Part 2

Edward I. held a parliament at Exeter, and his great-grandson, the famous Black Prince, must have been well acquainted with the city, as he passed through it more than once _en route_ to Plymouth, whence he sailed to France on the glorious expedition which ended at Poictiers. Its relations with the Black Prince reveal to us how much the county has receded in practical importance since medieval times. Plymouth, indeed, maintains her place: she is as great now, perhaps greater, than she was then; and Dartmouth, charming Dartmouth, is still far from obscure. Nevertheless, it is idle to claim for the ports of Devon as a class the relative standing they once enjoyed, when, according to the _Libel of English Policy_, Edward III., bent on suppressing the pirates of St. Malo—

did dewise Of English towns three, that is to say, Dartmouth, Plymouth, the third it is Fowey; And gave them help and notable puissance Upon pety Bretayne for to werre.

And when Chaucer has to depict a typical mariner, he begins with the words—

A schipman was ther, wonyng far by weste; For ought I woot, he was of Dertemouth.

—obviously because of Dartmouth’s national reputation. Topsham, formerly the port of Exeter, is a truly startling instance of decline, since as late as the reign of William III. London alone exceeded it in the amount of its trade with Newfoundland. On the other hand, Bideford never possessed all the importance that Kingsley attributes to it, though relatively of much greater consequence in ancient days than at present. It is a curious fact that Ilfracombe, that popular watering-place, sent six ships to the siege of Calais, as compared with Liverpool’s one, Dartmouth contributing thirty-one, and Plymouth twenty-six.

The Black Prince was the first Duke of Cornwall, and the stannaries or tin-bearing districts of Devon and Cornwall, which in Saxon and Norman times had been a royal demesne, passed to this valiant prince and his successors. The old Crockern Tor Parliament would furnish material for a fascinating chapter in the romance of history, but the present sketch is necessarily too brief to admit of much discussion. Its regulations certainly did not err on the side of leniency. “The punishment,” says Mrs. Bray, “for him who in days of old brought bad tin to the market was to have a certain quantity of it poured down his throat in a melted state.” The most important event in the annals of Chagford, one of the stannary towns, is the falling in of the market-house on Mr. Eveleigh, the steward, and nine other persons, all of whom were killed. This sad disaster, which occurred “presently after dinner,” is the subject of a rare black-letter tract, entitled, _True Relation of the Accident at Chagford in Devonshire_.

Going back to the Wars of the Roses, the West of England for the most part supported the Lancastrian cause. In 1469, Exeter was besieged for twelve days by Sir William Courtenay, in the interest of Edward IV.; and in the following year, Clarence and Warwick repaired to the city prior to embarking at Dartmouth for Calais. When, however, Edward IV., seated firmly on the throne, appeared in Exeter as _de facto_ sovereign of the realm, the citizens, forgetting past grudges, provided such a welcome for the monarch, his consort, and his infant son, that he presented the Corporation with the sword of state still borne before the Mayor. The city had given him a hundred nobles. Just twice that sum was the loyal offering to Richard III. when, in 1483, he arrived at Exeter soon after the Marquis of Dorset had proclaimed the Earl of Richmond King. A gruesome incident marked his visit, for Richard, that best-hated of English rulers, caused his brother-in-law, Sir Thomas St. Leger, to be beheaded in the court-yard of the Castle. The name, Rougemont, jarred on his superstitious nature, the reason being its similarity to Richmond. The point is referred to by Shakespeare in the well-known play:—

When last I was at Exeter The Mayor in courtesy showed me the castle, And called it Rougemont; at which name I started, Because a bard of Ireland told me once I should not live long after I saw Richmond.

In 1497, that bold adventurer, Perkin Warbeck, claimed admission within the walls, which, so far as the citizens were concerned, would have been readily granted. The Earl of Devon and his son were less accommodating, and, after Warbeck had set fire to the gates, succeeded in beating off his attack. The pretender’s next appearance in the city, where the King had taken up his quarters, was in the character of a prisoner. Henry’s conduct towards his rebellious subjects was worthy of a great prince, and affords a marked contrast to the brutality that characterized the suppression of the next revolt and the still more notorious savagery of “Kirke’s Lambs.” When brought before him, “bareheaded, in their shirts, and halters round their necks,” he “graciously pardoned them, choosing rather to wash his hands in milk by forgiving than in blood by destroying them.”

As is well known, the Reformation was not the popular event in England that it was in Scotland, and the introduction of the Book of Common Prayer in lieu of the Mass was the torch which, in 1549, set the western shires—Cornwall, and Somerset, and Devon—in a blaze. The opposition, started at Sampford Courtenay by a pair of simple villagers, soon came to include leaders of the stamp of Sir Thomas Pomeroy and Sir Humphry Arundel, who barricaded Crediton, the rendezvous of their party. The interests of the Crown were befriended by Sir Peter and Sir Gawen Carew, who, though utterly unscrupulous and barbarous in their methods of warfare, failed to arrest the insurrection. Presently no fewer than ten thousand rebels commenced the investment of Exeter. At this serious juncture, the Lord Lieutenant of the county (Lord Russell) took the helm of affairs, and ultimately raised the siege, the city in the meantime being reduced to terrible straits through famine. But the rebels suffered, too. In all, four thousand peasants fell in the Western Rising. A dramatic episode was the execution of the Vicar of St. Thomas, who was hanged in full canonicals on his church, where his corpse remained suspended till the reign of Edward’s successor, when the Roman Catholics regained, for a season, the upper hand.

The geographical position of Devonshire suggests, what is also the fact, that the county had a considerable share in the colonization of the Western Hemisphere. The first port in Devon to send out ships to America for the purpose of establishing settlements was Dartmouth. In this enterprise, Humphry and Adrian Gilbert, who were half-brothers of Sir Walter Raleigh, and whose seat, Greenway, was close to Dartmouth, took the lead. The pioneer expedition, which took place in 1579, was productive of no result; but in 1583, Humphry Gilbert seized Newfoundland, the present inhabitants of which are largely of Devon ancestry. This navigator, though brave and skilful, rests under an ugly imputation which we must all hope is baseless. According to some, he proposed to Queen Elizabeth the perfidious destruction of the foreign fishing fleets which had long made the island their station. During his homeward voyage Humphry was drowned, and the manner of his death is depicted in an old ballad:—

He sat upon the deck; The book was in his hand. “Do not fear; Heaven is as near By water as by land.”

Adrian Gilbert interested himself in the discovery of the North-West Passage, but neither of the brothers did much more than secure for Dartmouth a principal share in the Newfoundland trade, for many and many a year one of the chief props of Devon commerce.

Of far greater practical significance, as a centre of maritime adventure, was Plymouth. Hence sprang William Hawkins, the first of his nation to sail a ship in the Southern Seas. Hence sprang his more famous son, Sir John Hawkins, the first Englishman that ever entered the Bay of Mexico, and who spent the bribes of Philip of Spain in defensive preparations against that tyrant’s fleet. Here was organized the Plymouth Company founded for the colonization of North Virginia after the failure of Sir Walter Raleigh (who, like Sir Humphry Gilbert, had made Plymouth his base) to form a settlement. The efforts of the Plymouth Company were at first not very felicitous, but in 1620 it received a new charter, and although its schemes were absurdly ambitious, and fell ludicrously short of realization, and although it was administered for private ends rather than in a large spirit of enlightened patriotism, still the mere existence of the company must have tended to promote the flow of men and money to the new plantations beyond the seas.

In the Great Civil War, the towns generally were in favour of the Parliament, but Exeter, on which city Elizabeth had conferred the proud motto _Semper fidelis_, appears to have been Royalist in sympathy. As, however, the Earl of Bedford, the Lord Lieutenant, held it for the opposite party, it was besieged by Prince Maurice, to whom it surrendered in September, 1643. In April, 1646, it was recovered by the Roundheads, but ere this many interesting events had come to pass. In May, 1644, Queen Henrietta Maria had arrived in the city, and there, on June 16th, was born the Princess Henrietta Anne, afterwards Duchess of Orleans. Just at this moment, the Earl of Essex made his appearance, and the Queen was fain to escape alone, leaving her infant in the charge of Lady Moreton and Sir John Berkeley, who arranged for her christening in the font of Exeter Cathedral. Her portrait by Sir Peter Lely, which adorns the Guildhall, was the gift of Charles II., who, in 1671, thus testified his appreciation of the city’s good services. The donor himself had been the guest of the Corporation in July, 1644, when his royal father had received from the civic authorities a present of five hundred pounds.

Looking further afield, Devonshire was the theatre of many stirring events in that fratricidal struggle. It was in 1642 that the High Sheriff, Sir Edmund Fortescue, of Fallapit, at the instigation of Sir Ralph Hopton, called out the _posse comitatus_, and so precipitated a conflict. Sir Ralph himself, with the aid of Sir Nicholas Slanning, assembled a force of some two or three thousand men, with which he captured first Tavistock, and then Plympton, afterwards joining Fortescue at Modbury, where a mixed army of trained bands and levies was soon in being. The next proceeding was to have been an attack on Plymouth, but Colonel Ruthven, the commandant of that town, sent out five hundred horse, which, after a feint at Tavistock, dashed through Ivybridge, and delivered a sudden assault on Modbury. In a moment all was over. Exclaiming, “The troopers are come!” the trained bands fled in confusion, while the rest of the army, who knew nothing about soldiering and had no love for the cause, went after them, save for a few friends of the Sheriff, who helped him to defend the mansion of Mr. Champernowne. When this was fired, the movement collapsed, and the Roundheads, who had lost but one man, effected a good haul of county notabilities, including the High Sheriff, John Fortescue, Sir Edmund Seymour, and his eldest son, Edmund Seymour, M.P., Colonel Henry Champernowne, Arthur Basset, and Thomas Shipcote, the Clerk of the Peace. About a score of these worthies of Devon were placed on board ship at Dartmouth, and transported to London.

This initial success of the Roundheads was soon qualified by reverses. Ruthven, having marched into Cornwall, was encountered by Hopton at Braddock Down, and sustained a crushing defeat. In February, 1643, Hopton laid siege to Plymouth, but Fortune again veered, and the Royalists were forced to retire in consequence of a second defeat at Modbury. Attempts were made to bring about a _pax occidentalis_, by which both parties were to forswear further participation in the unnatural strife, but they proved abortive. Encouraged by the defeat of the Earl of Stamford at Stratton, a Cornish army advanced northwards on the disastrous march which resulted in the overthrow at Lansdown, near Bath, and involved the loss of four leading Royalists—Sir Bevil Grenville, Trevanion, Slanning, and Sidney Godolphin—the last of whom fell in a miserable skirmish at Chagford.

Later in the year, Prince Maurice exerted himself to reduce Plymouth, but, although the Cavaliers fought well, the garrison, equally brave and perhaps more pious, drove them back to the cry of “God with us!” Among the besiegers was King Charles himself, but not even the presence of royalty could alter the situation, and he and Maurice presently withdrew from the scene of operations. The siege was not ended till the spring of 1645, in the January of which year Roundheads and Cavaliers occupied the same relative positions as Britons and Boers in the memorable fight at Wagon Hill. Even after this terrible repulse, the Cavaliers did not quite abandon hope, and several small actions took place; but the advent of Fairfax in 1646 led to a precipitate retreat, and the Cavalier strongholds—Mount Edgecumbe and Ince House—gallantly defended throughout, had to be given up.

The last place in Devon to be held for King Charles was Salcombe Castle, and the person who held it was the very Sir Edmund Fortescue who was High Sheriff, in 1642, and, in that capacity, threw down the glove to his opponents. The “Old Bulwarke” was not a promising fort, but it stood a siege of four months, when the garrison were allowed to march out with the honours of war. Among other articles of surrender, it was stipulated that John Snell, Vicar of Thurlestone, who had acted as chaplain to the garrison, should be allowed quiet possession of his parsonage. This condition was not observed. However, Parson Snell was not forgotten after the Reformation, as he was appointed Canon Residentiary of Exeter, in which position he was succeeded by his sons. By the 7th of May, the date of the surrender, the cause of King Charles was _in extremis_; and, accordingly, Fort Charles, as Sir Edmund had re-named the castle, was fully justified in capitulating. The key of the castle is said to be still the treasured heirloom of the hero’s representative.

Devon men took an active part in the Monmouth Rebellion; and, in common with its neighbours, the county experienced the judicial atrocities of the notorious Jeffreys. A “bloody assize” was opened at Exeter on September 14th, 1685, when twenty-one rebels were sentenced, thirteen of whom were executed. Thirteen more were fined and whipped, and one was reprieved. A feature in this assize was the publication of 342 names, all belonging to persons who were at large when the business closed. These comparatively fortunate yeomen had escaped the search of the civil and military powers, and were tenants of the open country, living in copses and haystacks as best they might.

However, vengeance was not long delayed. In 1688, the Prince of Orange landed at Brixham, and marched to Exeter by way of Chudleigh. The account of an eye-witness printed in the Harleian Miscellany gives the impression that his entry into the city, as a spectacle, was somewhat barbaric. The pageant included two hundred blacks from the plantations of the Netherlands in America, with embroidered caps lined with white fur, and crested with plumes of white feathers; and two hundred Finlanders or Laplanders in bear-skins taken from the beasts they had slain, with black armour and broad, flaming swords. The troops were received with loud acclamations by the people at the west gate, and their conduct was excellent. Meanwhile, the position of the authorities was far from enviable. In vulgar parlance, they were in a “tight place,” not knowing which way the wind would blow, and being desirous of maintaining the reputation of the city for unswerving loyalty. The Bishop and the Dean adopted the safe, if not too heroic, method of flight, while the Mayor, with more dignity, commanded the west gate to be closed, and declined to receive the Prince. The poor priest-vicars, no less faithful at heart, were intimidated into omitting the prayer for the Prince of Wales, and employing only one prayer for the King. On the ninth, notice was sent to the canons, vicars-choral, and singing lads, that the Prince would attend the service in the Cathedral at noon, and they were ordered by Dr. Burnet to chant the _Te Deum_ when His Highness entered the choir. This they did. The Prince occupied the Bishop’s throne, surrounded by his great officers, and after the _Te Deum_, Dr. Burnet, from a seat under the pulpit, read aloud His Highness’s declaration. The party then returned to the Deanery, where William had taken up his quarters.

The Prince of Orange was in Exeter for three days before any of the county gentry appeared in his support, and naturally the members of his suite began to feel disconcerted. Presently, however, the gentlemen of Devon rallied to his standard, and in compliance with a proposal of Sir Edward Seymour, formed a general association for promoting his interest. A notable arrival was Mr. Hugh Speke, who, it is said, had been personally offered by King James the return of a fine of £5,000 if he would atone for his support of Monmouth by acting as spy on the Prince of Orange, and had bravely refused. The Mayor and Aldermen now thought it high time to recognise the change in the situation and observe a greater measure of respect towards one who, it seemed likely, would soon be their lawful sovereign. The Dean, too, hastened home to give in his adhesion to the Prince; and William left Exeter with the assurance that the West Country, which could not forgive the Jacobite massacre, was heart and soul with him, and that elsewhere the power of his despotic father-in-law was rapidly crumbling.

In a second letter, reproduced in the Harleian Miscellany, we are informed that there had been “lately driven into Dartmouth, and since taken, a French vessel loaded altogether with images and knives of a very large proportion, in length nineteen inches, and in breadth two inches and an half; what they were designed for, God only knows.” Possibly for a purpose not wholly unlike that which inspired the unpleasant visit of some of the same nation to Teignmouth in 1690, when they fired the town. It appears that the county force had been drafted to Torquay with the object of resisting a threatened landing from the French fleet, which was anchored in the bay. Certain French galleys, availing themselves of the opportunity thus afforded them, stole round to Teignmouth, threw about two hundred great shot into the town, and disembarked 1,700 men, who wrought immense damage in the place, already deserted by its inhabitants. For three hours there was pillage, and then over a hundred houses were burnt. A contemporary named Jordan, recounting the circumstances, cannot restrain his righteous indignation. “Moreover,” says he, “to add sacrilege to their robbery and violence, they, in a barbarous manner, entered the two churches in the said town, and in a most unchristian manner tore the Bibles and Common Prayer Books in pieces, scattering the leaves thereof about the streets, broke down the pulpits, overthrew the Communion tables, together also with many other marks of a barbarous and enraged cruelty; and such goods and merchandize as they could not or dare not stay to carry away, they spoiled and destroyed, killing very many cattle and hogs, which they left dead behind them in the streets.” This, the last, invasion of Devonshire, cost the county £11,030, the amount at which the damage was assessed, and which was raised by collections in the churches after the reading of a brief. French Street, Teignmouth, conserves by its name the memory of this heavy, but happily transient, disaster.

With the seventeenth century ends the heroic period of Devonian history. From that time it figures merely as a province sharing in the triumphs and distresses of the country of which it forms part, but having no special or distinctive record. The most exciting era was, without doubt, the Napoleonic age, when the dread of a new French invasion was terminated only by the glorious victory of Trafalgar.

In conclusion, it may be mentioned that Sidmouth was the early home of her late Majesty Queen Victoria. Her father, the Duke of Kent, died there in 1820, and the west window of the church was erected as a memorial of this son of George III., whose visit to Exeter in the preceding century gave such delight to the county.

THE EDITOR.

THE MYTH OF BRUTUS THE TROJAN.

BY THE LATE R. N. WORTH, F.G.S., ETC.

Brutus, son of Sylvius, grandson of Æneas the Trojan, killed his father while hunting, was expelled from Italy, and settled in Greece. Here the scattered Trojans, to the number of seven thousand, besides women and children, placed themselves under his command, and, led by him, defeated the Grecian King Pandrasus. The terms of peace were hard. Pandrasus gave Brutus his daughter, Ignoge, to wife, and provided 324 ships, laden with all kinds of provisions, in which the Trojan host sailed away to seek their fortune. An oracle of Diana directed them to an island in the Western Sea, beyond Gaul, “by giants once possessed.” Voyaging amidst perils, upon the shores of the Tyrrhenian Sea they found four nations of Trojan descent, under the rule of Corinæus, who afterwards became the Cornish folk. Uniting their forces, the Trojans sailed to the Loire, where they defeated the Gauls and ravaged Aquitaine with fire and sword. Then Brutus