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- Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
- Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
- Sprache: Englisch
- Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022
In "Memorials of Old Devonshire," a rich anthology curated by various authors, readers are offered an immersive journey through the historical tapestry of Devonshire, England. This collection showcases a blend of poetry, prose, and essays, all steeped in the region's vibrant cultural and social heritage. The literary style reflects the Romantic inclination of the early 19th century, illuminating the natural landscapes, folklore, and local legends with poignant eloquence and lyrical beauty. Within its pages, nuanced narratives are intertwined with historical anecdotes, providing a multifaceted exploration of how Devonshire's past continues to resonate in contemporary consciousness. The authors contributing to this important work were deeply connected to Devonshire, many being locals who sought to preserve the region's unique identity amid the rapid changes of their time. Their collective voice not only chronicles history but also serves as a reflective commentary on the evolving relationship between people and place, drawing upon personal experiences and regional pride. This context enriches the anthology, allowing readers to grasp the emotional weight of the narratives presented. "Memorials of Old Devonshire" is a must-read for anyone interested in regional history, folklore, and the interplay between landscape and literature. It invites readers to engage deeply with the echoes of the past, making it an enriching addition to both academic collections and personal libraries.
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Memorials of Old Devonshire
Table of Contents
PREFACE
The object of the present volume is to present what may be termed a history of Devon in episode. A comprehensive and, at the same time, detailed record of the county, dealing more or less fully with the principal events of every town’s life, would require many volumes as large as or larger than ours, and yet might fail to impress the reader with the salient features of county life as a whole. In selecting the subjects for the various articles comprised in this work, the Editor’s aim has been to single out such as may be expected, for different reasons, to appeal to all Devonians, and, perhaps, to some unconnected with the beautiful shire. The majority of the articles have been written expressly for the present work, but three have been reproduced, in shortened form, from the Transactions of the Devonshire Association, in which they were published many years ago, and so were in danger of being forgotten. The Editor deems he has no need to apologize for thus enriching the volume with the labours of departed Devonians, whom their compatriots recall with deep reverence, and whom, were they living, the Editor would hail as valued collaborators. Of the other articles, two have already seen print in pamphlet form, in which, after many years, they had naturally become exceedingly scarce. All the other contributions are new, and most of the papers, both old and new, have been embellished with illustrations, some of them curious and rare.
The Editor takes this opportunity of rectifying two omissions in his preliminary sketch. Owing to some accident, he failed to refer to the defence of Dartmouth against the attack of Du Chastel in 1404. This event was memorable on account of the active part taken by the women, who, Amazon-like, hurled flints and pebbles on the French, and thus expedited their retirement. The other omission concerns the abortive Cavalier rising of 1655. Penruddock and Groves, the leaders in the affair (for which they suffered death at Exeter), were both Wiltshire men, but it is certainly interesting that an attempt which might have antedated the Restoration by five years was initiated by the proclamation of Charles II. at South Molton—a town of the county of which George Monk, to whom the Merry Monarch owed his crown, was a native.
It only remains for the Editor to thank his many able contributors for their generous assistance, and to express the hope that the plan and execution of the work will prove satisfactory to those who desire a fuller acquaintance with the families, persons, and places therein mentioned.
Tiverton, October 1st, 1904.
INDEX TO ILLUSTRATIONS
Exeter
(
From a Drawing by J. M. W. Turner. Engraved by T. Jeavons
)
Facing Page
Rougemont Castle, Exeter
(
From a Photograph by Frith & Co.
)
8
Okehampton Castle, 1734
(
From an Engraving by S. and N. Buck
)
34
Edward Courtenay, Earl of Devonshire
54
(
From the original portrait by Sir Antonio
More, at Woburn. Engraved by T. Chambars
)
Doorway of King John’s Tavern, Exeter
62
(
From a Drawing by F. Wilkinson. Engraved by J. Mills, 1836
)
High Street, Exeter
(
From a Photograph by Frith & Co.
)
76
Plymouth Hoe
88
(
From a Drawing by J. M. W. Turner. Engraved by W. J. Cooke
)
Sir Bevill Grenville
(
From an Oil Painting
)
104
West View of Tavistock Abbey, 1734
116
(
From an Engraving by S. and N. Buck
)
Great Torrington Church (Old and New)
132
The Landing of William III. at Torbay
154
(
From a Painting by T. Stothard, R.A. Engraved by George Noble
)
The Cloisters, Plympton Grammar School
176
(
From an Engraving by J. E. Wood
)
Norman Doorway, Plympton Priory
176
(
From an Engraving by J. E. Wood
)
The “War Prison” on Dartmoor, 1807
200
(
From a Drawing by S. Prout, Jun. Engraved by Neele
)
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
(
From the Portrait by Peter Vandyck
)
214
Dr. Wolcot (“Peter Pindar”)
218
(
From a Painting by Opie. Engraved by C. H. Hodges
)
Honiton Lace
(
From a Photograph by Miss Alice Dryden
)
238
“Jack” Rattenbury
(
From a Lithograph by W. Bevan
)
264
Queen Anne’s Walk and the Quay, Barnstaple
276
(
From a Lithograph by J. Powell
)
St. Peter’s Church, Tiverton
(
From a Lithograph by W. Spreat, Jun.
)
284
HISTORIC DEVONSHIRE.
No county of England is richer in historic associations and romantic memories than Devonshire, whose sons have proved themselves on many a stubborn day as brave as its daughters are proverbially fair. We may go further, and say that no English shire is richer, and only a few as rich, in those pre-historic remains which will always exercise a weird fascination over cultivated minds that would hold it sin to be incurious as to the beginnings, or, rather, the age-long development, of man upon the earth. The great mausoleum of these remains is Dartmoor, with its menhirs, its logans, its cromlechs (or dolmens), its circles and avenues, and its famous clapper-bridge; but all over the county are specimens of the typical round barrow, encrusted with hoar legends, and possessing, in addition, their strict scientific interest. The legends attach themselves to the individual barrows; the scientific problem is concerned with the almost unvarying form and type. Briefly, it may be stated that the Devonshire round barrow is a late variety of the cairn; the long barrow, which is numerously represented in the neighbouring county of Dorset, being older and corresponding to the long-headed race which preceded the round-headed Kelts in the occupation of Britain. The difference is between the Stone Age and the Bronze Age, to which the round barrows belong and bear witness. To the Stone Age are assigned the chambered round barrows, the so-called giants’ graves, and the stone kists of Lundy Island.
Roughly contemporary with the typical round barrows are those mysterious remains in the great central waste, to which allusion has already been made. Just as false systems of astrology were elaborated before the dawn of clear scientific knowledge, so during the eighteenth century a complete hagiology was constructed respecting these remains, which has become untenable in view of more rigorous historical, philological, and anthropological investigation. In other words, the accepted interpretation of these moorland wonders connected them more or less definitely with Druidism. The prism of imagination presented those hierarchs in crimson hues. If their functions included inhuman sacrifices, they themselves were far from being deficient in dignity. What says Southey in Caradoc?
But whether as priests or mere medicine men, the existence of Druids in Devon has yet to be proved. Drewsteignton derives its initial syllable, not from them, but from Drogo; Wistman’s Wood comes, not from wissen, but is more probably uisg-maen-coed disguised in modern garb. And, as for those basins on the summits of the Dartmoor tors, they are purely natural. So the whole delightful edifice which Polwhele was at such pains to build up, and which Mrs. Bray described to the sympathetic Southey, topples down, or, rather, vanishes into thin air, leaving not a wrack behind.
While the Druids, both locally and generally, belong rather to the region of myth than of solid history, the Romans are an indisputable fact in both senses. Still, their advent in the West Country is not free from obscurity. One thing seems fairly certain, namely, that they did not establish themselves in Devonshire by their usual method of conquest. Exeter, however, was a thoroughly Roman city, and traces of the Imperial race are to be found in local names, such as Chester Moor, near North Lew, and in the ruins of Roman villas, as at Seaton and Hartland. The siege of Exeter by Vespasian is one of those fictitious events which, by dint of constant reiteration, work themselves into the brain as substantial verities. The place that Vespasian attacked was not Exeter, but Pensaulcoit (Penselwood), on the borders of Somerset and Wilts. Probably the Romans were content with a protectorate, under which the Britons were suffered to retain their nationality and their native princes.
The Saxons, though known as “wolves,” certainly appeared as sheep or in sheep’s clothing in their earliest attempts to settle in the county. They lived side by side with the Britons, notably at Exeter, where the dedications of the ancient parishes testify to the juxtaposition of British and Saxon. Here, also, it was that the West Saxon apostle of Germany, St. Boniface, was educated in a West Saxon school. But this state of things was not to last. In 710, Ine, the King of the West Saxons, vanquished Geraint, prince of Devon, in a pitched battle; and although there is no reason to think that he extended his borders much to the west of Taunton, the work of subjugation thus begun was continued by Ine’s successors, primarily by Cynewulf (755–784); and since, in 823, the men of Devon were marshalled against their kinsmen, the Cornish, at Gafulford, on the Tamar, the Saxon conquest must by that time have been complete. Still the victors were not satisfied. In 926, as we learn from William of Malmesbury, Athelstan drove the Britons out of Exeter, and, constituting the Tamar the limit of his jurisdiction, converted Devon into a purely Saxon province. The immense preponderance of Saxon names in all parts of the county proves how thoroughly this expropriation of the Kelts was carried into effect. The theory held by Sir Francis Palgrave, amongst others, that the conquest of Devon was accomplished by halves, the Exe being for some time the boundary, rests upon no adequate grounds, neither evidence nor probability supporting it. In due course, the whole county was mapped out into tithings and hundreds, in accordance with the Saxon methods of administration, and the executive official was the portreeve.
Parallel with the record of Saxon conquest runs the story of Danish endeavours, stubborn, long-protracted, but, on the whole, less successful, to secure a footing and affirm the superiority. In the first half of the ninth century, the Vikings, in alliance with the Cornish, were routed by Egbert in a decisive engagement at Hingston Down, when, according to a Tavistock rhyme—
During the latter half of the same century, the Danes were again active, and in 877 made Exeter their headquarters. Seventeen years later they besieged the city, which was relieved by Alfred the Great, who confided the direction of church affairs in the city and county to the learned Asser, author of the Saxon Chronicle. In 1001, the Danes, having landed at Exmouth, made an attempt on Exeter, when the Saxons of Devon and Somerset, hastening to the rescue, were overthrown in a severe encounter at Pinhoe, and the piratical invaders returned to their ships, laden with spoil. The following year was marked by a general massacre of the Danes at the behest of Ethelred, and, to avenge this treacherous slaughter, Sweyn (or Swegen) swooped, like a vulture, on the land, and, through the perfidy of Norman Hugh, the reeve, was admitted within the gates of Exeter. As usual on such occasions, red ruin was the grim sequel; but in after days, when the Danish dynasty was in secure possession of the throne, Canute (or Cnut) cherished no malice by reason of the tragic horror inflicted on his race, but conferred on Exeter’s chief monastery the dignity of a cathedral.
In a secular as well as in a religious sense, far the most romantic episodes of Saxon rule in Devon centre around the old Abbey of St. Rumon, Tavistock, the largest and most splendid of all the conventual institutions in the fair county. Ordulf, the reputed founder, was no ordinary mortal. He looms through the mist of ages as a being of gigantic stature, whose delight it was, with one stroke of his hunting-knife, to cleave from their bodies the heads of animals taken in the chase, and whose thigh-bone, it is said, is yet preserved in Tavistock Church. But if he had something in common with Goliath and John Ridd, Ordulf was likewise, and very plainly, cousin german to Saint Hubert, for having been bidden in a vision, he built Tavistock Abbey, to whose site his wife was conducted by an angel. An alternative version associates with him in this pious work his father, Orgar. However that may be, the edifice was destroyed by the Danes in the course of a predatory expedition up the Tamar to Lydford. This was in 997. It was re-built on a still grander scale, and bore the assaults of time until the days of the sacrilegious Hal, when it was suppressed and given to William, Lord Russell.
So much for the Abbey. Now for the secular romance, which yields a striking illustration of Shakespeare’s warning:—
Orgar, the father of Ordulf, had a daughter named Elfrida, the fame of whose loveliness came to the ears of the King. Edgar, being unwedded, despatched Earl Ethelwold to Tavistock on a mission of observation, and the courtier was empowered, if report erred not, to demand her in marriage for his royal master. Ethelwold came, and saw, and was conquered. Although much older than the fair lady, he fell in love with her, and gained her assent and that of her father to their union. This he could do only by concealing from them the more advantageous offer of a royal alliance. With equal duplicity he kept from the King not only the knowledge of his bride’s surpassing beauty, but the bride herself, being assured that her appearance at court would be fatal. However, in no long time the truth leaked out, and Edgar set out for Dartmoor, ostensibly to hunt. Ethelwold, in desperation, now made full confession to his wife, whom he charged to disguise her charms, but the vain and ambitious woman, angered at his deceit, displayed them the more, and the King, resolved on Ethelwold’s death, actually slew him at Wilverley or Warlwood in the Forest.
After the departure of the Romans and before the final absorption of Devon by the Saxons, there are signs that the Kelts of South-West Britain were in intimate touch with their brethren on the other side of St. George’s Channel. At any rate, the Ogham inscriptions found in the neighbourhood of Tavistock testify to the missionary enterprise of the Island of Saints during the latter part of the fifth and the beginning of the sixth centuries after Christ. For most purposes, the centre of county life has from the first been Exeter, but to this rule there was at one time an important exception, which was not Tavistock, but the little town of Crediton, situated on a tributary of the Exe. An old rhyme has it—
Little can be said for this view on general historic grounds, but from the standpoint of ecclesiastical Anglo-Saxondom, Crediton had a decided claim to the preference, for was it not the birthplace of Winfrid (St. Boniface), and the seat of the Anglo-Saxon bishops from the year 909 until 1050, when Leofric, for fear of the Danes, transferred the see to Exeter? This prelate was installed by Edward the Confessor and Queen Edith, who, holding him by the hands, invoked God’s blessing on future benefactors.
If the Ogham stones of Dartmoor attest the zeal of Keltic Christianity, Coplestone Cross, a richly-carved monument near Crediton, is a reminder of the early days of Saxon piety, when such crosses were erected as shrines for the churchless ceorls. Coplestone, also, was the name of a powerful race known as the Great Coplestones, or Coplestones of the White Spur, who claimed, but apparently without reason, to have been thanes in Saxon times. In the West Country, no distich is more popular or more widely diffused than the odd little couplet—
The invincible William knocked at the gates of the Western capital in 1066, and was at first refused admission. If it be true, as Sir Francis Palgrave held, that Exeter was a free republic before Athelstan engirdled it with massive walls, the genius loci asserted itself with dramatic effect when the Conqueror demanded submission, and, in the words of Freeman, “she, or at least her rulers, professed themselves willing to receive William as an external lord, to pay him the tribute which had been paid to the old kings, but refused to admit him within her walls as her immediate sovereign.” Dissatisfied with this response, William besieged the city, which held out for eighteen days, and then surrendered on conditions. Exeter, it may be observed, was at this time one of the four principal cities of the realm, the other members of the quartette being London, Winchester, and York.
The capitulation was followed by the building of Rougemont Castle, not a moment too soon, for ere it could well have been completed, the sons of Harold led an assault on Exeter. This was repulsed without much difficulty by the Norman garrison, but the Saxons showed themselves still restless in the West. The army of Godwin and Edmund fought with fruitless valour on the banks of the Tavy until, three years after the opening of the struggle, Sithric, the last Saxon abbot of Tavistock, betook himself to the Camp of Refuge at Ely, to be under the protection of the noble Hereward.
Exeter, to which one always returns, stands out prominently among English towns on account of its many sieges. Old Isaacke, happily a much better chronicler than poet, testifies as follows:—
This is sure proof of the immense value attached to the possession of the place in troublous times, and prepares us for the conspicuous part taken by both county and city in the centuries that succeeded the establishment of Norman rule. The first Norman governor was Baldwin de Redvers, whose grandson, another Baldwin, declared for Matilda when civil war broke out between her party and Stephen’s. The citizens, on the other hand, espoused the cause of the King, and were subjected to all sorts of barbarities, until the approach of a vanguard of two hundred horse compelled the retreat of the garrison into the castle. After a three months’ siege, water failed, and the doughty defenders were forced to yield.
From a Photograph]
Edward I. held a parliament at Exeter, and his great-grandson, the famous Black Prince, must have been well acquainted with the city, as he passed through it more than once en route to Plymouth, whence he sailed to France on the glorious expedition which ended at Poictiers. Its relations with the Black Prince reveal to us how much the county has receded in practical importance since medieval times. Plymouth, indeed, maintains her place: she is as great now, perhaps greater, than she was then; and Dartmouth, charming Dartmouth, is still far from obscure. Nevertheless, it is idle to claim for the ports of Devon as a class the relative standing they once enjoyed, when, according to the Libel of English Policy, Edward III., bent on suppressing the pirates of St. Malo—
And when Chaucer has to depict a typical mariner, he begins with the words—
—obviously because of Dartmouth’s national reputation. Topsham, formerly the port of Exeter, is a truly startling instance of decline, since as late as the reign of William III. London alone exceeded it in the amount of its trade with Newfoundland. On the other hand, Bideford never possessed all the importance that Kingsley attributes to it, though relatively of much greater consequence in ancient days than at present. It is a curious fact that Ilfracombe, that popular watering-place, sent six ships to the siege of Calais, as compared with Liverpool’s one, Dartmouth contributing thirty-one, and Plymouth twenty-six.
The Black Prince was the first Duke of Cornwall, and the stannaries or tin-bearing districts of Devon and Cornwall, which in Saxon and Norman times had been a royal demesne, passed to this valiant prince and his successors. The old Crockern Tor Parliament would furnish material for a fascinating chapter in the romance of history, but the present sketch is necessarily too brief to admit of much discussion. Its regulations certainly did not err on the side of leniency. “The punishment,” says Mrs. Bray, “for him who in days of old brought bad tin to the market was to have a certain quantity of it poured down his throat in a melted state.” The most important event in the annals of Chagford, one of the stannary towns, is the falling in of the market-house on Mr. Eveleigh, the steward, and nine other persons, all of whom were killed. This sad disaster, which occurred “presently after dinner,” is the subject of a rare black-letter tract, entitled, True Relation of the Accident at Chagford in Devonshire.
Going back to the Wars of the Roses, the West of England for the most part supported the Lancastrian cause. In 1469, Exeter was besieged for twelve days by Sir William Courtenay, in the interest of Edward IV.; and in the following year, Clarence and Warwick repaired to the city prior to embarking at Dartmouth for Calais. When, however, Edward IV., seated firmly on the throne, appeared in Exeter as de facto sovereign of the realm, the citizens, forgetting past grudges, provided such a welcome for the monarch, his consort, and his infant son, that he presented the Corporation with the sword of state still borne before the Mayor. The city had given him a hundred nobles. Just twice that sum was the loyal offering to Richard III. when, in 1483, he arrived at Exeter soon after the Marquis of Dorset had proclaimed the Earl of Richmond King. A gruesome incident marked his visit, for Richard, that best-hated of English rulers, caused his brother-in-law, Sir Thomas St. Leger, to be beheaded in the court-yard of the Castle. The name, Rougemont, jarred on his superstitious nature, the reason being its similarity to Richmond. The point is referred to by Shakespeare in the well-known play:—
In 1497, that bold adventurer, Perkin Warbeck, claimed admission within the walls, which, so far as the citizens were concerned, would have been readily granted. The Earl of Devon and his son were less accommodating, and, after Warbeck had set fire to the gates, succeeded in beating off his attack. The pretender’s next appearance in the city, where the King had taken up his quarters, was in the character of a prisoner. Henry’s conduct towards his rebellious subjects was worthy of a great prince, and affords a marked contrast to the brutality that characterized the suppression of the next revolt and the still more notorious savagery of “Kirke’s Lambs.” When brought before him, “bareheaded, in their shirts, and halters round their necks,” he “graciously pardoned them, choosing rather to wash his hands in milk by forgiving than in blood by destroying them.”
As is well known, the Reformation was not the popular event in England that it was in Scotland, and the introduction of the Book of Common Prayer in lieu of the Mass was the torch which, in 1549, set the western shires—Cornwall, and Somerset, and Devon—in a blaze. The opposition, started at Sampford Courtenay by a pair of simple villagers, soon came to include leaders of the stamp of Sir Thomas Pomeroy and Sir Humphry Arundel, who barricaded Crediton, the rendezvous of their party. The interests of the Crown were befriended by Sir Peter and Sir Gawen Carew, who, though utterly unscrupulous and barbarous in their methods of warfare, failed to arrest the insurrection. Presently no fewer than ten thousand rebels commenced the investment of Exeter. At this serious juncture, the Lord Lieutenant of the county (Lord Russell) took the helm of affairs, and ultimately raised the siege, the city in the meantime being reduced to terrible straits through famine. But the rebels suffered, too. In all, four thousand peasants fell in the Western Rising. A dramatic episode was the execution of the Vicar of St. Thomas, who was hanged in full canonicals on his church, where his corpse remained suspended till the reign of Edward’s successor, when the Roman Catholics regained, for a season, the upper hand.
The geographical position of Devonshire suggests, what is also the fact, that the county had a considerable share in the colonization of the Western Hemisphere. The first port in Devon to send out ships to America for the purpose of establishing settlements was Dartmouth. In this enterprise, Humphry and Adrian Gilbert, who were half-brothers of Sir Walter Raleigh, and whose seat, Greenway, was close to Dartmouth, took the lead. The pioneer expedition, which took place in 1579, was productive of no result; but in 1583, Humphry Gilbert seized Newfoundland, the present inhabitants of which are largely of Devon ancestry. This navigator, though brave and skilful, rests under an ugly imputation which we must all hope is baseless. According to some, he proposed to Queen Elizabeth the perfidious destruction of the foreign fishing fleets which had long made the island their station. During his homeward voyage Humphry was drowned, and the manner of his death is depicted in an old ballad:—
Adrian Gilbert interested himself in the discovery of the North-West Passage, but neither of the brothers did much more than secure for Dartmouth a principal share in the Newfoundland trade, for many and many a year one of the chief props of Devon commerce.
Of far greater practical significance, as a centre of maritime adventure, was Plymouth. Hence sprang William Hawkins, the first of his nation to sail a ship in the Southern Seas. Hence sprang his more famous son, Sir John Hawkins, the first Englishman that ever entered the Bay of Mexico, and who spent the bribes of Philip of Spain in defensive preparations against that tyrant’s fleet. Here was organized the Plymouth Company founded for the colonization of North Virginia after the failure of Sir Walter Raleigh (who, like Sir Humphry Gilbert, had made Plymouth his base) to form a settlement. The efforts of the Plymouth Company were at first not very felicitous, but in 1620 it received a new charter, and although its schemes were absurdly ambitious, and fell ludicrously short of realization, and although it was administered for private ends rather than in a large spirit of enlightened patriotism, still the mere existence of the company must have tended to promote the flow of men and money to the new plantations beyond the seas.
In the Great Civil War, the towns generally were in favour of the Parliament, but Exeter, on which city Elizabeth had conferred the proud motto Semper fidelis, appears to have been Royalist in sympathy. As, however, the Earl of Bedford, the Lord Lieutenant, held it for the opposite party, it was besieged by Prince Maurice, to whom it surrendered in September, 1643. In April, 1646, it was recovered by the Roundheads, but ere this many interesting events had come to pass. In May, 1644, Queen Henrietta Maria had arrived in the city, and there, on June 16th, was born the Princess Henrietta Anne, afterwards Duchess of Orleans. Just at this moment, the Earl of Essex made his appearance, and the Queen was fain to escape alone, leaving her infant in the charge of Lady Moreton and Sir John Berkeley, who arranged for her christening in the font of Exeter Cathedral. Her portrait by Sir Peter Lely, which adorns the Guildhall, was the gift of Charles II., who, in 1671, thus testified his appreciation of the city’s good services. The donor himself had been the guest of the Corporation in July, 1644, when his royal father had received from the civic authorities a present of five hundred pounds.
Looking further afield, Devonshire was the theatre of many stirring events in that fratricidal struggle. It was in 1642 that the High Sheriff, Sir Edmund Fortescue, of Fallapit, at the instigation of Sir Ralph Hopton, called out the posse comitatus, and so precipitated a conflict. Sir Ralph himself, with the aid of Sir Nicholas Slanning, assembled a force of some two or three thousand men, with which he captured first Tavistock, and then Plympton, afterwards joining Fortescue at Modbury, where a mixed army of trained bands and levies was soon in being. The next proceeding was to have been an attack on Plymouth, but Colonel Ruthven, the commandant of that town, sent out five hundred horse, which, after a feint at Tavistock, dashed through Ivybridge, and delivered a sudden assault on Modbury. In a moment all was over. Exclaiming, “The troopers are come!” the trained bands fled in confusion, while the rest of the army, who knew nothing about soldiering and had no love for the cause, went after them, save for a few friends of the Sheriff, who helped him to defend the mansion of Mr. Champernowne. When this was fired, the movement collapsed, and the Roundheads, who had lost but one man, effected a good haul of county notabilities, including the High Sheriff, John Fortescue, Sir Edmund Seymour, and his eldest son, Edmund Seymour, M.P., Colonel Henry Champernowne, Arthur Basset, and Thomas Shipcote, the Clerk of the Peace. About a score of these worthies of Devon were placed on board ship at Dartmouth, and transported to London.
This initial success of the Roundheads was soon qualified by reverses. Ruthven, having marched into Cornwall, was encountered by Hopton at Braddock Down, and sustained a crushing defeat. In February, 1643, Hopton laid siege to Plymouth, but Fortune again veered, and the Royalists were forced to retire in consequence of a second defeat at Modbury. Attempts were made to bring about a pax occidentalis, by which both parties were to forswear further participation in the unnatural strife, but they proved abortive. Encouraged by the defeat of the Earl of Stamford at Stratton, a Cornish army advanced northwards on the disastrous march which resulted in the overthrow at Lansdown, near Bath, and involved the loss of four leading Royalists—Sir Bevil Grenville, Trevanion, Slanning, and Sidney Godolphin—the last of whom fell in a miserable skirmish at Chagford.
Later in the year, Prince Maurice exerted himself to reduce Plymouth, but, although the Cavaliers fought well, the garrison, equally brave and perhaps more pious, drove them back to the cry of “God with us!” Among the besiegers was King Charles himself, but not even the presence of royalty could alter the situation, and he and Maurice presently withdrew from the scene of operations. The siege was not ended till the spring of 1645, in the January of which year Roundheads and Cavaliers occupied the same relative positions as Britons and Boers in the memorable fight at Wagon Hill. Even after this terrible repulse, the Cavaliers did not quite abandon hope, and several small actions took place; but the advent of Fairfax in 1646 led to a precipitate retreat, and the Cavalier strongholds—Mount Edgecumbe and Ince House—gallantly defended throughout, had to be given up.
The last place in Devon to be held for King Charles was Salcombe Castle, and the person who held it was the very Sir Edmund Fortescue who was High Sheriff, in 1642, and, in that capacity, threw down the glove to his opponents. The “Old Bulwarke” was not a promising fort, but it stood a siege of four months, when the garrison were allowed to march out with the honours of war. Among other articles of surrender, it was stipulated that John Snell, Vicar of Thurlestone, who had acted as chaplain to the garrison, should be allowed quiet possession of his parsonage. This condition was not observed. However, Parson Snell was not forgotten after the Reformation, as he was appointed Canon Residentiary of Exeter, in which position he was succeeded by his sons. By the 7th of May, the date of the surrender, the cause of King Charles was in extremis; and, accordingly, Fort Charles, as Sir Edmund had re-named the castle, was fully justified in capitulating. The key of the castle is said to be still the treasured heirloom of the hero’s representative.
Devon men took an active part in the Monmouth Rebellion; and, in common with its neighbours, the county experienced the judicial atrocities of the notorious Jeffreys. A “bloody assize” was opened at Exeter on September 14th, 1685, when twenty-one rebels were sentenced, thirteen of whom were executed. Thirteen more were fined and whipped, and one was reprieved. A feature in this assize was the publication of 342 names, all belonging to persons who were at large when the business closed. These comparatively fortunate yeomen had escaped the search of the civil and military powers, and were tenants of the open country, living in copses and haystacks as best they might.
However, vengeance was not long delayed. In 1688, the Prince of Orange landed at Brixham, and marched to Exeter by way of Chudleigh. The account of an eye-witness printed in the Harleian Miscellany gives the impression that his entry into the city, as a spectacle, was somewhat barbaric. The pageant included two hundred blacks from the plantations of the Netherlands in America, with embroidered caps lined with white fur, and crested with plumes of white feathers; and two hundred Finlanders or Laplanders in bear-skins taken from the beasts they had slain, with black armour and broad, flaming swords. The troops were received with loud acclamations by the people at the west gate, and their conduct was excellent. Meanwhile, the position of the authorities was far from enviable. In vulgar parlance, they were in a “tight place,” not knowing which way the wind would blow, and being desirous of maintaining the reputation of the city for unswerving loyalty. The Bishop and the Dean adopted the safe, if not too heroic, method of flight, while the Mayor, with more dignity, commanded the west gate to be closed, and declined to receive the Prince. The poor priest-vicars, no less faithful at heart, were intimidated into omitting the prayer for the Prince of Wales, and employing only one prayer for the King. On the ninth, notice was sent to the canons, vicars-choral, and singing lads, that the Prince would attend the service in the Cathedral at noon, and they were ordered by Dr. Burnet to chant the Te Deum when His Highness entered the choir. This they did. The Prince occupied the Bishop’s throne, surrounded by his great officers, and after the Te Deum, Dr. Burnet, from a seat under the pulpit, read aloud His Highness’s declaration. The party then returned to the Deanery, where William had taken up his quarters.
The Prince of Orange was in Exeter for three days before any of the county gentry appeared in his support, and naturally the members of his suite began to feel disconcerted. Presently, however, the gentlemen of Devon rallied to his standard, and in compliance with a proposal of Sir Edward Seymour, formed a general association for promoting his interest. A notable arrival was Mr. Hugh Speke, who, it is said, had been personally offered by King James the return of a fine of £5,000 if he would atone for his support of Monmouth by acting as spy on the Prince of Orange, and had bravely refused. The Mayor and Aldermen now thought it high time to recognise the change in the situation and observe a greater measure of respect towards one who, it seemed likely, would soon be their lawful sovereign. The Dean, too, hastened home to give in his adhesion to the Prince; and William left Exeter with the assurance that the West Country, which could not forgive the Jacobite massacre, was heart and soul with him, and that elsewhere the power of his despotic father-in-law was rapidly crumbling.
In a second letter, reproduced in the Harleian Miscellany, we are informed that there had been “lately driven into Dartmouth, and since taken, a French vessel loaded altogether with images and knives of a very large proportion, in length nineteen inches, and in breadth two inches and an half; what they were designed for, God only knows.” Possibly for a purpose not wholly unlike that which inspired the unpleasant visit of some of the same nation to Teignmouth in 1690, when they fired the town. It appears that the county force had been drafted to Torquay with the object of resisting a threatened landing from the French fleet, which was anchored in the bay. Certain French galleys, availing themselves of the opportunity thus afforded them, stole round to Teignmouth, threw about two hundred great shot into the town, and disembarked 1,700 men, who wrought immense damage in the place, already deserted by its inhabitants. For three hours there was pillage, and then over a hundred houses were burnt. A contemporary named Jordan, recounting the circumstances, cannot restrain his righteous indignation. “Moreover,” says he, “to add sacrilege to their robbery and violence, they, in a barbarous manner, entered the two churches in the said town, and in a most unchristian manner tore the Bibles and Common Prayer Books in pieces, scattering the leaves thereof about the streets, broke down the pulpits, overthrew the Communion tables, together also with many other marks of a barbarous and enraged cruelty; and such goods and merchandize as they could not or dare not stay to carry away, they spoiled and destroyed, killing very many cattle and hogs, which they left dead behind them in the streets.” This, the last, invasion of Devonshire, cost the county £11,030, the amount at which the damage was assessed, and which was raised by collections in the churches after the reading of a brief. French Street, Teignmouth, conserves by its name the memory of this heavy, but happily transient, disaster.
With the seventeenth century ends the heroic period of Devonian history. From that time it figures merely as a province sharing in the triumphs and distresses of the country of which it forms part, but having no special or distinctive record. The most exciting era was, without doubt, the Napoleonic age, when the dread of a new French invasion was terminated only by the glorious victory of Trafalgar.
In conclusion, it may be mentioned that Sidmouth was the early home of her late Majesty Queen Victoria. Her father, the Duke of Kent, died there in 1820, and the west window of the church was erected as a memorial of this son of George III., whose visit to Exeter in the preceding century gave such delight to the county.
THE MYTH OF BRUTUS THE TROJAN.By the late R. N. Worth, F.G.S., etc.
Brutus, son of Sylvius, grandson of Æneas the Trojan, killed his father while hunting, was expelled from Italy, and settled in Greece. Here the scattered Trojans, to the number of seven thousand, besides women and children, placed themselves under his command, and, led by him, defeated the Grecian King Pandrasus. The terms of peace were hard. Pandrasus gave Brutus his daughter, Ignoge, to wife, and provided 324 ships, laden with all kinds of provisions, in which the Trojan host sailed away to seek their fortune. An oracle of Diana directed them to an island in the Western Sea, beyond Gaul, “by giants once possessed.” Voyaging amidst perils, upon the shores of the Tyrrhenian Sea they found four nations of Trojan descent, under the rule of Corinæus, who afterwards became the Cornish folk. Uniting their forces, the Trojans sailed to the Loire, where they defeated the Gauls and ravaged Aquitaine with fire and sword. Then Brutus
“... Repaired to the fleet, and loading it with the riches and spoils he had taken, set sail with a fair wind towards the promised island, and arrived on the coast of Totnes. This island was then called Albion, and was inhabited by none but a few giants. Notwithstanding this, the pleasant situation of the places, the plenty of rivers abounding with fish, and the engaging prospect of its woods, made Brutus and his company very desirous to fix their habitation in it. They therefore passed through all the provinces, forced the giants to fly into the caves of the mountains, and divided the country among them, according to the directions of their commander. After this they began to till the ground and build houses, so that in a little time the country looked like a place that had been long inhabited. At last Brutus called the island after his own name, Britain, and his companions Britons; for by these means he desired to perpetuate the memory of his name; from whence afterwards the language of the nation, which at first bore the name of Trojan or rough Greek, was called British. But Corinæus, in imitation of his leader, called that part of the island which fell to his share Corina, and his people Corineans, after his name; and though he had his choice of the provinces before all the rest, yet he preferred this county, which is now called in Latin Cornubia, either from its being in the shape of a horn (in Latin Cornu), or from the corruption of the same name. For it was a diversion to him to encounter the said giants, which were in greater numbers there than in all the other provinces that fell to the share of his companions. Among the rest was one detestable monster called Goemagot, in stature twelve cubits, and of such prodigious strength that at one stroke he pulled up an oak as if it had been a hazel wand. On a certain day, when Brutus was holding a solemn festival to the gods in the port where they at first landed, this giant, with twenty more of his companions, came in upon the Britons, among whom he made a dreadful slaughter. But the Britons at last, assembling together in a body, put them to the rout, and killed them every one, except Goemagot. Brutus had given orders to have him preserved alive, out of a desire to see a combat between him and Corinæus, who took a great pleasure in such encounters. Corinæus, overjoyed at this, prepared himself, and, throwing aside his arms, challenged him to wrestle with him. At the beginning of the encounter, Corinæus and the giant, standing front to front, held each other strongly in their arms, and panted aloud for breath; but Goemagot presently grasping Corinæus with all his might, broke three of his ribs, two on his right side and one on his left; at which Corinæus, highly enraged, roused up his whole strength, and snatching him upon his shoulder, ran with him, as fast as the weight would allow him, to the next shore, and there getting upon the top of a high rock, hurled down the savage monster into the sea, where, falling on the sides of craggy rocks, he was torn to pieces, and coloured the waves with his blood. The place where he fell, taking its name from the giant’s fall, is called Lam Goemagot, that is, Goemagot’s Leap, to this day.”[1]
Such, in its complete form, is the myth of Brutus the Trojan, as told by Geoffrey of Monmouth, sometime Bishop of St. Asaph, who professed, and probably with truth, to translate the British history of which it forms a part from “a very ancient book in the British tongue,” given to him by Walter Mapes, by whom it had been brought from Brittany. Geoffrey wrote in the earlier part of the twelfth century, and he does not indicate with more precision than the use of the term “very ancient” the date of his original.
If, however, we are to accept the writings of Nennius as they have been handed down as substantially of the date assigned to them by the author—the middle of the ninth century—the legend of Brutus, though not in the full dimensions of the Geoffreian myth, was current at least a thousand years ago; and in two forms. In one account, Nennius states that our island derives its name from Brutus, a Roman consul, grandson of Æneas, who shot his father with an arrow, and, being expelled from Italy, after sundry wanderings settled in Britain—a statement that agrees fairly well with that of Geoffrey. In the other account, which Nennius says he had learned from the ancient books of his ancestors, Brutus, though still through Rhea Silvia, his great-grandmother, of Trojan descent, was grandson of Alanus, the first man who dwelt in Europe, twelfth in descent from Japhet in his Trojan genealogy, and twentieth on the side of his great-grandfather, Fethuir. Alanus is a kind of European Noah, with three sons—Hisicion, Armenon, and Neugio; and all his grandsons are reputed to have founded nations—Francus, Romanus, Alamanus, Brutus, Gothus, Valagothus, Cibidus, Burgundus, Longobardus, Vandalus, Saxo, Boganus. He is wholly mythical.
Brutus here does not stand alone. He falls into place as part of a patriarchal tradition, assigning to each of the leading peoples of Europe an ancestor who had left them the heritage of his name. This one fact, to my mind, removes all suspicion of the genuineness of these passages of Nennius, which have been sometimes regarded as interpolations. With Geoffrey not only is the story greatly amplified, but it is detached from its relations, and is no longer part of what may fairly be called one organic whole. Nennius, therefore, gives us an earlier form of the myth than Geoffrey. I think, too, that the essential distinctions of the two accounts render it clear that the ancient authorities of Nennius and Geoffrey are not identical, from which we may infer that the original tradition is of far older date than either of these early recorders.
But we may go still further. Whether the legend of Brutus is still extant in an Armoric form, I am not aware, but it appears in Welsh MSS. of an early date; the “Brut Tysilio” and the “Brut Gr. ab Arthur” being important. It has been questioned whether, in effect, these are not translations of Geoffrey; but there seems no more reason for assuming this than for disbelieving the direct statement of Geoffrey himself, that he obtained his materials from a Breton source. Bretons, Welsh, and Cornish are not only kindred in blood and tongue, but, up to the time when the continuity of their later national or tribal life was rudely shattered, had a common history and tradition, which became the general heritage. If the story of Brutus has any relation to the early career of the British folk, we should expect to discover traces of the legend wherever the Britons found their way. If this suggestion be correct, if Geoffrey drew from Armoric sources, and if the “Brut Tysilio,” which is generally regarded as the oldest of the Welsh chronicles, represents an independent stream, the myth must be dated back far beyond even Nennius, as the common property of the Western Britons, ere, in the early part of the seventh century, the successes of the Saxons hemmed one section into Wales, another into Cornwall, and drove a third portion into exile with their kindred in Armorica. There is, consequently, good reason to believe that the tradition is as old as any other portion of our earliest recorded history or quasi-history, and covers, at least, the whole of our historical period.
The narrative of Geoffrey does not give the myth in quite its fullest shape. For that we have to turn to local sources. Tradition has long connected the landing of Brutus with the good town of Totnes; the combat between Corinæus and Goemagot with Plymouth Hoe. Like the bricks in the chimney called in to witness to the noble ancestry of Cade, has not Totnes its “Brutus stone”? And did not Plymouth have its “Goemagot”?
The whole history of the “Brutus stone” appears to be traditional, if not recent. My friend, Mr. Edward Windeatt, informs me that it is not mentioned anywhere in the records of the ancient borough of Totnes. I fail to find any trace of it in the pages of our local chroniclers, beyond the statement of Prince (Worthies) that “there is yet remaining towards the lower end of the town of Totnes a certain rock called Brute’s Stone, which tradition here more pleasantly than positively says is that on which Brute first set his foot when he came ashore.” The good people of Totnes, so it is said, have had it handed down to them by their fathers from a time beyond the memory of man, that Brutus, when he sailed up the Dart, which must consequently have been a river of notable pretensions, stepped ashore upon this stone, and exclaimed, with regal facility of evil rhyme:—
Why the name should be appropriate to the circumstances, we might vainly strive to guess, did not Westcote and Risdon inform us that it was intended to represent Tout à l’aise! We need not be ashamed of adopting their incredulity, and of doubting with them whether Brutus spoke such good French, or, indeed, whether French was then spoken at all.
The stone itself affords no aid. All mystery departed when it was recently lifted in the course of pavemental repairs, and found to be a boulder of no great dimensions, with a very modern-looking bone lying below. However, it is the “Brutus stone,” and I dare say will long be the object of a certain amount of popular faith.[2]
But, according to Geoffrey of Monmouth himself, Totnes town could not have been intended by him as the scene of the landing of Brutus. It was when Brutus was “holding a solemn festival to the gods, in the port where they had at first landed,” that he and his followers were attacked by Goemagot and his party. There it was that Goemagot and Corinæus had that famous wrestling bout, which ended in Corinæus running with his gigantic foe to the next shore, and throwing him off a rock into the sea. There is no sea at Totnes, no tall craggy cliff; and for Corinæus to have run with his burden from Totnes to the nearest point of Start or Tor Bay would have been a feat worthy even of a Hercules.
We are not surprised to find, therefore, that Totnes has her rivals—Dover, set up by the Kentish folk, and Plymouth,[3] each claiming to be the scene of the combat between Corinæus and Goemagot, and claiming, therefore, incidentally, also to be the port in which Brutus landed. I do not know that we can trace either tradition very far into antiquity. They do not occur in the chronicles, where, indeed, the very name of Plymouth is unknown. The earliest reference to that locality has been generally regarded as the Saxon Tamarworth. I am not at all sure, however, that Plymouth is not intended by Geoffrey’s “Hamo’s Port,” which he assumes to be Southampton. Geoffrey, indeed, says that Southampton obtained the “ham” in its name from a crafty Roman named Hamo, killed there by Arviragus; but if the identification is no better than the etymology, we may dismiss it altogether. On the other hand, the name of the estuary of the Tamar is still the Hamoaze—a curious coincidence, if it goes no further. There is nothing in the story of Hamo itself to indicate Southampton or preclude Plymouth; only a few references to Hamo’s Port occur in Geoffrey. One of these, where Belinas is described as making a highway “over the breadth of the kingdom” from Menevia to Hamo’s Port, may rather seem to point to Southampton; but there is no positive identification, even if we assume the story to be true. Again, “Maximian the senator,” when invited into Britain by Caradoc, Duke of Cornwall, to be King of Britain, lands at Hamo’s Port; and here the inference would rather be that it was on Cornish territory. And so when Hoel sent 15,000 Armoricans to the help of Arthur, it was at Hamo’s Port they landed. It was from Hamo’s Port that Arthur is said to have set sail on his expedition against the Romans—a fabulous story, indeed, but still helping to indicate the commodiousness and importance of the harbour intended. It was at Hamo’s Port that Brian, nephew of Cadwalla, landed on his mission to kill the magician of Edwin the King, who dwelt at York, lest this magician might inform Edwin of Cadwalla’s coming to the relief of the British. After he had killed Pellitus, Brian called the Britons together at Exeter; and it would be fair to infer that the place where he landed was likely to be one where the Britons had some strength. Here, again, whatever we may make of the history, it is Hamo’s Port that is the fitting centre of national life; and it is the Hamoaze that best suits the reference.
This legend of Brute the Trojan was firmly believed in, and associated with these Western shores, by the leading intellects of the Elizabethan day. Spenser refers to it in his:—
Drayton verifies the legend in his Polyolbion, and tells us how—
and how that Gogmagog was by Corin—
