CHAPTER IX

'First comes David, next comes Chad,And then comes Winneral, as though he were mad,White or black,On old house thack [thatch].'

[St David's Day, March 1; St Chad's Day, March 2; St Winwaloe's Day, March 3.]

In his church here is a very finely carved screen, and of one of the figures on it Mr Baring-Gould tells an amusing story: 'The sixth is Sir John Schorne, a Buckinghamshire rector, who died in 1308, and was supposed to have conjured the devil into a boot. He was venerated greatly as a patron against ague and the gout. There is a jingle relative to him:

'"To Maister John Schorne, that blessed man born,For the ague to him we apply,Which judgeth with a bote; I beshrew his heart's roteThat will trust him, and it be I."'

South of Portlemouth the land ends in the grand headland of Prawle Point, the most southerly point in Devon. Prawle Point is very striking, and is 'principally composed of gneiss rock, which on the western side is weathered like a surface of snow which has been exposed to the sun's rays. It is everywhere broken into crags.' Prawle Point—'Prol in Anglia'—was known to foreigners for many centuries; and Mr R. J. King, in an admirable article on Devonshire, says that it 'is mentioned by an ancient commentator on Adam of Bremen's "Historia Ecclesiastica,"as one of the stations at which vessels touched on their voyage from Ripa in Denmark. The passage was made from the "Sincfala," near Bruges, and "the station beyond 'Prol'" is St Matthieu—one day's sail. Adam of Bremen dates about 1070, and his commentator a little later.'[6]St Matthieu is in Brittany.

Bolt Head

To the south of Salcombe rise the great cliffs of Bolt Head, and a few miles farther to the west is Bolt Tail. Mr Norway points out that 'no other town in South Devon possesses, nor, indeed, more than one or two on any coast, a headland so high and dark and jagged as the entrance to the harbour. It is wild and rugged like a Cornish headland, and the walk across it to Bolt Tail is the finest between Portland and the Lizard.' A few miles to the west is Thurlestone, and all about here the coast is most dangerous. A ship flung in a storm towards the shore has no chance on the jagged rocks that spur-like, jut out from the cliffs, and the tide races inshore with terrific power, even when it is not driven by a wild south-westerly wind. This part of the coast was naturally a happy hunting-ground for smugglers, and was not altogether innocent of wreckers. A fearful wreck that happened in 1772 is still remembered. A large vessel—theChantiloupe, from the West Indies—went ashore in Bigbury Bay. All the passengers but one were drowned, and over the death of a lady there hangs a terrible doubt. On realizing the desperate plight of the ship, she had hurriedly dressed herself in her most beautiful clothes and jewels, no doubt hoping that, as they were so close to land, there was a good chance of escape. She was, indeed, thrown up on the beach, but, it is to be hoped, already dead, for, with shocking callousness, the people watching there snatched away all her valuables and left her lying there. An account of the wreck, written in 1874, tells that at that date a lady living near the bay still had a corner of the victim's apron, a very beautifully embroidered bit of fine muslin. The unfortunate passenger's name was never really known, but rumour has always connected her with Edmund Burke; for it is certain that he feared some relatives or friends of his were on that ship, and on hearing of the wreck he camedown and investigated the matter of the lady's death himself. But he could get no information. The account of the wreck goes on to quote the views of a man who lived near the spot: 'The old man who seemed to know most about it said: "The ladywasa-murdered, he believed; Jan Whiddon's father's dog found this here lady buried in the sand, he scratched up her hand."' The story is quoted at some length, and is characteristic of a Devonshire countryman's combined caution and sense of fate, for it finished: '"'Twas never found out who murdered her ... but all who were concerned in it, or supposed to be [the villagers obviously believed three men to be guilty] came to a bad end."'

In repeating these stories, I feel rather in fault, for I have listened to, and been impressed by, the views of a native of these parts, who was extremely severe on anyone that wrote about wreckers and reflected discredit on this coast, giving the idea that 'we robbed and murdered people.' A little to my surprise, he said he liked reading books about Devonshire, and admired some well-known novels dealing with the county, though he thought them quite inaccurate. 'But,' he added tolerantly, 'they say that, to get at the truth from a guide-book, you must divide what you read in three, and then take away half.' He admitted, all the same, that there had been a certain amount of wrecking in the days of the pirates (smugglers?), and putting lights in the wrong places. When he was a boy, what they liked best was a wreck with a 'general' cargo, so that the men could sell the mineral and the wives could wear the silk; but there were fewer wrecks of any kind nowadays. It is very quiet in the winter (east of Kingsbridge), unless anyone is going to be buried, and the only other chances of any stir are if there is a wedding or a christening, or a wreck in Start Bay.

Thurlestone takes its name from a 'thirled' or pierced rock, on the shore through which the waves have drilled an arch. The rector of Thurlestone has very kindly allowed me to make some extracts from a manuscript history of the parish in his possession, the earlier notes of which have been taken from entries made at the time of the events, in the Bishop of Exeter's registers, and have,therefore, the value of contemporary evidence. They are very interesting, as giving glimpses at the course of events in a remote parish through several centuries.

During part of the fourteenth century the parishioners seem to have been rather turbulent and the history tells of storms. Some while before the first entry, in June, 1328, someone had not only been murdered, but actually done to death within the church. There is no record of the punishment of the culprit or culprits, or of any sign of penitence shown by the parish; but probably some steps had been taken, for at that date Bishop Grandisson commissioned the Archdeacon of Totnes to reconcile the parish church of Thurlestone, 'which had been polluted by the shedding of blood therein. For some reason not given the Archdeacon was excused from performing this duty, and Stephen Abbot of Buckfast was commissioned to officiate.... On the 8th of the Kalends of August, 1328, the Bishop issued his mandate to the Archdeacon of Totnes, informing him that the Abbot, having proceeded to Thurlestone, had reconciled the church, and that he was to require the Parishioners to pay the customary dues within eight days of the serving of this Monition to that effect.' The dues, however, were not forthcoming, and on October 6 the Bishop, who allowed no insubordination, threatened the defaulters with excommunication unless they paid the desired amount within six days. 'This had the desired effect, and on the 20th of October the Bishop sent to the Rector and the parishioners the formal acquittance. On the same day, he commissioned Sir Robert de Pynho, the Rector, to absolve the parishioners and relax the interdict imposed on their Parish Church.'

An unpleasant experience of Sir Henry Benet, priest and Canon of the Church of Crediton, and Rector of Thurlestone, witnesses to the lawlessness of the time in East Devon. He was 'peaceably entering the town of St Mary [Ottery St Mary] on Tuesday (tertia feria) of the then instant Pentecost Sunday,' when 'certain unknown persons, sons of perdition ... under colour of a precept which they falsely asserted they had received from the Sheriff of Devon, rushed on Sir Henry and ... rashly, violently and sacrilegiously laid handson him and inhumanly forced him into the public prison for thieves and criminals.' A 'Denuntiation of Excommunication' against these 'sons of perdition' in Bishop Grandisson's register is undated, but it follows an entry made in March, 1349-50.

A later rector must have been a pleasant acquaintance and a good friend. The Rev. John Snell 'was a person of firm and unshaken loyalty,' and when 'Fort-Charles' was about to be besieged, he joined the garrison in order to give all the help he could to Sir Edward Fortescue. On the surrender of the fort, amongst the very honourable conditions that Sir Edward obtained was the agreement that Mr Snell 'should be allowed the quiet possession of his Parsonage; but Articles, like oaths, in those days, were only matter of Form, and accordingly (about the year 1646) he was soon after plundered of his cattle and other goods without-doors, and several times forced to fly for his life.' Later, his lot was made still harder by the confiscation of his living, which he did not regain until after the Restoration. In the old parish register is a note, probably interpolated by John Snell when he had returned to his living, and with outraged feelings had been looking at the volume, and reading the entry referring to the appointment of a lay registrar in his parish. The registrars elected in 1653 were not only given charge of the parish registers, but took another office out of the hands of the clergy. No marriage might take place without the registrar's certificate that he had called the banns. The couple then took the certificate to the nearest magistrate, who, after hearing each of them repeat a brief formula, was authorized to declare them legally married.

Mr Snell's exclamation of distress appears under a notice which 'certyfyed John Calder (?) of the parish of Thurelston to bee Register of the sayde Parish,' and was signed by 'Will Bastard,' and dated 'September 20th, 1653.' Above and below the date is written:

'Monstrum horrendum informe.[This is yeHoure and Ye]Anno Dom. 1653.[Power of darkness.]'

On Mr Snell's tombstone is a long Latin epitaph, from an English version of which the following lines are taken:

'He was the silent storehouse of the poor,The dear delight of those who needed nought,To all the pattern of a holy life.'

The Thurlestone chronicle records a certain number of beliefs and charms, and on one of them the present rector makes a note of peculiar interest: 'The Bishop of Malborough [Dr Earle, then Vicar of West Alvington and Malborough] tells me that his curate, the Rev. Robert Hole, South Huish, saw this charm used successfully to stop blood on a man called James Pierie.

'Jesus was born in Bethlehem.The water was wild in the wood,He spake the word and it stood,And so will (—'s —'s) blood,'

'In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen. 'Used by Betty Edgecombe, white witch of Malborough and West Alvington.'

Not far from Thurlestone was another parson who worked hard to embarrass the besiegers of the Royalists in Salcombe Castle, and who had his share of thrilling adventures. Mr Lane was the rector of Aveton Giffard, a parish at the head of the estuary of the Avon, which opens into Bigbury Bay. When the war broke out he took an active part, in conjunction with several gentlemen in the neighbourhood, in 'raising Succours for his Majesty.' And at the same time he began to make a 'Fort on a Hill' (part of the Glebe), which commanded the bridge over the Avon, crossed by Parliamentary troops marching to the siege of the Castle. Meanwhile, soldiers from Plymouth came up in boats, plundered the house, and took, says Mr Lane's youngest son, 'Two of my brethren,RichardandJohn, not giving them time to put on their stockings, and forced them to carry what of the Goods they could toAwmar(a creek), where theycarried off Stolen Sheep and Plundered Goods with my two eldest brothers. When the war was ended the triumphant Parliamentarians attempted to revenge themselves on their sturdy enemy, and searched the country for 'BishopLane, theTraytor,' who was driven to hide in his church tower. For three or four months his people secretly brought him food, and he was then able to make his escape, and in the end reached France in safety.

Slapton Lea

If the traveller returns to Prawle Point, and then follows the coast towards Dartmouth, he will soon come to the ridge of Start Point, which 'stretches boldly to sea, sloped on each side like the roof of a house, and crowned along its entire length by fanciful crags, strangely weathered and shaggy with moss.' Round the Point at a certain state of every tide there is a formidable tide-race, and always a swell so strong as to make small boats very careful of the weather before they try to sail round the Start. Dartmouth lies almost due north, and the coast-line between is very lovely, though it has not the impressiveness of the cliffs farther west. Slapton Sands are over two miles long, and the hills stand back far enough from the shore to leave room for Slapton Lea, a fresh-water lake, almost smothered with tall, feathery reeds and rushes in the summer, separated from the sea by a barrier of pebbles. The line of these wooded hills is broken by three little valleys, and down each one flows a brook that feeds the Lea. At the southern edge is Tor Cross, a handful of cottages under the shadow of a cliff that shuts away the shore-line to the south. The long stretch of sands is delightful. They are dotted all over with the glaucous leaves and brilliant flowers of the yellow-horned poppy, and bristling blue viper's bugloss, and on the inland edge there is a scattered border of the rest-harrow's pink butterfly blossoms. The short turf beyond is sprinkled with the little white bladder campion and thrift and many other flowers.

At the northern end of the sands the road turns inland, and presently comes to Blackpool, very small, but one of the most perfect of miniature bays. The cliffs are 'of various colours and very lustrous,' and almost on the brink the road winds its way amongst woods of firs and pines that seem to breathe out a peculiarly spice-like sweetness. When I saw it the sea was like molten silver, for the sunlight poured on it from beyond clouds, and the sun itself was not to be seen. But though this bay looks as if it had fallen from a poet's dream, it has been the scene of many stern events and disasters; for ships have mistaken the inlet for Dartmouth Harbour, with lamentable results. Many a time, too, it has been used by those who knew the coast well, but had their own reasons for wishing to land without attracting notice, for it is quite cut off by the shoulder of the hill from Dartmouth, and is near no other town.

In Queen Mary's reign the secret landing of doubtful characters was a danger that had to be diligently guarded against, and the Lords of the Council received an agitated letter from Sir John St Leger on this subject just after the flight of Sir Peter Carew. Sir Peter had a castle and many friends at Dartmouth, and Sir John quotes him as often having said that if he were the King's enemy he could take 'Dartmouth Castle' and 'burne the Towne with fewer than a hundred persons and lett ynto the haven suche as pleased hym. I, also, am creadeably informed the way howe he should be able to do so. That within a myle, or les, of the said Towne, there is a very good open place called Black poole, for the queene's enemyes to lande, and invade, and from thense may come to the saide towne from the back side.'

But when Queen Elizabeth came to the throne, and Sir Peter was reinstated and held in great honour, the coast was still far from safe, and there is a letter written by the Queen in 1564 to her 'Right Trustie and wel-beloved' Sir Peter, commissioning him to get ready and arm two ships, that, as the 'cost of Devonshyre and Cornwall is by reput much harted with pyrattes and Rovers,' so he should repress and, as far as possible, capture them. Twenty-four years later a far more serious danger threatened, and the preparations against the Spanish Armada were very elaborate. Masses of the most stringent orders are still preserved amongst the House of Lords manuscripts, and to quote a few will give an idea of their nature and scope.

On July 11, 1588, it was ordered: 'That all persons of whatdegree soever ... whose armour and furniture shall not be found serviceable, for the first offence shall be put into the stocks one whole day, publicly; and for the second offence to the gaol for ten days' etc. Careful instructions are sent as to the choice of watchmen for the beacons and their duties; and a brief note refers to a letter written by the Council to Sir Walter Raleigh, then Warden of the Stannaries, demanding the muster-rolls of the tinners, both horse and foot, 'who poured to war' as well from Dartmoor's as from 'Mendip's sunless caves.'

After the Armada had been defeated, there were fears of another Spanish invasion, and in January, 1595-96, news came to the Deputy-Lieutenants and Justices of the Peace of Devon that 'The Queen has found it convenient to have her navy and certain companies of Soldiers for land-service in readiness to be victualled' with all possible speed 'for her service ... 400 quarters of wheat, 200 oxen, and 200 flitches of bacon are required from Devonshire.'

There are notices, too, respecting such gentlemen as 'have been charged with light horses and petronels,' and of the particular divisions of coast apportioned to each. For instance, in a certificate dated June 25, 1596, it is stated that 'Mr Seymour's colonelship reacheth from Plymouth to Dartmouth. Mr Cary's from Dartmouth to Exmouth. Sir Thomas Dennis from Exmouth to Axmouth.' And, going into particulars: 'For Salcomb, Mr William Courtenay with the assistance of the constable and other officers there.... Long Sands [Slapton] and Black pool to be defended by Mr Ameredith and Mr Roope.' The notice continues to give an exact list of the places next one another along the coast, the names of the officers and numbers of men appointed to defend each.

In spite of all that was done, in the summer of 1598 the Lords of the Council were dissatisfied, and wrote to the Lord-Lieutenant to complain of 'the number of horse, which we think to be very few in that country in regard to the largeness and wealth of the same.' But the people in the county looked at the matter in a different light, and in the following April, at a meeting in Exeter, it wasresolved that a letter should be written to the Lords of the Council to convey 'the desire of the country' to be freed from a certain 'contribution' wherewith they find themselves much burdened and grieved in respect of the manifold impositions daily coming upon them.'

Demands and complaints seem to have been bandied backwards and forwards for some time afterwards, for in 1600 there came this brief but alarming note from the Lords of the Council:

'June 23, Greenwich.—The composition money for Devonshire, though the whole amounts but to £113 6s. 8d., remains partly unpaid; we have therefore sent down a messenger to bring before us all those who remain in arrear.'

Fortunately, the period of acute alarm had now passed away, and the train-bands were dismissed, so that the burden of levying contributions must for a while have been lightened.

The Tamar, near SaltashThe Tamar, near Saltash

'Upon the British coast what ship yet ever came,That not of Plymouth hears, where those brave navies lie,From cannons thund'ring throats that all the world defy?Which to invasive spoil, when th' English list to draw,Have check'd Iberia's pride, and held her oft in awe:Oft furnishing our dames with India's rar'st devices,And lent us gold and pearl, rich silks and dainty spices.'Drayton:Poly-olbion.

Drayton:Poly-olbion.

'Be patient, I beseech you, I am in a labyrinth, where I find many ways to proceed, but not one to come forth.' Such is Westcote's plea while attempting to describe Plymouth, and it may be echoed from the heart by anyone who is in the same perplexing position. The words so exactly sum up the difficulty. One is bewildered by the multitude of associations thronging on every side in a town in which, unlike other West Country ports, the pulse of life throbs as strongly as it did in the centuries long gone by. 'The sea-front of Plymouth,' says Mr Norway, 'is the most interesting spot within the British Empire, if not also the most beautiful. It is a large claim, but who can deny it?'

No one who has not studied the history of the Three Towns can realize how keenly Plymouth has been affected by every declaration of war or peace that this country has known—at latest, since the reign of Edward I—nor how vividly its victories and disasters have been brought home to the people. The number of fleets that have returned to this port in triumph, or sometimes in humiliation, and the succession of ever-famous expeditions that have sailed from the Sound, must continually have carried their thoughts across the seas, and prevented petty local affairs from bounding their horizon. The old chronicles seem to show that stirring events perpetually followed each other at shortintervals, and when no great expedition was occupying men's minds, there were usually plenty of adventurous spirits to provide excitement—privateers, such as those who took service with the Prince of Condé, and searched the Channel for Roman Catholic ships, and others, ready for 'semi-piratical ventures.' There were also moments when Plymouth was the victim, and in dread watched for the Turkish and Algerine pirates who were known to be hovering near, and were making raids in the neighbourhood.

Plymouth seems to keep a peculiarly strong hold on the affections of her sons, no matter how far or wide they wander, and it is said that the city 'has given its name to more towns than any other town or city in the world. There are seventeen Aberdeens outside Scotland. There are twenty-nine Londons, but forty Plymouths.'

From the Hoe, one point after another that catches the eye suggests a fresh train of ideas. To the east is Sutton Pool, with its coasting vessels and fishing-boats; south, across the Cattewater, lies Mount Batten, whose round tower recalls the long and resolute defence of the town in the Civil War. Still farther south are the high grounds of Plymstock and Bovisand, with their modern fortifications; to the north stretches the town and far in the distance the heights of Dartmoor; and to the south-west, over the Cornish border, lies beautiful Mount Edgcumbe, which 'so affected the Duke of Medina-Sidonia' Fuller tells us,'(though but beholding it at a distance from the Sea), that he resolved it for his own possession in the partage of this kingdom (blame him not if choosing best for himself), which they had preconquered in their hopes and expectation.' Mr Norway sketches the view in rapid touches: 'The Sound lies veiled in a thin blue mist, behind which a hot sun beats, scattering it gradually with the aid of a stiff breeze off the land. But it hangs around Mount Edgcumbe on the right, where the grey towers of the mansion stand in shadow among dark woods, while on the summit of the hill above the green fields catch the sunlight. A little lower, Drake's Island lies impalpable and dim amid the mist which sweeps so softly round the forts and the green grassy slopes as to touch it all withmystery one moment, while the next it is bright again with sunlight, sparkling amid the dazzling sea. Within the breakwater the sea is alive with craft.'

The little island in the Sound has been transferred from patron to patron. Originally called after St Michael, to whom its chapel was dedicated, the name was changed to that of St Nicholas, the patron saint of mariners, and eventually the island was renamed in honour of Plymouth's greatest hero. The chapel had been destroyed before Drake's day at the bidding of the Privy Council, and fortifications were reluctantly built upon it by the Mayor and Corporation, the Council 'mervelinge of their unwillingnesse to proceede in the fortefynge of St Michaell's Chapele to be made a Bulwarke.'

Plymouth is not rich in old buildings. The Citadel was rebuilt in the reign of Charles II, and the new Guildhall is little over thirty years old. St Andrew's, a large Perpendicular building with a fine tower, is the only old church, but it stands on the site of a much older one—the church of the Augustinians of Plympton Priory.

Really, neither Stonehouse nor Devonport has any history. In the reign of Henry III, Stonehouse consisted of the dwelling of Joel de Stonehouse, who at that time owned the manor, and it is only comparatively lately, since it has been transformed into a huge naval storehouse, and the great Marine Barracks have been built, that it has become of importance.

Devonport, looking over the broad glittering waters of Hamoaze, was till the year 1824 known only as Dock, or Plymouth Dock. Charles II planned a dockyard here, but the work of making it was not begun until the reign of William and Mary.

The very early history of Plymouth is not specially interesting to anyone who cares over-much for sober fact; but looking at it in the generous spirit of the ancient chroniclers, and not stickling over probabilities, the story of the first great event in Plymouth is almost as fine as the traditions of Totnes itself. Giants, we all know, flourished in Cornwall, and soon after the arrival of the Trojans—about 1200 B.C.—they made a furious onslaught uponthe invaders, but were defeated after a desperate battle. The crowning struggle between Goemagot (the name afterwards turned into Gogmagog), chief of the giants, and Corinæus the Trojan, took place in Plymouth Hoe, as Drayton's vigorous lines declare:

'Upon that loftie place at Plimmouth called the Hoe,Those mightie Wrastlers met, with many an irefull lookeWho threatned, as the one hold of the other tooke:But, grappled, glowing fire shines in their sparkling eyes.And whilst at length of arme one from the other lyes,Their lusty sinewes swell like cables, as they strive:Their feet such trampling make, as though they forc't to driveA thunder out of earth; which staggered with the weight:Thus, either sat most force urg'd to the greatest height.'

A memorial of this terrific conflict, 'the portraiture of two men of the largest volume,' was cut in the turf on the Hoe at an early date, and was only destroyed when the Citadel was built about 1671.

In the Domesday Book Plymouth appears as the Manor of Sutton, and this was later on divided into three separate portions—Sutton Valletort or Vautier, Sutton Prior, and Sutton Raf. The village of Sutton Valletort was 'the germ of ancient Plymouth.' Sutton was given by Henry I to Reginald de Valletort, who bestowed lavish gifts on the monastery at Plympton; and as his example was followed by his successors, the title of the second portion of the manor is easily accounted for. The whole place was dominated by the Valletorts and the Priors, but the power of the monks increased steadily, till, at an inquisition held in 1281, 'it was presented that the Ville of Sutton belonged to the Prior of Plympton, with assize of bread and beer, and this right was allowed.' Sutton was now becoming a flourishing town, and some years later the King made inquiries about his property in it, for the burgesses had petitioned that some waste land might be granted them at a yearly rent. To this 'the Prior and the Valletorts declared that the town was wholly theirs, and none of the King's,' and the dispute was followed by a series of efforts, on the part of the townspeople, to free themselves from the rule of the Priors—efforts which succeeded each other, at no long intervals, through the next hundred and twenty years.

As time went on, the Crown gradually granted rights to the burgesses, and increased their responsibilities, till in 1439 an Act of Parliament was passed incorporating the three Suttons as a free borough, with one Mayor, and the manorial rights of the Priory were ceded to the Mayor and Corporation, who paid to the Priory a fixed yearly sum in compensation. The name Plymouth, which had been used in speaking of the port, was now formally adopted for the whole town.

From the 'mene thing, as an inhabitation for Fischars,' that Leland says it was in the reign of Henry II, the town grew rapidly, and before the end of the thirteenth century it was represented in Parliament. In 1287, for the first time on record, the splendid harbour was officially recognized as a grand rendezvous, and three hundred and twenty-five vessels gathered here before sailing for Guienne under the command of the King's brother. Half a century later, orders were sent that men and ships should be collected at Plymouth to escort Princess Johanna, the King's daughter, to Gascony, and escorts for various Princes had to be provided on several occasions. The Black Prince was kept by contrary winds in the port for forty days, when he was on his way to France to fight the 'glorious battell at Poictiers.' In the early part of the fifteenth century Plymouth suffered severely from the attacks of the French and Bretons, and in 1403 the Bretons, under the Sieur du Chastel, burned six hundred houses in the part since called Briton Side. The name became gradually transformed into 'Burton,' but the memory of the raid survived so far, Mr Worth tells us, as to enable the boys who lived in the Old Town to taunt the 'Burton boys' during the wars with France, by reminding them of the harm that the French had done to their quarter.

On Freedom Day, a 'local Saturnalia kept as such from the earliest times,' one of the features was the fighting between the Old Town and Burton boys for a barrel of beer, provided by the Mayor. Long after this custom had been dropped, the recollection of it was revived by the sign of a public-house, the Burton Boys, though eventually the owner changed the sign to thatof the Black Lion, as he 'wished for some more peaceful name'!

Plymouth does not seem to have been much affected by the Wars of the Roses, but Henry VII, as Earl of Richmond, 'while he houered upon the coast,' came ashore at Cawsand, and here 'by stealth refreshed himselfe; but being advertised of streight watch, kept for his surprising at Plymouth, he richly rewarded his hoste, hyed speedily a ship boord, and escaped happily to a better fortune.'

The fisheries of the port are old and important. The earliest grant now to be traced, made by Reginald de Valletort to Plympton Priory, was that of all his fishing rights in Tamar and Lynher—a privilege which Mr Worth thinks was probably bestowed 'not long after the manor passed into the hands of the Valletort family.' In 1384 Parliament decreed that all fish caught in the waters of Sutton, Plymouth, and Tamar should be displayed for sale in Plymouth and Aish [Saltash] only, which sounds as if Plymouth were already jealous of other fish-markets, as was certainly the case later on. During parts of the sixteenth century the industry flagged, and in Henry VIII's reign a royal proclamation ordered abstinence from flesh on Saturdays as well as Fridays, with the frank explanation that this was 'not only for health and discipline, but for the benefit of the Commonwealth, and profit of the fishing trade.' In Queen Elizabeth's reign matters were still worse, for the eating of fish had now come to be a badge of religious opinions, and '"to detest fish" in all shapes and forms had become a note of Protestantism.'

And not only had the demand for fish lessened, but the fisheries had fallen into the hands of foreigners. The Yarmouth waters were 'occupied by Flemings and Frenchmen,' 'the narrow seas by the French,' 'the western fishing for hake and pilchard by a great navy of French within kenning of the English shores,' and Scots and Spaniards fished other parts of the coasts. Cecil, who was anxious for greater reasons, to find 'means to encourage mariners,' set to work to revive the English fishing-trade, and with great difficulty succeeded in carrying a Bill through the House ofCommons, making 'the eating of flesh on Fridays and Saturdays a misdemeanour, punishable by a fine of three pounds or three months' imprisonment, and as if this was not enough, adding Wednesday as a subsidiary half-fish day.'

About this time Plymouth tried to rid itself of at least one branch of foreign competition by appealing to the Privy Council to forbid 'the exportation of pilchards, save in ships of Devon and Cornwall, because "divers ships and mariners lye idle without employment within our harbour," while foreign ships were continually employed.' Pilchards were a very important item, and many regulations were made in reference to them. One order, dated 1565-66, gives a good example of Plymouth's views of free trade. It ran: 'That no alien should lade or buy fresh pilchards above the number of 1,000 in a day; no man ... being free to buy or sell above 5,000, unless the fish "were in danger of perishing."' The business of curing fish was a large one and very jealously guarded. At the British Museum, among the Lansdowne manuscripts, is a letter to Lord Burghley from Mr Richard Browne, showing that this subject was sometimes the source of friction between the citizens themselves. It begins:

'My honorable good Lord, as I have ben always most bound vnto yor ho., so I humbly besech you to stand my good Lord.' The letter goes on to explain that the writer had been granted a 'pattent for salting, drying, and packing of fishe in the counties of Devon and Cornwall,' but letters from the Privy Council had caused the 'staie thereof.' These letters were apparently inspired by the complaint to the Council of 'marchants,' who were injured because the terms of the 'pattent' laid down 'that the inhabitants should be servid before the marchents, paying nothing unto me for it,' as he adds in a slightly aggrieved manner. The writer begs that these terms may be altered, and the only conditions should be those affecting such fish 'as shuld be transported in consyderacon of the Quene's Majesty's right.' For, he pathetically remarks, he has paid 'a great some of money' for his privileges, and still 'am bound to pay the rent into the exchequer,' although not allowed to reap the benefit therefrom. Besides, great inconvenience is caused by the suspension of his business, and letters of complaint have been addressed to him from Devonshire and Cornwall desiring 'ythe pforme his offer ytthey may have fishe for their owne provesion frely.'

It was the outburst of ventures of every description, with all their different aims—ventures of soldiers, explorers, privateers, and merchants—in the reign of Queen Elizabeth that brought Plymouth to its greatest glory. In the interval between William Hawkins' first voyage to the South Seas—about 1528—and 1601, when Captain William Parker sailed to Panama and took Porto Bello, Plymouth was the starting-point of forty voyages, every one of which is historical. Mr Worth gives the exact date of each, and the names of the commanders. 'Here,' says Carew, 'mostly have the troops of adventurers made theirRendezvousfor attempting new discoueries or inhabitances.' And Westcote, in the reign of James I, writes: 'Whatever show it makes in description, it is far larger in fame, and known to the farthest and most remote parts of the world.' In Camden's opinion, this great reputation was won 'less by the convenience of the harbour, as for the valour and worth of the Inhabitants,' and the worthies of Plymouth are indeed beyond number. Among the comparatively few whose names have not been lost, there stands out conspicuously Sir William Wilford, who after a French invasion returned the charge by swooping down on Brittany, where he 'made them to pay, besidescostsandcharges, more than sixfolddamages.' And Captain Cocke, a 'Cock of the Game indeed,' according to Fuller; 'A Volanteer in his own ship,' he went out against the Armada, and 'lost his life to save his Queen and Countrey.' Then there is Cockrem, who sailed with William Hawkins, and was left alone among the Brazilians as a hostage for one of the 'Savage Kings' Hawkins brought back with him—but, as Mr Norway says, 'Plymouth has too many heroes; in the crowd the faces of all but one or two are blurred.'

For three generations the Hawkinses were 'the master spirits' of Plymouth, and of them all Sir John Hawkins was the most famous. His character was a curious medley of incongruousfeatures, bluff straightforwardness and crooked diplomacy, faithful affection—such as his bold schemes to help his captured comrades proved—balanced by a hard indifference that ignored the misery of the wretched negroes he sold to West Indian planters. Pluck and daring were the only qualities he showed consistently from first to last. His zeal in slave-hunting, repulsive to us, is excused by Froude on the ground that 'negro slavery in theory was an invention of philanthropy.' Labourers were a necessity for the Spanish colonist, 'the proud and melancholy Indian pined like an eagle in captivity, refused to accept his servitude, and died; the more tractable negro would domesticate like the horse or the ass.' Though Hawkins met with much good as well as bad luck, he was one of those who have need to remember that fate does not shower favours on all men, but 'if a man look sharply and attentively, he shall see Fortune; for though she be blind, yet she is not invisible,' and his success was to a very great extent due to his stout heart and quick discernment. These qualities stood him in good stead at San Juan de Ulloa, when his few ships were overwhelmed by a much larger fleet. 'The name of Hawkins was so terrible that the Spaniards dared not give him warning that he was to be attacked;' but mounted their batteries in the dark, and from land and sea 'every gun which could be brought to bear' opened upon the unprepared English. After sinking two Spanish ships and setting a third on fire, Hawkins saw that flight was their only chance, and, gathering his men together in two small tenders, he 'crawled out under the fire of the mole and gained the open sea.' The position of affairs was dispiriting in the extreme. Many men and three good ships were lost, besides treasure worth more than a million pounds, that had been won, by running innumerable dangers, during the past year. His ships were overcrowded, the store of food and water was scanty, and no harbour west of the Atlantic was open to them. Under the weight of adversity, Hawkins offered 'a lesson for all time on the use of bravado, the crowning grace of every leader who does not seek it at the cost of better things.'

'When theMinionstood off,' says Hortop, who wrote the taleon his return to England, 'our generall courageously cheered up his soldiers and gunners, and called to Samuel his page for a cup of beer, who brought it to him in a silver cup. And he, drinking to all the men, willed the gunners to stand to their ordnance lustily like men. He had no sooner set the cup out of his hand, but a demi-culverin shot struck away the cup and a cooper's plane that stood by the mainmast and ran out on the other side of the ship, which nothing dismayed our generall, for he ceased not to encourage us, saying, "Fear nothing: for God who hath preserved me from this shot will also deliver us from these traitors and villains."'

Hawkins is chiefly known by his voyages and enterprises, and all that he did for his country by monotonous hard work is not so often remembered. For twenty-one years he 'toiled terribly' as Treasurer of the Queen's Marine Causes and Comptroller of the Navy, and when the ships were sent out to meet the Armada they were 'in such condition, hull, rigging, spars, and running rope, that they had no match in the world either for speed, safety, or endurance.'

There is no space here to speak of Sir John's father, 'the pioneer of English adventure in the South Seas,' who made three famous voyages to Brazil, and laid a good foundation for future traffic in that he 'behaved wisely' to the natives; nor to do more than glance at the ventures of Sir John's son, Sir Richard Hawkins, the 'Complete Seaman,' whose 'high-spirited actions, had they been all duly recorded (as pity it is, they were not),' says Prince, 'would have made a large volume in themselves.' Sir Richard rediscovered the Falkland Isles, and passed the Straits of Magellan. His fleet was reduced to a single vessel, and he had taken five richly laden ships, when 'the King of Spain's vice-roy in those parts' sent 'eight ships to intercept him. Sir Richard Hawkins held the fight for three days, with but three score and fifteen men and boys, against thirteen hundred of the enemy, and those the choice of Peru.' In the end, being 'dangerously wounded in six several places,' and with many of his crew killed or wounded, he was forced to surrender upon 'honourable articles of life and liberty,' which, however, were not observed, and he was sent toSpain, where for long years he remained a prisoner. Sir Richard left an account of his 'Voyage to the South Sea'—a 'record of misfortune, but of misfortune which did no dishonour to him who sank under it; and there is a melancholy dignity in the style in which Hawkins tells his story, which seems to say that ... he respects himself still for the heart with which he endured a shame which would have broken a smaller man.' A second William Hawkins, Sir John's brother, commanded a Huguenot vessel under the commission of the Prince of Condé; and yet another William of a younger generation went as ambassador of the East India Company to the Great Mogul, and succeeded in setting up a trading station at Surat.

Every Plymouth hero, however, is eclipsed by Sir Francis Drake, who is always counted their chief, though he was born near Tavistock. 'Could my pen as ably describe his worth as my heart prompteth to it, I would make this day-star appear at noon-day as doth the full moon at midnight,' is Risdon's ecstatic exclamation.

When all his grand qualities and successes have been contemplated, it is still rather surprising to find the extraordinary impression he created in that epoch of heroic enterprise. The stories of magic that have clustered round his name witness to his wonderful personality, for naturally they are much more significant than those that have been woven around the older heroes of a more superstitious, less civilized age. These legends must have been handed down to generation after generation, for, writing about 1835, Mrs Bray mentions that the peasantry near Tavistock still talked of the 'old warrior,' as they called him. To choose one or two at random, there is the story that once, after he had been away for a very long time, his wife supposed him to be dead, and thought that she was free to marry again. A spirit whispered the news to Sir Francis, who was at the Antipodes. At once he fired a great cannon-ball, 'so truly aimed that it shot up right through the globe, forced its way into the church, and fell with a loud explosion between the lady and her intended bridegroom. "It is the signal of Drake!" she exclaimed. "He is alive, and I am still a wife. There must be neither troth nor ring between thee andme."' Another story tells that after he had finished the ever-famous game of bowls on Plymouth Hoe, which was interrupted by tidings of the Armada, Sir Francis cut up a block of wood, and flung the chips into the sea, when every ship became a fire-ship, and the enemy's fleet was really destroyed because of the 'irresistable strength of those vessels that he had called up to "flame amazement" on the foes of Elizabeth and of England.'

When the citizens of Plymouth wanted a more abundant supply of water, they appealed to Drake, and he was ready to help them. 'So he called for his horse, mounted, rode to Dartmoor, and hunted about till he found a very fine spring. Having fixed on one that would suit his purpose, he gave a smart lash to his horse's side, pronouncing as he did so some magical words, when off went the animal as fast as he could gallop, and the stream followed his heels all the way into the town.' It is not possible here to pick more legends from the group, excepting one which was certainly told among the people a few years ago. Drake promised, they said, that if ever the country were hard pressed by any foe, and his countrymen should call him by striking his drum, he would hear them, and come back and scatter the enemy.

Of Drake it has been said that 'his Puritanism went hand-in-hand with his love of adventure. 'To sell negroes to the planters, to kill Spaniards, to sack gold-ships, was in the young seaman's mind the work of "the elect of God"'—a belief that no doubt partly explains how the most desperate circumstances seemed unable to teach him the meaning of fear. It is easy to understand how a leader who combined such glorious courage with great unselfishness could take his men anywhere. On arriving off the coast, on his first independent voyage to America, he found this encouraging greeting—'a plate of lead, fastened to a very great tree,' engraved with a message which began:

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