Lynmouth
Perched on the cliffs nine hundred feet immediately above Lynmouth, Lynton looks down to the inlet, into which two ravines open from the south. Down these ravines rush the East and West Lyns, hidden among the woods; and the two streams join just before they reach the sea-shore. Countisbury Foreland stands high to the east of the harbour and stretches far out into the sea, and between the foreland and the mainland is another long, steep, winding cleft.
I once saw the bay in an exquisite light very early in the morning. Earth and sky and sea were all veiled in the softest grey, and in the sky was one little flush of pale rose pink. But for a sea-gull crying under the cliff, the stillness was absolute.
Lynmouth consists of a tiny quay, a little group of houses, and the ravines beyond. It is impossible to imagine any place where buildings and tourists could more exasperate a true lover of earlier days. Still, they cannot have more than a superficial effect—except at the meeting of the streams, which is quite spoilt by the houses on either side.
The music of the Lyns has been noticed by many comers, and about sixty years ago the Rev. H. Havergal, whilst staying here and listening to the continuous tone of the Lyn at low-water, composed this chant:
MUSIC OF THE LYNS.
As a place for visitors to admire, Lynton was discoveredin the beginning of the nineteenth century. The French Revolution and Napoleonic wars obliged those who were in the habit of going abroad for change and amusement to look for it in comparatively unknown parts at home. In 1807 the first hotel—not counting a small and inconvenient village hostelry—was opened; and even at this date there were no wheeled vehicles in either village, ponies and donkeys carrying everything. Until this time Lynton and Lynmouth had been the quietest of little fishing-villages, without even the doings of a resident squire or rector to furnish a subject for a little gossip.
The ecclesiastical history of the little neighbouring parish of Countisbury is very much mixed up with that of Lynton. Mr Chanter prints some of the Countisbury churchwardens' accounts, which, as he observes, are chiefly remarkable for the prominent part that beer played in every event, from killing a fox to the visitation of 'ye Dean Ruler.'
s.d.'Pd when one fox was killed for beer20Pd more for beare when one fox was killed26Pd for bear when two foxes were killed76Pd for ale for the fox hunters20'
Other entries are for killing 'wild cats, greys [badgers], and hedge hogs ... salaries of dog-whipper ... fox-hunter, etc., and repairs to the base viol.'
Lynmouth and Lyn were noted for the fishery, and especially for their herrings and oysters. The fishery was developed in quite early days by the abbots of Ford Abbey, who claimed the whole coast-line of Lynton and of Countisbury. Cellars and curing-houses, called 'red-herring houses,' were built close to the beach, and were apt to be swept away by any violent storm, for the little harbour has a double reason for dreading bad weather—not only do the breakers surge over their usual limits and wash away or damage all that is in their way, but at the same time the streams come down a roaring, foaming torrent, which rolls along great boulders and hurls itself against all obstacles. In 1607 awhole row of red-herring houses was swept away, and since that date the records of disputes as to repairs to the harbour and petitions from the fishermen tell how greatly they have suffered from this cause. The fishing has dwindled until it is now a very trifling matter indeed.
The small parish of Countisbury is high on the cliffs, on the eastern side of the river, and the road to it from Lynmouth rises at once to a height of eleven hundred feet. A little Perpendicular church with an embattled tower crowned by pinnacles stands at the mercy of every wind that blows.
Farther to the east, and almost on the boundary-line of Somerset, is Oldbarrow Camp, which differing archæologists have claimed to be British, Roman, and Danish. From this hill the fall to the sea is precipitous, and the descent into Somerset is almost as steep; inland, the ground also sinks away, leaving a magnificent view and a grand sense of space. Even when the light is fading there is a great charm, for looking down into the hollow, one sees a faint blue tinge lying like bloom upon the misty twilight that nils the valley—a sharp contrast to the clear darkness of the evening sky. Countisbury Camp is not far from Oldbarrow, and in Lynton there are two more ancient 'castles,' each consisting of a single fosse and rampart, and other monuments. Several stone circles, 'over forty feet in diameter,' have been wickedly removed from the Valley of Rocks 'for the purpose of selling them as gate-posts!...' Spindle-wheels, or pixie grinding-stones, as the natives call them, have been found in the neighbourhood, as well as arrow-heads and 'a skinning knife with a ground edge of black flint.'
The winding valley of the West Lyn is very beautiful, but not so wild as that of the East Lyn; it lies deep down beneath fir-woods, whose serried spires mount higher and higher on the steep hill-side. A little way from Lynton, along this lovely road, is Barbrook Mill, and close by a cottage covered with purple clematis, among trees loaded with rosy apples.
Following up the East Lyn from Lynton, the fitness of Dean Alford's words is realized:
This onward deepening gloom; this hanging pathOver the Lyn that soundeth mightily,Foaming and tumbling on, as if in wrathThat might should bar its passage to the sea;These sundered walls of rock, tier upon tier,Built darkly up into the very sky,Hung with thick wood, the native haunt of deerAnd sheep that browse the dizzy slopes on high.
This onward deepening gloom; this hanging pathOver the Lyn that soundeth mightily,Foaming and tumbling on, as if in wrathThat might should bar its passage to the sea;These sundered walls of rock, tier upon tier,Built darkly up into the very sky,Hung with thick wood, the native haunt of deerAnd sheep that browse the dizzy slopes on high.
These 'walls of rock' are now and again cleft by the narrow openings of steep and wild ravines. It is intensely solitary; there is scarcely any sound or movement, but perhaps a buzzard high in the air may hang over the valley for a few moments. About two miles from the harbour is Watersmeet, where the Farley Water rushes into the Lyn. When the leaves are on the trees the stream can hardly be seen from the road, for it lies below a high, steep bank. By the water's edge in the shaded light there is a suggestion of mystery, and the bed of the stream is so shut in that but for the stirring of the leaves, the shifting gleams of sunlight in the waters, and the freshness of the air, one could almost imagine oneself underground. The glossy leaves of festoons of ivy and wild-flowers cover the red rocks. The Farley Water falls over a succession of little waterfalls, swirling and foaming in the pools between, and then slips over little rocky ridges and slopes covered with duck-weed so wide that the 'stream covers it like no more than a thin film of glancing emerald.' Below, the valley opens enough to allow space for a tiny lawn, overhung with oak-trees; and here it is joined by the Lyn, which has raced along the farther side of a steep tongue of land.
The road passes a fir-wood, bright with golden-rod and ragwort and soft blue scabious, and by-and-by turns eastward, and reaches the scattered village of Brendon. Brendon 'church-town' is made up of church, school, parsonage, and a few farms, and can scarcely be called a village. The church stands high on the hill above the river; it is very small, and has been rebuilt comparatively lately; its dedication is the most interesting thing about it.All who ever rejoiced in 'The Water Babies' should remember this Irish saint. 'Did you never hear of the blessed St Brandan, how he preached to the wild Irish, on the wild, wild Kerry coast; he, and five other hermits, till they were weary and longed to rest?... So St Brandan went out to the point of Old Dunmore, and looked over the tide-way roaring round the Blasquets, at the end of all the world, and away into the ocean, and sighed, "Ah that I had wings as a dove!" And far away, before the setting sun, he saw a blue fairy sea, and golden fairy islands, and he said, "Those are the islands of the blest!" Then he and his friends got into a hooker and sailed away and away to the westward, and were never heard of more.'
Malmsmead
A little higher up the little river (here known as Brendon Water) is a very old bridge, now unused, and a wide modern bridge, which crosses the two branches of the divided stream just below a little green island. Bushes crowd and overlap each other on the banks, and it is very likely a grey water-wagtail will dart from among the leaves and flit jauntily upstream.
The road all this way follows the water—for some distance the boundary between the counties—and here it is sunk between the barriers of the County Wall separating Devonshire and Somersetshire. A great bare cliff, covered only with short grass, and scanty tufts of heather and furze growing thinly upon it, towers above the road; the other side of the valley is lower, gentler, and wooded. Malmsmead Bridge crosses over the Badgeworthy Water, as the stream—which seems to change its name nearly every half-mile in the most perplexing manner—is here called, a little higher than the point at which it is joined by its tributary, Oare Water. Above the bridge the road becomes a rough track that leads up into the very wild and beautiful valley of Badgeworthy Water, well known by name to all lovers of 'Lorna Doone.' Some of the natives are apt to mislead strangers by wrongly calling this glen the Doone Valley. Further upstream the valley becomes narrower, and the sides steeper, winding in long beautiful curves. The shallow stream is brown, but very bright and clear and pebbled; boggy patches lie here and there by the side, and in one patch the sweet-ferns grow so large and thick that their characteristic 'sharp sweet' scent is strong enough to betray them before one catches sight of the finely-cut fronds. On the east side of Badgeworthy Water is Deer Park, where many deer lie and the fir-woods come down to the water's edge. On the opposite side is Badgeworthy Wood, chiefly of oaks, most of which are not very large, but many of them are gnarled. The number of oak-apples that I have seen in this wood was amazing; on one tree they seemed like cherries on a cherry-tree. Nearly all were scarlet, and they glowed in the sunshine.
'Lorna Doone' has brought so many visitors to the scene that it is no news to say that the account of the water-slide is fictitious. This word is deliberately chosen instead of 'exaggerated,' which is often applied to Mr Blackmore's picture of the fall; for he was not describing scenery—he was setting a scene in his novel, and there was no reason why he should be bound to inches, or even feet! And this argument applies to what he has said of the Doone Valley. At the same time, in his 'Exploration of Exmoor,' Mr Page observes that a true description of the valley of Badgeworthy Water would very nearly represent Mr Blackmore's Glen Doone; and it still seems absolutely apart from the ordinary race and fret of life.
Two long, smooth slopes of rock one below another form the chief part of the water-slide, and the thin stream slipping over them makes one wish to see how the fall would look when the water comes down, a roaring torrent, swollen by heavy rains and melting snow. On one side of the water-slide the ground rises very sharply, but up the other side a tiny path twists through the wood, and opens quite suddenly on a very still valley with steep sides and a broad, open space between. A mountain-ash bearing vividly scarlet bunches of berries hangs over the stream close to the opening; but beyond, only a few stunted thorns grow sparsely amongst an abundance of heather, furze, bracken, and whortleberries. Lorna's bower seems to have been seen to some extent through the author's imagination. In a shallow combe at a little distance are the ruins of what appear to have been the walls of enclosures,but they are very indefinite. These are all that remain of the Doones' houses, but recent research denies that the Doones ever existed!
Lorna's Bower
From the top of the hill above the water-slide there is a very beautiful view of the winding glens opening out of each other, and at this point one is able to follow their curves for a long way before the hills shut them out of sight. With the sun shining through the haziest clouds, and the radiant glow of a diffused light calling out delicate tints on the distant slopes, the whole scene seems most fitly described by the old words of praise, 'a fair country.'
Retracing the path to Malmsmead, one is irresistibly tempted to go a few steps into Somerset to look at the tiny church of Oare, where, Mr Blackmore says, Lorna Doone and Jan Ridd were married. The church is very narrow, and it stands among trees on the slope above the stream. On the south side of the nave, close to where the old east wall stood (the chancel is new), is an early piscina of a curious shape; it is supported by a large carved human head, with a hand to each cheek, and there is a thick, solid cap on the top.
Challacombe is a small village on the western border of Exmoor, seven or eight miles south of Lynton, and the church looks far over the moors. Westcote derives the name from 'Choldicombe, or rather Coldecombe, from its cold situation, next neighbour to Exmoor;' and he speaks of 'divers hillocks of earth and stones ... termed burrows and distinguished by sundry names,' in the parish, and hints at their uncanny nature by telling how 'fiery dragons have been seen flying and lighting on them.' Such tales he dismisses scornfully, but he tells of 'a strange accident' that happened 'within these seven years, verified by oath of the party, who otherwise might have had credit for his honesty.' A labouring man, having saved enough money to buy a few acres of waste land, began to build himself a house on it, and from a burrow near by he fetched stones and earth. He had cut deep into the hillock, when 'he found therein a little place, as it had been a large oven, fairly, strongly, and closely walled up; which comforted him much, hoping that some great good would befall him, and that there might be some treasure there hidden to maintain him more liberally and with less labour in his old years: wherewith encouraged he plies his work earnestly until he had broken a hole through this wall, in the cavity whereof he espied an earthen pot, which caused him to multiply his strokes until he might make the orifice thereof large enough to take out the pot, which his earnest desire made not long a-doing; but as he thrust in his arm and fastened his hand thereon he suddenly heard, or seemed to hear, the noise of the trampling or treading of horses coming, as he thought, towards him, which caused him to forbear and arise from the place, fearing the comers would take his purchase from him (for he assured himself it was treasure); but looking about every way to see what company this was, he saw neither horse nor man in view. To the pot again he goes, and had the like success a second time; and yet, looking all about, could ken nothing. At the third time he brings it away, and therein only a few ashes and bones, as if they had been of children, or the like. But the man, whether by the fear, which yet he denied, or other cause, which I cannot comprehend, in very short time after lost senses both of sight and hearing, and in less than three months consuming died.'
This tale is followed by another, of a 'mystical sciencer,' and Westcote finishes with the comment that the stories are 'not unfit tales for winter nights when you roast crabs by the fire, whereof this parish yields none, the climate is too cold, only the fine dainty fruits of wortles and blackberries.'
A little to the north of Challacombe is the great hill of Chapman Burrows, where stands a 'tall, lean slab of slate, the Longstone.' It is nine feet high, and in the broadest part about two feet eight inches wide. The history of the Longstone is unknown, but the suggestion has been made that it may be an ancient relic, a menhir, and this view is supported by the fact that about a dozen large tumuli lie on the slopes around. One of these is between ten and twelve feet high and three hundred feet round at the base. Burrows are found all over Exmoor. 'The eye of reflection sees stand uninterrupted a number of simple sepulchres of departedsouls.... A morsel of earth now damps in silence the éclat of noisy warriors, and the green turf serves as a sufficient shroud for kings.'
Waterslide: Doone Valley
By far the greatest part of Exmoor lies in Somerset, so that here one must not wander far amongst great round hills, wide distances, and deep combes. One has heard of strangers who have been disappointed by the first sight of Exmoor, for its heights are not very evident. There are no peaks, no sharply-cut isolated hills, nor any with a very striking outline, except Dunkery; but the whole moor is a tableland, across which the coach road runs at a level from twelve hundred to fourteen hundred feet above the sea: 'A bare rolling waste of moorland stretching away into the eastern distance, like the ocean "heaving in long swells,"' and large spaces of bracken, of bogs fringed with cotton-grass and rough grass and whortleberries, among which rise little glittering streams that splash their way down into the valleys beneath.
The sides of the glens leading from the borders of the moor are crowded with endless masses of mountain-ashes, and whether the leaves make a background to the flat creamy clusters of sweet, heavily scented flowers or to great bunches of scarlet fruit, the long ranks give a very rich effect.
Mr R. J. King has observed that Exmoor, 'still lonely and uncultivated,' was probably at one time during the English conquests a boundary or 'mark,' 'always regarded as sacred and placed under the protection of some deity or hero.' Amongst some very interesting remarks, he says that the intermingling in Devonshire of the Celtic and Teutonic races 'may be traced in folk-lore, not less distinctly than in dialect or in features.... Sigmund the Waelsing, who among our English ancestors represented Sigfried, the great hero of the Niebelungen-lied, has apparently left his name to the deep pool of Simonsbath ... again, side by side with traditions of King Arthur, to the parish of Simonsward in Cornwall.'
It is difficult to imagine any moorlands destitute of superstition, and plenty linger on Exmoor. Mr Page (writing in 1890) gave some instances that have occurred comparatively lately.He speaks of 'overlooking' and of witchcraft, and says that 'not many years since the villagers of Withycombe, by no means an Ultima Thule among hamlets, firmly believed that certain ancient dames had the power of turning themselves into white rabbits.'
'An astonishing instance of belief in witchcraft' within his own experience was one where an old woman—'as harmless a creature as can be found in the country'—was believed by her neighbours to have not only the evil eye, but also 'the power of turning herself into a black dog, in which form she was met a short time since, during the twilight hour, in a neighbouring lane. For these all-sufficient reasons the poor old soul was, for a while, unable to obtain the services of a nurse during an illness from which she is only now recovering.'
Another story shows the remarkable powers of a wise woman. Mr Page explains that he cannot give the real name of the couple, but calls them Giles. Giles deserted his wife. 'For a while Mrs Giles bore his absence with a fortitude born, perhaps, of no very great love for her partner. Then she suddenly took it into her head to have him home. She did not telegraph, she did not even write; but one day the errant husband was seen by the astonished villagers hurrying towards his deserted home.And his footsteps were marked with blood!The witch-wife had compelled his return in such haste that not only the soles of his boots, but those of hisfeet, were worn out.'
Mr Page mentions that 'the old mediæval custom of touching a corpse still prevails. At an inquest lately held at or near South Molton, each of the coroner's jury, as he filed past the body, laid his fingers on the forehead. This act, it was believed, would free him from dreams of the deceased.
Omens and portents such as mysterious knockings, a particular sound of church-bells, or a bird flying into a room, are very grave warnings, and a story of this character comes from near Taunton. 'A farmer riding home from Taunton Market noticed a white rook among the sable flock settling over a field. When he reached home there were symptoms of uneasiness among his cattle, andthat night the dogs barked so vociferously that he had to get up and quiet them. In the morning he was dead.'
Doone Valley
Writing of other traditions, 'one of the most beautiful of Easter customs still survives. Young men have not yet ceased on the Resurrection morning to climb the nearest hill-top to see the sun flash over the dark ridge of Quantock, or the more distant line of Mendip.' To see the newly-arisen sun on Easter morning was an augury of good luck. 'Early in the century Dunkery, probably because it is the highest land in Somerset, was favoured above all surrounding hills, and its sides,' says Miss King, 'were covered with young men, who seemed to come from every quarter of the compass, and to be pressing up towards the Beacon.'
Exmoor stag-hunting is far-famed, for it is the only corner of England where wild red deer are still to be found. The fashion of coming here to hunt from a distant part of the country is comparatively modern, but Hugh Pollard, Ranger of the Forest, kept a pack of stag-hounds at Simonsbath more than three hundred years ago, and the Rangers who succeeded him continued to keep the hounds.
Even before the Conquest, the moor had been a royal hunting-ground. Deeds show that in the reign of Edward the Confessor there were at least three Royal Foresters; and William I, says Mr Rawle, 'probably reserved to himself the forest rights, for the Conqueror, according to the Saxon Chronicle, "loved the tall deer as though he had been their father," and would scarcely be likely to forgo any privileges concerning the vert and venison.' Various tenures show that later Kings kept Exmoor as a preserve. Walter Aungevin held land in Auri and Hole (near South Molton) under Edward III, 'by sergeantry that whensoever our lord the King should hunt in the forest of Exmoor, he should find for him two barbed arrows.' And Morinus de la Barr, farther to the west, near Braunton, held his land on the same tenure with the addition of finding 'one salmon.'
Nearly thirty years later in the same reign, a very curious tenure is registered. 'Walter Barun held certain lands and tenements in the town of Holicote, of the King in capite, by the serviceof hanging upon a certain forked piece of wood the red deer that die of the murrain in the King's forest of Exmoor; and also of lodging and entertaining the poor strangers, weakened by infirmities, that came to him, at his own proper costs, for the souls of the ancestors of our Lord King Edward.'
The Forest of Exmoor was part of the jointure of several Queens of England. Henry VIII settled it on Catherine of Aragon, and it was afterwards held by Jane Seymour. James I gave it to his Queen, but Charles I had other views, and announced his intention of drawing 'the unnecessary Forests and Waste Lands' [Dartmoor and Exmoor] 'to improvement.' Needless to say, the scheme died in its early stages, and when Charles II came to the throne, he granted a lease of the forest to the Marquis of Ormonde.
Besides the wild-deer on Exmoor, there are, as everyone knows, creatures almost as wild—herds of Exmoor ponies. Very few now are pure 'Exmoors,' except those belonging to Sir Thomas Acland. Among these ponies the true breed has been carefully preserved, and there has been no crossing. It seems a little odd to think of Exmoor ponies being mentioned in Domesday, but Mr Chanter quotes an entry referring to the stock in the parishes of Lynton and Countisbury, '72 brood mares, probably the Exmoor ponies running half wild on the moor; in Brendon, 104 wild mares (equas indomitas) are mentioned.'
'The average height is 12½ hands, and bays and buffy bays with mealy noses prevail; in fact, are in the majority of three to one.' The older ponies live out all the year round, but stacks of hay and straw are built by the herdsmen against the time when the snow lies deep. 'Still, like honest, hard-working labourers, the ponies never assemble at the wicket till they have exhausted every means of self-support by scratching with their fore-feet in the snow for the remnants of the summer tufts, and drag wearily behind them an ever-lengthening chain of snowballs.'
The moor makes an excellent sheep-walk, but attempts to cultivate it have not prospered. As far as agriculturists are concerned, 'Exmoor is best left alone—the "peat and heather in hill and dale."'
There is an old ballad called 'The Farmer's Son of Devonshire,' in which the views of one character, 'Brother Jack,' show a distinct resemblance to those of the great John Fry in 'Lorna Doone.' Here are a few verses. The sub-title is a long one, beginning: 'Being the Valiant Coronel's Return from Flanders.' To the tune of 'Mary, live long.'
'Will. Well met, Brother Jack, I've been in FlandersWith valiant Commanders, and am return'd back to England again;Where a while I shall stay, and shall then march away;I'm an Officer now.Go with me, dear Brother, go with me, dear Brother,And lay by the Plow.I tell thee, old boy, the son of a farmer,In glittering armour, may kill and destroyA many proud French;As a Squire or Knight, having courage to fight,Then valiantly go,In arms like a Soldier, in arms like a Soldier,To face the proud foe.'Jack. But, dear Brother Will, you are a vine yellow,And talk mighty mellow, but what if they killThy poor brother JackBy the pounce of a gun? If they shou'd I'm undone.You know that I never, you know that I never,Had courage to fight.[Willreplies at some length.]'Jack. The enemies' men with horror will fill me,Perhaps they may kill me, and where am I then?This runs in my mind;Should I chance to be lame, will the trophies ofFameKeep me from sad groans?A fig for that honour, a fig for that honour,Which brings broken bones.'Such honour I scorn, I'd rather be mowing,Nay, plowing or sowing, or threshing of corn,At home in a barn;Then to leave Joan my wife, and to loose my sweet life,In peace let me dwell;I am not for fighting, I am not for fighting,So, Brother, Farewell.'
'Will. Well met, Brother Jack, I've been in FlandersWith valiant Commanders, and am return'd back to England again;Where a while I shall stay, and shall then march away;I'm an Officer now.Go with me, dear Brother, go with me, dear Brother,And lay by the Plow.I tell thee, old boy, the son of a farmer,In glittering armour, may kill and destroyA many proud French;As a Squire or Knight, having courage to fight,Then valiantly go,In arms like a Soldier, in arms like a Soldier,To face the proud foe.
'Jack. But, dear Brother Will, you are a vine yellow,And talk mighty mellow, but what if they killThy poor brother JackBy the pounce of a gun? If they shou'd I'm undone.You know that I never, you know that I never,Had courage to fight.
[Willreplies at some length.]
'Jack. The enemies' men with horror will fill me,Perhaps they may kill me, and where am I then?This runs in my mind;Should I chance to be lame, will the trophies ofFameKeep me from sad groans?A fig for that honour, a fig for that honour,Which brings broken bones.
'Such honour I scorn, I'd rather be mowing,Nay, plowing or sowing, or threshing of corn,At home in a barn;Then to leave Joan my wife, and to loose my sweet life,In peace let me dwell;I am not for fighting, I am not for fighting,So, Brother, Farewell.'
Powderham Castle
'As Marly's bright green leaves give placeTo tints of rich and mellowed glow;As close the shortening autumn days,Whilst summer lingers, loth to go;Quick rises each familiar scene,And fancy homewards turns her gaze;Such are the hues in Oakford seem,And such a light o'er Iddesleigh plays—Methinks the oaks of dear old PynesWith richer brown delight the eye;Nor would I take these reddening vinesFor our wild cherry's crimson dye.'Earl of Iddesleigh.
'As Marly's bright green leaves give placeTo tints of rich and mellowed glow;As close the shortening autumn days,Whilst summer lingers, loth to go;Quick rises each familiar scene,And fancy homewards turns her gaze;Such are the hues in Oakford seem,And such a light o'er Iddesleigh plays—Methinks the oaks of dear old PynesWith richer brown delight the eye;Nor would I take these reddening vinesFor our wild cherry's crimson dye.'
Earl of Iddesleigh.
Powderham Castle is a fine building in a lovely setting. On the east the park leads down towards the marshy edge of the broad rippling estuary, on either side there spread trees and bracken, with the deer feeding among them, and hills sloping gradually upwards make a very pretty background.
The Castle is difficult to describe, for one century after another has added a wing or pulled down a corner, and the result is an irregular building of very varying architecture. Even the exact colour is not easy to tell, but different shades of grey prevail. The north tower, the earliest part, is built of small and uneven stones. There is a tradition that Powderham was begun by William of Eu soon after the Conquest, and another story is that it existed before that date, and was built by a Saxon to prevent the Danes sailing up the river to Exeter; but the oldest portion now standing is probably due to Sir Philip Courtenay, who was born about A.D. 1337.
The Castle was strongly fortified, and in the Civil War withstood an attack planned by General Fairfax himself. The General,says Sprigg, ordered 'a design in hand against Pouldrum-house, by water and land, which, being on Friday, December 12, was immediately put in execution.... The design against Pouldrum-house was this, and thus carried: Lord's Day, December 14, nine of the clock at night, Captain Deane (the comptroller of the ordnance) was commanded over Ex with 200 foot and dragoons, to possess Pouldrum-castle, but the enemy had some few hours before got 150 into it, unto those that were there before, which our men not discovering before they had landed, would not return without attempting something. The church at Pouldrum being not far distant from the castle, they resolved to possess and make the best of it, and accordingly did so, and the next morning they got provisions from Nutwell-house unto them into the church, and began to fortify the same. The enemy at Excester, much startled hereat, fearing the castle would be lost, as well as the river blocked up by the fortifying of this church, sent therefore, on Monday, the 15th, a party of 500 foot, who joining with 200 from the castle assaulted our men about seven at night, threw in many hand granadoes amongst them, and so continued storming till ten, but were beaten off with much loss, leaving their dead on the place, and carrying with them many wounded, as appeared by the snow, that was much stained with blood as they retreated.' The Parliamentary soldiers remained in the church, and Sprigg, not unnaturally, vaunts their stoicism a little. 'They were resolved to continue in their duty; and notwithstanding the extremity of the cold, by reason of the great frost and snow, and want of all means to resist or qualify the same in the church, having no firing there, they would not quit the same till they received orders to do so; which hard service (hard in every respect) ... they were not immediately discharged of.' However, the next day, 'the general considering further the bitter coldness of the weather, and the hardness of the duty they would necessarily be put unto, if they should make good the church, sent orders to them to draw off, whthat they might do with the more safety, two regiments were appointed to draw down and alarm the enemy on that side Excester, while they made good their retreat over the river.'
Powderham held out gallantly for more than another month, notwithstanding that 'Colonel Hammond was set down with some force' about it; and Fairfax, on his return from his victory at Dartmouth, 'marched to Chidley, endeavouring first to take a view of Pouldrum,' meditating a fresh attack. But the garrison had reached their limit of endurance, and the same night (January 24, 1646) the Castle was surrendered.
About the year 1700 great alterations were made, and now battlemented towers and French windows, iron balconies, and loopholes in massive walls many feet thick, in strange juxtaposition, show how it has been adapted to the taste and needs of its successive owners. On the west is a large courtyard, the Castle itself forming one side of the quadrangle; on the east, a broad terrace, set with little box-edged beds, high vases, and clipped cypresses, and little turrets at the angles. Smaller terraces run north and south of the Castle, and along the south terrace is a magnificent thick, high, and very dense yew-hedge. The centre of the east front is a low tower, and at each end are projecting wings. In the south wing is the present chapel, once a granary. Perhaps its most uncommon feature is the number of old bench-ends, most of whose panels are carved with heads, some of which were shaped piously, though others are grotesque. Through the chapel is the priest's room, a large and delightful one, lighted on three sides; with Pope Gregory in stained glass, and the Courtenay arms beneath, in one window.
The walls of the 'staircase hall' are a pale blue-green, and show a bold and very elaborate decoration, a belated example of the manner of Grinling Gibbons. Long white garlands, holding together flowers, fruit, spears, a quiver of arrows, birds, beasts, trumpets, and a mass of intricate designs, hang down the walls in high relief. The fine banqueting-hall has a carved and vaulted roof, and high at one end is a gallery. Deep panelling runs all round the hall, and at the head of the panels are little shields, the coats of arms of the English and French branches of the Courtenays, and of the ladies whom the successive heads of the family have married—with, in every case, the shields of her parents andgrandparents as well. The heraldic chimneypiece is high and very elaborate. In the long drawing-rooms hang two examples of the few life-size groups that Richard Cosway painted. Both pictures are of three daughters of the house; the dresses are white, and the whole colouring extremely delicate. In the most delightful of the two the ladies are standing, and their figures and attitudes are extremely graceful. In the second picture all three are sitting on the ground, and though very pretty, this group has not the particular charm of the first. The large 'music-room' has been arranged to suit its name, for on the walls are tiny frescoes representing the triumph of Music, musical instruments are sculptured in marble on the chimneypiece, and even pattern the Aubusson carpet. In the panelled entrance-hall is some fine carving, and here hang the rather melancholy portraits of the unhappy Marquis of Exeter and his unfortunate son, and a large picture of a Lord and Lady Devon, most of their fourteen daughters, and their only son.
Powderham was brought to the Courtenays as the dowry of Margaret Bohun, daughter of the Earl of Hereford, and she left it to her fifth son, Sir Philip Courtenay, the ancestor of the present owner.
It would be impossible here to attempt the most imperfect outline of the changing fortunes of this 'imperial family,' even from the date at which they settled in England, and without any reference to the days when Courtenays were Kings of Jerusalem and Emperors of Constantinople. Members of this family have played important parts in different crises of the nation's history, and very many have been eminent in peace and war. From the chronicle of their lives and losses, battles and honours, I am able to quote here only a few scattered instances.
Sir Hugh Courtenay, born 1327, was often 'employed by the King in his wars inFranceandScotland,' and fought at the battle of Crecy. The next year, among other 'brave Martialists,' he diverted himself by mimic battles at Eltham, and it is recorded that at this tournament the King gave him 'an Hood of White Cloth, embroidered with men in the posture of Dancers, buttoned with large Pearls.' Authorities are divided as to whether he or hisfather, the Earl of Devonshire, was one of the founders of the Order of the Garter. Sir Hugh's son of the same name married Matilda, daughter of the Earl of Kent, and his wife—usually known as the Fair Maid of Kent, Lady Matilda Courtenay—inherited her mother's beauty—'"the fairest lady in England," saith Froissard.' Hugh Courtenay died young, and his widow fell in love with 'LordValeran, Earl ofSt Paul, who, having been taken Prisoner in the Marches ofCalais, was kept in the English Court, and by his winning Behaviour did much engage the Ladies Affections to him. The Princess her Mother [who as a widow had married the Black Prince] was at first much against the match, but at last she yielded, and the king her brother gave his consent, and for her dowry bestowed upon the Earl the Manor of Byfleet.Walsingtonsays that this marriage was celebrated on the Octaves of Easter, at Windsor, with great Pomp, and the Earl got from France a great many Musicians and Dancers for that purpose.'
Sir Hugh was the eldest of seventeen children, and several of the sons were distinguished men. On the eve of the Battle of Navaretto, Sir Hugh, Sir Philip, and Sir Peter were knighted together by the Black Prince. Their eagerness to fight on land or sea led, on one occasion, to an unfortunate result. In 1378 the Duke of Lancaster was exasperating the fleet under his orders by his 'slow Proceedings and unnecessary delays,' and a part of it set out without him. 'Sir Philip and Sir Peter Courtenay, two brothers who had the Command of some ships, espying some vessels belonging to the enemy, inconsiderately assaulted them, being the whole Spanish Fleet, and though they bravely fought, and defended themselves, yet in the end were beaten, most of them who were good gentlemen of Devonshire and Somersetshire being slain. Sir Peter with some others were taken Prisoners, and Sir Philip was sore wounded but escaped the hands of his enemies.'
Later on Sir Philip was Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, and must have wrestled with enough turbulence and riot to satisfy anyone. His manner of governing seems, at any rate, to have pleased the King, who, whilst Sir Philip was still in office, showeredhonours upon him—'the Park of Bovey Tracey ... Dartmoor Forest, and the Manour of Bradnich.' He was made 'Steward of all the King's Manours and Stannaries in the county of Cornwall,' and later on was appointed to other posts of importance. Unluckily, Sir Philip's chief principle of action seems to have been that might is right, and complaints being made to the King that he had expelled two of his neighbours from parts of their lands, and imprisoned the Abbot of Newenham, and two of his monks, 'with great force,' the intrepid knight was sent to the Tower. However, after a little while, 'at the request of the Lords and Commons, he was restored to his place and good name.'
William Courtenay, a brother to Sir Philip, was Bishop of London at the critical time when Wyclif's doctrines were first stirring men's minds, and after the murder of Archbishop Sudbury, Bishop Courtenay was translated to Canterbury, and began to take very severe measures against the heretics. A strange event marked a meeting of many dignitaries of Church and State, who had gathered to censure Wyclif's teaching and find means for its extermination. 'When they were just going to begin their business a wonderful and terrible earthquake happened throughout all England, whereupon differs of the suffragans being affrighted thought fit to leave off their business, but the Archbishop encouraged them to go on, and they proceeded to examine Articles of Wickliff, and to give their censure upon them.'
The Archbishop persuaded Parliament to pass an Act against certain preachers of heresy, that they might be arrested and kept 'in strong Prison until they shall justify themselves according to the Law of the Holy Church,' and brought the Chancellor of Oxford literally to his knees, begging the Archbishop's pardon for having shown favour to the Lollards against special commands.
His strong will was exercised in all matters, great and small, and offenders were punished in the most conspicuous fashion. The Archbishop took a high hand in dealing with affairs of the Diocese of Exeter, and the Bishop of Exeter greatly resented it, and appealed against him to Rome. The Archbishop then 'cited' Bishop Brantyngham 'to answer certain Articles to beproposed to him in the Visitation,' but some of the 'Bishop's Officers' met the bearer at Topsham, and 'did beat him, and forced him to eat the Citation, Parchment, Wax, and all.' The contempt of his commands, and the maltreatment of his messenger, naturally roused the Archbishop to wrath, and he inflicted this very heavy penance: 'That in the Church ofCanterbury,St Paul'sinLondon, and the Cathedral Church ofExeter, they should upon three Holy Days named, being in their shirts only, in a Procession going before the Cross, carry Wax Tapers burning in their hands, and then that they should give to the Priest a Salary to say Mass every day at the Tomb of the Earl of Devonshire; and lastly, every one of them was enjoined to pay a sum of money, for repairing the Walls of the City ofExeter.' In addition to the public disgrace, the trouble and cost of this penance must have been immense.
The sixth of these brothers, Sir Peter Courtenay, was, says Fuller, 'a true son of Mars and actuated with such heroic fire, that he wholly addicted himself unto feats of arms.' It has been already mentioned that he fought in the Spanish wars, and in milder moments he distinguished himself at 'justs and tournaments now justled out of fashion by your carpet knights.' As a prisoner of war in France, his captivity was lightened by the attentions he received, even from the King of France himself, and he was on such good terms with his captors that after his release he gained leave of Richard II 'to send into France, by Northampton Herald, and by Anlet Pursuivant, as a return for the civilities he received in France ... eight cloths of Scarlet, Black and Russet, to give to certain Noblemen of that Realm; as also two Horses, six saddles, six little bows, one sheaf of large Arrows and another sheaf of Cross-bow Arrows; likewise a Greyhound, and other dogs for the King of France's Keeper.'
The Wars of the Roses were especially fatal to the House of Courtenay, no less than three Earls of Devon losing their lives for King Henry, and in consequence the elder branch of the family became extinct.
A pleasanter time to look back upon was the beginning of thereign of Henry VIII. Henry VII had married Elizabeth, the elder, and the Earl of Devonshire Katherine, the younger, of Edward IV's daughters, and after Henry VIII's accession to the throne the Earl of Devonshire seems to have been much at Court. In the early months of 1509 preparations were made for 'solemn Justs in Honour of the Queen. The King was one, and with him three Aids: the King was calledCœur Loial, and the Earl ofDevonshire,Bon Voloire, SirThomas Nevet,Bon Espoire, SirEdward Nevil,Valiant Desire, and their Names were put in a fine Table, and the Table was hung on a Tree curiously wrought, and they were calledLes Chevaliers de le Forest Salvigne, and they were to run at the Tilt with all comers.'
The irony of the King's choice of anom de guerreseems to have escaped the historian.
'On the 1st day ofMay1510, 2 Henry VIII, the King, accompanied with a great many valiant Nobles, rode upon managed Horses to the Wood to fetch May, where he and three others, viz., SirEdward Howard,Charles Brandon, andEdward Nevil, which were Challengers, shifted themselves, and did put on coats of green Sattin, guarded with crimson Velvet; and on the other side were the Earls ofEssexandDevonshire, the Marquis ofDorset, and the LordHoward, and they were all in crimson Sattin, guarded with a pounced Guard of green Velvet. On the third Day the Queen made a great Banquet for the King and those who had justed, and after the Banquet she gave the Chief Prize to the King, the second to the Earl ofEssex, the third to the Earl ofDevonshire, and the Fourth to the Marquess ofDorset. Then the Heralds cried aloud,My Lords, For your noble Feats in Arms, God send you the Love of the Ladies whom you most admire.'
The next year the Earl of Devonshire died, and was succeeded by his son, Henry, who for a time was high in the favour of his royal cousin. He seems also to have taken part in many 'Justs and Tourneys.' One summer 'the Queen desired the King to bring to his Manour of Havering in Essex, to the Bower there, the Gentlemen ofFrancethat were Hostages, for whose Welcome she provided all things in a liberal manner.' The entertainmentseems to have taken the shape of a small masked ball, and 'the King gave many gifts where he liked.' At the Field of the Cloth of Gold, the Earl of Devonshire had the honour of tilting with the French King, 'and they ran so hard together that both their Spears broke, and so they maintained their Courses nobly.'
The next year 'the King kept hisChristmasatGreenwichin great splendour'; and there was another tournament and many challenges. 'Noble and rich was their Apparel, but in Feats of Arms the King excelled the rest.'
In the year 1525 the Earl was created Marquis of Exeter, and seven years later, before starting for France, the King formally named his cousin Heir Apparent to the Crown. After this Fortune turned her back on him, and though, at the King's bidding, he dealt with the northern rebels, taking with him 'a jolly company of Western Men, well and completely appointed,' it was thought that his power, shown by 'so sudden raising divers thousands,' awoke the King's jealousy. The influence of the Marquis 'over the west was second only to the hold which the Duke of Norfolk had upon the eastern counties'; and therefore, when two years later it was reported he had said, 'Knaves rule about the King. I trust to give them a buffet one day,' Cromwell was glad to seize the opportunity of simultaneously striking at feudalism in the West, and of dealing a blow at the inflexible Cardinal Pole, the Courtenays' kinsman. The Marquis was at once arrested on the charge of being an accomplice of the Cardinal, and was beheaded on Tower Hill.
Edward, his son, who was only twelve years old at the time of his father's death, was committed to the Tower, 'lest he should raise Commotions by revenging his Father's Quarrel,' and here he remained for twenty-seven years. There is a pretty account of Queen Mary coming to the Tower, soon after her accession, where 'Thomas, Duke ofNorfolk, DrGardiner, late Bishop ofWinchester,Edward Courtenay, son and heir toHenry MarquisofExeter, theDutchess of Somerset, Prisoners in the Tower, kneeling on the Hill, within the same Tower, saluted her Grace, andshe came to them and kissed them, and said, "These be my prisoners," and caused them presently to be set at liberty.'
The very next day the Queen restored to her cousin the title of Earl of Devon (forfeited by his father's attainder), and soon after all his lands that remained in her possession, and also showed him other favours. In fact, 'it was reported that she carried some good affections towards the Earl, from the first time that she saw him.... Concerning which, there goes a story that the young Earl petitioning the Queen for leave to travel, she advised him to marry and stay at home, assuring him that no lady in the land, how high soever, would refuse to accept of him for a husband, by which words, she pointed out herself to him, as plainly as might either stand with the Modesty or Majesty of a Maiden Queen.' But, says Fuller with extreme candour, 'either because his long durance had some influence on his brain, or that naturally his face was better than his head, or out of some private fancy and affection (which is most probable) to the Lady Elizabeth,' who, another writer declares, 'of that moderate Share of Beauty that was between them, had much the better of her,' the Earl evaded the honour hinted to him, and begged leave to pay his addresses to the younger Princess. The Queen's feelings and vanity were deeply wounded, and, on a suspicion that the Princess as well as himself were concerned in Wyatt's rebellion, they were both sent to the Tower.
Cleaveland tells a charming story of the Princess and of a child who lived in the Tower. 'During the time that the Lady Elizabeth and the Lord Courtenay were in Prison, a little boy, the son of a Man that lived in the Tower, did use to resort unto their chambers and did often bring her Grace Flowers, as he did to the other Prisoners that were there, whereupon some suspicious heads, thinking to make something of it, on a Time called the Child unto them, promising him Figs and Apples, and asked him when he had been with the Earl ofDevonshire, knowing that he did use to go to him: The Boy answered,That he would go by and by thither. Then they demanded of him, when he was with the LadyElizabeth? He answeredEvery Day. Then they asked him, whatthe LordDevonshiresent by him to her Grace? The Child said,I will go and know what he will give to carry to her; such was the discretion of the child (says MrFox), being but four Years of Age.This same is a crafty Boy, said the Lord Chamberlain;How say you, my lord Shandois? I pray you, my Lord, says the Boy,give me the Figs you promised me; No, quoth the Lord,thou shalt be whipt, if thou come any more to the Lady Elizabeth or the Lord Courtenay. The Boy answered,I will bring my Lady and Mistress more flowers, whereupon the Child's Father was commanded to permit the Boy to come no more up into the chambers. The next Day, as her Grace was walking in the Garden, the Child peeping in at a Hole in the Door, cried unto her,Mistress, I can bring no more flowers: Whereat she smiled, but said nothing, understanding thereby what they had done. Soon after the Chamberlain rebuked highly his Father, commanding him to put him out of the House;Alas! poor Infant, said the Father:It is a crafty Knave, quoth the Lord Chamberlain,let me see him here no more.'
Soon after Queen Mary's marriage, her husband tried hard to persuade her to release her sister and the Earl, 'and nothing, saysHeylin, did KingPhilipmore Honour amongst theEnglish.' It is to be remembered to his good, that he interceded very earnestly, and in the end successfully, for another Devonshire conspirator in Wyatt's rising, Sir Peter Carew.
The Earl, fearing that he might, 'upon the first disorder, be committed to the Tower, to which his Stars seemed to condemn him,' prudently resolved to go abroad; but he must have been born under a very unlucky planet, for the next year he was seized with illness, and died at Padua. With him the title became extinct for about two hundred and fifty years; then Lord Courtenay, a descendant of the Powderham branch of Courtenays, established his claim to the earldom. As the attainder of the Marquis of Exeter was never reversed, that title was never revived in this family.
Among the 'Roxburghe Ballads' is one relating to the Courtenays, called 'The Stout Cripple of Cornwall.' No notes throwany light upon the possible origin of the story or offer any opinion as to the probability of the ballad being an account of a true incident, or 'founded on fact,' or wholly imaginary.