Whitby's Attractions--The Pier--The River-Mouth--The Museum--
Saurians and Ammonites--An enthusiastic Botanist--Jet in the
Cliffs, and in the Workshop--Jet Carvers and Polishers--Jet
Ornaments--The Quakers' Meeting--A Mechanics' Institute--
Memorable Names--A Mooky Miner--Trip to Grosmont--The Basaltic
Dike--Quarries and Ironstone--Thrifty Cottagers--Abbeys and
Hovels--A Stingy Landlord--Egton Bridge--Eskdale Woods--The
Beggar's Bridge.
Whitby, and not Scarborough, would be my choice had I to sojourn for a
few weeks on the Yorkshire coast. What it lacks of the style and show
which characterize its aristocratic neighbour, is more than made up by
its situation on a river and the beauty of its neighbourhood; and I
regretted not having time to stay more than one day in a place that
offers so many attractions. Woods and waterfalls beautify and enliven
the landscape; shady dells and rocky glens lie within an easy walk, and
the trip by rail to Pickering abounds with "contentive variety." And for
contrast there is always the wild Black-a-moor a few miles inland; and
beyond that again the pleasant hills and vales of Cleveland.
And few towns can boast so agreeable a promenade as that from the
bridge, along the spacious quay, and out to the pier-head, a distance of
nearly half a mile. Thence can be seen all the life and movement on the
river, all the picturesque features of the heights on each side crowded
with houses, and to seaward the foaming crests of waves chasing one
another towards the land. You can see how, after rolling and plunging on
the rocky bar, they rush up the stream with a mighty swell even to the
bridge. In blowing weather their violence is such that vessels cannot
lie safely in the lower harbour, and must shift to the upper moorings
above the bridge. On the pier-head stands a lighthouse, built in the
form of a fluted Doric column, crowned by a gallery and lantern; and
here, leaning on the encircling parapet, you can admire the solid
masonry, or watch the furious breakers, while inhaling the medicinal
breath of the sea. The pier on the opposite side is more exposed,
serving the purpose of a breakwater; and at times clouds of spray leap
high from its outer wall, and glisten for an instant with rainbow hues
in the sunshine.
It surprises a stranger on first arrival to hear what seems to him the
south bank of the river spoken of as the east bank, and the north bank
as the west; and it is only by taking into account the trend of the
coast, and the direction of the river's course, that the cardinal points
are discovered to be really in their true position, and you cease to
look for sunrise in the west.
One of the buildings at the rear of the quay contains the Baths, and on
the upper floor the Museum, and a good Subscription Library. The Museum,
which belongs to the Literary and Philosophical Society, dates from
1823, a time when Whitby, with the sea on one side and wild tracts of
moorlands on the other, was in a manner shut out from the rest of the
world, and compelled to rely on its own resources. Not till 1759 was any
proper road made to connect it with neighbouring towns. Warm hospitality
was thereby nourished, and, as regards science, the result is highly
meritorious. To say nothing of the collections which represent
antiquity, ethnology, natural history, and mineralogy, the fossil
specimens are especially worth attention. Side by side with a section of
the strata of the coast from Bridlington to Redcar is a collection of
the fossils therein contained; among which those of the immediate
neighbourhood, such as may be called Whitby fossils, occupy the chief
place, all classed and labelled in a way that shows how much may be done
with small means when the curator is in earnest. There are saurians in
good preservation, one of which was presented to the Museum for 150_l._,
by the nobleman on whose estate it was found embedded in lias. The
number of ammonites of all sizes is surprising. These are the headless
snakes of St. Hilda's nuns, and the "strange frolicks of Nature," of
philosophers in later days, who held that she formed them "for diversion
after a toilsome application to serious business." Perhaps it is to some
superstitious notion connected with the snake-stones that the town owes
the three ammonites in its coat of arms. In all, the fossil specimens in
the Museum now amount to nearly nine thousand.
I had the advantage of explanations from Mr. Simpson, the curator,
during my visit, and afterwards of accompanying him and some of his
friends on a walk. One of the party, a botanist, was the first to
discover the _Epilobium alpinum_ (alpine willow herb) in England, while
walking one day on the hills near Whitby. No sooner did he set eyes on
it, than, as his companions said, they thought he had taken leave of his
senses, for he leaped, shouted, danced, sang, and threw his hat up in
the air, and made other enthusiastic demonstrations around the plant,
which, up to that time, was believed not to exist south of the Tweed. I
asked him if he would have exchanged his emotions for California.
"No," he answered, "that I wouldn't! At all events, not for the first
three minutes."
Besides its traffic in ship-building, alum, and stone, Whitby has a
trade in works of art which makes at least its name known to fashionable
society; and for this, as for its fossils, it depends on the
neighbouring cliffs. For many miles along the shore, and at places
inland, jet is found embedded with other formations. Drayton makes
mention of it:
"The rocks by Moulgrave too, my glories forth to set,
Out of their crany'd cleves can give you perfect jet."
And the shaping of this remarkable substance into articles for ornament
and use gives employment to five hundred men, women, and children in
Whitby. I was favoured with a sight of Mr. Greenbury's manufactory, and
saw the processes from beginning to end. There is nothing mysterious
about them. The pattern of the desired object, a scroll, leaf, flower,
or whatever else, is scratched with a steel point on a piece of jet sawn
to the required dimensions; the workman then with a knife cuts away the
waste portions, brings out the rude form, and by using various knives
and chisels, according to the delicacy of the design, he in no long time
has the article ready for the polisher. The work looks very easy, as you
watch the men cutting, apparently with less concern than some folk
bestow on the whittling of a stick, and making the chips fly in little
heaps. The nature of the jet favours rapidity of hand. It has somewhat
the appearance of compressed pitch, and when under the knife sends off a
shower of chips and splinters as hard pitch does. Some specimens have
been found with fossils so embedded therein, as to confirm the opinion
of those who hold jet to be a species of petroleum, contrary to the
common belief that it is wood partly converted into coal.
After the knives, the grindstones come into play, to work up and smooth
all the accessible surfaces; and next swift-whirling wheels encircled
with list, which give the polish. The deep incisions and hollows which
cannot be touched by the wheel are polished on narrow slips of list.
This is the work of boys: the slips of list are made fast by one end to
the bench, and taking hold of the other, and shifting or tightening as
the work may require, the boys rub the deep parts of the ornaments
backwards and forwards till the polish is complete. The finishing touch,
which imparts the brilliance, is given by a sprinkling of rouge, and a
light hand with the rubber.
Armlets and bracelets composed of several pieces are cemented together,
forming a complete hoop, while in course of manufacture, to ensure
accuracy of workmanship, and are separated at last for the drilling of
the holes for the elastic cord whereby they are held together in the
finished state. The drilling of these holes through each separate piece
is a nice operation, for any departure from the true line would appear
as an imperfection in the ornament.
What with the drilling lathes, the rapid grindstones and
polishing-wheels, and the busy artificers, from those who cut up the
jet, to the roughers-out, the carvers, the polishers in their order, to
the boys with their list rubbers, and the finishers, the factory
presented a busy scene. The boys earn from three-and-sixpence to five
shillings a week; the men from three to four times as much. I made an
inquiry as to their economical habits, and heard in reply that the
landlord of the _Jetmen's Arms_ could give the surest information.
No means have yet been discovered of working up the chips and splinters
produced in cutting the jet, so as to form solid available blocks, as
can be done with black-lead for pencils; there is, therefore, a
considerable amount of waste. The value of jet varies with the quality;
from ten to eighteen shillings a pound. According to the report on
mineral products, by Mr. Robert Hunt, the value of the jet dug and
manufactured in England is twenty thousand pounds a year. Some of the
best shops in Whitby and Scarborough are those where jet is sold; and
not the least attractive of the displays in Regent-street, is that
labelled _Finest Whitby Jet_, and exhibited as vases, chains, rings,
seals, brooches, taper-stands, and obelisks. Here in Whitby you may buy
a small ammonite set in jet.
Jet is not a new object of luxury. It was used for ornamental purposes
by the ancient Britons, and by their conquerors, as proved by articles
found in their tombs. A trade in jet is known to have existed in Whitby
in 1598. Camden, translating from an old _Treatise of Jewels_, has
"Jeat-stone almost a gemm, the Lybians find,
But fruitful Britain sends a wondrous kind;
'Tis black and shining, smooth, and ever light,
'Twill draw up straws if rubb'd till hot and bright,
Oyl makes it cold, but water gives it heat."
The amber mines of Prussia yield a species of jet which is burnt as a
coal.
Whitby presents signs of a social phenomenon which is observable in
other places: the decline of Quakerism. I was invited to look at the
Mechanics' Institute, and found it located in the Quakers' Meeting
House. The town was one of George Fox's strongholds, and a considerable
number of Quakers, including some of the leading families, remained up
to the last generation. Death and secession have since then brought
about the result above-mentioned. Is it that Quakerism has accomplished
its work? or that it has been stifled by the assiduous painstaking to
make itself very comfortable?
I went up once more to the Abbey, and to enjoy the view from the
churchyard steps. The trouble of the ascent is abundantly repaid by such
a prospect: one should never tire of it. On moonlight nights, and in a
certain state of the atmosphere, there is another attraction. It is a
sight of Saint Hilda. Incredulous as you may be, there are maidens in
Whitby who will tell you that the famous Abbess is still to be seen
hovering near the Abbey she loved so well. And when the moon is in the
right place, and a thin, pale mist floats slowly past, then, in one of
the windows, appears the image of the saintly lady. Scott and other
writers mention it; and Professor Rymer Jones tells me that he once saw
it, and with an illusion so complete, as might easily have deceived a
superstitious beholder.
While looking down on the river you will hardly fail to remember that
Cook sailed from it, to begin his apprenticeship to a seafaring life;
and profiting in later years by his early experience, he chose
Whitby-built ships for his memorable voyage of discovery. And from the
Esk sailed the two Scoresbys, father and son--two of the latest names on
the list of Yorkshire Worthies.
During the summer many an excursion train, or 'chape trip,' as the
natives say, brings thousands of the hardworking population of the West
Riding, to enjoy a brief holiday by the sea. There once arrived a party
of miners two of whom hastened down to the beach to bathe. As they
undressed one said to the other "Hey, Sam, hoo mooky thou is!" "Aw
miss'd t' chape trip last year," was the laconic and significant reply.
Towards evening I took a trip by railway to Grosmont (six miles), or the
Tunnel Station as it is commonly called, for a glance at the pretty
scenery of the lower part of Eskdale. The river bordered by rocks and
wooded hills enlivens the route. From the Tunnel I walked about half a
mile down the line to a stone quarry, where a section of that remarkable
basaltic dike is exposed, which, crossing the country in a
north-westerly direction for about seventy miles, impresses the observer
with a sense of wonder at the tremendous force by which such a mass was
upheaved through the overlying strata. Here it has the form of a great
wedge, the apex uppermost; and the sandstone, which it so rudely
shouldered aside, is scorched and partially vitrified along the line of
contact. The labourers, who break up the hard black basalt for
macadamising purposes, call it 'chaney metal.'
This is a pleasant spot to loiter in; but its sylvan character is marred
by the quarrying, and by the great excavations where busy miners dig the
ironstone which abounds in the district, after the rate, as is
estimated, of twenty-two thousand tons to the acre; no unimportant item
in the exports of Whitby, until blast furnaces shall be built to make
the iron on the spot.
"The path 'll tak' ye up to a laan," said the quarryman, with a Dutch
pronunciation of lane; "and t' laan 'll bring ye doon to Egton, if ye
don't tak' t' wrang turning." So up through the wood I went, and came
presently to the lane, where seeing a lonely little cottage, and a woman
nursing a few flowers that grew near the door, I tarried for a short
talk. 'Twas but a poor little place, she said, and vera lonesome; and
she thought a few flowers made it look cheerful-like. The rent for the
house and garden was but a pound a year; but 'twas as much as she could
afford, for she had had ten children, and was thankful to say, brought
'em all up without parish help. 'Twas hard work at times; but folk
didn't know what they could do till they tried. It animated me to hear
such honest words.
A little farther there stands a long low cottage with a garden in front,
an orchard at the side, and a row of beehives in a corner, presenting a
scene of rural abundance. I stopped to look at the crowding flowers, and
was drawn into another talk by the mistress, who came out on seeing a
stranger. I could not help expressing my surprise at the prosperous look
of the garden, and the shabby look of the house, which appeared the
worse from a narrow ditch running along the front. "'Tis a miserable
house," she answered, "damp and low; but what can we do? It's all very
well, sir, to talk about the beautiful abbeys as they used to build in
the old days, but they didn't build beautiful cottages. I always think
that they built the wall till they couldn't reach no higher standing on
the ground, and then they put the roof on. That's it, sir; anything was
good enough for country-folk in them days." Some modern writers contend
that the abbeys and cathedrals were but the highest expression of an
architecture beautiful and appropriate in all its degrees; but I doubt
the fact, and hold by the Yorkshirewoman's homely theory.
I suggested that the landlord might be asked to build a new house. "Ah,
sir, you wouldn't say that if you knew him. Why, he won't so much as
give us a board to mend the door; he'll only tell us where to go and buy
one." I might have felt surprised that any landlord should be willing to
allow English men and women to dwell in such a hovel; but she told me
his name, and then there was no room for surprise.
Ere long the view opens over the valley, and a charming valley it is;
hill after hill covered with wood to the summit. Then the lane descends
rapidly, and we come to the romantically situated hamlet of Egton
Bridge. This is a place which, above all others, attracts visitors and
picnic parties from Whitby, and the _Oak Tree_ is the very picture of a
rustic hostelry. Here you may fancy yourself in a deep wooded glen; and,
if limited for time, will have an embarrassing choice of walks.
Arncliffe woods offer cool green shades, and a fine prospect from the
ridge beyond, with the opportunity to visit an ancient British village.
But few can resist the charm of the Beggar's Bridge, a graceful
structure of a single arch, which spans the Esk in a sequestered spot
delightful to the eye and refreshing to the ear, with the gurgling of
water and rustling of leaves. There is a legend, too, for additional
charm: how that a young dalesman, on his way to say farewell to his
betrothed, was stopped here by the stream swollen with a sudden flood,
and, spite of his efforts to cross, was forced to retrace his steps and
sail beyond the sea to seek fortune in a distant land. He vowed, if his
hopes were gratified, to build a bridge on his return; and, to quote
Mrs. George Dawson's pretty version of the legend,
"The rover came back from a far distant land,
And he claimed of the maiden her long-promised hand;
But he built, ere he won her, the bridge of his vow,
And the lovers of Egton pass over it now."
A pleasant twilight walk among the trees, within hearing of the rippling
Esk, brought me back to the Tunnel in time for the last train to
Whitby.