[Illustration: THE MAIN STREET, CLOVELLY.]
[Illustration: OLD HOUSES ON THE BEACH, CLOVELLY.]
The coast of Barnstaple Bay sweeps around to the westward again, and
here, under the precipitous crags, nestling in one of the most
picturesque nooks in all England, is Clovelly. From an inland plateau of
considerable elevation the land falls steeply to the sea, with a narrow
strip of sand or shingle sometimes interposed, whereon the surf dashes
before it reaches the rocks. Dense foliage, with here and there a
protruding crag, overhangs the cliffs. Ravines occasionally furrow the
rocky wall, and in one of these Clovelly is situated, beginning with
some scattered houses on the margin of the plateau above, descending the
cliff in one steep street, and spreading out about a miniature harbor on
the edge of the sea. There are few such streets to be seen
elsewhere--not made for wheeled vehicles, but paved in a series of broad
steps, over which the donkeys and the population plod with the produce
of the fleet of fishing-boats the village owns. It is narrow, with
strangely-shaped houses jumbled together alongside, and balconies and
bay-windows, chimneys and gables--all mixed up together. Here Kingsley
spent most of his boyhood, and hither flock the artists to paint odd
pictures for almost every British art-exhibition. Its little pier was
built in Richard II.'s time, when as now it was a landing-place for the
mackerel-and herring-boats. This quay has recently been somewhat
enlarged. Clovelly Court, the home of the Careys, is near by, with its
beautiful park extending out to the tall cliffs overhanging the sea. On
one craggy point, known as Gallantry Bower, and five hundred feet above
the waves, was an old watch-tower of the Normans, now reduced to a mere
ring of stones; and to the westward a few miles the bold rocks of
Hartland Point mark another angle in the coast as it bends southward
towards Cornwall. Eleven miles out to sea, rising four hundred feet and
guarded all around by grim precipices, is Lundy Island. Here in a little
cove are some fishermen's huts, while up on the top is a lighthouse,
and near it the ruins of the old Moresco Castle. We have already
referred to Sir Walter Raleigh's judicial murder: it was accomplished
mainly through the treachery of his near kinsman, Sir Lewis Stukely,
then vice-admiral of Devon. This and other actions caused Stukely to be
almost universally despised, and he was finally insulted by Lord Howard
of Effingham, when he complained to the king. "What should I do with
him?" asked James. "Hang him? On my sawl, mon, if I hung all that spoke
ill of thee, all the trees in the island were too few." Being soon
afterwards detected in the royal palace debasing the coin, he fled to
Devon, a ruined man. But he found no friends, and, every door being
closed against him, he sailed out to Lundy Island, and died alone in a
chamber of the ruined castle.