The Three Towns
'Upon the British coast what ship yet ever came,
That not of Plymouth hears, where those brave navies lie,
From cannons thund'ring throats that all the world defy?
Which to invasive spoil, when th' English list to draw,
Have check'd Iberia's pride, and held her oft in awe:
Oft furnishing our dames with India's rar'st devices,
And lent us gold and pearl, rich silks and dainty spices.'
DRAYTON: _Poly-olbion_.
'Be patient, I beseech you, I am in a labyrinth, where I find many ways
to proceed, but not one to come forth.' Such is Westcote's plea while
attempting to describe Plymouth, and it may be echoed from the heart by
anyone who is in the same perplexing position. The words so exactly sum
up the difficulty. One is bewildered by the multitude of associations
thronging on every side in a town in which, unlike other West Country
ports, the pulse of life throbs as strongly as it did in the centuries
long gone by. 'The sea-front of Plymouth,' says Mr Norway, 'is the most
interesting spot within the British Empire, if not also the most
beautiful. It is a large claim, but who can deny it?'
No one who has not studied the history of the Three Towns can realize
how keenly Plymouth has been affected by every declaration of war or
peace that this country has known--at latest, since the reign of Edward
I--nor how vividly its victories and disasters have been brought home to
the people. The number of fleets that have returned to this port in
triumph, or sometimes in humiliation, and the succession of ever-famous
expeditions that have sailed from the Sound, must continually have
carried their thoughts across the seas, and prevented petty local
affairs from bounding their horizon. The old chronicles seem to show
that stirring events perpetually followed each other at short
intervals, and when no great expedition was occupying men's minds,
there were usually plenty of adventurous spirits to provide
excitement--privateers, such as those who took service with the Prince
of Conde, and searched the Channel for Roman Catholic ships, and others,
ready for 'semi-piratical ventures.' There were also moments when
Plymouth was the victim, and in dread watched for the Turkish and
Algerine pirates who were known to be hovering near, and were making
raids in the neighbourhood.
Plymouth seems to keep a peculiarly strong hold on the affections of her
sons, no matter how far or wide they wander, and it is said that the
city 'has given its name to more towns than any other town or city in
the world. There are seventeen Aberdeens outside Scotland. There are
twenty-nine Londons, but forty Plymouths.'
From the Hoe, one point after another that catches the eye suggests a
fresh train of ideas. To the east is Sutton Pool, with its coasting
vessels and fishing-boats; south, across the Cattewater, lies Mount
Batten, whose round tower recalls the long and resolute defence of the
town in the Civil War. Still farther south are the high grounds of
Plymstock and Bovisand, with their modern fortifications; to the north
stretches the town and far in the distance the heights of Dartmoor; and
to the south-west, over the Cornish border, lies beautiful Mount
Edgcumbe, which 'so affected the Duke of Medina-Sidonia' Fuller tells
us,'(though but beholding it at a distance from the Sea), that he
resolved it for his own possession in the partage of this kingdom (blame
him not if choosing best for himself), which they had preconquered in
their hopes and expectation.' Mr Norway sketches the view in rapid
touches: 'The Sound lies veiled in a thin blue mist, behind which a hot
sun beats, scattering it gradually with the aid of a stiff breeze off
the land. But it hangs around Mount Edgcumbe on the right, where the
grey towers of the mansion stand in shadow among dark woods, while on
the summit of the hill above the green fields catch the sunlight. A
little lower, Drake's Island lies impalpable and dim amid the mist which
sweeps so softly round the forts and the green grassy slopes as to touch
it all with mystery one moment, while the next it is bright again with
sunlight, sparkling amid the dazzling sea. Within the breakwater the sea
is alive with craft.'
The little island in the Sound has been transferred from patron to
patron. Originally called after St Michael, to whom its chapel was
dedicated, the name was changed to that of St Nicholas, the patron saint
of mariners, and eventually the island was renamed in honour of
Plymouth's greatest hero. The chapel had been destroyed before Drake's
day at the bidding of the Privy Council, and fortifications were
reluctantly built upon it by the Mayor and Corporation, the Council
'mervelinge of their unwillingnesse to proceede in the fortefynge of St
Michaell's Chapele to be made a Bulwarke.'
Plymouth is not rich in old buildings. The Citadel was rebuilt in the
reign of Charles II, and the new Guildhall is little over thirty years
old. St Andrew's, a large Perpendicular building with a fine tower, is
the only old church, but it stands on the site of a much older one--the
church of the Augustinians of Plympton Priory.
Really, neither Stonehouse nor Devonport has any history. In the reign
of Henry III, Stonehouse consisted of the dwelling of Joel de
Stonehouse, who at that time owned the manor, and it is only
comparatively lately, since it has been transformed into a huge naval
storehouse, and the great Marine Barracks have been built, that it has
become of importance.
Devonport, looking over the broad glittering waters of Hamoaze, was till
the year 1824 known only as Dock, or Plymouth Dock. Charles II planned a
dockyard here, but the work of making it was not begun until the reign
of William and Mary.
The very early history of Plymouth is not specially interesting to
anyone who cares over-much for sober fact; but looking at it in the
generous spirit of the ancient chroniclers, and not stickling over
probabilities, the story of the first great event in Plymouth is almost
as fine as the traditions of Totnes itself. Giants, we all know,
flourished in Cornwall, and soon after the arrival of the Trojans--about
1200 B.C.--they made a furious onslaught upon the invaders, but were
defeated after a desperate battle. The crowning struggle between
Goemagot (the name afterwards turned into Gogmagog), chief of the
giants, and Corinaeus the Trojan, took place in Plymouth Hoe, as
Drayton's vigorous lines declare:
'Upon that loftie place at Plimmouth called the Hoe,
Those mightie Wrastlers met, with many an irefull looke
Who threatned, as the one hold of the other tooke:
But, grappled, glowing fire shines in their sparkling eyes.
And whilst at length of arme one from the other lyes,
Their lusty sinewes swell like cables, as they strive:
Their feet such trampling make, as though they forc't to drive
A thunder out of earth; which staggered with the weight:
Thus, either sat most force urg'd to the greatest height.'
A memorial of this terrific conflict, 'the portraiture of two men of the
largest volume,' was cut in the turf on the Hoe at an early date, and
was only destroyed when the Citadel was built about 1671.
In the Domesday Book Plymouth appears as the Manor of Sutton, and this
was later on divided into three separate portions--Sutton Valletort or
Vautier, Sutton Prior, and Sutton Raf. The village of Sutton Valletort
was 'the germ of ancient Plymouth.' Sutton was given by Henry I to
Reginald de Valletort, who bestowed lavish gifts on the monastery at
Plympton; and as his example was followed by his successors, the title
of the second portion of the manor is easily accounted for. The whole
place was dominated by the Valletorts and the Priors, but the power of
the monks increased steadily, till, at an inquisition held in 1281, 'it
was presented that the Ville of Sutton belonged to the Prior of
Plympton, with assize of bread and beer, and this right was allowed.'
Sutton was now becoming a flourishing town, and some years later the
King made inquiries about his property in it, for the burgesses had
petitioned that some waste land might be granted them at a yearly rent.
To this 'the Prior and the Valletorts declared that the town was wholly
theirs, and none of the King's,' and the dispute was followed by a
series of efforts, on the part of the townspeople, to free themselves
from the rule of the Priors--efforts which succeeded each other, at no
long intervals, through the next hundred and twenty years.
As time went on, the Crown gradually granted rights to the burgesses,
and increased their responsibilities, till in 1439 an Act of Parliament
was passed incorporating the three Suttons as a free borough, with one
Mayor, and the manorial rights of the Priory were ceded to the Mayor and
Corporation, who paid to the Priory a fixed yearly sum in compensation.
The name Plymouth, which had been used in speaking of the port, was now
formally adopted for the whole town.
From the 'mene thing, as an inhabitation for Fischars,' that Leland says
it was in the reign of Henry II, the town grew rapidly, and before the
end of the thirteenth century it was represented in Parliament. In 1287,
for the first time on record, the splendid harbour was officially
recognized as a grand rendezvous, and three hundred and twenty-five
vessels gathered here before sailing for Guienne under the command of
the King's brother. Half a century later, orders were sent that men and
ships should be collected at Plymouth to escort Princess Johanna, the
King's daughter, to Gascony, and escorts for various Princes had to be
provided on several occasions. The Black Prince was kept by contrary
winds in the port for forty days, when he was on his way to France to
fight the 'glorious battell at Poictiers.' In the early part of the
fifteenth century Plymouth suffered severely from the attacks of the
French and Bretons, and in 1403 the Bretons, under the Sieur du Chastel,
burned six hundred houses in the part since called Briton Side. The name
became gradually transformed into 'Burton,' but the memory of the raid
survived so far, Mr Worth tells us, as to enable the boys who lived in
the Old Town to taunt the 'Burton boys' during the wars with France, by
reminding them of the harm that the French had done to their quarter.
On Freedom Day, a 'local Saturnalia kept as such from the earliest
times,' one of the features was the fighting between the Old Town and
Burton boys for a barrel of beer, provided by the Mayor. Long after this
custom had been dropped, the recollection of it was revived by the sign
of a public-house, the Burton Boys, though eventually the owner changed
the sign to that of the Black Lion, as he 'wished for some more
peaceful name'!
Plymouth does not seem to have been much affected by the Wars of the
Roses, but Henry VII, as Earl of Richmond, 'while he houered upon the
coast,' came ashore at Cawsand, and here 'by stealth refreshed himselfe;
but being advertised of streight watch, kept for his surprising at
Plymouth, he richly rewarded his hoste, hyed speedily a ship boord, and
escaped happily to a better fortune.'
The fisheries of the port are old and important. The earliest grant now
to be traced, made by Reginald de Valletort to Plympton Priory, was that
of all his fishing rights in Tamar and Lynher--a privilege which Mr
Worth thinks was probably bestowed 'not long after the manor passed into
the hands of the Valletort family.' In 1384 Parliament decreed that all
fish caught in the waters of Sutton, Plymouth, and Tamar should be
displayed for sale in Plymouth and Aish [Saltash] only, which sounds as
if Plymouth were already jealous of other fish-markets, as was certainly
the case later on. During parts of the sixteenth century the industry
flagged, and in Henry VIII's reign a royal proclamation ordered
abstinence from flesh on Saturdays as well as Fridays, with the frank
explanation that this was 'not only for health and discipline, but for
the benefit of the Commonwealth, and profit of the fishing trade.' In
Queen Elizabeth's reign matters were still worse, for the eating of fish
had now come to be a badge of religious opinions, and '"to detest fish"
in all shapes and forms had become a note of Protestantism.'
And not only had the demand for fish lessened, but the fisheries had
fallen into the hands of foreigners. The Yarmouth waters were 'occupied
by Flemings and Frenchmen,' 'the narrow seas by the French,' 'the
western fishing for hake and pilchard by a great navy of French within
kenning of the English shores,' and Scots and Spaniards fished other
parts of the coasts. Cecil, who was anxious for greater reasons, to find
'means to encourage mariners,' set to work to revive the English
fishing-trade, and with great difficulty succeeded in carrying a Bill
through the House of Commons, making 'the eating of flesh on Fridays
and Saturdays a misdemeanour, punishable by a fine of three pounds or
three months' imprisonment, and as if this was not enough, adding
Wednesday as a subsidiary half-fish day.'
About this time Plymouth tried to rid itself of at least one branch of
foreign competition by appealing to the Privy Council to forbid 'the
exportation of pilchards, save in ships of Devon and Cornwall, because
"divers ships and mariners lye idle without employment within our
harbour," while foreign ships were continually employed.' Pilchards were
a very important item, and many regulations were made in reference to
them. One order, dated 1565-66, gives a good example of Plymouth's views
of free trade. It ran: 'That no alien should lade or buy fresh pilchards
above the number of 1,000 in a day; no man ... being free to buy or sell
above 5,000, unless the fish "were in danger of perishing."' The
business of curing fish was a large one and very jealously guarded. At
the British Museum, among the Lansdowne manuscripts, is a letter to Lord
Burghley from Mr Richard Browne, showing that this subject was sometimes
the source of friction between the citizens themselves. It begins:
'My honorable good Lord, as I have ben always most bound vnto yor ho.,
so I humbly besech you to stand my good Lord.' The letter goes on to
explain that the writer had been granted a 'pattent for salting, drying,
and packing of fishe in the counties of Devon and Cornwall,' but letters
from the Privy Council had caused the 'staie thereof.' These letters
were apparently inspired by the complaint to the Council of 'marchants,'
who were injured because the terms of the 'pattent' laid down 'that the
inhabitants should be servid before the marchents, paying nothing unto
me for it,' as he adds in a slightly aggrieved manner. The writer begs
that these terms may be altered, and the only conditions should be those
affecting such fish 'as shuld be transported in consyderacon of the
Quene's Majesty's right.' For, he pathetically remarks, he has paid 'a
great some of money' for his privileges, and still 'am bound to pay the
rent into the exchequer,' although not allowed to reap the benefit
therefrom. Besides, great inconvenience is caused by the suspension of
his business, and letters of complaint have been addressed to him from
Devonshire and Cornwall desiring 'y^t he pforme his offer y^t they may
have fishe for their owne provesion frely.'
It was the outburst of ventures of every description, with all their
different aims--ventures of soldiers, explorers, privateers, and
merchants--in the reign of Queen Elizabeth that brought Plymouth to its
greatest glory. In the interval between William Hawkins' first voyage to
the South Seas--about 1528--and 1601, when Captain William Parker sailed
to Panama and took Porto Bello, Plymouth was the starting-point of forty
voyages, every one of which is historical. Mr Worth gives the exact date
of each, and the names of the commanders. 'Here,' says Carew, 'mostly
have the troops of adventurers made their _Rendezvous_ for attempting
new discoueries or inhabitances.' And Westcote, in the reign of James I,
writes: 'Whatever show it makes in description, it is far larger in
fame, and known to the farthest and most remote parts of the world.' In
Camden's opinion, this great reputation was won 'less by the convenience
of the harbour, as for the valour and worth of the Inhabitants,' and the
worthies of Plymouth are indeed beyond number. Among the comparatively
few whose names have not been lost, there stands out conspicuously Sir
William Wilford, who after a French invasion returned the charge by
swooping down on Brittany, where he 'made them to pay, besides _costs_
and _charges_, more than sixfold _damages_.' And Captain Cocke, a 'Cock
of the Game indeed,' according to Fuller; 'A Volanteer in his own ship,'
he went out against the Armada, and 'lost his life to save his Queen and
Countrey.' Then there is Cockrem, who sailed with William Hawkins, and
was left alone among the Brazilians as a hostage for one of the 'Savage
Kings' Hawkins brought back with him--but, as Mr Norway says, 'Plymouth
has too many heroes; in the crowd the faces of all but one or two are
blurred.'
For three generations the Hawkinses were 'the master spirits' of
Plymouth, and of them all Sir John Hawkins was the most famous. His
character was a curious medley of incongruous features, bluff
straightforwardness and crooked diplomacy, faithful affection--such as
his bold schemes to help his captured comrades proved--balanced by a
hard indifference that ignored the misery of the wretched negroes he
sold to West Indian planters. Pluck and daring were the only qualities
he showed consistently from first to last. His zeal in slave-hunting,
repulsive to us, is excused by Froude on the ground that 'negro slavery
in theory was an invention of philanthropy.' Labourers were a necessity
for the Spanish colonist, 'the proud and melancholy Indian pined like an
eagle in captivity, refused to accept his servitude, and died; the more
tractable negro would domesticate like the horse or the ass.' Though
Hawkins met with much good as well as bad luck, he was one of those who
have need to remember that fate does not shower favours on all men, but
'if a man look sharply and attentively, he shall see Fortune; for though
she be blind, yet she is not invisible,' and his success was to a very
great extent due to his stout heart and quick discernment. These
qualities stood him in good stead at San Juan de Ulloa, when his few
ships were overwhelmed by a much larger fleet. 'The name of Hawkins was
so terrible that the Spaniards dared not give him warning that he was to
be attacked;' but mounted their batteries in the dark, and from land and
sea 'every gun which could be brought to bear' opened upon the
unprepared English. After sinking two Spanish ships and setting a third
on fire, Hawkins saw that flight was their only chance, and, gathering
his men together in two small tenders, he 'crawled out under the fire of
the mole and gained the open sea.' The position of affairs was
dispiriting in the extreme. Many men and three good ships were lost,
besides treasure worth more than a million pounds, that had been won, by
running innumerable dangers, during the past year. His ships were
overcrowded, the store of food and water was scanty, and no harbour west
of the Atlantic was open to them. Under the weight of adversity, Hawkins
offered 'a lesson for all time on the use of bravado, the crowning grace
of every leader who does not seek it at the cost of better things.'
'When the _Minion_ stood off,' says Hortop, who wrote the tale on his
return to England, 'our generall courageously cheered up his soldiers
and gunners, and called to Samuel his page for a cup of beer, who
brought it to him in a silver cup. And he, drinking to all the men,
willed the gunners to stand to their ordnance lustily like men. He had
no sooner set the cup out of his hand, but a demi-culverin shot struck
away the cup and a cooper's plane that stood by the mainmast and ran out
on the other side of the ship, which nothing dismayed our generall, for
he ceased not to encourage us, saying, "Fear nothing: for God who hath
preserved me from this shot will also deliver us from these traitors and
villains."'
Hawkins is chiefly known by his voyages and enterprises, and all that he
did for his country by monotonous hard work is not so often remembered.
For twenty-one years he 'toiled terribly' as Treasurer of the Queen's
Marine Causes and Comptroller of the Navy, and when the ships were sent
out to meet the Armada they were 'in such condition, hull, rigging,
spars, and running rope, that they had no match in the world either for
speed, safety, or endurance.'
There is no space here to speak of Sir John's father, 'the pioneer of
English adventure in the South Seas,' who made three famous voyages to
Brazil, and laid a good foundation for future traffic in that he
'behaved wisely' to the natives; nor to do more than glance at the
ventures of Sir John's son, Sir Richard Hawkins, the 'Complete Seaman,'
whose 'high-spirited actions, had they been all duly recorded (as pity
it is, they were not),' says Prince, 'would have made a large volume in
themselves.' Sir Richard rediscovered the Falkland Isles, and passed the
Straits of Magellan. His fleet was reduced to a single vessel, and he
had taken five richly laden ships, when 'the King of Spain's vice-roy in
those parts' sent 'eight ships to intercept him. Sir Richard Hawkins
held the fight for three days, with but three score and fifteen men and
boys, against thirteen hundred of the enemy, and those the choice of
Peru.' In the end, being 'dangerously wounded in six several places,'
and with many of his crew killed or wounded, he was forced to surrender
upon 'honourable articles of life and liberty,' which, however, were not
observed, and he was sent to Spain, where for long years he remained a
prisoner. Sir Richard left an account of his 'Voyage to the South
Sea'--a 'record of misfortune, but of misfortune which did no dishonour
to him who sank under it; and there is a melancholy dignity in the style
in which Hawkins tells his story, which seems to say that ... he
respects himself still for the heart with which he endured a shame which
would have broken a smaller man.' A second William Hawkins, Sir John's
brother, commanded a Huguenot vessel under the commission of the Prince
of Conde; and yet another William of a younger generation went as
ambassador of the East India Company to the Great Mogul, and succeeded
in setting up a trading station at Surat.
Every Plymouth hero, however, is eclipsed by Sir Francis Drake, who is
always counted their chief, though he was born near Tavistock. 'Could my
pen as ably describe his worth as my heart prompteth to it, I would make
this day-star appear at noon-day as doth the full moon at midnight,' is
Risdon's ecstatic exclamation.
When all his grand qualities and successes have been contemplated, it is
still rather surprising to find the extraordinary impression he created
in that epoch of heroic enterprise. The stories of magic that have
clustered round his name witness to his wonderful personality, for
naturally they are much more significant than those that have been woven
around the older heroes of a more superstitious, less civilized age.
These legends must have been handed down to generation after generation,
for, writing about 1835, Mrs Bray mentions that the peasantry near
Tavistock still talked of the 'old warrior,' as they called him. To
choose one or two at random, there is the story that once, after he had
been away for a very long time, his wife supposed him to be dead, and
thought that she was free to marry again. A spirit whispered the news to
Sir Francis, who was at the Antipodes. At once he fired a great
cannon-ball, 'so truly aimed that it shot up right through the globe,
forced its way into the church, and fell with a loud explosion between
the lady and her intended bridegroom. "It is the signal of Drake!" she
exclaimed. "He is alive, and I am still a wife. There must be neither
troth nor ring between thee and me."' Another story tells that after he
had finished the ever-famous game of bowls on Plymouth Hoe, which was
interrupted by tidings of the Armada, Sir Francis cut up a block of
wood, and flung the chips into the sea, when every ship became a
fire-ship, and the enemy's fleet was really destroyed because of the
'irresistable strength of those vessels that he had called up to "flame
amazement" on the foes of Elizabeth and of England.'
When the citizens of Plymouth wanted a more abundant supply of water,
they appealed to Drake, and he was ready to help them. 'So he called for
his horse, mounted, rode to Dartmoor, and hunted about till he found a
very fine spring. Having fixed on one that would suit his purpose, he
gave a smart lash to his horse's side, pronouncing as he did so some
magical words, when off went the animal as fast as he could gallop, and
the stream followed his heels all the way into the town.' It is not
possible here to pick more legends from the group, excepting one which
was certainly told among the people a few years ago. Drake promised,
they said, that if ever the country were hard pressed by any foe, and
his countrymen should call him by striking his drum, he would hear them,
and come back and scatter the enemy.
Of Drake it has been said that 'his Puritanism went hand-in-hand with
his love of adventure. 'To sell negroes to the planters, to kill
Spaniards, to sack gold-ships, was in the young seaman's mind the work
of "the elect of God"'--a belief that no doubt partly explains how the
most desperate circumstances seemed unable to teach him the meaning of
fear. It is easy to understand how a leader who combined such glorious
courage with great unselfishness could take his men anywhere. On
arriving off the coast, on his first independent voyage to America, he
found this encouraging greeting--'a plate of lead, fastened to a very
great tree,' engraved with a message which began:
'CAPTAIN DRAKE,
'If you fortune to come into this port, make haste away, for the
Spaniards which you had with you here last year have betrayed this
place.'
The message was signed by Captain Garret of Plymouth. Quite undismayed
by the warning, Drake led his company to Nombre de Dios, which they
successfully attacked. Here he received a dangerous wound; though he
valiantly concealed it a long time, knowing if the general's heart
stoops, the men's will fall, and that if so bright an opportunity once
setteth, it seldom riseth again.' And he went forward till 'at the
public treasury they had discovered ... bars of silver, piled up against
the wall, seventy foot in length, ten in breadth, and twelve in height
... withal telling them, "That he had brought them to the mouth of the
treasury of the world."' But before much could be done his strength
failed and he fainted, when his followers became aware of the wound that
he had not mentioned, but from which he was losing 'so much blood as
filled his very footsteps in the sands.' They were at once anxious to
take him back to his ship; Drake, on recovering consciousness, being the
only man who wished them to persevere in their search for gold and
jewels. But his men 'added force to their entreaties, and so carried him
to his pinnace.'
As soon as he was able, Drake started on fresh enterprises with varying
success, and after several months had passed on returning laden with
treasure to the point on the coast at which he expected to meet his
pinnaces, to his great dismay he found none, but saw seven Spanish ships
lying in the distance. The company instantly fell into despair,
convinced that their pinnaces had been taken and the crews tortured, and
that they themselves were left alone in the midst of the enemy's
country, from which they could not escape. Drake's self-possession alone
was unshaken, and, after casting about for some way of reaching safety,
he noticed trees floating slowly down the river. With 'the most
confident and cheerful expression, he asked: "Who would accompany him to
sea on the raft he was about to form with those timbers?"' A sail was
'made of a bisket-sack,' and with 'an oar shaped out of a young tree for
a rudder,' they set out to sea, in danger of being swamped by every
wave, and often waist-deep in water. After about six hours of extreme
peril they sighted the pinnaces, and in the end Drake succeeded in
reaching them, and was able to carry away the rest of his company and
the treasure.
An incident that happened when Drake was taking leave of some friendly
negroes showed his generous disposition. 'Pedro, ... an eminent person
among the Symerons, and one who had been greatly serviceable to Captain
Drake, had a great mind to a rich cymeter the captain had, but was
unwilling to ask it, lest he should prize it also: which known, the
captain freely presented it to him. Who being willing to make a grateful
return, desired him to accept of four wedges of gold, as a pledge of his
thanks: whose importunity not being able to avoid, Captain Drake
received them courteously, but threw them into the common stock, saying,
"That it was just that those who bore part of the charge with him, in
setting him to sea, should likewise enjoy their full proportion of the
advantage at his return."'
All Drake's voyages and adventures, however, did not prevent him from
keeping in touch with Plymouth and local interests. In 1581 he was
Mayor; for four years he represented the borough in Parliament, and he
certainly did bring the citizens water from Dartmoor, though at greater
pains than in the fashion described in the legend. In memory of this
great service there is still an annual ceremony called the Fishing
Feast. The Mayor and Corporation inspect the leat by which the water is
brought to Plymouth, attended by a huge crowd of spectators, and
afterwards two toasts are drunk--one in water, to 'The pious memory of
Sir Francis Drake,' and the other in wine--'May the descendants of him
who brought us water never want wine.'
Plymouth townsfolk had every reason to be glad when the _Pelican_ sailed
into the harbour after her voyage round the world, for it was not only a
national hero, but their own particular countryman and good friend, that
they hurried out to welcome.
Amongst 'Commendations by Principal Persons friendly to the Author or
the Work' which preface a book written by Sir Humphrey Gilbert, are some
lines by Sir Francis which are very expressive of the views that seem to
have guided his life. The book, whose aim must have been to encourage
the idea of settling in the new colony, is called 'A true Report of the
late Discoveries and Possession taken in the Right of the Crowne of
Englande, of the _New found_ Landes.' I do not quote the whole poem:
'Who seekes by gaine and wealth to advance his house and blood,
Whose care is great, whose toile no less, whose hope is all for good,
If anie one there bee that covettes such a trade,
Lo heere the plot for commonwealth, and private gaine is made.
'He that for vertue's sake will venture farre and neere,
Whose zeale is strong, whose practize trueth, whose faith is void of
feare,
If any such there bee, inflamed with holie care,
'Heere may hee finde a readie meane his purpose to declare,
So that for each degree this Treatise dooth unfolde
The path to fame, the proofe of zeale, and way to purchase golde.'
Drake's audacity was never more amazing than in the expedition of 1587,
when he sailed along the Spanish and Portuguese coast, plundering and
burning the ships in their own harbours. His fearlessness filled the
Spaniards with a very generous admiration. 'So praised was Drake for his
valour of them, that were it not that he was a Lutheran, they said,
there was not the like man in the world.' Once, when the King invited a
lady of the Court to go in his barge on a lake near Madrid, 'the lady
said she dared not trust herself in the water even with his Majesty,
lest Sir Francis Drake should have her.' His name passed even into
nursery songs, and one of them has been translated as follows:
'My brother Don John
To England is gone,
To kill the Drake,
And the Queen to take,
And the heretics all to destroy;
And he will give me,
When he comes back,
A Lutheran boy,
With a chain on his neck,
And our Lady Grandmama shall have
To wait upon her a Lutheran slave.'
It was about sixteen months later that Drake, amongst the band of famous
captains gathered at Plymouth, watched the long-awaited Armada sailing
in a great crescent up the Channel. The English popular view of the
invasion is, perhaps, reflected in a ballad which was written soon after
the event. It is called 'Sir Francis Drake; or, Eighty-eight.'
'In eyghtye-eyght, ere I was borne,
As I can well remember,
In August was a fleet prepared,
The moneth before September.
'Spayne, with Biscayne, Portugall,
Toledo, and Granado,
All these did meet, and made a fleet,
And called it the Armado.
'When they had gott provision,
As mustard, pease, and bacon;
Some say two shipps were full of whipps,
But I thinke they were mistaken.
'There was a little man of Spaine
That shott well in a gunn-a--
Don Pedro bright, as good a knight
As the knight of the sunn-a.
'King Phillip made him Admiral,
And charged him not to stay-a--
But to destroy both man and boy,
And then to runn away-a.
'The King of Spayne did freet amayne,
And to doe yet more harme-a,
He sent along to make him strong
The famous Prince of Parma.
When they had sayl'd along the seas,
And anchored uppon Dover,
Our Englishmen did board them then,
And cast the Spaniards over.
'Oure Queene was then att Tilbury;
What could you more desire-a?
For whose sweete sake Sir Francis Drake
Did sett them all on fyre-a.
'But let them look about themselfes;
For if they come again-a.
They shall be served with that same sauce
As they were, I know when-a.'
In 1595 Sir Francis and Sir John Hawkins started on that ill-starred
expedition to the West Indies, from which neither returned. Sir Francis
died, and was buried at sea.
'The waves became his winding-sheet, the waters were his tomb;
But, for his fame, the ocean sea was not sufficient room.'
The translation of what Prince calls an 'ingenuous epigram' written in
Latin is beneath his portrait in the Guildhall:
'Sir Drake, whom well the world's end knew,
Which thou didst compasse round,
And whom both poles of Heaven one saw,
Which North and South doe bound:
The starrs above will make thee known,
If men here silent were;
The Sunn himself cannot forget
His fellow Traveller.'
In 1606 the Plymouth Trading Company was granted its charter. The
Company was formed with the aim of planting colonies in America but it
was not a great success, and the extortionate claims of the members to a
monopoly of very important privileges brought them into violent
collision with the more flourishing Massachusetts Company, as well as
with owners of certain fishing-vessels, whom they called 'interlopers.'
The company was eventually dissolved in 1635.
In 1620 there came into Plymouth Harbour that little band of Puritans
known to posterity as the Pilgrim Fathers. For the sake of liberty of
conscience they had been living for some years at Leyden, and they had
now resolved to take up a new life in America. The start was not
auspicious, for after leaving Southampton they were forced to put into
Dartmouth for repairs, and were afterwards obliged to stop at Plymouth,
where the _Speedwell_ was declared to be unseaworthy. Serious
alterations of their plans had to be made, but at last, 'all troubles
being blown over,' the travellers were 'compacted together in the one
ship,' and on September 6, 1620, 'thirteen years after the first
colonization of Virginia, two months before the concession of the grand
charter of Plymouth, without any warrant from the sovereign of England,
without any useful charter from a corporate body, the passengers in the
_Mayflower_ set sail for a New World.'
King Charles and Queen Henrietta Maria paid a visit to the town, to
speed a fleet sent, with disastrous results, against Spain. The
expedition was in a miserable plight to begin with. For some while
before it was able to leave the country, a hungry penniless army had
been thrown upon the citizens of Plymouth. An enormous debt had been
created in equipping it, and the soldiers' allowances were hopelessly
inadequate to provide them with a proper supply of food or clothes. 'A
more ragged, ribald, and rebellious herde never gathered on the eve of
an important expedition. Mutiny was common in the town, and the
ringleaders were tried at Drum-head, and shot in the nearest open
space.... Incensed at the disregard of their appeals, the publicans
thrust the soldiers to doors; and the outcasts, turning highwaymen,
stole cattle and sheep with impunity, slew the animals, and cooked the
joints "in the open eye of the world," and sullenly vowed that they
would have "meat rather than famish." The fleet returned some weeks
later in shame and disgrace, and the state of the men was even more
miserable than when they started, for now the plague was raging amongst
them. 'There was neither "meat nor drink available"; such provisions as
had been doled out were often unfit for food, and "men die after eating
them."' Pennington, the Vice-Admiral at Plymouth, sent petition after
petition to the authorities for necessary supplies. 'Send the money, or
it will break my heart, for I am so followed about and called upon that
I know not what to do.' The misery was long drawn out, for when the
plague was at an end, and townspeople were able to return to their
homes, there was but a short respite before they were again overwhelmed
by a great number of undisciplined soldiers, and 'no means of housing,
feeding, or clothing them.' Naturally, they helped themselves at the
expense of the citizens. 'Haunted by the cries of my soldiers,' Sir
Ferdinando Gorges, the Governor, was reduced to distributing among them
a cargo of oil that had been captured, with the assertion that it was
'as healthy as butter.'
'Most despair here,' wrote Lord Holland briefly, and 'the distress was
so acute that the Mayor raised the standard of revolt. The losses of the
town had been calamitous--first at the hands of pirates, next by
collapse of trade, and finally by the billeting.'
No doubt Plymouth's consistent hostility to the King's party throughout
the war is in part explained by the results of this wretched state of
affairs, and by the persecution of their Vice-Admiral, the heroic member
for St Germans, Sir John Eliot.
As soon as the war broke out, Plymouth's sympathies were plainly shown,
and before long Sir Ralph Hopton made an attack on the town. On December
1, 1642, Royalists and Parliamentarians 'stood upon the Lary for the
space of three hours' facing one another, but each too cautious to make
the first move and leave a point of vantage. The siege was seriously
undertaken three months later, when Hopton concentrated all his forces
upon the town. As Plymouth could always be supplied by sea, there was no
chance of its being starved into submission, and already it was gravely
doubted whether the town would ever be taken. By the beginning of July
nearly all the Royalist forces had been drawn off, and Plymouth set to
work with great energy to strengthen the defences by building a new
wall. Tradition says that even women and children took a share in the
work. In August an attack was made by Colonel Digby, but the town was at
this time threatened by a greater danger--the treachery of Sir Alexander
Carew, commander of the Fort and of Drake's Island. 'He was proved an
Apostate,' says a contemporary account, 'and went about to betray that
island and the town of Plymouth into the hands of Cornish cavaliers, but
was prevented by the fidelity of his honest soldiers.' Sir Alexander was
arrested by order of the Mayor, and sent to London, where eventually he
was beheaded.
Prince Maurice marched on the town after he had taken Dartmouth, and
there followed three weeks of assaults and skirmishes, much hard
fighting, and many desperate struggles. In the end the besiegers
succeeded in capturing Mount Stamford, a fort on the south of the
Cattewater, 'the first and only advantage gained by the Royalists during
the protracted and often revived siege.' An invitation to surrender on
lenient conditions made the townspeople waver, but the Governor,
Colonel Wardlaw, stood firm. All were ordered to take a solemn vow and
covenant, which pledged each one to take part in the defence 'to the
utmost of my power.' And the town, hitherto 'divided and heartless in
its defence, now grew to be united.'
On Sunday, December 3, there fell the Sabbath-day Fight, and the most
critical moments of the siege. Prince Maurice and 'all the gallantry of
his army' threw their whole force against the garrison, who advanced to
meet them. 'The Roundheads were outnumbered ten to one, and driven back
in absolute rout for the space of three fields.' Joined by a small
number of reinforcements, they rallied after an interval, and charged
the enemy, who yielded. The garrison pressed their advantage. 'The
retreat, followed up, became a rout,' and the acutest danger was past.
Not long afterwards the siege was raised for a time. The poor people had
suffered much from the scarcity of food, though once they had been
cheered by a wonderful supply. 'There came an infinite number of
pilchards into the harbour within the Barbican, which the people took up
with great ease in baskets, which did not only refresh them for the
present, but a great deal more were taken, preserved and salted, whereby
the poor got much money.' It was not only by endurance that the women
had shown their courage, for in the midst of some of the engagements
they had brought out provisions 'for the refreshing of our soldiers,
though many women were shot through the clothes.'
Assaults, occasional sorties, and intervals of comparative peace
followed one another till, in September 1644, the King appeared in
person before the town, and tried first by force of arms and then by
offering very indulgent terms to bring about its surrender. The answer
to the King was not sent till the day after his summons had been
received, but 'if not speedy, it was decided--"Never."' A second futile
assault was made by the Royalists, and then the King and Prince Maurice
with their troops, turned their backs on Plymouth. For four months
longer the blockade was continued, and at the end of that time Sir
Richard Grenville made a very determined effort, attacking at four
points simultaneously. A desperate struggle ensued in which he gained
nothing and lost three hundred men killed, and many hundreds wounded.
Another twelve months passed without any serious attempt to storm the
town, and in January, 1646, on Fairfax's advance upon Dartmouth the
siege was finally raised, the Royalists marching away in such haste that
guns, arms, and ammunition were left behind.
Charles II paid several visits to the town, and on one occasion he
attended the service at St Andrew's Church where a state canopy and
throne had been prepared for him and where sufferers were brought to him
to be 'touched for the king's evil.' A ridiculous incident marked
another visit. The Mayor, rather agitated by the honour of entertaining
the King, and anxious to find the best means of giving him pleasure, had
the happy inspiration of inviting His Majesty to look at the outworks
that had protected Plymouth 'in the time of the late war.' The King's
reply was 'on a sudden' to walk to the landing-steps, get into his
pinnace, and start for Mount Edgcumbe. The Mayor in great dismay,
followed by the Aldermen, who had come in their robes in state to attend
on the King, hurried down to the water's edge and taking possession of a
wherry, they started off as fast as they could in pursuit. It is
satisfactory to know that by the time they succeeded in catching up the
King he had quite recovered his usual good-humour.
Plymouth was to some degree affected by the Revocation of the Edict of
Nantes, for it had always been a refuge for the Huguenots--the
Rochellers, as they are often called in sixteenth-century
chronicles--and now many of them fled to this shelter. The first party
of about fifty people crossed the Channel in an open boat, and their
flight was followed by a great number of refugees. These settled in the
town, and many of their descendants married English people, and the
little colony became absorbed into the general population. A curious
glimpse of the original refugees is given in a letter written in 1762 by
Mr Pentecost Barker, of Plymouth, to the Rev. Samuel Merivale. He says:
'Those, of whom I remember many scores, who came from France in 1685-6,
etc., are mostly dead, and their offspring are more English than French,
and will go to the English Church, though some few may come to us. What
an alteration Time makes! There was ... a French Calvinist Church and a
Church of England French Church here, besides a Church at Stonehouse.
Many women in wooden shoes--very poor, but very industrious--living on
limpets, snails, garlick, and mushrooms.'
In the latter half of the eighteenth century Plymouth vibrated with the
excitement of fights and victories at sea, several engagements being
fought at a short distance off the coast. Many prizes and some of our
own disabled ships were brought into the harbour, 'dismasted and riddled
French battleships,' sometimes even with 'their decks blackened with
powder and coursed by the blood of the victims.' Unless the local annals
are closely studied, it is almost impossible to realize the rapid
succession of these events, and the effect they must have produced on
the townspeople. A sarcastic picture has been drawn of a student
attempting to work in the midst of the bursts of enthusiasm that
perpetually thrilled the town. He is first interrupted by 'a shout in
the street, and the servant rushed in to announce that the enemy had
landed,' and the Volunteers were going out to meet them. The student,
having disposed of this report, settles to work again, when 'the strains
of a soul-stirring march, with abundant drum, were borne on the air, and
the servant again bounded into the room to proclaim the return of
the--th Regiment, "with only 200 returned out of 600, sir, colours shot
through and through, poor fellows, all looking terribly tanned--here
they are, sir, just passing the door." The pageant is witnessed by the
student, and as the tumult subsides he resumes his scholarly pursuits.
Soon a great gun shakes every window in the house. "What can this mean?"
Enter Sam once more. "I beg your pardon, sir, but they say a
man-of-war's in the Sound, bringing in two ships of the line, French
prizes. All the people are running to the Hoe, sir; I hope you'll let me
go." Down goes the book once more, and the student is as mad as his
neighbours as the victorious ship and her prizes, with the Jack flying
triumphantly over the tricoloured flag, sails majestically into the
harbour amid deafening cheers.... Such was the average Plymouth day.'
Several times the town was threatened by a French invasion and badly
scared, but the greatest fear was felt in 1779, when for four days the
united French and Spanish fleets lay off the Sound. Plymouth had every
reason to be afraid; for, had the enemy but known it, there were at that
moment but two small armed vessels to defend the harbour. Crowds of
women and children left the town in haste and confusion, thousands of
country-people tramped to the coast to have a look at the enemy. A few
private persons made single-handed efforts to strengthen the defences,
and a little later 'the bustle was again revived by the hourly arrival
of troops, baggage, waggons, and powder.'
It is said that in Totnes the saying, 'Going to Paignton to meet the
French,' is still a synonym for meeting trouble halfway. Amongst endless
stories of fears and flights, there is one of delightful
imperturbability:
'One old sailor ... had his wits about him, when his daughter shook him
out of a deep sleep with the news that the French had landed. Rubbing
his eyes, he told her to go and look at the weathercock. She came back,
saying the wind was from the north. "I thought so," said he, "and so it
was yesterday. The French can't land with this wind." And so the ancient
mariner turned round and went to sleep again.'
Alarms, suspense, and occasional ecstasies of triumph followed one
another till the final defeat of Napoleon. For several days the
_Bellerophon_ actually lay in Plymouth Harbour, to the intense
excitement of the townspeople, who circled round the ship as closely as
might be in the hope of catching a glimpse of the captive Emperor.
To the north-east of Plymouth lies Saltram, the great house and wide,
beautiful grounds that belong to Lord Morley. Saltram is in the parish
of Plympton St Mary, once celebrated for the large and important Priory
which for some time governed the affairs of Plymouth. Plympton St Mary
is neighbour to the parish of Plympton St Maurice and the little town
of Plympton Erle. On the north of the town are the ruins of the Norman
castle built chiefly by Richard de Redvers, and razed to the ground in
the reign of Stephen. It was rebuilt not long afterwards. A fragment of
a small keep is all that remains of the stonework, but the Normans'
castle was raised upon a fort that was standing when they arrived, and
'the earthworks of the conquered are more enduring than the stone
defences of the conqueror.' The mound on which the keep stands, and the
banks that enclose a base-court about seven hundred and ten feet long
and three hundred and eighty feet wide, have been little harmed or
altered and are still in a very perfect condition; but the moat that
once surrounded them has been partly filled in.
The father of Sir Joshua Reynolds was master of the Grammar School of
Plympton Erle, and here the great painter was born. In the crowded days
of his middle life he gave a proof of his interest in his native town by
being its Mayor, and on his election presented the town with his own
portrait painted by himself. The picture was hung in the Guildhall, and
Sir Joshua asked the Recorder of the borough to see that it was hung in
a good position. In his reply the Recorder paid a compliment whose full
meaning he did not grasp. He explained that 'he had seen to this, and
the portrait hung between old pictures of Ourry and Edgecumbe which
serve as foils, and set it off to great advantage. This letter greatly
amused Sir Joshua, who knew that these old pictures were early works of
his own.'