John and Betty's History Visit Part 16

Pitt persuade her to leave the hall, and that was not accomplished until after Betty had trustingly inquired of the guide whether he knew where the chairs were in which the knights sat when they gathered about the table, for "she'd like so much to find them right away."

Pa.s.sing under a gate of the old city-wall, and along the quaint streets of the town, the party came to Hyde Abbey,--or what little now remains of it.

"Alfred's body was first buried in the old minster (cathedral); then it was carried to the new; and last of all, it was removed by the monks here to Hyde Abbey, which monastery Alfred himself had founded.

In the eighteenth century the Abbey was almost entirely destroyed, and then it was that Alfred's true burial-place was lost sight of. Later still, in making some excavations here, the workmen found an ancient coffin which was examined and believed to be that of the King.

Reverently it was reburied and marked with a flat stone, and this doubtful grave is the only trace we now have of Alfred the Great."

They had all quietly followed Mrs. Pitt to the spot where, across the way from the Abbey, they saw the grave.

Before returning to the hotel that night, Mrs. Pitt suggested that they go to see the old Hospital of St. Cross.

"It's only about a mile from the town," she said. "There's a charming little path along the banks of the Itchen, and I think we'd enjoy the walk in the cool of the afternoon."

Mrs. Pitt was quite correct. It proved a delightful stroll, leading them to the fertile valley in which Henry de Blois built his Hospital of St. Cross, by the side of the pleasant little river.

"The Hospital was really founded by Henry de Blois, but three centuries later, Cardinal Beaufort took much interest in it, made some changes and improvements, and greatly aided in its support," the children were told. "To this day, there is a distinction between the St. Cross Brethren and the Beaufort Brethren, but this is chiefly confined to the matter of dress. Seventeen men are living here now, and are most kindly treated, fed, clothed, and allowed to plant and tend their own tiny gardens."

But the most interesting feature of St. Cross--that which in so remarkably vivid a way holds its connection with the past--is the dole. Since the reign of King Stephen, no one applying for food or drink at the Beaufort Tower of St. Cross Hospital, has ever been turned away. To each has been given, during all the centuries, a drink of beer and a slice of bread. A slight distinction is made between visitors by the scrutiny of the Brethren; for, to the tramp is handed a long draught of beer from a drinking-horn and a huge piece of bread, while to some are offered the old silver-mounted cup, and wooden platter.

"Can we have some?" John inquired. "I think I might not like the beer, but the bread would be all right, and I'm hungry!"

In spite of Betty's reproving cry of "Why, John!" Mrs. Pitt motioned him to go up to the gate, and ring.

"Yes, it's quite proper for us to apply for the dole," she said.

"Emerson and Carlyle once did so, and I imagine they were not in any greater need of it than are we."

As John received his portions and was looking at them a bit dubiously, Philip called out to him, "Don't take so much that you can't eat your dinner, Jack!" and then, seeing that John had already set down the food untouched, they all laughed merrily.

After breakfasting at Winchester the following morning, an early train carried the party to the town of Salisbury, there to see the fairest of the English cathedrals,--that is, in Mrs. Pitt's opinion, of course.

To say that Salisbury Cathedral stands in the center of a velvet-like lawn, to mention the fact that a little stream flows musically by, to add that the towers and lines of the building itself are wonderfully graceful, is attempting to describe things as they exist, but wholly inadequate in the impression which it gives to the reader. There is an indescribable fascination about Salisbury Cathedral, which a person must see to understand. Any one who is at all responsive to the charm of great architecture, can sit for hours under the old trees on the little common, and drink in the whole scene,--the beautiful building with its delicate shapes outlined in shadows upon the green gra.s.s.

"No doubt it is a generally accepted fact that Lincoln is the finest of the English cathedrals," Mrs. Pitt explained after a time. "Perhaps Durham comes next in line, and Canterbury has great historical interest. I only a.s.sert that to me Salisbury is the most beautiful.

You know, Betty, that the construction of most cathedrals was extended over many years,--even many generations, usually. Salisbury was an exception to that rule, for it was begun and finished within forty years (1220 to 1260), and therefore has rare harmony and uniformity of style."

There are many quaint streets and buildings in the town of Salisbury, but these become familiar though always delightful sights to the visitor who gives a good share of his time to old England. Having noted the old-fashioned King's Arms Inn, which was a secret meeting-place of the Royalists after the battle of Worcester, the party had an early lunch, and then set out to drive the ten miles to Stonehenge.

The road which they took begins to ascend gradually, and after about a mile and a half brought them to the high mound which was once "the largest entrenched camp in the kingdom," according to Betty's leather-covered Baedeker. This was the site of Old Sarum, a fort during the Roman occupation, and afterwards a Saxon town. Numerous interesting remains of the camp are here, and the high elevation affords an excellent view of Salisbury and the surrounding country.

The rest of the drive was not particularly enjoyable. A sharp wind blew over the high Salisbury Plains, which are bare and not very picturesque to see. In the center of this great stretch of plain stands that strange relic of the past known as Stonehenge. Being on an elevation, the stones stand out weirdly against the sky as the visitor approaches, and give him a foretaste of the peculiar mystery which pervades the place.

The section is surrounded by a wire fence, and a man collects a fee of a shilling before admitting any one into the company of these gigantic rocks, which are standing or lying about in various positions. It seems as though there were originally two great circles, one inside the other, formed by huge oblong stones, set up on end as a child might arrange his blocks. On the tops of these, others are in some places still poised, though many have fallen. One great stone lies broken across the altar.

After the young people had climbed about and thoroughly explored the ruins, they gathered around Mrs. Pitt to hear her explanation of the place.

"Well," she began, "it is generally believed that we see here the remains of an ancient temple of the Druids. They were half-mythical creatures who are thought to have inhabited England in prehistoric times. They worshiped Nature,--particularly the Sun, and lived out-of-doors entirely. Most people consider them to have been the originators of this strange work, though it has also been attributed to the Saxons, the Danes, and, I believe, even the Phoenicians. But no matter what people were the real builders, there still remains the question of how these tremendous stones were brought here in days when there was no machinery, and in a district near which no stone-quarries could possibly have been. That has puzzled men in all ages."

The laughter and chatter of the members of a large "Personally Conducted" party, who were having their late lunch in the field just outside the picket-fence, grated upon Mrs. Pitt's nerves. Even more than in a cathedral with solid walls and a roof, here in this open-air, ruined temple, dating from unknown ages, one is filled with deepest reverence. It almost seems possible to see the ancient Druids who worshiped there, dressed in robes of purest white.

In spite of the blue sky, the bright sunshine of early afternoon, and the nearness of very noisy, human tourists, Betty so felt the strange atmosphere which envelopes these huge sentinels of the past, that she suddenly exclaimed:

"Oh, please, Mrs. Pitt, let's go back to Salisbury! I can't bear this any longer."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THERE STILL REMAINS THE QUESTION OF HOW THESE TREMENDOUS STONES WERE BROUGHT HERE." _Page 236._]

So they drove slowly away over the fields, and as Mrs. Pitt turned for a last glance behind, she saw the stones looming up in lonely majesty, and thought to herself, "They have a secret which no one will ever know."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CLOVELLY

A big, high, lumbering coach with four horses was slowly carrying Mrs.

Pitt and her young charges toward Clovelly,--that most famous of all English fishing-villages. Betty, having discovered a photograph of it some weeks before, had not ceased talking to the others of her great desire to see the place; and finally Mrs. Pitt postponed her plans for visiting other and more instructive towns, packed up the young people, and started for lovely Devonshire. "Well," the kind lady had thought to herself, "perhaps it will be just as well for them to have a short holiday, and go to a pretty spot where they can simply amuse themselves, and not have to learn too much history. Bless their little hearts! They surely deserve it, for their brains have been kept quite busy all the spring,--and I believe I shall enjoy Clovelly once again, myself!"

Now that they were actually there, the realization was proving even more delightful than the antic.i.p.ation. The weather was perfect, and to drive along the cliffs and moors, with a fresh, cool breeze blowing up from the blue water below, was wonderfully exhilarating. Their route led through a country where innumerable bright red poppies grow in the fields of grain, and where there are genuine "Devonshire lanes," shut in by tall hedges and wild flowers. Sometimes they clattered through the narrow streets of a tiny village, while the coachman snapped his whip, and the postilion in his scarlet coat and bra.s.s b.u.t.tons, sounded his bugle loudly. As they rolled by farmhouses, heads would appear curiously at the windows, while children ran out to watch that important event,--the pa.s.sing of the daily coach. One rosy-cheeked girl in a blue pinafore tossed a bunch of yellow cowslips up into Mrs.

Pitt's lap, calling out, "Cowslips, lady; thank ye!" When a sixpence was thrown down to her, she smiled, courtesied primly, and then disappeared into the nearest cottage,--one of plaster and thatch, overgrown with roses.

However, the crowning joy of the day, even in the opinion of John, who was difficult to please, was the first glimpse of quaint little Clovelly itself. The coach set them down in the middle of a field; a few seafaring men stood about, there was a booth or two where old women sold fruit, a steep path was before them, but no town was anywhere in sight.

"Don't let's go down there," John grumbled. "What's the use? I'd much rather stay up on that front seat with the driver."

Mrs. Pitt smiled knowingly, and still led the way on down the walk.

The hedges on either side were so high and thick that they could not see beyond them, and the children were really speechless when the path suddenly came to an end, and the whole queer little street of Clovelly lay before them. For a second no word was spoken, then all burst out at once.

"Well, what do you think of that?" chuckled John. "Just look at the donkeys!"

"And the pink and white doll's houses!" exclaimed Barbara.

"And the funny cobble-stone street!" cried Philip.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ONE OF PLASTER AND THATCH, OVERGROWN WITH ROSES.--_Page 239._]

"And the blue, blue water at its feet!" rhymed Betty, all unconsciously. "I just know the Mediterranean isn't any bluer!"

"Isn't it the dearest, oddest little place!" put in Mrs. Pitt, summing up all the children's remarks in one. "I do think it's----." But here Betty interrupted her.

"Look at that little girl!" she fairly screamed. "Don't let her run down that steep street like that! She mustn't do it!"

Mrs. Pitt, after one look at the child, merely laughed and replied, "Don't worry, Betty; she's used to it. She's probably done it all her life, and she'll never fall. Now, I turn you all loose for two hours.

Explore the place to your heart's content, for it will be long before you see such another. Come to the New Inn (that's it, where the sign is!) at one-thirty for luncheon."

Enthusiastically the four started off. At first they all picked their way carefully and slowly down over the smooth, slippery stones, but gradually they became more expert in keeping their balance, and could go faster. The two boys made straight for the foot of the town to see the harbor and fishing-boats; Barbara and Betty were bent on investigating all the nooks, corners, and tiny shops of the little place; and Mrs. Pitt contentedly settled herself on the miniature piazza of the New Inn, and looked with never-failing interest and delight at the scene before her.

To explain more in detail, Clovelly is built in what was once a torrent-bed, and the village tumbles down from the top of the cliff to the very edge of Hartland Bay. The droll, Italian-like cottages cling to the hillside, or seem to grow directly out of the gray rock. At first, the street descends rather gradually and straight, but after a short distance, it zigzags first to left and then to right, twists and turns, takes one under parts of houses, into private yards, out to look-off points, and then pitches very, very abruptly down to the Red Lion Inn, which guards the little harbor with its long, curving sea-wall and tiny lighthouse.

From where Mrs. Pitt sat she had a splendid view up and down the street, which was then crowded, it being the busiest time of the season. Just below her, up against the piazza, sat an artist, bent eagerly forward toward his easel, and absolutely oblivious of the throngs of people who were noisily pa.s.sing close by. There were tourists in gay attire, children romping about in their queer shoes with nails on the bottom to prevent slipping, big stalwart men sliding luggage down on sledges, and patient little mules, which struggled up with big trunks fastened to shelf-like saddles over their backs. To this busy scene the bright little dwellings which line the way, add the finishing touch. The roof of one house is on a level with the second-story window of that above it; the vines are luxuriant, climbing sometimes up over the very chimneys, and flower-beds and flower-boxes are everywhere. A holiday, festive air seems universal.