From John O'Groats to Land's End Part 60

Sir Francis Drake, the great Admiral of Queen Elizabeth's time, made many adventurous voyages, partly for discovery and partly for plunder, and was the first Englishman to sail round the world. He brought news of the existence of gold in some places where he had been, and when he returned his well-filled ship stimulated others to emulate the Spaniards in that direction.

Sir Walter Raleigh, who was described as a scholar, courtier, soldier, sailor, and statesman, discovered Virginia in 1584. He was in great favour at Court, but he quarrelled with Queen Elizabeth, who had granted him a Patent for the discovery and settlement of unknown countries in the West. When James I ascended the throne he was suspected of being a conspirator and was sentenced to death, but the sentence was altered to imprisonment in the Tower of London, where during his twelve years'

confinement he wrote his _History of the World_. In 1615 James set him at liberty, and put him at the head of an expedition to Guinea to find gold, but, being unsuccessful, on his return he was beheaded in Old Palace Yard in 1618--a sad ending to a great career. It was at Virginia that he discovered tobacco, and possibly the potato, for he introduced both these plants into England; and "Virginia Leaf" tobacco is still the finest produced in America. Sir Walter explored the place when it was named Pamlico Sound, but it was afterwards named "Virginia" by Queen Elizabeth herself, and to Sir Walter Raleigh's efforts to colonise this and other places we owe many of our possessions to-day. In the struggle for independence Virginia took the lead, and the first Representative a.s.sembly in America was held there, while in the war between the North and South it was the scene of the last battle and the final surrender.

Captain James Cook, whose book _Voyages round the World_ is now a cla.s.sic, made many discoveries for Great Britain, including that of the Sandwich Islands; and he sailed from Plymouth on two occasions, 1768 and 1772. He made three voyages round the world, but on the third was murdered by natives at Hawaii. He discovered Botany Bay in New South Wales in 1770, which was afterwards made a penal colony, whither early in the year 1787 eleven ships sailed from Plymouth, with 800 criminals, over 200 officials, and many free settlers.

But the most important departure from the port was in 1620, when the _Mayflower_ sailed for America with the "Pilgrim Fathers" on board. She was only a little barque of 180 tons, and was sadly tossed about by the big waves in the Atlantic. But after enduring many hardships, the emigrants landed on the barren sh.o.r.es of Ma.s.sachusetts Bay, and named the spot where they landed "New Plymouth," that being no doubt what Elihu Burritt had in his mind when he described Plymouth as "the Mother Plymouth sitting by the Sea," for so many emigrants had gone from there to America and other places that there were now quite forty places named Plymouth in different parts of the world. The place whence the "Fathers"

left the port on their perilous journey was afterwards marked with a stone. This we went to see, but we were driven off the Hoe by a heavy shower of rain.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE "MAYFLOWER STONE," PLYMOUTH HARBOUR.]

Plymouth was also the last port of call in Europe of the ship _Northumberland_ bound for St. Helena, with Napoleon Bonaparte on board; and we thought it a strange incident of travel that the list of distinguished visitors here in 1871 should have included (in addition to ourselves of course!) the names of the unfortunate Emperor Napoleon III, and his still more unfortunate son, who had been there about a fortnight before we arrived. During that year the French agreed to pay the great indemnity which the Germans demanded, and which it was said laid the foundation of the prosperity of the German Empire.

(_Distance walked twenty-three and a half miles_.)

_Wednesday, November 15th._

We left our hotel at daylight this morning, having made special arrangements last night for a good breakfast to be served in time for an early start, for we had a heavy day's walk, before us. We were now in sight of Cornwall, the last county we should have to cross before reaching Land's End. We had already traversed thirteen counties in Scotland and fourteen in England since leaving John O' Groat's. But an arm of the sea named the Hamoaze separated us from Cornwall, and as our rules prevented us from crossing it either by boat or train, the question arose how we were to get across the water, which was one of the greatest naval anchorages in the world, and near the great dockyards in which the Government employed some thousands of men. We had come that way in the hope of seeing some of the big warships near Devonport, and at length we came to the great railway bridge at Saltash. The thought occurred to us that we might reach the Cornish coast by walking over the bridge to the other side. We had walked across a railway bridge on one occasion in Scotland to enable us to reach Abbotsford, the former residence of the great Sir Walter Scott, so why not adopt a similar plan here? We were some time before we could find a place where we could scale the embankment, but ultimately we got on the railway and walked to the entrance of the bridge; but when we reached the path at the side of the bridge it looked such a huge affair, and such a long way across the water, that we decided not to venture without asking some advice. We waited until we saw coming along the railway track a workman, to whom we confided our intention. He strongly advised us not to make the attempt, since we should run great bodily risk, as well as make ourselves liable to the heavy fine the railway company had power to inflict. We rather reluctantly returned to the road we had left, but not before seeing some of the big ships from the bridge--the finest and last of the iron tubular bridges built by the famous engineer Brunel, the total length, including approaches, being 2,200 feet. It had been opened by H.R.H. the Prince Consort in 1859, and was named after him the "Royal Albert"

Bridge. We had now to leave the main road and find our way across country, chiefly by means of by-lanes, until we reached Tavistock, where there was a bridge by which we could cross the River Tavy. We had become quite accustomed to this kind of experience, and looked upon it as a matter of course, for repeatedly in Scotland we had been forced to make a circuit to find the "head of the loch" because we objected to cross the loch itself by a ferry.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE "ROYAL ALBERT" BRIDGE, SALTASH]

We had only proceeded a mile or two beyond the great bridge at Saltash, when we came in sight of the village of St. Budeaux, at the entrance of which we came upon a large number of fine-looking soldiers, who, we were informed, were the 42nd Highlanders, commonly known as the Black Watch.

They were crossing a gra.s.s-covered s.p.a.ce of land, probably the village green, and moving in the same direction as ourselves, not marching in any regular order, but walking leisurely in groups. We were surprised to see the band marching quietly in the rear, and wondered why they were not marching in front playing their instruments. The soldiers, however, were carrying firearms, which quite alarmed my brother, who never would walk near a man who carried a gun--for if there was one thing in the world that he was afraid of more than of being drowned, it was of being shot with a gun, the very sight of which always made him feel most uncomfortable. He had only used a gun once in all his life, when quite a boy, and was so terrified on that occasion that nothing could ever induce him to shoot again. He was staying at a farm in the country with a cousin, who undertook to show him how to shoot a bird that was sitting on its nest. It was a very cruel thing to do, but he loaded the gun and placed it in my brother's hand in the correct position, telling him to look along the barrel of the gun until he could see the bird, and then pull the trigger. He did so, and immediately he was on the ground, with the gun on top of him. His cousin had some difficulty in persuading him that the gun had not gone off at the wrong end and that he was not shot instead of the bird. It was one of the old-fashioned shot-guns known as "kickers," and the recoil had sent him flying backwards at the moment of the noise of the discharge--a combination which so frightened him that he avoided guns ever afterwards.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE HAMOAZE, SEPARATING DEVON AND CORNWALL]

We were obliged to walk quickly, for we knew we had a long walk before us that day and must get past the Highlanders, who fortunately were in no hurry. We pa.s.sed one group after another until we reached the narrow road along which we had been directed to turn. Here we saw the soldiers going the same way, now walking in twos and threes, and presently the road developed into one of the deep, narrow lanes so common in Devonshire. We continued to pa.s.s the soldiers, but there was now a greater distance between the small groups. Presently we were accosted by a sergeant, one of the most finely proportioned men we had ever seen--a giant, as we thought, amongst giants, for all the soldiers were very big men--who said to us, "Now, my lads! if you see any of the enemy, tell them we are two or three miles away, will you?" We wondered what he meant, but as he smiled, we considered it a joke, and replied, "All right!" as we moved on. We had pa.s.sed all the soldiers except the first two, who were about fifty yards ahead. They had climbed up the high bank on the left-hand side of the lane, and were apparently looking over the country and shading their eyes with their hands so as to get a better view, when we saw a number of others belonging to the same regiment file quietly down-the opposite side. Crossing the lane, they ran up the bank where the two soldiers were still standing, and almost before they realised what was happening their bonnets had been taken off their heads and they found themselves prisoners. It was a clever capture, and as it took place immediately before our eyes, we remained standing there looking on with astonishment, for we had no idea what was about to happen.

But immediately the scene changed, and soldiers appeared in front, both in the lane and high up above the road. But the worst feature was that they began firing their guns; so here we were in a deep lane from which there was no escape, and, as we afterwards ascertained, between the two halves of one of the most famous regiments in the British army, one ambuscaded by the other! We were taken completely by surprise, as we had never seen or heard of a sham fight before, and it appeared a terrible thing to us, as the fiery eyes and fierce countenances of the soldiers were fearful to see, and we became greatly alarmed, expecting every minute to be taken prisoners. I consoled my brother by telling him the guns were only loaded with blank cartridges, but his only remark was, "But suppose one of them isn't, and we get shot," and he began to walk onwards more quickly than I had ever seen him walk before. Keeping as near one side the road as possible, and dodging between the soldiers, with myself following closely behind his heels, perspiring profusely with fear and exertion until there was scarcely a dry thread upon us, we managed at last to escape, and were profoundly thankful when we got clear of the Black Watch and so ended one of the most exciting adventures we ever had. It reminded my brother of the Charge of the Light Brigade, a story he was very familiar with, an Irish friend of his named Donoghue being one of the trumpeters who sounded it, and of Tennyson's words:

Cannon to right of them.

Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them, Volley'd and thundered.

In our case, he said, we had guns at our back in addition.

We did not know at that time that the 42nd Highlanders were so famous, but a friend of ours, an officer in the army, has since handed us a description of that regiment, bringing its history down to a later period.

The 42nd Highlanders were originally formed from the independent companies raised in the year 1729 to keep the King's peace among the Highland Hills; the Black Watch, so called from the dark hue of its tartan, was first paraded as a regiment of the British army in 1740.

They had distinguished themselves in all parts of the world: America, India, Flanders, Egypt, Corunna, Waterloo, Sevastopol, Indian Mutiny, Ashantee, Egypt, Nile, and South Africa, and lost heavily at Ticonderago, Toulouse, Waterloo, and afterwards in the Boer War. They were amongst our bravest soldiers, and were famous as being one of the four regiments named for distinction by Wellington at Waterloo; twice they had been specially called upon, once at the Battle of Alexandria, when the Commander-in-Chief, Sir Ralph Abercromby, called for a special effort at a critical period in the fight, saying, "My brave Highlanders! Remember your forefathers! Remember your country!"

and victory immediately ensued; and again at the Battle of Corunna, when Sir John Moore in the thick of the fight, before being mortally wounded, exclaimed, "Highlanders! Remember Egypt!" and the foe was scattered in all directions. In Egypt, after storming Tel-el-Kebir and taking part in the battles that followed, such was the conduct of the Black Watch that Lord Wolseley sent the following telegram:

"Well done, old comrades of the Black Watch."

Such we may venture to say were the men among whom we found ourselves on that occasion. In after life we always took a deep interest in the doings of that famous regiment, and we noticed that when any hard fighting had to be done, the Black Watch nearly always a.s.sisted to do it--so much so that sometimes we regretted that we had not had the honour of having been taken prisoner by them on that ever-memorable occasion!

The next village we came to was Tamerton Foliot, in a lovely situation, standing at the end of a creek which fills with the tide. At that point the waters of the Tavy join those of the larger River Tamar, and eventually a.s.sist to form the Hamoaze. Tamerton was a very old settlement, as Gilbert Foliot, who was Bishop of London from 1163 to 1188, and one of the most prominent opponents of Thomas a Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, was a native of that village. There was a rec.u.mbent effigy in the church dating from the year 1346; but beyond that the great object of interest in the village was an old oak tree named the Coppleston Oak, because of a very sorrowful incident which occurred near the church one Sunday morning many centuries ago. It appeared that a local squire named Coppleston, a man of bad temper and vile disposition, when at dinner made some gross remarks which were repeated in the village by his son. He was so enraged when he heard of it, on the Sunday, that as they were leaving the church he threw his dagger at the lad, wounding him in the loins so that he fell down and died. An oak tree was planted near the spot, and was still pointed out as the Coppleston Oak. The father meanwhile fled to France, and his friends obtained a conditional pardon for him; but to escape being hanged he had to forfeit thirteen manors in Cornwall.

[Ill.u.s.tration: TAMERTON CHURCH AND THE FATAL OAK]

We were now fairly off the beaten track, but by devious ways, with lovely wooded and river scenery to the left and the wild scenery of Dartmoor to the right, we managed to reach Buckland Abbey. This abbey was founded in 1278 by the Countess of Baldwin-de Redvers, Earl of Devon, and we expected to find it in ruins, as usual. But when Henry VIII dissolved the monasteries, he gave Buckland to Sir Richard Grenville, who converted it into a magnificent mansion, although some few of the monastic buildings still remained. He formed the great hall so as to be under the great central tower of the old abbey, and the dining-room he formed out of a portion of the nave, while the drawing-room was at the end of a long gallery upstairs; so that altogether it formed a unique structure. In 1581, however, it was sold to Sir Francis Drake, and the mansion contained some relics of his, amongst which were two drums; there were also a chair and a table made out of one of his old ships, the _Pelican_, and a fine portrait of Sir Francis by Jansen, dated 1594. The gardens were very beautiful, as the trees in this sheltered position grew almost without let or hindrance; there were some of the finest tulip trees there that we had ever seen.

We were informed that when Sir Francis Drake began to make some alteration in his new possessions, the stones that were built up in the daytime were removed during the night or taken down in some mysterious manner. So one moonlight night he put on a white sheet, and climbed a tree overlooking the building, with the object of frightening any one who might come to pull down the stones. When the great clock which formerly belonged to the old abbey struck the hour of twelve, he saw the earth open below, and about twenty little black devils came out and started to pull down the wall. Sir Francis began to move his arms about and flap them as if they were wings, and then crowed like a c.o.c.k. The devils, when they heard the white bird crowing, looked up, and, thinking the morning must be close at hand, immediately disappeared to the regions below. We could not learn if or how often these performances were repeated, but it seemed a very unlikely thing for Sir Francis Drake to do, and the story sounded as if it belonged to a far remoter period than that of the Spanish Armada.

[Ill.u.s.tration: DRAKE'S STATUE, TAVISTOCK.]

Drake was idolised in Plymouth and the surrounding country, where his name was held in everlasting remembrance, and his warlike spirit pervaded the British navy. At a much later period than that of our visit even his drum was not forgotten. Whether it was one of those that were preserved in the old abbey or not we did not know, but it is the subject of a stirring poem by Sir Henry Newbolt.

DRAKE'S DRUM

Drake he's in his hammock, an' a thousand mile away, (Capten, art tha' sleepin' there below?), Slung atween the round shot in Nombre Dios Bay, An' dreamin' arl the time o' Plymouth Hoe.

Yarnder lumes the island, yarnder lie the ships, Wi' sailor lads a-dancin' heel-an'-toe, An' the sh.o.r.e-lights flashin', an' the night-tide dashin', He sees et arl so plainly as he saw et long ago.

Drake he was a Devon man, an' ruled the Devon seas, (Capten, art tha' sleepin' there below?), Rovin' tho' his death fell, he went wi' heart at ease, An' dreamin' arl the time o' Plymouth Hoe.

Take my drum to England, hang et by the sh.o.r.e, Strike et when your powder's runnin' low; If the Dons sight Devon, I'll quit the port o' Heaven, An' drum them up the Channel as we drummed them long ago.

Drake he's in his hammock till the great Armadas come, (Capten, art tha' sleepin' there below?), Slung atween the round shot, listenin' for the Drum, An' dreamin' arl the time o' Plymouth Hoe.

Call him on the deep sea, call him up the Sound, Call him when ye sail to meet the foe; Where the old trade's plyin' an' the old flag flyin'

They shall find him ware an' wakin', as they found him long ago!

In olden times there existed a much older abbey than Buckland, named Buckfast Abbey, but it was right on the other side of Dartmoor, and the abbots and monks formerly crossed from one to the other. In those remote times there were no proper roads, and the tracks between the two places were mainly made by the feet of the monks, with crosses placed at intervals to prevent their losing the way, especially when the hills were covered with snow. The track still existed, being known as the "Abbots' Way." The distance between the two abbeys was about sixteen miles as the crow flies, but as the track had to go partially round some of the tors, which there rose to an elevation of about 1,500 feet above sea-level, and were directly in the way, it must have involved a walk of quite twenty miles from one abbey to the other. Buckfast Abbey is one of the oldest in Britain, and ultimately became the richest Cistercian house in the West of England. The last abbot was Gabriel Donne, who received his appointment for having in 1536 captured Tyndale the Reformer, who was in the same year put to death by strangling and burning.

[Ill.u.s.tration: BUCKLAND ABBEY.]

One of the earliest stories of the "lost on the moors" was connected with that road. Childe, the "Hunter of Plymstock," had been hunting in one of the wildest districts on Dartmoor, and was returning home at night, when a heavy snowstorm came on and the night became bitterly cold. Having completely lost his way, and as his tired horse could go no farther, he stopped at one of the ancient crosses and dismounted. His blood, however, began to freeze within him, and to try to save his own life he killed his horse, and, cutting a great hole in its body, crept inside. When daylight came in the morning, knowing he was dying, and that some of the monks would probably find his body when they came to the cross, he dipped his fingers in his horse's blood and scribbled on the stone:

They fyrste that fyndes and brings mee to my grave, The Priorie of Plymstocke they shall have.

His body was found by the "monks of Tavystoke," and buried in their abbey at Tavistock; and from that time to the dissolution of the monasteries the Abbey of Tavistock had possession of the manor of Plymstock, Childe having no children to follow him.

We were sorry that we had been unable to explore Dartmoor itself instead of only its fringes, so we decided to make an effort to see Dartmoor Prison, which we were given to understand was only a few miles away. We changed our course a little and pa.s.sed on to Walkhampton, where we were advised to follow the by-road above the Walkham river, from which the village took its name, this being the easiest and most pleasant way. We had a nice walk along the valley until we reached Merridale, but there we succ.u.mbed to the attractions of the small inn. We felt that we should never be able to wait for food until we reached Tavistock, as the mountain air and the exertion of climbing up the hill had been too much for us, so we ordered refreshments there instead of at Tavistock, as originally intended. We had loitered a little on our way up the hill, stopping to look at the views behind us, which were better than those in front--a necessary procedure, for we were rather inclined at times "to keep our noses too near the grindstone," or perhaps, like Oth.e.l.lo, to be "led by the nose as a.s.ses are," and to toil up the hills with the wilderness before us, in total forgetfulness of the lovely scenes behind. We therefore advise all tourists on a walking expedition to look back occasionally, since much of the pleasure and beauty of the tour may otherwise be lost.

[Ill.u.s.tration: VIXEN TOR, TAVISTOCK.]

We had a short walk in the direction of Princetown, where the prison was situated, but we were not at all favourably impressed by the appearance of the country, without a house in sight except the inn where our refreshments were being prepared. Presently we met an official in uniform, who told us the prisoners were not always kept inside the prison, but were employed in making and repairing roads and fences and in cultivating land. He pointed out some men a long distance away who were so employed, and strongly advised us not to go any farther in that direction. The only objects of interest on the Moor, beyond the tors and the views from their summits, were the antiquities, which in that part were particularly numerous, for without leaving the road between the prison and Merridale there could be seen a cl.u.s.ter of hut circles, a kistvaen, a menhir, and a double line of stone rows, and within a short radius many other relics of prehistoric man, as well as one or two logans or rocking-stones. We therefore returned with him to the inn--for even an antiquary cannot live on stones; he ought to be well supported with both food and clothing to enable him fully to explore and appreciate the ancient relics of Dartmoor. Our refreshments were quite ready and were soon put out of sight, and, as we had a downward gradient to the River Tavy, we had made up for our delay when we crossed the bridge over the river and entered the town of Tavistock.

The earliest history of Tavistock was no doubt a.s.sociated with the prehistoric remains on the hills above, if that had been written; but as early as the tenth century Orgarius, Earl of Devon, in consequence of a dream, decided to build a magnificent abbey there, and to dedicate it to St. Mary. He began to build it in 961, but as he died before it was completed, his son Ordulph completed it in 981 and endowed it with the manor of Tavistock and others. Ordulph was also a nephew of King Ethelred, and, according to tradition, was a giant able to stride across a river ten feet wide. Orgarius had not only left a gigantic son, but he had also left a daughter of such surpa.s.sing beauty that her fame spread all over England; and Edgar, who by that time was king, hearing of the wonderful beauty of Elfrida, sent his favourite--Athelwold--to her father's castle to ascertain if her beauty was such as had been reported. Athelwold went on his mission, but was so struck and bewildered with Elfrida's beauty that he fell violently in love with her himself, and when he returned he told Edgar that Elfrida was not so beautiful, but was rich and more fit to be the wife of a subject than a king. Edgar therefore consented to his favourite's marriage with her; but the king, discovering that he had been deceived, insisted on paying Athelwold a visit at his home in Devonshire. Athelwold craved permission to go home and prepare for the king's visit, which was granted, and with all possible haste he went and, kneeling before his wife, confessed all, and asked her to help him out of his difficulties by putting on an old dress and an awkward appearance when the king came, so that his life might be spared. Elfrida was, however, disappointed at the loss of a crown, and, instead of obscuring her beauty, she clothed herself so as to appear as beautiful as possible, and, as she expected, captivated the royal Edgar. A few days afterwards Athelwold was found murdered in a wood, and the king married his widow. But the union, beginning with crime, could not be other than unhappy, and ended disastrously, the king only surviving his marriage six or seven years and dying at the early age of thirty-two. He was buried at Glas...o...b..ry, an abbey he had greatly befriended.

At the Dissolution the lands of Tavistock Abbey were given by King Henry VIII, along with others, to Lord John Russell, whose descendants, the Dukes of Bedford, still possess them. Considerable traces of the old abbey remained, but, judging from some old prints, they had been much altered during the past century. The fine old chapter-house had been taken down to build a residence named Abbey House, which now formed the Bedford Hotel; the old refectory had been used as a Unitarian chapel, and its porch attached to the premises of the hotel; while the vicarage garden seemed to have absorbed some portion of the venerable ruins.

There were two towers, one of which was named the Betsey Grinbal's Tower, as a woman of that name was supposed to have been murdered there by the monks; and between that and the other tower was an archway which connected the two. Under this archway stood a Sarcophagus which formerly contained the remains of Ordulph, whose gigantic thigh-bones we afterwards saw in the church. The ruins were nearly all covered with ivy, and looked beautiful even in their decay; but seeing the purpose to which some of them had been applied, we thought that the word "Ichabod"

(the glory hath departed) would aptly apply, and if the old walls could have spoken, we should not have been surprised to hear a line quoted from Shakespeare--"to what base uses do we come at last."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE STILL TOWER, TAVISTOCK ABBEY]

The old abbey had done good service in its time, as it had given Tavistock the claim of being the second town in England where a printing press was erected, for in 1524 one had been put up in the abbey, and a monk named Rychard had printed a translation of Boethius' _De Consolatione Philosophiae_, and a Saxon Grammar was also said to have been printed there. The neighbourhood of Tavistock was not without legends, which linger long on the confines of Dartmoor, and, like slander, seemed to have expanded as time went on:

The flying rumours gathered as they rolled, Scarce any tale was sooner heard than told, And all who told it added something new, And all who heard it made enlargement too!

On every ear it spread, on every tongue it grew.