The Dart
'I cannot tell what you say, green leaves,
I cannot tell what you say;
But I know that there is a spirit in you,
And a word in you this day.
'I cannot tell what you say, rosy rocks,
I cannot tell what you say;
But I know that there is a spirit in you,
And a word in you this day.
'I cannot tell what you say, brown streams,
I cannot tell what you say;
But I know that in you too a spirit doth live,
And a word doth speak this day.
'Oh! green is the colour of faith and truth,
And rose the colour of love and youth,
And brown of the fruitful clay.
Sweet Earth is faithful, and fruitful and young,
And her bridal day shall come ere long,
And you shall know what the rocks and the streams
And the whispering woodlands say.'
KINGSLEY: _Dartside_.
Of all the rivers of Devonshire, the Dart claims the first place, both
for beauty and for interesting associations; and between the lonely
wastes about its source on Dartmoor, and the calm, broad reaches above
Dartmouth, the scenery is not only always beautiful, but adds the great
charm of being beautiful in quite different ways.
Drayton recognises the claim, for in the _Poly-olbion_, speaking of the
'mother of rivers,' Dartmoor, he says:
'From all the other floods that only takes her name
And as her eld'st in right the heir of all her fame.'
And a few lines later he makes Dart declaim:
' ... There's not the proudest flood
That falls betwixt the Mount and Exmore shall make good
Her royalty with mine, with me nor can compare;
I challenge anyone to answer me that dare.'
The East Dart rises about a mile south of Cranmere Pool, and at first
makes its way through bare bogs, with great black holes gaping open here
and there in the peat, tussocks of coarse grass and dry, rustling bents,
isolated tufts of heather, and now and again wide spaces of waving
cotton-grass. All around is 'an everlasting wash of air' and a sense of
spaciousness, which it is to be hoped no cynically named 'improvements'
may ever diminish. Westcote comments on the name. 'Of some it is
supposed that the river takes name of the swiftness of the current; the
like is thought of the river Arrow in Warwickshire, and of the Tygris in
Mesopotamia, which among the Persians doth import a shaft.'
There is a saying that 'the river "cries" when there is to be a change
of wind. "Us shall have bad weather, maister; I hear the Broadstones
a-crying." The Broadstones are boulders of granite lying in the bed of
the river. The cry, however, hardly comes from them, but from a piping
of the wind, in the twists of the glen through which the turbulent river
writhes.'
Many tales on the Moor speak of the amazing swiftness with which a
freshet will suddenly swell and sweep down, an overwhelming flood. Only
a few years ago a farmer was crossing a very safe ford when he saw the
freshet coming, and tried to hurry his horse, but before he could reach
the bank the torrent caught his cart and overturned it, and he and his
horse were drowned.
'River of Dart, O river of Dart,
Every year thou claimest a heart.'
The ominous couplet springs from no misty legend, but from melancholy
experience.
The East Dart runs throughout its course in a south-easterly direction,
and at Post Bridge just below the road from Moreton Hampstead to
Tavistock it is crossed by an old bridge, one of the many rugged
witnesses to unwritten history scattered all over Dartmoor. It is a
massive structure, built of rough granite blocks; the 'table-stones'
that rest on the piers are each about fifteen feet long.
The West Dart rises farther south than the East Dart, and runs almost
due south as far as Two Bridges, and then, in many curves to the
east--sometimes almost hidden in the depths of the hollow that has been
worn between the high bare sides of the valley--till about five miles
from Two Bridges it reaches Dartmeet. From the top of a tor close to the
point where the two streams meet the effect is rather curious, for sunk
deep between the wide barren stretches of moor and desolate tors, broad
green ribbons of trees and undergrowth, broken by tufts and uneven
edges, mark the course of the rivers till they wind away out of sight.
Their darker green makes them stand out against the sides of the
valleys, and they are the only trees in sight. In summer the river is
often very low, and then masses of great boulders in the river-bed are
seen, and some of the biggest are crowned with ferns, high tufts of
grass, or little bushes, with the clearest water streams between them.
The bridge is over the East Dart, above the meeting of the waters, and
from just below it is possible to get a charming view of the arches
thrown up against a sunlit mass of shimmering leaves.
From here the Dart runs south almost to Holne, the birthplace of that
true lover of Devon, Charles Kingsley. At this point it makes a great
loop to the north, flowing among lovely scenery along a steep and narrow
valley, where great rocks break through the woods; then curving round in
Holne Chase, it turns south again to Holne Bridge, which is crossed by
the Ashburton road. The town is about three miles to the east.
Ashburton is one of the old stannary towns, and besides mining, it was
known for its trade in woollen goods, especially serges. In fact, 'the
seal of the Port-reeve bears a church between a teasel and a saltire,
with the sun and moon above.' The teasel was used to raise the nap in
making cloth, and was a symbol of that industry, as the sun and moon
were symbols of mining. In 1697 the manufacturers felt foreign
competition so keenly that the Port-reeve, traders, and inhabitants of
Ashburton signed a petition to Parliament, begging that an Act might be
passed to discourage the importation of Irish and other foreign woollen
goods.
This borough sent members to Parliament from the reign of Edward I, but
in time its representation ceased. The privilege was given back to the
borough after the Restoration, through the intervention of Sir John
Northcote, and was held until Ashburton was disfranchised in 1868.
A few miles farther down the river is Buckfastleigh, a small but very
flourishing town, and one of the very few that still produce the serges
and woollen goods for which the county was once famous, in the sixteenth
century especially, for then, as Green tells us, 'the broadcloths of the
West claimed the palm among the woollen stuffs of England.' The church
stands apart on a height overlooking the town, and the tapering spire
adds to the effect given by its commanding position. By far the most
interesting building here is Buckfast Abbey, founded in the reign of
Henry II, on the site of a Benedictine abbey of Saxon days. The place
must have been very remote and inaccessible when the Benedictines first
settled there, and the Saxon name given in Bishop AElfwold's charter in
1016 was 'Buckfaesten, _i.e._, Deer-fastness,' which would seem to argue
that the Abbey was surrounded by thick woods, and was particularly
lonely, even for those times. Sable, a crozier in pale, argent, the
crook or, surmounted by a buck's head, caboshed of the second, horned
gules, were the ancient arms of the Abbey, as they are still, though now
impaled with the Clifford arms, by permission of Lord Clifford.
The second colony of monks here were Cistercians, and the monastery
became very prosperous and the richest house of that order in the
county. King John deposited some of his jewels, gold and silver in their
keeping, and in 1297 Edward I visited the Abbey. The Cistercians were
great wool-traders, and did much for both trade and agriculture in the
districts near them. It has been supposed that the sunken track called
the Abbot's Way was used in carrying the wool from the moorland farms
belonging to the monastery towards Plymouth and Tavistock. In the
thirteenth century the monks showed their interest in trading by
joining the 'Gild Merchant' of Totnes. A memorandum on the back of one
of the 'membership rolls' in 1236 records an agreement between the
burgesses of Totnes and the abbot and convent of Buckfast; that the
monks might be able 'to make all their purchases in like manner with the
burgesses, the abbot and monks agree to pay twenty-two pence on the
Saturday before Christmas day.'[4]
[Footnote 4: Transactions of the Devonshire Association, 1873.]
The buildings at the time of the Dissolution were very large, and there
was a fine church, but of these only a Perpendicular tower adjoining the
cloisters, and a large tithe-barn, are in a state of good preservation
at the present day. A modern house was built on the western side of the
vanished cloisters, but in 1882 the Abbey was bought for a colony of
Benedictine monks from Pierrequivire in Burgundy, who have partly
rebuilt the monastery on its ancient lines, and are restoring the Abbey
church.
A few miles away to the south-west is Dean Prior, and the living that
Herrick held when he poured out his grumbles and complaints about 'dull
Devonshire.' Herrick was a true Cockney, and the earliest part of his
life was spent in a house in Cheapside. When he grew up, he had the good
luck to come into the brilliant and witty company that gathered round
Ben Jonson, so it must be allowed that he had an excuse for sometimes
thinking that life in an obscure hamlet, two hundred miles from London,
was a dreary exile. But, as Mr R. J. King remarks, in spite of all his
grievances, he had in him a sense that responded very readily to the
pretty customs and observances of the village, that marked, here with a
handful of flowers, there with a sheaf of wheat or a branch of holly,
the different festivals of the year.
Herrick's poem 'Christmas Eve' refers to a local custom that appealed to
him:
'Come, guard this night the Christmas-pie,
That the thief, though ne'er so sly,
With his flesh-hooks, don't come nigh,
To catch it
From him, who all alone sits there,
Having his eyes still in his ear,
And a deal of mighty fear,
To watch it.'
Mr King makes this interesting note on it: 'This custom, so far as I
know, is unnoticed by anyone but Herrick.
'A solitary watcher,
'"Having his eyes still in his ear,
And a deal of mighty fear,"
guarded the pie through the night before Christmas.
'The pie represented the manger of Bethlehem, and its contents the wise
men's offerings. The Devonshire "Christmas play" has had a curious fate.
Except, perhaps, in some of the moorland parishes, it has disappeared at
home. But the Newfoundland fisheries were long carried on for the most
part by sailors from the neighbourhood of Dartmouth and Tor Bay, and Mr
Jukes tells us that the streets of St John's at Christmas-time continue
to exhibit St George, the Turkish Knight, and all their companions, in
full vigour.'
The charm of Herrick's verses on country joys is deepened--to the
folk-lorist in particular--by remembering that the rustic ceremonies he
commemorates were probably the usual customs observed at Dean Prior in
his time. On a hot August evening he may have watched the happy and
excited children who are described in the poem 'The Hock-Cart, or
Harvest-Home.'
'About the cart, hear how the rout
Of rurall youngling raise the shout.
Pressing before, some coming after,
These with a shout, and those with laughter.
Some blesse the carte, some kisse the sheaves,
Some prank them up with oaken leaves;
Some cross the fill-horse, some with great
Devotion stroake the home-borne wheat.'
And many lines point to his acquaintance with all kinds of village
festivals, as, for instance, those which he addresses to 'Master
Endymion Porter.'
'Thy wakes, thy quintels, here them hast,
Thy May-poles too, with garlands grac't,
Thy morris-dance, thy Whitsun-ale,
Thy sheering feast, which never faile,
Thy harvest home, thy wassaile bowle,
That's tost up after Foxi'th'hole,
Thy mummeries, thy twelfth-tide kings,
And quenes, thy Christmas revellings,
Thy nut-browne mirth, thy russet wit,
And no man pays too deare for it.'
('Foxi'th'hole' is a hopping game, in which boys beat each other with
gloves.)
Herrick was fortunate in having a kind and hospitable neighbour. Sir
Edward Giles was famed for his uprightness and generous disposition, and
was looked up to by all the neighbourhood. He succeeded to 'a large park
and very handsome house,' whose existence was partly due to the problem
of the unemployed that was perplexing the benevolent more than three
hundred years ago; for John Giles, 'to the honour of his memory ...
began building of the house, and setting up the walls about his park, in
the time of a very great dearth; whereby hundreds of poor men ... were
daily fed at his table, who else together with their families in
probability would have perished for want.' Sir Edward succeeded
immediately to his father, who was 'a good old gentleman,' with a taste
for small jokes that must have been sometimes a little tedious. The son
had too 'active and vigorous a spirit' to rest 'within the compass of an
island, wherefore ... he travelled beyond the seas,' and in the Low
Countries 'trayl'd a pike in her Majesty's service, Queen Elizabeth of
glorious memory.' Having carved for himself a high reputation, he came
to the court of King James, to find that his fame had preceded him, and
he received the honour of knighthood at the time of the King's
coronation. This gave the old knight a chance for a little jest, which
his son must have found rather exasperating. When he came home, his
father received him with all ceremony, though 'more jocularly than
seriously ... saluted him with his title of Sir Edward Giles at every
word, and by all means would place him above him, as one dignified with
the more honourable degree; until at length inquiring of him: "Sir
Edward, pray tell me," said the old gentleman, "who must discharge the
fees and charges of your knighthood and honour?" Being answered, "That
he hoped he would be pleased to do that," "Nay, then," says the old
gentleman, "come down, Sir Edward Giles, and sit beneath me again, if I
am he that must pay for thy honour."' One can imagine his beaming
satisfaction over it all!
Among Sir Edward's friends was the 'eminent and pious and learned
Divine,' Dr Barnabas Potter, whom he presented with the living of Dean
Prior. Herrick and his predecessor were indeed a contrast to one
another, for Dr Potter was 'melancholy, lean, and a hard student.' He
was afterwards transplanted from his peaceful solitude to Court, where
he was appointed Chaplain in Ordinary to Prince Charles, and was known
as the Penitential Preacher. Afterwards, when preferred to the bishopric
of Carlisle, 'he was commonly called the Puritanical Bishop, and they
said of him in the time of king James, that Organs would blow him out of
the church, which I do not believe, the rather because he lov'd Vocal
Music, and could bear his own part therein.' Altogether, he and the
future Merry Monarch must have been very congenial companions.
Going farther south, and still keeping to the west of the river, the
traveller comes to Rattery, close to which is Venton House, once owned
by the Gibbses. In the reign of Edward III John Gibbs was chosen to
undertake important work, for he was called to serve on several
Commissions appointed to carry out the King's business in the county.
The most interesting of these Commissions seems to have been the one
appointed in 1462, for the purpose of collecting ships for the King's
fleet from those ports--the Commissioners to be responsible for
furnishing them completely, from 'Masters and Mariners' to 'bows and
bowstrings, wheat, beans, and ale.'
The members of the family whose doings were the most amusing, though not
the most to be admired, were William Gibbs and his son Thomas, who were
proceeded against in the Star Chamber by the Chaplain and Curate of
Rattre (Rattery) Church. Some manuscript notes very kindly sent to me
by Mr Herbert Gibbs give a good instance of the light-hearted manner in
which it was possible to break and make the peace in a country district
about the year 1517. The Church of Rattery claimed that William Gibbs
owed L21 2s. 8d., and he claimed that the church owed him sixty-three
shillings, and, putting into practice the adage that Possession is nine
points of the law, he boldly took out of the church 'a yron boxe locked
with two lockes,' and helped himself to the money. The complainants
brought their case to be tried before the Bishop of Exeter and several
justices, but Andrew Hillersdon, son-in-law to William Gibbs, was among
them, with the result that the only penalty imposed was to find surety
for his good 'aberying' (bearing) of 100 marks. Although this was a very
mild verdict, it infuriated the culprit, whose next step was to shear
the Church lambs, and carry off '11 youes with their lambs'; and on the
Thursday night before the Feast of St. Matthew he, with his son Thomas
and many others, did 'then and there ryottusly assemble theym togeders
to kyll your said orators, leyin awayte,' and the said 'Thomas Gybbys
with a swarde and a bokeler made a sawte' upon John Hals, ' ... so as
the said John Hals was in danger of his lyf and toke the church and
church yerde for his savegard and kept the same by the space of two
hours.' His enforced vigil had the added bitterness that, according to
the complainants, he had had no previous quarrel of any kind with his
assailant. But this demonstration was not enough to satisfy the Gibbses,
and the next Sunday they came again to Rattery 'in manner of a new
insurrection with twenty-three persons and above,' and with such a
fierce aspect that they caused 'great feer and dreed' to their
neighbours, who in alarm of worse to come warned 'your said orators ...
to kepe them absent from their said church and from their divine
service, and so they dyd.' The complainants now evidently felt that the
time for definite action on their part had come, and the case was
eventually carried before the 'Lord Cardinall, Chancellor of England,'
but the account of the proceedings does not give his verdict.
Returning to the river, Dartington Hall, the beautiful home of the
Champernownes, is soon reached. Dartington was originally the gift of
the Conqueror to William de Falaise, and passed through the hands of the
Lords Audley and of John Holland, Duke of Exeter, half-brother of
Richard II, before Sir Arthur Champernowne exchanged for it the lordship
of Polslo, and settled here in the reign of Elizabeth. And now, says
Westcote, 'it glories in the knightly tribe of Champernowne.' Originally
Dartington consisted of two large quadrangles, but one has long been in
ruins. The most striking feature is the hall, which is seventy feet long
and forty feet wide, and has pointed windows, a huge old fireplace, and
a porch with a groined ceiling. This dates from the fourteenth century,
and part of the quadrangle, together with the gateway at the south end,
is early fourteenth-century work.
The Champernownes are a very ancient and distinguished family, though
Prince complains that their 'actions and exploits for the greatest part
is devoured by time.' Sir Arthur Champernowne was 'a good soldier and an
eminent commander in the Irish wars' of the sixteenth century, and was
conspicuous for his zeal and valour. Prince gives an odd little bit of
gossip about an heiress of this family. He says she was 'a frolic lady,'
and no unusual epithet could be more descriptive; for the lady 'married
William Polglas, within three days after her father's death; and within
two days after her husband Polglas's death, she was married again unto
John Cergeaux!'
In the reign of Queen Elizabeth Mr Henry Champernowne headed one hundred
gentleman volunteers, who, with the Queen's permission, went to help the
cause of the 'Protestant Princes' in France; and it is interesting to
learn that Sir Walter Raleigh, then seventeen years old, was one of this
company.
The Champernownes of Dartington were, however, only a younger branch of
the family. The elder branch lived 'in great splendour' at Modbury. A
story is told about them of which, perhaps, the most accurate version
may be found in Britton and Brayley's 'Beauties of England and Wales':
'Tradition speaks very highly ... of the magnificent manner in which the
Champernownes lived, and particularly of their keeping a very fine band
of singers and musicians, which band, if report may be credited, was
the occasion of the family's ruin, "for that Mr Champernowne taking it
on the Thames in the time of Queen Elizabeth, her Majesty was so
delighted with the music, that she requested the loan of it for a month;
to which Mr Champernowne, aware of the improbability of its ever
returning, would not consent, saying that he 'hoped her Majesty would
allow him to keep his fancy.' The Queen was so highly exasperated at
this refusal, that she found some pretence to sue him at law, and ruin
him, by obliging him, in the course of the proceedings, to sell no fewer
than nineteen manors." This anecdote, at least the circumstance of the
sale of the nineteen manors about the above period, is in a great degree
confirmed by the title-deeds of some lands in and about Modbury.'
A very short distance to the south lies the ancient and very picturesque
town of Totnes, in which, from the round Norman keep at its crown, to
the river winding round the foot of the hill, witnesses to the past are
jostling against tokens of the present time.
When Leland journeyed through it, the town already gave the idea of
having passed its meridian, and his words are clear and concise: 'The
Castelle of _Totnes_ standith on the hille North West of the Towne. The
Castell waulis and the stronge Dungeon be maintained. The Loggingis of
the Castelle be clene in Ruine.'
The early chroniclers go back gloriously into the dim mists of antiquity
for the origin of Totnes, and when no carping critics insisted on
analyzing popular history and distilling all the romance out of it, the
story of the town was very fine indeed. The founder of Totnes, then, was
Brutus of Troy, who after long wanderings arrived in this charming bit
of country, and on this hill made the great announcement:
'Here I stand, and here I rest,
And this place shall be called Totnes.'
Moreover, the stone that he stepped ashore upon is still here, and the
Mayor stands on it whenever it is his duty to proclaim a new Sovereign.
The claims of Totnes have been set forth with no undue modesty. 'It hath
flourished, and felt also the storms of affliction, under Britons,
Romans, Saxons, and Normans. To speak somewhat of the antiquity thereof,
I hope I shall take no great pains to prove it (and that without
opposition) the prime town of Great Britain.' Its history is taken in
grand strides. Having explained that the coming of Brutus was held by
some to be contemporary with the rule of Eli as high-priest in Israel,
the writer continues: 'The first conqueror Brutus gave this town and the
two provinces, Devon and Cornwall, then but one, to his cousin and great
assistant, Corinoeus, as is well known; whereof the western part is
(as they say) called Cornwall; who peopled it with his own regiment; and
being an excellent wrestler, as you have heard, trained his following in
the same exercises; whereof it comes that the western men in that sport
win the mastery and game wheresoever they come.... The second conqueror,
William of Normandy, bestowed this town, together with Dartmouth and
Barnstaple, on a worthy man named Judaeel.'
The space of time between the first and second 'conquerors' does not
seem to strike the historian as a rather wide gap, and the doings of the
one and the other are related with almost equal confidence and with the
same air of authority.
Judhael de Totnes is supposed to have built the castle, and although
only the walls of the round keep now remain, the trouble of the long
climb up to it is well repaid by the lovely view that is gained from the
ruin. Fertility and abundance seem to be the characteristics of the
land, and the ridiculous suggestion that the town's name has been
corrupted from _Toute-a-l'aise_ is one shade less absurd, because that
title would be so very appropriate. Here and there a silver gleam shows
where the river runs between heavily wooded banks. To the east a green
and smiling country of gentle hills and valleys leads to that shade of
past splendour, the Castle of Berry Pomeroy; and far away to the
north-west, it is possible to see the high, sharp tors on Dartmoor.
Looking straight down, the uneven roofs seem tumbled over one another in
a way that suggests that different ages have casually showered them into
the little town.
Totnes received its first charter from King John, and there are few
older boroughs in the country. Originally a walled town, Fore Street is
still crossed by the East Gate, which has been rebuilt in comparatively
modern times. Within is a room decorated by an early Renaissance frieze
and 'linen-pattern' panelling. The upper stories of some of the old
houses project over the lower ones, and in the High Street they jut
quite across the pavements, and rest upon columns, making piazzas or
covered ways along the street. Such piazzas are very uncommon in
England, but there is a short one, called the Butter Walk, at Dartmouth.
The church is a very fine Perpendicular building, of a warm rose colour,
and it has a high battlemented tower from which three figures look out
of their niches. Some very grotesque gargoyles peer down from the roof
at intervals. The great treasure of the church is its screen, carved so
finely that the pattern seems like lacework, and it is difficult to
realize that it can be of stone. The main lines of the carving curve and
spread upwards almost like the lines of palm-leaves, and the screen is
coloured and gilded. There is another beautiful and delicate, though
less elaborate, bit of carving which divides a little chapel from the
south side of the chancel. Under the tower arch is a curious monument to
Christopher Blackhall, who died in 1635, and his four wives, who are
kneeling one behind the other. The dates of their deaths are very
clearly marked by the different fashions of their dresses--a compact and
upstanding ruff adds to the stiff precision of the first wife's
appearance; while the sloping lines of a 'Vandyke' collar embellish the
dress of the fourth.
On the north side of the church stands the old Guildhall, and in front
of it another tiny piazza, bordered by granite pillars. Inside
'linen-pattern' panelling lines the walls; there are carved seats all
round the upper end, and in the council-chamber beyond are some
fragments of fine moulding.
Before leaving the town, a curious custom practised in the eighteenth
century must be mentioned--that of taking dogs to help in catching
salmon. Defoe came here in his travels in the West, and saw the fish
being caught. The fish, he says, in the flowing tide swim into a 'cut,
or channel,' which has a 'grating of wood, the cross-bars of which ...
stand pointing inward towards one another.... We were carried thither at
low water, where we saw about fifty or sixty small salmon, about
seventeen to twenty inches long, which the country people call
salmon-peel,' caught by putting in a net at the end of a pole. 'The net
being fixed at one end of the place, they put in a dog (who was taught
his trade beforehand) at the other end of the place, and he drives all
the fish into the net, so that, only holding the net still in its place,
the man took up two or three and thirty salmon-peel at the first time.'
He finishes the story by saying that they bought some for dinner at
twopence apiece. 'And for such fish, not at all bigger, and not so
fresh, I have seen six and sixpence each given at a London fish-market.'
The river leaves Totnes in broad, sweeping curves between the hills, and
rolls on past the lovely woods of Sharpham, and on its course to
Dartmouth passes the early homes of two men who each played a part in
English history. At Sandridge, close to the river, lived Captain John
Davies, or Davis, whose name is familiar as the discoverer of Davis's
Straits. Prince, who himself lived not far away, takes the fascination
of Dartmouth, and the longing for the sea that Dartmouth seemed to
inspire, as quite natural, and says casually that, living so near this
town, 'Mr Davis had ... a kind of invitation, to put himself early to
sea.'
These were in the days when the Merchant Adventurers were at the height
of their importance and prosperity, and it was in the hope of opening up
a trade for the woollen goods of the West-country with India and China
that Captain Davis set out to look for the North-West Passage.
To face all the hazards of this journey, so very far away from
civilization, and the perils and shocks that might await him in the
frozen North, he fitted out a little fleet which consisted of the 'Barke
_Sunneshine_, of London, fifty tunnes, and the _Moonshine_, of
Dartmouth, thirty-five tunnes, the ship _Mermayd_, of a hundred and
twenty tunnes, and a pinesse of tenne tunnes named the _North
Starre_.'[5] But in spite of this name of good augury the little
pinnace never came home again, and one can only admire with awe the
daring that ventured to sail a boat of ten tons across the boisterous
Atlantic into the unknown Arctic Seas. Traces of Davis's wanderings
along the coasts of North America may still be found in the names he
bestowed on different points. 'On sighting first the land, he named the
bay which he entered after his friend, Gilbert Sound; we find also
Exeter Sound, Totnes Roads, Mount Raleigh, and other familiar titles. A
few years later John Davis found the right course to India and China,
and introduced the trade from this country which exists to the present
time.'
[Footnote 5: 'An Elizabethan Guild of the City of Exeter,' by William
Cotton.]
A greater man than Davis lived farther down the river at Greenaway,
opposite the pretty village of Dittisham, which, with its strip of beach
and ferry, looks as if it had been 'made for a picture.' Sir Humphrey
Gilbert, stepbrother to Sir Walter Raleigh, was a great man to whom
Fortune was not overkind, but his 'virtues and pious intentions may be
read ... shining too gloriously to be dusked by misfortune.' His aims
were higher than the hopes that stirred most of his contemporaries, and
of his 'noble enterprizes the great design ... was to discover the
remote countries of America, and to bring off those savages from their
diabolical superstitions, to the embracing the gospel.' He made two
efforts to graft a colony with little success, but his third effort was
rather happier; and having left Devonshire in June, 1583, he 'sailed to
Newfoundland and the great river of St Laurence in Canada; which he took
possession of, and seized the same to the crown of England, and invested
the Queen in an estate for two hundred leagues in length by cutting a
turf and rod after the antient custom of England.' From the developments
of that great country that are now taking place, it cannot but be
interesting to look back along the vista of years to this very simple
ceremony.
Later this group of emigrants lost heart, and nearly all returned to
England, and possibly Sir Humphrey may have wondered whether this
venture also would have but a flickering existence, and would leave no
lasting result of the work on which he had spent his years and his
strength and his riches. Or it may be that no doubts troubled him, for
he had a 'noble and gallant spirit,' and his dauntless motto was 'Quid
non?' The story of his death makes an appropriate ending to his life. He
was with his colony in Newfoundland when 'necessaries began to fail,'
and he was urged to return home. He started in the _Squirrel_, a ship of
ten tons. When they were far out at sea a violent tempest blew up, and
those in the _Golden Hind_ (a larger ship accompanying them) saw with
horror the imminent danger that their friends were in. But Sir Humphrey
was quite composed, and those in the _Golden Hind_ were near enough to
hear him cry 'aloud to his company, in these words: "We are so near to
heaven here at sea as at land."' In the height of the storm the little
boat was swallowed up by the waves, and all on board perished.
A portrait of Sir Humphrey hung in his grand-nephew's house at Compton,
where Prince saw it. 'The one hand holdeth a general's truncheon, and
the other is laid on the globe of the world, Virginia is written over;
on his breast hangs the golden anchor, with the pearl at the peak; and
underneath are these verses, which, tho' none of the best, may here
supply the place of an epitaph:
'"Here you may see the portrait of his face,
Who for his country's honor oft did trace
Along the deep; and made a noble way
Unto the growing fame, Virginia.
The picture of his mind, if ye do crave it,
Look upon Virtue's picture, and ye have it."'
The 'golden anchor' was a jewel which the Queen had given him as a
special mark of favour, for she looked on him very graciously, in spite
of the fact that his efforts did not then seem as if they would be
crowned with success. A song was made about the year 1581, in which he
and Sir Francis Drake divide the honours.
'_Sir Francis, Sir Francis, Sir Francis_ is come,
_Sir William_, and eke _Sir Robert_, his son,
And eke the good Earl of _Southampton_
Marcht on his way most gallantly on;
Then came my Lord Chamberlain, with his white staff,
And all the people begun for to laugh.
And then the Queen begun to speak,
"You're welcome home, Sir Francis Drake!"
'THE QUEEN'S SPEECH.
'"Gallants all of British blood,
Why do ye not sail in th' ocean flood?
I protest ye are not all worth a Philberd
Compared with Sir Humphrey _Gilberd_."
'THE QUEEN'S REASON.
[_Probably added in 1584-85._]
'For he walkt forth a rainy day,
To the _Now-Found-land_ he took his way,
With many a gallant fresh and green.
He never came home again,
God bless the Queen!'
Notes to this song explain: 'We understand as the three-fold holders of
the name, "Sir Francis," three persons; Sir Francis Drake, Knighted by
the Queen after his return from circumnavigating the world in 1580: Sir
Francis Walsingham, and Sir Francis Vere. Sir William Cecil, Lord
Burleigh, and his son, Sir Robert.... The Lord Chamberlain probably
meant the despicable Sir James Crofts, who hated and calumniated Drake.'
The song probably reflects the temper of the time.
'They never came back agen.
God bless the Queen.'
The lines are very characteristic of the spirit of the age that was
bound to conquer. There was sorrow for those who were gone, but no
complaint, no grudging those who had perished where the fame or power of
the Queen could be furthered. Gloriana's subjects found no price too
great, no sacrifice worth counting; a leader might fall, but the great
scheme must go on, her rule spread farther and wider, and the hazards
and failures overstepped.
Although upon all parts of the South Hams there hovers a spell that is
inexplicable, perhaps it is felt more in Dartmouth than in any other
place one can think of. Possibly it is the loveliness of sea and land,
flowers in the crevices of the cliffs hanging low towards the water's
edge, the round tower rising out of the sea, the picturesqueness of the
town, with its thronging associations, or just the intangible influences
of bygone days. But there is something of enchantment about the tower,
especially when it is contemplated from the water. And to fully
appreciate the whole, one should slip out of the harbour past the Mew
Stone, where the sea-gulls rise like a drift of snowflakes on a sudden
gust, into the midst of sliding walls of transparent green water beyond,
where--if there is wind enough--glassy hillocks all round, at moments,
hide everything else from sight. Besides the fascination of watching
waves towering above the boat, and following it as if they would fall
over and bury it in their depths, and climbing them, with the sudden
plunge into the hollow beyond, it may be, especially if shoals of
mackerel are near, that one may have the pleasure of coming upon a flock
of gulls, swimming, swooping, flapping about, and all busy fishing. Or
perhaps there will be a group of brown divers, floating placidly on the
waves, and then suddenly disappearing, one or two at a time or several
in a moment. And possibly a great black creature may appear a little way
off, tossing and seeming to turn somersaults in the water, and another
and another, and one may find oneself among a school of porpoises, and
hear the curious puffing sounds they make that are not quite like
anything else. From a little distance out, looking back across the
changing lights that glance over the water, one gets a quite fresh view
of the harbour's mouth, shut in by its high cliffs, half veiled by soft
masses of green.
Dartmouth had a great stake in the country's welfare in early days, and
was a port of much stir and traffic. From here sailed many of the ships
that Richard I gathered together to take the English who were going with
him on the Third Crusade. William Rufus started once from this harbour
when there was trouble in Normandy, and King John paid the town two
visits. In Edward III's time Dartmouth had already become renowned for
her shipping and sent six ships for the King's service in a fight in
which engaged the combined French, Flemish, and Genoese fleets; and she
sent two more a few years later to help in his war against Scotland.
Fifty years later this loan was entirely eclipsed by the magnificence of
contributing no fewer than thirty-one ships to the siege of Calais.
Chaucer's words have often been quoted:
'A schipman was ther; wonyng far by weste,
For ought I woot, he was of Dertemouth.'
As if it were more likely that a typical seaman would come from
Dartmouth than anywhere else! In no harbour could that great
training-ship the _Britannia_ have been more appropriately moored, nor
could a more fitting place be chosen for the long range of buildings on
the hill above, the Naval College that has superseded it. Risdon tells
us that the town has been 'sundry times subject to the attacks of
foreigners,' and particularly mentions one occasion in the reign of
Henry III, when the French made such a furious onslaught, that the women
turned out by the side of their menkind and hurled flints at the enemy.
These found themselves 'courageously resisted by the towns-men
and-women, Amazonian-like.'
In 1470 Dartmouth was a step in the retreat of Warwick, 'the
King-maker,' when Edward IV pursued him as far as Exeter. Warwick
embarked here for France, and his arrival in those unsettled times must
have created much bustle and excitement amongst all the gossips of the
place. The Earl was 'in danger of being surprized, whereupon leisurely
(for his great spirit disdained anything that should look like a Flight)
he retired to _Exeter_, where having dismissed the Remainder of the
troops that attended him, he went to _Dartmouth_, and there, with many
ladies in his company and a large Retinue, he took ship and sailed
directly to Calais.'
Amongst the celebrities of Dartmouth is a certain John Hawley, a great
merchant of immense wealth. A couplet ran of him:
'Blow the wind high, or blow the wind low,
It bloweth still to Hawley's hawe'
--that is, to his house. Prince interprets this by saying that Hawley
had so many ships all over the world that any wind that blew was of
advantage to some of them.
When Leland came here, he remarked on the great ruins of 'Hawley's Haul
... a rich merchant and a noble warrior against the _French_ Men.'
Hawley is buried in the beautiful church of St Saviour's, and a large
brass represents him as lying between his two wives.
In this church is a most delicately carved screen, and leaves, sprays,
and grapes are conspicuous amongst the details of its graceful design.
The groined cornice is decorated by exquisite fan-tracery, and various
saints and 'doctors of the church' are painted on the panels of the
lower part. In the high carved stone pulpit are tabernacled recesses,
once enclosing figures, but now containing 'royal badges and devices';
and both screen and pulpit were coloured and gilded, and are rather
dimmed by time. The church has many very interesting features, and in
the south porch is a most curious wrought-iron door, showing a tree with
long, drooping branches and large diamond-shaped leaves, and two
wonderful heraldic lions impaled on it.
The Castle was built in the time of Henry VII, on the site of an older
one; for when Edward IV reigned, the men of Dartmouth built themselves a
castle at the desire of the King, who promised that if they would by
this means protect the town--and, further, would guard the harbour by
putting a chain across the mouth--they should have L30 yearly from the
customs of Dartmouth and Exeter. The chain stretched across to
Kingswear, and a hollow in the rock by the ruins of an old guard-house
shows where it once passed. The little square castle of Kingswear stands
close by, and from certain points of view both Kingswear and the
beautiful round tower of Dartmouth Castle seem to be rising straight out
of the waves.
In 1685 an agreement very much like the earlier one was made. James II
had some cause for uneasiness and for looking closely to his defences,
and, as it happened, three years later there landed, only a few miles
away, the man who, superseding him, was hailed by the majority as
England's Deliverer. But when James came to the throne he had already
seen Dartmouth conquered by an enemy's troops; for, although Prince
Maurice had secured it in the earlier stages of the war, Fairfax had
taken it later. Among the Duke of Somerset's papers are some orders
given by a Council of War, at which 'Colonel Edward Seymour, Governor of
Dartmouth town and garrison,' was present, providing very minutely for
the defence of the town and for the supplies of the garrison. Stories of
the Parliamentary troops quartering themselves in churches are sometimes
told, with the unfair implication that they alone were guilty of such
desecration; for where need was urgent the Royalists took the same
course. Here we find orders: 'Captain Haughton ... with forty men shall
lie in Townstall church, for the fortifying thereof against the enemy,
and that the said captain, his officers and company, shall have their
victuals from Mount Boone.' Also that a 'month's provision of victuals
be laid into St Petrox church for five hundred men, and the said Major
Torner and his select officers shall be keepers thereof.' The Church of
St Clement at Townstall was fortified with ten cannon.
Fairfax attacked in the first days of January, 1646, in exceptionally
cold weather. Honourable conditions of surrender had been first offered
to the Governor, but were refused, and he prepared to fight to the end.
'In extreme bitter cold weather and snow' the Parliamentary forces moved
forward, and, after examining the town as closely as they could, decided
to take it by storm. Additional troops were ordered up to strengthen the
besiegers, and Sir Thomas Fairfax sent for a squadron to prevent any
help reaching the Royalists by sea. On Sunday evening 'the soldiers were
all drawn out; about seven at night forlorn hopes were set, the evening
very mild, as at midsummer, the frost being newly gone; the word was
given: _God with us_.... About 11 o'clock at night the storm began.'
Three separate attacks were made simultaneously on different parts of
the town, and though the besieged fought bravely, they fought in vain,
and by the next morning all but the Castle and the little fort above
were in the hands of the enemy. Sir Hugh Pollard, the Governor (Sir
Edward Seymour was at this time taking part in the defence of Exeter),
had been wounded the night before, and, realizing that his position was
hopeless, 'after some dispute, 'he surrendered on Fairfax's terms, and
yielded himself and his officers prisoners, the common soldiers being
set at liberty to repair to their dwellings.'
The fort above Kingswear, commanded by Sir Henry Cary, was protected by
strong bulwarks, and the defence being very well carried out, the
garrison obtained better terms. 'To save time,' writes Fairfax to the
House of Peers, 'I willingly condescended to let Sir Henry Cary march
away with the rest, leaving the arms, ordnance, ammunition, with all
provisions.'
This was all accomplished on the Monday, and on the evening following
the attack the Parliament was in full possession of the town.