streets, flood the pavements,
overflow the houses, pervade the place. Wild as hawks, active and lissom
as goats, cajoled from the moors, and tactfully manoeuvred when
penned, these indigenous quadrupeds will leap or escalade lofty barriers
in a standing jump or a cat-like scramble.' Cattle and sheep are less
conspicuously for sale at this popular and crowded fair, held on the
last Thursday in October.
The first fact recorded of Bampton's history is of such ancient date
that it may be hoped the vastness of the achievement has been rounded
and filled out during the flight of time; for the historian, with
unconscious irony, blandly remarks that here 'Cynegils, first Christian
King of the West Saxons,' put twenty thousand (or maybe more) Britons to
the sword. He does not mention how Cynegils continued his propagation of
the Gospel.
The nave of the church at Bampton is built in the manner most common to
this country--that is, early Perpendicular, but the chancel is
Decorated. In many of the churches there is some portion of Decorated
work. The screen and roof of the church are worth seeing, and in the
churchyard are several unusually large and fine old yew-trees, one or
two girdled by stone benches. Leaving Bampton, one passes along a green
and fertile valley, the fields interrupted at intervals by copses, where
thickets of undergrowth and multitudes of young saplings are struggling
for the mastery--a picture of prodigal wealth in plants, bushes, and
trees.
Seven miles to the south is Tiverton. Tiverton is a small town, but its
story is interesting, and incidents cluster round the castle, church,
the well-known school, and the former kersies and wool-market, and,
besides, it is filled with memories of the melancholy experiences it has
passed through--fires, floods, the plague, and at least one siege.
The borough was originally granted by Henry I to his cousin, Richard de
Riparis (or de Redvers or Rivers), Earl of Devon, whose descendants
possessed it for nearly two centuries, when, the direct line failing,
the borough and title passed to a cousin, a Courtenay, in whose family
the title still remains.
Richard de Redvers, 'the faithful and beloved counsellor' of Henry I, is
supposed to have begun the Castle of Tiverton, and he attached to it
'two parks for pleasure and large and rich demesne for hospitality.' His
grandson, William Rivers, was one of the four Earls who carried the
silken canopy at the second coronation of King Richard I, after his
return from Palestine. William's daughter, Mary, married Robert
Courtenay, Baron of Okehampton; and so it was that, when the House of
Rivers became extinct in the male line, their possessions passed to the
Courtenays, and Mary's great-grandson became first Earl of Devon of the
line of the Courtenays.
It is not thought probable that the Castle as it stands contains work
older than the fourteenth century. Part of the building of that date
remains unaltered, and part has been transformed into a modern house.
The old walls are in places covered with ivy, and on the southern side
are pierced by one or two pointed windows whose stonework is more or
less broken. A round tower at the southeastern angle still looks very
solid and undisturbed. At a few yards' distance, on the south of the
Castle, stand the ruins of the chapel; the walls of three sides are
still standing, although imperfect and partly fallen down, and almost
smothered in ivy. Originally this square tower at the south-west angle
was joined to the Castle, and two more round towers stood at the
northern angles. Near the chapel is a low wall, and looking over it one
sees a very steep slope to the river, sixty feet beneath. A wide and
deep moat surrounded the Castle on the other sides.
It is said that Tiverton suffered both in the Civil War of 1150 and also
in the Wars of the Roses, and though there is little evidence to support
this assertion, there can be no doubt that indirectly the town must have
been disagreeably affected. For Baldwin de Redvers fortified his castle
at Exeter, and it is very likely that retainers from Tiverton were sent
to strengthen the garrison; and when the Earl was driven from the
country by King Stephen, his servants and their families were probably
distressed by want, if not by the sword.
During the Wars of the Roses, three successive Earls of Devon lost their
lives, and many of their followers must have fallen too, leaving
defenceless widows and children.
The Earls of Devon had many manors, but lived much in their Castle at
Tiverton, and some were buried in the adjoining church of St Peter. To
the third Earl, known as 'the Good' or 'the Blind' Earl, and his wife a
tomb was erected, 'having their effigies of alabaster, sometimes
sumptuously gilded.' So writes Risdon, about the year 1630, and adds
regretfully, 'Time hath not so much defaced, as men have mangled that
magnificent monument.' It has now entirely disappeared. The epitaph it
bore was this:
'Hoe! Hoe! who lyes here?
'Tis I, the goode erle of Devonshire,
With Mabill, my wyfe, to mee full dere,
Wee lyved togeather fyfty fyve yere.
That wee spent wee had;
That wee lefte wee loste;
That wee gave, wee have.'
The church is a fine Perpendicular building, and has a high embattled
tower, with slender crocketed pinnacles springing sixteen feet above the
summit. The roof is battlemented, and the tracery in the windows is
graceful. On either side of the chancel stands an altar-tomb--that on
the north side being in memory of John Waldron, on the south of George
Slee, both benefactors to the town in having founded almshouses. The
sides of the tombs are boldly and curiously sculptured, being covered
with raised devices, and a deeply lettered inscription is engraved in
the top of each. A picture of St Peter being delivered by the angel from
prison, painted by Richard Cosway, hangs over a north doorway. Cosway
was born in Tiverton, and the letter that accompanied his gift expressed
good feeling and his warm affection for his native town.
The most distinctive feature of the church is the very decorative
'Greenway' chapel. John Greenway was a rich wool-merchant of Tiverton,
and on the walls of the chapel was inscribed this couplet:
'To the honour of St. Christopher, St. Blaze, and St. Anne,
This chapel of John Greenwaye was began.'
It is interesting to note, of the three saints to whom the chapel was
dedicated, that St Christopher was the patron of mariners and one of the
'sea-saints,' St Blaze the special patron of wool-combers; while St
Anne particularly presides over riches. An old distich runs:
'Saint Anne gives wealth and living great to such as love her most,
And is a perfite finder-out of things that have beene lost.'
So that the help of all three was peculiarly necessary to make John
Greenway a prosperous man!
The chapel is late Perpendicular, and it is most elaborately carved and
decorated. The roof is covered with different kinds of ornamentation,
and the cornice bears the arms of Greenway, of the Drapers' Company, and
other devices. Along the corbel line are carved scenes from the Bible,
beneath is a sea of gentle ripples, with several large ships in full
sail upon it, and above and beside the windows is a multitude of
different designs--merchants' marks, animals, roses, anchors, horses and
men; and a very delightful ape sits on a projecting pedestal, close to
the porch. The porch is extremely elaborate, both within and without. On
the frieze are six panels, each carved with a different Scriptural
subject, separated from one another by single figures. Over the porch
are the arms of the Courtenays, and above them an emblem and more
carving, besides two large niches, now empty, at each side of the door.
Inside the porch, over the door leading into the church, is a carving of
the Assumption, and the roof is richly carved with merchants' marks and
other ciphers and designs on little shields. The roof inside the chapel
is also carved; and in the floor is a brass engraved with the figures of
the merchant and his wife--he in a long fur-edged robe, and she wearing
embroidered draperies and jewels, and a pomander ball hanging on one of
the long ends of her girdle.
It is interesting to hear that in this church Mendelssohn's Wedding
March was first played at a wedding. The 'Midsummer Night's Dream' music
had just been published as a pianoforte duet, when Mr Samuel Reay, of
Tiverton, made an arrangement of it for the organ, and the first
marriage at which the march was played was that of Mr Tom Daniel and
Miss Dorothea Carew, in June, 1847.
Tiverton was famed in early days for its trade in wool. It is supposed
that woollen goods were first manufactured here towards the end of the
fourteenth century, and at the beginning of the sixteenth several
merchants of the town were making ventures far and wide. Baizes, plain
cloths, and kerseys were the most important of the manufactures, and
there was some commerce in these with Spain. Traffic in woollen goods
was now very brisk in different parts of the country, and during the
reign of Henry VIII special statutes were enacted 'affecting cloths
called white straits of Devon, and Devonshire kerseys called dozens.' In
Elizabeth's reign trade prospered here as elsewhere; but later friction
arose on the question of imports. The manufacturers on more than one
occasion tried to introduce Irish worsted to weave into cloth, and this
was met by the most violent opposition from the wool-combers, who
believed that it would take away their work, although it was explained
that their work depended on making serge for Dutch markets, for which
the Irish worsted could not be used. The wool-combers had at different
times various causes for complaint, and these they vented in riots so
serious that (about 1749) the authorities asked for the protection of
some troops, who were accordingly sent to Tiverton, and, on a fresh
uproar not long after their arrival, were called out to quell the mob.
Towards the latter half of the eighteenth century the woollen trade
languished; but in the first quarter of the nineteenth century a new
business sprang up--that of producing machine-made lace and tulle.
Tiverton's merchants marked their prosperity in an admirable manner, for
over ninety gifts in land, money, and almshouses have been made. The
gifts and bequests were usually intended to benefit the poor, but in a
few cases they were for the general good. In addition there remains the
memory of about twenty 'benefactions,' many of which were 'absorbed in
the tumult of the Civil War or generally dissipated by neglect or
mismanagement.' Greenway founded almshouses, as well as the aisle in the
church, and although these dwellings have been altered to some extent,
the tiny chapel still attached to them is very picturesque. A cornice
contains twelve circles, within each a pierced quatrefoil, and in the
centre of every quatrefoil a shield, bearing a coat of arms, a
merchant's mark, or other design. The cornice is supported by several
rather grotesque animals, and below, in stone letters, this legend:
'Have Grace, ye men, and ever pray
For the Sowl of John and Jone Greenway.'
A wide moulded arch forms the doorway, and above are coats of arms and
an eagle rising from a bundle of sticks, an emblem attached to the
Courtenay arms that appears in several parts of St Peter's Church.
On Waldron's almshouses is this curious inscription:
'John Waldron, merchant, and Richord his wife,
Builded this house in tyme of their life;
At such tyme as the walls wer fourtyne foote hye,
He departed this world even the eyghtynth of July (1579).
'Since youth and life doth pass awaye,
And deathe at hand to end our dayes,
Let us do so, that men may saye,
We spent our goods God for to prays.'
On one wall is a pack of wool bearing Waldron's staplemark and a ship,
and below them the words, 'Remember the poor.'
The greatest gift by far was that of Peter Blundell, who built and
endowed the well-known school that is called after him, and founded six
scholarships at Oxford and Cambridge as a further benefit to the
scholars of Blundell's. His will dictates most particular instructions
regarding the salaries of the master and usher, and as to the actual
building, even directing that there should be 'in the kitchen one fair
great chimney with an oven.'
In 1882 the school was transferred to Howden, but the building that
Peter Blundell planned, beneath the steep hill close to the Lowman, is
long and rather low, the colour a warm, soft yellow, still more softened
by stray indefinite tints of cream and buff. The slate roof is
high-pitched, the windows are square and mullioned, and there are two
porches, each with a window directly above the hooded doorway, and
crowned by a gable. The school-house stands back in a yard of plots of
grass and pebbled paths, and shaded by great old lime-trees surrounded
by a high wall.
Samuel Wesley was at one time head-master here, and was not universally
popular, for his scathing wit blighted the esteem earned by his high
gifts and principles.
Many of Blundell's scholars have done good work in the world, but
perhaps the most famous of them are the late Archbishop of Canterbury
(Dr. Temple) and R. D. Blackmore, the novelist, who were here in the
'thirties, contemporaries and friends, both 'day-boys' and lodging in
the same house in Cop's Court. Twenty years before the Archbishop came
to Blundell's, that celebrated sportsman 'Jack' Russell was here,
embarked on a stormy career, perpetually in scrapes due to his passion
for sport, which even led him to the point of trying to keep hounds
while he was actually at school. Contemporaries of Blackmore's were two
distinguished soldiers and writers on military subjects, Sir Charles
Chesney and his brother Sir George, the author of that account of an
imaginary German invasion which created so much excitement when, under
the name of 'The Battle of Dorking,' it appeared in 1871 in _Blackwood's
Magazine_.
Fire has caused terrible loss and disaster here, for as many as seven
big conflagrations have taken place in Tiverton, and in one alone six
hundred houses were destroyed, besides L200,000 worth of goods and
merchandise. In addition, at least eight smaller, but still
considerable, fires took place at comparatively short intervals, so that
between the years 1598 and 1788 the townsfolk suffered from this cause
no fewer than fifteen times.
A curious account exists of the fire in 1598--'when,' says the
chronicler, 'he which at one a clocke was worth Five Thousand Pound, and
as the Prophet saith [a footnote suggests the prophet Amos, vi. 5, 6]
dranke his Wine in bowles of fine silver plate, had not by two a Clocke
so much as a wooden dish left to eate his Meate in, nor a house to couer
his sorrowfull head, neyther did thys happen to one man alone, but to
many.... In a twinkling of an eye came that great griefe uppon them,
which turn'd their wealth to miserable want, and their riches to
unlooktfor pouertie: and how was that? Mary, Sir, by Fyer.
'But no fier from heaven, no unquenchable fier such as worthily fell on
the sinfull Citie of Sodom and Gomorra; but a sillie flash of fier,
blazing forth of a frying pan ... and here was dwelling in a little lowe
thatcht house, a poore beggarly woman: who, with a companion, began to
bake pancakes with strawe'--here he becomes sarcastic--'for their
abilitie and prouission was so good that there was no wood in the house
to doe it.... Sodenly, the fier got into the Pan.' Straw lying close by
was ablaze in a moment, then the roof, then, alas! by means of an
'extreame high wind,' a hay-house standing near, and 'in less than halfe
an hower the whole Toune was set on fier.'
A terrible picture is drawn of the rapidity and voracity of the
flames--people crying for help in every direction, 'insomuch that the
people were so amazed that they knew not which way to turne, nor where
the most neede was'--and of the number of people who were burned and the
desolation of the town.
As to those saved, 'the residue of the woefull people remaining yet
aliue, being overburdened with extream sorrow, runs up and down the
fieldes like distraught or franticke men.... Moreouer, they are so
greatly distrest for lacke of food, that they seeme to each mannes
sighte more liker spirits and Ghostes, than living creatures.'
The account concludes with a moral pointed in many figures of speech, to
the effect that this great trouble was a judgment on the rich, who did
not sufficiently consider their poor neighbours, and various cities are
exhorted to take warning thereby. 'O famous London ... Thou which art
the chief Lady Cittie of this Land, whose fame soundeth through al
Christian Kingdoms, cast thy deere eyes on this ruinous Towne....
Consider this thou faire citie of Exeter, thou which art next neighbour
to this distressed Town ... pitie her heauie happe, that knowes not what
miserie hanges ouer thy owne head.'
An appeal to the public was made on behalf of these sufferers, and Queen
Elizabeth responded with a grant of L5,000.
In the fire of 1612 the destruction was even greater. 'No noyse
thundered about the streets, but fire, fire, in every place were heard
the voyces of fire.... All the night long the towne seemed like unto a
burning mountaine, shooting forth fiery comets, with streaming blazes,
or like unto the Canopie of the World, beset with thousands of night
candles or bright burning Torches.'
When the Civil War broke out, Tiverton, though not unanimous, mainly
sided with the Parliament. After the Battle of Stratton, however, the
triumphant Royalists suddenly descended on the town, turned out Colonel
Weare, who was in command of the Parliamentary forces, and took
possession. Many skirmishes must have taken place either in or about the
town, for large bodies of the troops belonging to King or Parliament
moved backwards and forwards in the immediate neighbourhood during the
course of the war.
Culpeper, the herbalist, to illustrate the powers of the plant moonwort,
tells of a wonderful incident that occurred to Lord Essex's horse,
presumably when his army was here in 1644. Moonwort has (or perhaps
_had_) a miraculous effect on iron, with power to open locks or unshoe
horses. 'Country people that I know, call it Unshoe the Horse. Besides I
have heard commanders say, that in White Down in Devonshire, near
Tiverton, there were found thirty horseshoes, pulled off from the feet
of the Earl of Essex's horses, being there drawn up in a body, many of
them being but newly shod, and no reason known, which caused much
admiration, and the herb described usually grows upon heaths.' Probably
almost all the neighbourhood thought witchcraft a better explanation.
It is very difficult entirely to disentangle accounts that seem to
contradict each other, but apparently Essex moved away from Tiverton
after a short stay, and certainly the King sent his army to Tiverton the
same autumn to halt there for a while on its way from Plymouth to Chard.
And as this army was returning, reduced and exhausted, from fighting and
long, hard marches in Cornwall, it could not have been sent to a town in
possession of the enemy. The next year Fairfax sent General Massie to
take Tiverton. The Governor, Sir Gilbert Talbot, was in a far from happy
position, for afterwards he wrote: 'My horse were mutinous, and I had
but two hundred foot in garrison, and some of my chief officers
unfaithful.' In spite of his disadvantages, he was able to repulse the
enemy in their first attack on church and castle, though unable to
prevent their gaining possession of the town. Two days later Fairfax
himself arrived, and batteries, furnished with 'several great Peeces,'
were erected against the church and castle. The actual fighting lasted
only a short time, for a shot broke the chain of the drawbridge, and it
fell; the Parliamentary soldiers rushed across it without even waiting
for the command, and the Royalists lost their heads and their courage
and fled.
A copy of a letter that General Massie wrote from Tiverton to a Cheshire
gentleman still exists, and in it he refers to a pamphlet, sent with the
letter, even the title-page of which throws light on Puritan methods of
influencing popular opinion against the Cavaliers. This startling page
runs as follows:
A True and Strange
RELATION
of a
BOY,
Who was entertained by the Devill to be servant to him with the
consent of his Father, about Crediton in the West, and how the
Devill carried him up in the aire, and shewed him the torments of
Hell, and some of the Cavaliers there, and what preparation there
was made for Goring and Greenvile against they came.
Also how the Cavaliers went to rob a Carrier, and how the Carrier
and his Horses turned themselves into
FLAMES OF FIRE.
Leaving Tiverton and following the Exe downstream, the wayfarer may
ponder two proverbs referring to Tiverton, neither of them especially
flattering. It used to be, and no doubt is still, considered lucky to
start off running directly the cuckoo is heard for the first time in the
year, and thirty or forty years ago, if a girl obeyed this tradition,
anyone near her would laugh and say: 'Run, run! and don't let no
Tiverton man catch you!' The other saying is cryptic: 'He must go to
Tiverton and ask Mr Able.' An interpretation suggested is that this was
originally said to a questioner who asked for unattainable information,
and that 'Mr Able' meant anyone able to furnish it. It is not exactly a
satisfactory solution, and as to the reference to Tiverton, though it
may be complimentary, one doubts whether it does not carry more than a
suspicion of sarcasm.
Four miles to the south of Tiverton is a pleasant well-wooded valley, in
which stands Bickleigh. This village was the birthplace of a rascal, who
was such a brilliant and talented rascal that his adventures are very
interesting. Witty, courageous, and full of resource, he had, besides,
two strong points in his favour. In spite of a very rough and wandering
life, his warm affection for his wife never failed, and--all dogs adored
him! Bampfylde Moore Carew belonged to a very old family in the West,
and his father was rector of Bickleigh. A happy-go-lucky career was
foreshadowed at the very outset, for his two 'illustrious godfathers,'
Mr Hugh Bampfylde and Major Moore, disputed as to whose name should
stand first, and, as they could not agree, the matter was decided by
spinning a coin. A few of the most interesting events in his career may
be quoted from a little biography first published anonymously in 1745,
thirteen years before his death. Carew was sent to Blundell's, where for
a while he did well, although his tastes led him to be out with 'a cry'
of hounds that the scholars of Blundell's kept among them, whenever it
was possible. On one occasion some farmers complained to the head-master
of the damage that had been done in hunting a deer over standing corn,
and the boy, to escape punishment, ran away from school and joined some
gipsies. Carew took very kindly to the life, but repeated accounts of
his parents' unhappiness brought him home after a year and a half's
wanderings. Though overwhelmed with 'marks of festive joy,' the call 'of
the wind on the heath,' was too strong to be resisted, and in a short
time he slipped away again and went back to his chosen people. He must
have been a very finished actor, with a genius for 'make-up,' to have
imposed on half the people that he befooled. Amongst his first roles
were those of a shipwrecked mariner; a poor Mad Tom, trying to eat live
coals; and a Kentish farmer, whose drowned farm in the Isle of Sheppey
could no longer support his wife and 'seven helpless infants.' Carew's
restless disposition took him to Newfoundland, and on his return he
successfully played the parts of a nonjuring clergyman, dispossessed of
his living for conscience' sake; a Quaker--here is a good example of his
wonderful gift--in an assembly of Quakers; a ruined miller; a
rat-catcher; and, having borrowed three children from a tinker, a
_grandmother_. Carew once wheedled a gentleman, who boasted that he
could not be taken in by beggars, into giving him liberal alms twice in
one day--in the morning as an unfortunate blacksmith, whose all had been
destroyed by fire; whilst in the afternoon, on crutches, his face 'pale
and sickly, his gestures very expressive of pain,' he pleaded as a
disabled tinner, who, from 'the damps and hardships he had suffered in
the mines,' could not work to keep his family.
At the death of Clause Patch, the King of the Gipsies, Carew was elected
King in his stead. Before he died, the aged King, feeling his end
approaching, bestowed a few last words of advice on his followers, well
worth quoting.
Of begging in the street and interrupting people who are talking, he
said: 'If they are tradesmen, their conversation will soon end, and may
be well paid for by a halfpenny; if an inferior clings to the skirt of a
superior, he will give twopence rather than be pulled off; and when you
are happy enough to meet a lover and his mistress, never part with them
under sixpence, for you may be sure they will never part from one
another.'
This is followed by shrewd advice as to the choice of an appeal:
'Whatever people seem to want, give it them largely in your address to
them. Call the beau sweet Gentleman; bless even his coat or periwig; and
tell him they are happy ladies where he's going. If you meet with a
schoolboy captain, such as our streets are full of, call him noble
general; and if the miser can be in any way got to strip himself of a
farthing, it will be by the name of charitable Sir.... If you meet a
sorrowful countenance with a red coat, be sure the wearer is a disbanded
officer. Let a female always attack him, and tell him she is the widow
of a poor marine, who had served twelve years, and then broke his heart
because he was turned out without a penny. If you meet a homely but
dressed-up lady, pray for her lovely face, and beg a penny.'
After his election as King of the Gipsies, or King of the Beggars, as he
is more often called, Carew was soon involved in fresh adventures. But
one day grey ill-luck looked his way; he was arrested and sent for trial
to Exeter. Courage and audacity never failed him, for when the Chairman
of Quarter Sessions announced that the prisoner was to be transported to
a country which he pronounced _Merry_land, Carew calmly criticised his
pronunciation, and said he thought that _Mary_land would be more
correct. To Maryland he was sent in charge of a brutal sea-captain, and
on his arrival, burdened with a heavy iron collar riveted round his
neck, was set to all sorts of drudgery. Before very long he contrived to
escape into the forests, and after some danger from wild beasts he
reached a tribe of friendly Indians, who received him with great
kindness. Later he stole a canoe, and, returning to civilized regions,
posed as a kidnapped Quaker, in which character he succeeded in gaining
the compassion of Whitefield, the great preacher, who gave him 'three or
four pounds of that county paper money.' By the help of several
ingenious ruses he was able to get home again, and soon afterwards,
aided by a turban, a long, loose robe, and flowing beard, appeared as a
destitute Greek, whose 'mute silence, his dejected countenance, a sudden
tear that now and then flowed down his cheek,' touched the hearts of the
benevolent. In an unlucky moment he was impressed for the navy; next
travelled in Russia, Poland, Sweden, and other countries, but, returning
to England, was again seized, put in irons, and transported. With his
usual indomitable spirit and resource, he escaped once more into the
forests, and after dangers and hardships reached England. Finally, he
ended his days in peace where he began them, and was buried at Bickleigh
in 1758.
Five miles east of Tiverton is a village called Sampford Peverell, which
in the early part of the nineteenth century suddenly sprang into notice
through the strange proceedings of a mysterious spirit, known as the
Sampford Ghost. This 'goblin sprite,' as one account calls it, declared
itself in a manner well known to psychical researchers, by violent
knockings, and by causing a sword, a heavy book, and an iron candlestick
to fly about the room. Two maid-servants received heavy blows while
they were in bed, and there were other strange and distressing
phenomena. These manifestations were continued for more than three
years. Numberless visitors, drawn by curiosity from all parts of the
country, came to investigate the matter, but no explanation could be
found, and though there were suspicions that the whole affair was a very
elaborate hoax, and a reward of L250 was offered for information that
might throw light upon it, no single attempt was made to claim the
money.
Sampford Peverell is a small place, and rather out of the way, but so
long ago as in the reign of Edward I it is recorded that John de
Hillersdon held the manor on a tenure that reflects the unquiet state of
the country. He held it 'in fee, in serjeanty, by finding for our lord
the King, in his army in Wales, and elsewhere in England, whensoever war
should happen, one man with a horse caparisoned or armed for war at his
proper costs for forty days to abide in the war aforesaid.' Hugh
Peverell held the Manor of Sandford, near Crediton, on much the same
terms, but had to provide 'one armed horseman and two footmen.'
Following down Sampford stream for about three miles, one arrives at the
point where the stream reaches an opening into the Culm Valley, and
empties itself in the Culm. A very short distance beyond is the little
town of Cullompton, of which the most interesting feature is a fine
Perpendicular church. An old writer insists that here was formerly 'the
figure of Columbus, to which many pilgrims resorted, and which brought
considerable sums to the priests'; but of this statement I can find
neither confirmation nor denial. The tower of the church is high and
decorated. Within, the roof, richly carved and gilded, rests on a carved
wall-plate, supported by angel corbels, and most exquisite is the
carving of the rood-screen, which has also been gilded and coloured. A
very rare possession of this church is 'a portion of a Calvary, and
above is an ornamental rood-beam, supported by angels; the Golgotha,
carved out of the butts of two trees, is now in the tower, and is hewn
and carved to represent rocks bestrewn with skulls and bones; the
mortice holes for the crucifix and attendant figures remain.' Early
fifteenth-century figures painted on the wall were discovered when the
church was 'restored' in 1849, but they were covered with whitewash!
The making of woollen goods throve in earlier times in Cullompton, and a
rich clothier, John Lane by name, and his wife Thomasine, added a very
beautiful aisle to the church about 1526. The roof of the 'Lane' aisle
is covered with exquisite fan-tracery, rich carvings, and figures of
angels, and pendants droop from the centre. The pillars, the buttresses,
and parts of the outside walls are decorated by carvings of Lane's
monogram, his merchant's mark, and different symbols of his trade.
Three miles south-east of Cullompton is another church famed for its
beautiful screen. The Plymtree screen is probably unique in bearing on
its panels the likenesses of Henry VII, his son Prince Arthur, and
Cardinal Morton. The upper part of the screen is a magnificent bit of
carving. Graceful pillars rise like stems, and their lines curve
outwards into the lines of palm-leaves, overspreading one another, while
the arches they form are filled with most delicate tracery, supported on
the slenderest shafts. Above are four rows of carving, each of different
design--one a vine, with clusters of grapes, and this is repeated more
heavily on the capital of a pillar in the nave. The screen must have
been glorious in gold and vermilion, and gold lines cross each other,
making a sort of lattice-work, with ornaments at the points of
intersection--a large double rose, a little shield with the Bouchier
knot, or the Stafford knot, or a very naturally carved spray of
oak-leaves. Below, the panels are painted with saints and angels and
bishops. The King, Prince, and Cardinal appear in a representation of
the Adoration of the Three Kings, each one bringing his offering in a
differently-shaped vessel. Mr Mozley, a former Rector of Plymtree, has
written a most interesting pamphlet on the subject, tracing out the
likeness of these portraits to other pictures or busts of the three. He
points out that, whereas in most paintings of the Three Kings each has a
crown, that of the foremost usually laid on the ground, in this group
King Henry alone is crowned; the Cardinal has none; and the Prince, who
is represented as very young, is wearing a boy's cap. Mr Mozley has
searched carefully for a reason that would account for the group in this
little church, and has found what seems to be a perfectly sufficient
connecting link. Lord Hastings, who married the heiress of Lord
Hungerford, and incidentally acquired the Manor of Plymtree, was the
warm friend and political ally of Cardinal Morton. The son and successor
of Lord Hastings was a close personal friend of Henry VI, and in
consequence a colleague of the Cardinal, the King's chief counsellor.
There is no date on the screen, but from various deductions it is
believed to have been painted about the end of the fifteenth century, or
a little later, and either during the lifetime or just after the death
of the three subjects of the group, and of Lord Hastings.
Bradninch lies a short distance to the west of Plymtree, and this church
contains a very fine screen and an old and remarkable painting of the
Crucifixion. It was originally placed in an aisle that was built in the
reign of Henry VII by the Fraternity of St John, or the Guild of
Cordwainers.
The Culm runs past Bradninch, at a little distance to the east, and a
few miles farther on the river passes under the dark hills of Killerton
Park, a heavily wooded and irregular ridge, rising at either extremity
and ending in a decided slope down to the flat space just around. The
house is not an old one, although the Aclands have been here since the
reign of Queen Elizabeth, when Sir John Acland moved from the estate at
Landkey, near Barnstaple, where they were already settled in the reign
of Henry II. He built a house at Culm John (quite close to Killerton)
that was garrisoned for the King during the Civil War, and held out when
almost every other place in Devonshire had surrendered. But it has since
been pulled down.
There are many stories of different members of this family, but perhaps
the most romance lies in that of Lady Harriot Acland, who, with serene
courage, followed her husband through the horrors and hardships of a
campaign.
In 1776 Major Acland was with the army that had been sent to crush the
American struggle for Independence, and his wife had accompanied him.
The following extract is taken from a statement by General Burgoyne, the
General commanding the troops in Canada: 'In the course of that
campaign, she had traversed a vast space of country in different
extremities of seasons. She was restrained from offering herself to a
share of the hazard expected before Ticonderoga, by the positive
injunction of her husband. The day after the conquest of that place he
was badly wounded, and she crossed the Lake Champlain to join him.'
When he was recovered, Lady Harriot continued to follow his fortunes
through the campaign, and acquired a 'two-wheel tumbril, which had been
constructed by the artillery.' Colonel Acland was with the most advanced
corps of the army, and they were often in so much danger of being
surprised that they had to sleep in their clothes. Once the Aclands'
tent and all that was in it was burned, but this accident 'neither
altered the resolution nor the cheerfulness of Lady Harriot, and she
continued her progress a partaker of the fatigues of the advanced corps.
The next call upon her fortitude was more distressful. On the march of
the 19th, the Grenadiers being liable to action at every step, she had
been directed by Major Acland to follow the route of the artillery and
luggage which was not exposed. At the time the action began she found
herself near a small uninhabited hut, where she alighted. When it was
found the action was becoming general and bloody, the surgeons of the
hospital took possession of the same place as the most convenient for
the first care of the wounded. Thus was this lady in hearing of one
continued fire of cannon and musketry for some hours together, with the
presumption, from the post of her husband at the head of the Grenadiers,
that he was in the most exposed part of the action. She had three female
companions--the Baroness of Reidesel, and the wives of two British
officers, Major Harnage and Lieutenant Reynell; but in the event their
presence served but little for comfort. Major Harnage was soon brought
to the surgeons, very badly wounded; and a little while after came
intelligence that Lieutenant Reynell was shot dead. Imagination will
want no help to figure the state of the whole group.' Not long
afterwards Lady Harriot passed through an even severer ordeal. During
another engagement 'she was exposed to the hearing of the whole action,
and at last received the shock of her individual misfortune mixed with
the intelligence of the general calamity; the troops were defeated, and
Major Ackland, desperately wounded, was a prisoner.
'The day of the 8th was passed by Lady Harriot and her companions in
common anxiety; not a tent, not a shed being standing except what
belonged to the hospital, their refuge was among the wounded and dying.
'I soon received a message from Lady Harriot, submitting to my decision
a proposal (and expressing an earnest solicitude to execute it if not
interfering with my designs) of passing to the camp of the enemy and
requesting General Gates's permission to attend her husband.... I was
astonished at this proposal. After so long an agitation of the spirits,
exhausted not only for want of rest, but absolutely want of food,
drenched in rains for twelve hours together, that a woman should be
capable of such an undertaking as delivering herself to the enemy,
probably in the night, and uncertain of what hands she might fall into,
appeared an effort above human nature. The assistance I was enabled to
give her was small indeed; I had not even a cup of wine to offer her;
but I was told she had found from some kind and fortunate hand a little
rum and dirty water. All I could furnish to her was an open boat and a
few lines written upon dirty and wet paper, to General Gates,
recommending her to his protection.
'Mr Brudenell, the chaplain to the Artillery, ...readily undertook to
accompany her, and with one female servant, and the Major's
valet-de-chambre (who had a ball, which he had received in the late
action, then in his shoulder), she rowed down the river to meet the
enemy. But her distresses were not yet to end. The night advanced before
the boat reached the enemy's outposts, and the sentinel would not let it
pass, nor even come on shore. In vain Mr Brudenell offered the flag of
truce.... The guard threatened to fire into the boat if they stirred
before daylight.' And for seven or eight dark and cold hours they were
obliged to wait. Happily, when at length she did reach the shore, Lady
Harriot was received with all courtesy by General Gates, and had the
joy of nursing her husband back to health.
A little to the south-west of Killerton Park lie the well-ordered park
and beautiful grounds of Lord Poltimore. John Bampfylde, his ancestor,
was lord of this manor in the reign of Edward I, but the line of
succession has been threatened by an episode, told by Prince (in his
'Worthies of Devon'), that reads like a folk-story. At one time the head
of the family was a child, who, left an orphan very young, was given as
a ward 'to some great person in the East Country.' This gentleman
carried the child away to his own home, and, although not going quite so
far as the wicked uncle in The Babes in the Wood, behaved very
treacherously to his ward; 'concealing from him his quality and
condition, and preventing what he could any discovery thereof, his
guardian bred him up as his servant, and at last made him his huntsman.'
To any who concerned themselves about the boy, the false guardian 'some
years after gave it out, he was gone to travel (or the like pretence),
in-so-much his relations and friends, believing it to be true, looked no
further after him.' But Bampfylde's tenants were more faithful, and one
of them, on his own responsibility, rose to the tremendous effort and
enterprise of starting off in search of him. His loyalty was rewarded
with full success, for he was able to find and identify the young man,
and, biding his time, the tenant grasped an opportunity of talking
quietly to him, and 'acquainted him with his birth and fortunes, and
finally arranged his escape.' And in this way the true heir came to his
own again.
In the spring of 1646 Poltimore House was chosen by Fairfax as the
meeting-place of his commissioners and those sent by Sir John Berkeley,
and here they discussed the articles of the surrender of besieged
Exeter, and drew up the treaty that could be accepted by both sides.
Sir Coplestone Bampfylde, having 'a vigorous soul,' worked for the
Restoration with so much zeal that messengers were sent from the
Parliament to arrest him, and he was forced to hide.
But 'his generous mind could not be affrighted from following his duty
and honour,' and as the citizens of Exeter, by this time very
dissatisfied with the Government, were beginning to arm, declaring for a
free Parliament, Sir Coplestone and other gentlemen composed an address,
demanding the recall of the members secluded in 1648, and 'all to be
admitted without any oath or engagement previous to their entrance.' He
next took his way to London, to present 'an humble petition of right' on
behalf of the county to General Monk, but was seized by the Parliament
and flung into the Tower. His imprisonment was brief, and Charles II
rewarded Bampfylde's energy by choosing him to be the first High Sheriff
of the county of his reign, and later appointing him to other posts of
'trust and honour.'
John Bampfylde, a descendant of Sir Coplestone's, was a poet, and among
his verses occurs this charming sonnet, on that not unknown event in
Devon--a Wet Summer:
'All ye who far from town in rural hall,
Like me, were wont to dwell near pleasant field,
Enjoying all the sunny day did yield--
With me the change lament, in irksome thrall,
By rains incessant held; for now no call
From early swain invites my hand to wield
The scythe. In parlour dim I sit concealed,
And mark the lessening sand from hour-glass fall;
Or 'neath my window view the wistful train
Of dripping poultry, whom the vine's broad leaves
Shelter no more. Mute is the mournful plain.
Silent the swallow sits beneath the thatch,
And vacant hind hangs pensive o'er his hatch,
Counting the frequent drip from reeded eaves.'
Poltimore is nearly two miles east of the Exe, and if a straight line
across country were followed to the river, the traveller would arrive
almost at the point where the Culm flows into the larger stream. The
valley here is rather broad, and the river winds between pleasant, rich,
green meadows and wooded hills, most of which rise in gentle, easy
slopes. Not quite two miles north of Exeter, the Exe turns due south,
and is joined by the Creedy, running south-west. Westcote, in flowery
language, describes the scene, painting a picture which would stand good
to-day, but that nearly all the mills are gone. Cowley Bridge, 'built
of fair square stone,' stands just above the junction, 'where Exe
musters gloriously, being bordered on each side with profitable mills,
fat green marshes and meadows (enamelled with a variety of golden
spangles of fragrant flowers, and bordered with silver swans), makes a
deep show, as if she would carry boats and barges home to the city; but
we are opposed by Exwick wear, and indeed wears have much impaired his
lustre and portable ability, which else might have brought his
denominated city rich merchandise home to the very gates.'
Here one may leave the Exe to follow the Creedy upstream for five miles
or so, till Crediton is reached. 'Creedy' comes from the Celtic word
_Crwydr_, a hook or crook, a name that its tortuous way must have
earned. The river runs between crumbling banks of soft earth, and shifts
its course a little after any great flood. It is curious to notice the
difference after heavy rains between the Exe and the Creedy, for while
the former will be still a comparatively clear brown, even when it comes
down a great swirling flood, thundering over the weirs and hurrying
along honeycombs of foam, the Creedy will have turned to a surging,
turbid volume of water, of a deep red, terra-cotta colour, that leaves
traces of red mud in the overhanging trees when the river has subsided.
The valley is a narrow one, and on the hill-sides are copses and
orchards, lovely as a sea of pink and white blossoms, and very admirable
on a bright day in September, when the bright crimson cider apples, and
golden ones with rosy cheeks, are showing among the leaves, and the hot
sunshine, following a touch of frost, brings out the clean, crisp, sweet
scent of ripe apples till it floats across roads and hedges. Leland
remarks that 'the ground betwixt _Excestre_ and _Crideton_ exceeding
fair Corn Greese and Wood. There is a praty market in Kirton.' Kirton
was the popular name for the town. Its origin is far to seek, for the
saying runs:
'Crediton was a market town,
When Exeter was a vuzzy[1] down.'
[Footnote 1: Vuzz, _i.e._ furze.]
However this may have been, it is, at any rate, certain that the Bishops
of Devon were seated at Crediton for over one hundred and forty years
before, in 1050, Leofric removed to Exeter. And nearly two and a half
centuries before the first Bishop settled at Crediton, religious feeling
was awake, as is shown by the story of St Boniface, or, as he was
originally called, Wynfrith. This saint, the great missionary to the
Germans, is believed to have been born here in the year 680, and at a
very early age he wished to become a monk. His desire was not at once
granted, for his father could not bear to part with him, and much
opposition had to be overcome before he was allowed to go to school in
Exeter. After he was ordained, Boniface won the respect and confidence
of Ina, King of the West Saxons, but feeling that his work lay in
another country, he went to Thuringia, to throw his strength into the
conversion of the heathen. Combining 'learning, excellency of memory,
integrity of life, and vivacity of spirit, he was fit for great
employment,' says an old writer, and he was chosen Archbishop of Mentz,
becoming the chief authority on all spiritual matters in Germany. In
spite of the heavy cares and toils entailed by his high office, St
Boniface still laboured personally among the recalcitrant heathen, and
in his seventy-sixth year
'Had his death by faithless Frisians slain.'
Eight Bishops lived and died at Crediton, and the ninth demanded that
the see should be transferred from Crediton to Exeter. The chief reason
put forward was that Exeter was a strong city, and less likely to be
ravaged by Irish Danes and other 'barbarian pirates,' but Professor
Freeman suggests that Leofric also desired the change because he had
been educated on the Continent, where it was never the custom for a
Bishop's chief seat to be in a village when a larger town was in his
diocese. Anyhow, Leofric obtained his wish, and was led to his throne in
St Peter's Church in Exeter by the King on one hand and the Queen on the
other, in the presence of two Archbishops and other nobles.
The palace and park at Crediton remained in the possession of the
Bishops till the Dissolution.
The beautiful Church of St Cross stands either upon or close to the site
of the original cathedral of the Bishops, which, on the removal of the
See to Exeter, was made a collegiate church, with precentor, treasurer,
dean, eighteen canons and as many vicars, besides singing-men or
lay-vicars.
The present church is mainly Perpendicular, though the Lady Chapel is
early Decorated, and there are portions of still earlier work. The tower
is central, square, and rather low. It is surmounted by four embattled
turrets, and battlements run round the roof of the church. The whole
building is of a soft rose-red colour, but the walls within were once
whitewashed, and are now of a slightly cooler tint. The clustered
pillars look as if, over a warm, soft grey, a faint, transparent tinge
of rose-colour had passed, leaving a very lovely effect; they are tall
and graceful, and delicate carving adorns the capitals. The nave is
lofty and unusually long. On the south side of the chancel are sedilia,
once elaborately decorated and glorious in vermilion and gold; a design
resembling a very large but intricate network in gold spreads over the
backs of the sedilia, and a little figure, with faint traces of colour
and gilding, stands at one end. On the north side of the chancel is the
effigy, lying at full length, of William Peryam; and close by is a
monument to John Tuckfield, engraved with an epitaph full of praise, in
which occur these lines, in peculiar lettering and spelling:
'Why do I live, in Life and Thrall,
Of Joy and all Bereaft,
Yor Winges were grown, To Heaven are flown,
'Cause I had none am Leaft.'
The Lady Chapel is beautifully decorated. At the south end of the choir
is a large tomb, on which lie, side by side, the effigies of a knight in
armour and a lady with a wonderful head-dress, large and square. The
figures are somewhat mutilated, but the little angels that supported her
head can just be distinguished. The tomb is supposed to be that of Sir
John Sully and his wife; he, having fought at Crecy and Poictiers, lived
to give evidence, at the age of 105, in the great Scrope and Grosvenor
controversy.
In the south porch is a bit of early English work, a piscina and
holy-water stoup side by side, under one arch, with a very slender
detached shaft between. The upper portion of the font is late Norman,
and is dark, shallow, and square. Behind the font a small door and tiny
staircase lead up to the parvise, where is stored a library that was
given for the priest's use. The books include a 'Vinegar' Bible, an
_Eikon Basilike_, and other treasures.
There is a curious account of a miracle that took place in this church
on August 1, 1315, while Bishop Stapeldon was celebrating Mass. Thomas
Orey, a fuller by trade, of Keynsham, became suddenly blind one day in
Easter week for no apparent reason. A vivid dream that, if he should
visit the Church of Holy Cross at Crediton, his sight would return,
induced him to journey there with his wife, and several witnesses,
afterwards called by the Bishop to give evidence, solemnly asserted that
when he arrived in the town he was totally blind. Two days he spent in
the church, and on the third, he being 'instant at prayer before the
altar of St Nicholas, suddenly recovered his sight.'
Crediton had for a long time a very important trade in woollen goods,
which were made here as early as in the thirteenth century. In the reign
of Queen Elizabeth it was one of the principal centres of the
manufacture in the county, and, indeed, caused Exeter so much jealousy
that weavers, tuckers, and others, petitioned the authorities until it
was ordained that the serge-market should be removed from here, and a
weekly one set up in Exeter, to the great and natural indignation of
Crediton. 'Their market for kersies hath been very great, especially of
the finer sort,' says Westcote, 'for the aptness and diligent industry
of the inhabitants ... did purchase it a supereminent name above all
other towns, whereby grew this common proverb--as fine as Kirton
spinning ... which spinning was very fine indeed, which to express, the
better to gain your belief, it is very true that 140 threads of woollen
yarn spun in that town were drawn together through the eye of a tailor's
needle; which needle and threads were, for many years together, to be
seen in Watling-street, in London, in the shop of one Mr Dunscombe.'
Crediton was once, for a brief but fateful moment, the focus of a very
serious movement. During 1549 discontent showed itself in many parts of
England, and very gravely in the West, where a rising of Devonshire and
Cornish men brought about the 'Affair of the Crediton Barns,' and
culminated in the siege of Exeter. The first definite outbreak was at
Sampford Courtenay, on Whit Monday, June 10. On Sunday the Book of
Common Prayer was used for the first time, but the people were
dissatisfied. They did not care to hear the service in their own tongue
instead of in Latin, and they resented all the other changes. And when
on Monday the priest was 'preparing himself to say the service as he had
done the day before ... they said he should not do so.... In the end,
whether it were with his will or against his will, he ravisheth himself
in his old Popish attire, and sayeth Mass, and all such services as in
Times past accustomed.'
The news of this incident spread; other villages followed suit, and the
local magistrates unwillingly recognized that the ferment of rebellion
was working, and met together to try and reason the people into a more
submissive frame of mind. But the movement was too full of force to be
arrested by such gentle methods, and the justices, 'being afraid of
their own shadows, ... departed without having done anything at all.'
Unfortunately, their reasoning had merely an irritating effect, so that,
when a certain gentleman named Helions tried mildly to enforce some of
the remonstrances, a man struck him on the neck with a billhook and
killed him. This blow seems to have stirred the mob into taking a
definite course of action, and they marched on Crediton. News of the
disturbance had, meanwhile, reached the King, and Sir Peter and Sir
Gawen Carew were sent down in haste to deal with the matter. From
Exeter, they and several other gentlemen rode to confer with the people;
but the people, having had notice of the arrival of the knights, 'they
intrench the highways, and make a mighty rampire at the Town's End, and
fortify the same' and 'also the Barns of both sides of the way.' The
walls were pierced with 'loops and holes for their shot,' and 'so
complenished with men, well appointed with bows and arrows and other
weapons, that there was no passage nor entry for them into the town.'
Nor would they listen to 'the Gentlemen,' but refused all conference.
The 'Warlike Knights' then tried force, but were driven back with loss,
by a heavy volley. 'Whereupon some one strong man of that company,' says
Hooker (who must have admired decision), 'unawares of the gentlemen, did
set one of the barns on fire, and then the Commoners, seeing that, ran
and fled away out of the town.' This ended all the trouble in Crediton,
though the smoking barns served as fuel to the growing spirit of revolt,
and the 'Barns of Crediton' became a party-cry.
Clarendon mentions briefly that Charles I came here on his way into
Cornwall, and reviewed the troops under Prince Maurice.
About one hundred and fifty years later the distant echoes of war
sounded faintly in Crediton, for French prisoners of war on parole,
Napoleon's soldiers, were allowed to live in this town. Vague rumours of
them may still be heard. The sexton remembers that his mother often told
about them, and one of the first people he buried was a man named Henry,
'though,' he explained, 'they spell it rather differently.' The
melancholy fate of this stranger throws a light on one of the
disregarded tragedies in the train of war, for Henri was not a soldier,
but the son of a French prisoner. For some reason he never went home,
and died in the workhouse.
Amongst the conditions that the prisoners on parole had to sign was:
'Not to withdraw one mile from the boundaries prescribed there without
leave for that purpose from the said Commissioners;' and on some roads a
stone was put up marking the limits. One of these stones, of grey
limestone, and very like a milestone with no inscription, is still to be
seen jutting out from the bank of Shobrooke Park, on the Stockleigh
Pomeroy road. Another witness to the presence of the French prisoners
lies in the name that clings to a bit of road running behind the
Vicarage, for it is still sometimes called the Belle Parade, and
tradition says that here they used to assemble on Sundays.
Returning along the river, one passes through the property of the late
Sir Redvers Buller. Downes is a white house standing amongst green open
lawns sloping to the river, and it has a background of great trees and
ample shrubberies. The Bullers at one time lived chiefly in Cornwall,
and Downes was originally a shooting-box. A hay-loft stood at one end,
and when the house was enlarged the archway under which the hay-waggons
were driven was left standing, and now forms part of the drawing-room--a
room with an unusually high ceiling. A member of the family has been
kind enough to send me notes of one or two incidents in the history of
the Bullers.
'The whole Buller family was at one time reduced to a single individual,
John Francis Buller. He died of the smallpox. His mother insisted on
seeing him after death. It was in the days when air was considered
highly prejudicial to smallpox patients, who were covered with red
cloth, and every window and cranny through which air might enter was
carefully closed. To minimize the risk to his mother, who would listen
to no dissuasion, all the windows and doors were opened, and a draught
of air admitted, with the result that when his mother entered the room
the dead man rose from his bed and received her.' Mr Buller lived to
marry Rebecca, daughter of the Bishop Trelawney who was one of the seven
Bishops sent to the Tower by James II. His arrest created intense
indignation in his own county; and he is the Trelawney referred to in
the well-known fragment, all that remains of a ballad written at the
time to express Cornish feeling:
'And shall they scorn Tre, Pol, and Pen?
And shall Trelawney die?
There's twenty thousand Cornishmen[2]
Will know the reason why.'
[Footnote 2: In another version 'underground'--_i.e._, miners.]
A later Mr Buller of Downes had a brief but unpleasant experience of the
feeling of the mob in regard to the Reform Bill.
'I recollect hearing that at the time of the first Reform Bill (1830)
the members of the House of Commons were threatened with dire
consequences if they could not give what the mob considered satisfactory
answers to their questions.
'Mr Buller of Downes was on his way to the House in his own carriage,
when a crowd stopped him, demanding to know how he meant to vote. He
took no notice of their request, but remained quietly seated, when some
of the men opened the carriage door with cries of, "Pull him out! Pull
him out!" and were proceeding to carry out their threat, when his
servant, who was standing behind the carriage, sprang up to the roof,
and, waving his hat, shouted: "What! don't you know my master, Squire
Buller? Why, he's always for the people!" Whereupon the door was closed
again with a bang, the coachman told to drive on, and "Squire Buller"
reached the House without further molestation.'
Two miles farther on the river passes the village of Newton St Cyres, or
Syriak Newton, as some of the older writers called it. The church has
several interesting features, and escaped the ruthless 'restoration'
that so many village churches suffered from at the beginning of the
nineteenth century. Alders and willows overhang the stream, which winds
its way to the south-west, and about two miles farther on one arrives
again at Cowley Bridge. The Valley of the Exe gets ever wider and
flatter, and after Exeter has been passed the flatness on either side of
the banks increases as the river draws near the estuary.
Topsham stands at the head of the estuary, and is a pleasant little
town, whose great days are gone by. It is difficult to believe that in
the reign of William III Topsham had more trade with Newfoundland than
any other port in the country excepting London. Presumably it was at
this time that certain Dutch merchants came to live here, and built
themselves quaint narrow houses of small Dutch bricks, painted the
colour of bath-bricks. Rounded gable-ends are a feature of these houses,
which may still be seen along the Strand. In many cases the clerk's
house, a smaller, humbler dwelling of exactly the same design, stands
close to the merchant's, separated by their respective gardens.
Till wooden ships were superseded, frigates for the navy were built
here, but now, although some of the largest ships stop and unload their
cargoes for Exeter, there is little of the stir and bustle that the town
must once have rejoiced in.
Miss Celia Fiennes, who rode through England about 1695, mentions
Topsham in her diary as 'a little market place and a very good Key;
hither they convey on horses their serges and soe load their shipps w^h
comes to this place, all for London.' She also speaks of Starcross, on
the farther side of the river, 'where the Great shipps ride, and there
they build some shipps.'
In the end of the seventeenth century there sprang from Topsham a man of
great resoluteness, pluck, and the spirit to fight against tremendous
odds in cold blood. Robert Lyde, mate of the _Friend's Adventure_,
himself wrote an account of his fortunes on board that vessel. Lyde's
great bitterness against the French is explained by the fact that he had
already suffered intensely at their hands. Two years before he had been
captured at sea by a French privateer, and imprisoned at St Malo, 'where
we were used with such inhumanity and cruelty that if we had been taken
by the Turks we could not have been used worse.' The prisoners were
almost starved, and their condition was wretched in every respect.
'These and their other barbarities made so great an impression on me
that I did resolve never to go a prisoner there again, and this
resolution I did ever since continue in.' But when he was for the second
time made prisoner--this time on board the _Friend's Adventure_--there
seemed no escape from this evil fate. The crew were all removed from the
ship, excepting Lyde and one boy, who, under a prize-master and six men,
were to help in sailing her to St Malo. The idea of returning to the
identical prison where he had endured such misery made Lyde desperate,
and, finding no easier expedient, he determined to pit himself against
the seven as soon as he could persuade the boy to join him. The boy, not
unnaturally, hung back from such a venture, and before he could screw
his courage to the sticking-place they had arrived off a small harbour
near Brest, and the French had fired a 'patteroe' for a pilot.
'Whereupon, considering the inhuman usage I formerly had in France, and
how near I was to it again, struck me with such terror that I went down
between decks and prayed God for a southerly wind, to prevent her from
going into that harbour, which God was most graciously pleased to grant
me, for which I returned my unfeigned thanks.'
Lyde's anxiety to attack the French was now redoubled, and when they
invited him to their breakfast, he was so 'ready to faint with eagerness
to encounter them' that he could not stay in the same cabin. He went up
'betwixt decks' to the boy, 'and did earnestly entreat him to go up
presently to the cabin and stand behind me, and knock down but one man,
in case two laid on me, and I would kill and command all the rest
presently.' The boy, however, was timid, and when Lyde, to spur him into
resistance, told all the horrible details of his former captivity, he
calmly replied: 'If I do find it as hard as you say when I am in France,
I will go along with them in a privateer.' 'These words,' writes Lyde,
'struck me to the heart, which made me say: "You dog! What! will you go
with them against your King and Country, and Father and Mother? Sirrah!
I was a prisoner in France four months, and my tongue cannot express
what I endured there, yet I would not turn Papist and go with them. If I
should take my brother in a French privateer, after he had sailed
willingly with them, I would hang him immediately."' Perhaps at this
point the boy began to fear opposing Lyde as much as attacking all the
Frenchmen, for he now consented to help, and was told that if he would
knock down the man at the helm, all the others should be Lyde's affair.
The _sang-froid_ of the ensuing conversation is remarkable. 'Saith the
boy, "If you be sure to overcome them, how many do you count to kill?" I
answered that I intended to kill three of them. Then the boy replied,
"Why three, and no more?" I answered that I would kill three for three
of our men that died in Prison when I was there.' Lyde went on to
express a hope that some day a 'Man-of-War or Fireship' will try to
avenge 'the Death of those four hundred men that died in the same Prison
of Dinan.' But the boy's fears found the present scheme too merciful,
and he protested, 'Four alive would be too many for us.'
The attack was made when two Frenchmen were asleep in the cabin. 'I went
softly aft into the cabin, and put my back against the bulkhead, and
took the iron crow and held it with both my hands in the middle of it,
and put my legs to shorten myself, because the cabin was very low. But
he that being nighest to me, hearing me, opened his eyes, and
perceiving my intent and upon what account I was coming, he endeavoured
to rise to make resistance against me, but I prevented him by a blow
upon his forehead which mortally wounded him.' The other man received a
heavy blow as he was rising, 'very fiercely endeavouring to come against
me.... The master, lying in his cabin on my right hand, rose and sat in
his cabin, and seeing what I had done, he called me by most insulting
names.' But 'having his eyes every way,' Lyde turned on him with a blow
which made him 'lie as still as if he had been dead.'
He then went to 'attack the two men who were at the pump, where they
continued pumping without hearing or knowing what I had done;' but one
of the wounded men crawled out of the cabin, and when the men at the
pump 'saw his blood running out of the hole in his forehead, they came
running aft to me, grinding their teeth as if they would have eaten me;
but I met them as they came within the steeridge door, and struck at
them; but the steeridge not being above four foot high, I could not have
a full blow at them, whereupon they fended off the blows, took hold of
the crow with both their hands close to mine, striving to haul it from
me; then the boy might have knocked them down with much ease, but that
his heart failed him.' The master was by this time so far recovered that
he was able to join the other two, so that Lyde fought for his life
against the three. The boy at one moment, thinking him overborne, 'cried
out for fear. Then I said, "Do you cry, you villain, now I am in such a
condition? Come quickly and knock this man on the head that hath hold of
my left arm." The boy took some courage, but struck so faintly that he
missed his blow, which greatly enraged me; and I, feeling the Frenchman
about my middle hang very heavy, said to the boy, "Go round the binikle
and knock down that man that hangeth on my back"; so the boy did strike
him one blow on the head, and he went out on deck staggering to and
fro.' After a further tremendous effort, Lyde killed one of the three
struggling with him, and the two others then begged for quarter; and at
last he set sail for Topsham, with five living prisoners under hatches.
But his troubles were not yet all passed. Exhausted as he was, he dared
not rest, and suffered from want of sleep, bad weather, and, when he
reached home, a cold welcome. Arrived at Topsham Bar, he had no English
colours to run up, and the pilot he signalled feared to come out. Lyde
did not dare to bring in the ship by himself at night, and was blown off
the coast, so that he had the further labour of getting close to the bar
a second time. In the end he did succeed in getting safely home.
Just beyond Topsham the little river Clyst joins the Exe. It has given
names to a surprising number of villages and manors, considering the
shortness of its course--Clyst St Mary, Clyst St Laurence, Honiton
Clyst, and so on. At Clyst St George a small estate used to be held on
the curious tenure of 'the annual tender of an ivory bow.' About two
miles east of the river the land begins to slope upwards to the moorland
of Woodbury Common, and on one part of the heath are the remains of an
ancient entrenchment called Woodbury Castle. 'No castle at all, built
with little cost,' says Westcote, 'without either lime or hewn stone:
only a hasty fortification made of mother-earth for the present to serve
a turn for need, with plain ditches, the Saxons' usual structure, who
commonly lay _sub dio_, with no other shelter or coverture than the
starry canopy.'
Woodbury and Lympstone--a village on the edge of the estuary--were once
owned by the family of De Albemarle, which name was gradually
transformed into Damarel, and in this guise is not uncommon in the West
to-day.
Two and a half miles farther on is Exmouth--a town fortunate in the
delightful views on every side. The sea stretches away to the south; on
the north-east the hills rise towards Woodbury Common; on the west lie
the broad, shining reaches of the river, and beyond them the beautiful
heights of Haldon. Here 'Ex taketh his last tribute with a wider channel
and curled waves, shedding itself into the sea.'
Exmouth has a rather curious history. In the early part of the
eighteenth century it was little more than a hamlet, chiefly consisting
of fishermen's cottages; but soon afterwards it became a fashionable
watering-place--according to report, because one of the judges on
circuit was charmed with the sea-bathing here. The town continues to
flourish and is greatly patronized by visitors. The strangeness of the
history lies in the fact that Exmouth should ever have been reduced to
such a humble condition, for it inherited great traditions. When the
Danes descended on it in 1001, they found there a town and a castle, and
being 'valiantly repelled by the guardians' of the latter, they revenged
themselves by burning the town.
In the reign of King John, Exmouth was a port of some consequence, and
when Edward III was at war with France it was able to contribute no
fewer than ten ships for an attack on Calais. Risdon says there was
'sometime a castle, but now the place hath no defence than a barred
haven and the inhabitants' valour.' It is a little puzzling that both he
and Westcote, writing about the beginning of the seventeenth century,
should imply that the old fortress had no successor, for a very few
years later Exmouth was garrisoned for the King. Either a fort must have
been erected in the short interval, or some building turned into a
tolerable substitute, for in the spring of 1646 'Fort Exmouth' was
blockaded by Colonel Shapcote, and defended with great courage by
Colonel Arundell. It capitulated less than a month before the surrender
of Exeter.