CHAPTER X

BAGWORTHY AND BRENDON

Simonsbath is the centre of several converging roads, all of them waiting to help the traveller out of Exmoor before he is well in it. A drive from Lynton or some other fairly populous or fashionable resort, followed by a lunch at the Simonsbath Hotel, is many people’s conception of the proper method of “doing” Exmoor; but, while pleasant enough as an excursion, such a mode of exploration permits of only scanty guesses and imperfect glimpses of the inner fastnesses, which seem for the most part far away.

If the excitement of the chase be not too distracting, possibly the best way of acquainting oneself with the country is by following the staghounds; but should that be impracticable, the most useful advice the writer can offer is to follow the watercourses. Any one of these, if patiently traced, will usher the pilgrim into Nature’s mysterious solitudes, which, if he be at all of a contemplative turn of mind, will awaken in him many a pleasant or pensive reverie. In any case, one must get away from the roads, the very excellence of which is evil, as tempting to sloth.

I cannot, however, send forth an innocent person into the wilds without referring to the bogs. Personally, I have a considerable respect for Exmoor bogs, as I have for “they Hexëmoor vogs,” which are equally treacherous, and make one wet through as sure and as fast as any rain; nor is it so many years ago that Sheardon Hutch and similar names were sounds of terror in my ears. Familiarity breeds contempt, and therefore those at home in the district--some of them, at all events--are apt to disparage these man-traps, which are not by any means confined to the low lands, but are found on the summits of hills, especially the notorious Chains. In many places black decayed vegetable matter has been accumulating for ages to a depth of several feet, and as the rocks beneath are of the transition class, impervious to water, the rain is retained and saturates the bog-mould. After much wet weather, there are spots that will not bear the weight of a man, let alone a horse, and in riding over the moor, they constitute so real and serious a danger that great care should be exercised to avoid getting into them. Otherwise it may prove an impossible task to extricate the devoted “mount.” There is one consolation--heather will not grow on those deep bogs, and wherever its purple bells show, the ground is safe.

The Exmoor hills are variously configured. Sometimes they take the form of a bold foreland, sometimes of a continuous ridge, sometimes of an isolated cone or orb. A very intelligent moorman reminded me, somewhat superfluously, when I looked in upon him on a September evening, that all the hills have names, and queer names some of them are--_e.g._, “Tom’s Hill,” “Swap Hill,” “Scob Hill,” etc., etc. The meaning of not a few is anything but plain, but one “termination,” if the phrase be permitted, speaks for itself. I allude to the expression “ball,” which is frequent on Exmoor, and much more likely to be derived from visual impression than any long-descended traditions of Baal, to which a late friend of mine, out of regard for the Phœnicians and their hill-altars, was anxious to assign it. Thus we have Cloutsham Ball (famous as the scene of the opening-meet of the Devon and Somerset Staghounds), Ware Ball, Ricksy Ball, Ferny Ball, and, as a gloss, Round Hill. The intersecting valleys have somewhat the character of huge corridors leading in and out of each other, and the smaller “combes,” running up into the hills, may be likened to stairways of providential appointment, for the Exmoor “sides” are not quite perpendicular. The hill-tops and slopes are dotted with sure-footed Exmoor horned sheep and Cheviots, beautiful long-tailed ponies, and a few red cattle. The grass is of two sorts--a short, close variety found in the drier parts, and tall sedge grass on wet ground, where it grows rankly. Sheep are fond of the former when it comes up green and fresh after the annual “swalings,” which take place in February or March. Exmoor sheep have faces like those of the native deer, being free from wool, while the sharp-pointed nose resembles that of a fox.

Simonsbath village is in a sheltered position on the left bank of the Barle, and, thanks to the care of the late Sir Frederick Knight and his father, it is further protected against the keen winterly gales by ample plantations of fir and other trees. Hence we again mount the hills, this time in the direction of Brendon Two Gates, where the “forest” ends. After a time we gain a point from which a good view is obtained of the Prayway (or Prayaway) Meads. There are no hedges here, and, with the inconsistency of human nature, one misses them. It seems so odd to stand and gaze over a grassy expanse that has never been enclosed, and yet has much the look of ordinary meadow. Through the midst flows the Exe, here quite a baby-stream; we are, indeed, not far from its source. To those who are familiar with its lower reaches, and call to mind the river as it appears (say) at Cowley Bridge, the sight is inexpressibly absurd. The absence of trees and shrubs makes Prayway seem bare and forsaken. The high sloping banks are like deserted ramparts or--but the name may have some influence--the nave of a vast natural cathedral haunted by the ghosts of dead Britons. Continuing our route, we arrive at a gate, inside which is a sort of quarry known as Black Pits. The gate opens into a common, at the other end of which is Brendon Two Gates. The origin of this term has been explained; it may be well to add that at present it is a misnomer.

We now for the first time catch sight of Bagworthy, lying over on the right, and Bagworthy, as the reader may happen to remember, was, or has been imputed to be, the stronghold of the savage Doones. This is, in a sense, the parting of the ways. The traveller may either quit the beaten track for the carpet of sward in quest of a shepherd’s cot, whence he may easily proceed to the traditional site of Doone Castle and down the Doone valley, along the Bagworthy Water, to Malmsmead, where the Bagworthy water unites with the East Lyn, and so by Cosgate or Brendon to Lynton; or he may stick to the road, which will take him by a shorter cut to the same destination, by Farley and Cheriton and the aforesaid Scob Hill. It may be that, like the mythical churchmen of old, when asked to state which see he preferred--Bath or Wells--the latter-day pilgrim may elect for “both.” I will assume, however, that his immediate objective is the famous valley, and that, once there, he will pursue without faltering the longest way round.

Technically we are no longer on Exmoor. Bagworthy, Badgworthy, or Badgery--all are permissible forms--is in the parish of Brendon and the county of Devon. In ancient times the wood is said to have covered a much greater area, and a century ago some of the older shepherds could point out its former limits. Within their recollection and since their time, its dimensions steadily contracted, until the disappointment with the valley, to which visitors so often and freely own, became explicable.

Now it must be admitted that in _Lorna Doone_ there is a large spice of exaggeration, and this quality is naturally reflected in the illustrations with which the goodlier editions are adorned. Such deviations from the literal have brought it to pass that nowhere is Blackmore in so little esteem as among the hills he pictured so lovingly. Even the humble writer of the present volume probably enjoys on Exmoor a greater measure of esteem as a more trustworthy historian of the neighbourhood. But, sensible people will agree, the writer of a romance must be in a large measure a law unto himself, and he is under not the least obligation to consult the feelings of plain folk incapable of sharing his flights of imagination. It is a question of the light “borrowed from the youthful poet’s dream,” and I am inclined to apply the phrase in a somewhat distinct and definite sense. A romance--this romance in particular--may be regarded as a fairy-tale raised to a higher plane of evolution, and Blackmore seems to have possessed the godlike faculty of reflecting in his pages the shining images of his boyish fantasy, when, to copy Kingsley, every goose was a swan and every lass a queen. On this point I shall say no more, but return forthwith to the matter-of-fact. This includes the deep pool and the waterslide, but the reality of Doone Castle, or its remains, cannot for various reasons be taken for granted.

The first printed notice regarding these malefactors occurs in Mr Cooper’s _Guide to Lynton_, published in 1851, and runs as follows:--

“The ruins of a village long forsaken and deserted stand in an adjacent valley, which, before the destruction of the timber, must have been a spot exactly suited to the wants of the wild inhabitants. Tradition relates that it consisted of eleven cottages, and that here the ‘Doones’ took up their residence, being the terror of the country for many miles round. For a long time they were in the habit of escaping with their booty across the wild hills of Exmoor to Bagworthy, where few thought it safe or even practicable to follow them. They were not natives of this part of the country, but having been disturbed by the Revolution from their homes, suddenly entered Devonshire and erected the village alluded to. It was known from the first to the inhabitants of the neighbouring villages that this village was erected and inhabited by robbers, but the fear which their deeds inspired in the minds of the peasants prevented them from attacking and destroying it. The idea is prevalent that before their leaving home they had been men of distinction, and not common peasants. The site of a house may still be seen on a part of the forest called the Warren, which is said to have belonged to a person called ‘the Squire,’ who was robbed and murdered by the Doones.

“A farmhouse called Yenworthy, lying just above Glenthorne, on the left of the Lynton and Porlock road, was beset by them one night; but a woman firing on them from one of the windows with a long duck-gun, they retreated, and blood was tracked the next morning for several miles in the direction of Bagworthy. The gun was found at Yenworthy, and was purchased by the Rev. W. S. Halliday. They entered and robbed a house at Exford in the evening before dark, and found there only a child, whom they murdered. A woman servant who was concealed in an oven, is said to have heard them say to the unfortunate infant the following barbarous couplet:

‘If any one asks who killed thee, Tell ’m ’twas the Doones of Bagworthy.’

“It was for this murder that the whole country rose in arms against them, and going to their abode in great haste and force, succeeded in taking into custody the whole gang, who soon after met with the punishment due to their crimes.”

This excerpt represents the legend of the Doones which Blackmore inherited, and which it is absurd to designate as his invention. What he did was to add colour and definition to an already existing, though faded, tradition. How much of the substructure of _Lorna Doone_ is due to his imaginative genius, is a fascinating problem, which, it is to be feared, it is beyond the wit of man to solve satisfactorily. In the above quotation, for instance, no mention occurs of the heroine, but it does not follow that she found no place in the local tales, and Blackmore, quite as good an authority as the writer of the guide, and on this particular subject even better, expressly affirms the contrary.

As to the time of the Doones, Mr Cooper, it will be noticed, says “after the Revolution.” This is altogether opposed to Blackmore’s account, which sets back their advent to a date long anterior to 1688. Mr Edwin J. Rawle, whose valuable _Annals of the Royal Forest of Exmoor_ entitles him to a very respectful hearing, is absolute in rejecting any historical basis for the tradition, the mere existence of which he tardily acknowledges. Mr Rawle’s theory is that “Doone” really stands for “Dane,” the sea-wolves in the olden times having harried the neighbourhood pretty severely. I do not know what philologers may say of this suggestion, but the vagaries of the local dialect suggest a far more plausible explanation. In the romance John Fry speaks of his “goon,” meaning his “gun.” Now “Dunn” is a fairly common patronymic in the West Country, and I am informed that the natives formerly pronounced the vowel in an indeterminate manner consistent with either spelling.

Blackmore, however, evidently regarded the name as identical with the Scottish “Doune,” and his assertion of a high North British pedigree for the robbers has been wonderfully seconded of late by the publication of Miss Ida Browne’s _Short History of the Original Doones_, which, if correct in every particular, proves amongst other things how extremely imperfect and untrustworthy are many of the records on which the scrupulous historian is wont to rely. Mr Rawle will not have that it is correct, and her pleasant and plausible narrative is the object of a fierce onslaught in his brochure, _The Doones of Exmoor_. Personally, I have always favoured the notion that the rogues were a similar set to the Gubbinses and Cheritons, little communities of moorland savages, and that their rascalities, handed down from generation to generation, were magnified and distorted in every re-telling. This solution has the advantage of being easily reconciled with Mr Rawle’s demand for authentic evidence of their monstrous doings and Blackmore’s and Miss Ida’s Browne’s insistence on their Scottish nationality. To me, however, it seems like beating the air to attempt any final settlement of the question on our present information, and if I again refer to the lady’s booklet--already I have given the substance of it in my _Book of Exmoor_--it is not so much from the belief that it casts any certain light on the actuality of the Exmoor marauders as on account of the possibility--which she notes--that Blackmore by some means obtained access to the evidence now in her possession.

This consists of a manuscript entitled “The Lineage and History of our Family, from 1561 to the Present Day,” compiled by Charles Doone of Braemar, 1804; the Journal of Rupert Doone, 1748; oral information, and certain family heirlooms. Assuming these to be genuine, there is obviously much likelihood, in view of the numerous points in common, that Blackmore succeeded in getting hold of the written testimony of the later Doones; and, indeed, the circumstance may have been the factor which led him to elaborate the romance on a scale transcending that of his other stories, since he must have realised that here he had struck an entirely original vein of historical fiction.

Before quitting this part of the subject, it is desirable to present the views of the Rev. J. F. Chanter, who has given much attention to the problem, and whose long and intimate acquaintance with the district invests his opinions with exceptional importance. In a letter received from him, he remarks:--

“I may say that, as far as I am concerned, I accept as genuine the main facts of Miss Browne’s story, but not its details, _i.e._, the relationship between Sir Ensor and Lord Moray, or even Sir Ensor being a knight. The title ‘Sir’ was given at that date to many who were neither knights nor baronets, _e.g._, the clergy always; and as I find in rural districts, even to this day, a lady of the manor is spoken of, and written to, as Lady so-and-so. Mr Rawle’s criticism is entirely negative; his position seems to be this:--Miss Browne’s paper states that Sir Ensor was twin brother of Lord Moray. Now Lord Moray had no twin brother; therefore the whole claim falls to the ground.”

To this I answer:

“1. If the claim of Charles Doone of Braemar, as to the ancestry of his family, is wrong, it is absurd to say he had no ancestors. We are all apt to claim as ancestors people who were not really so, and many of the published pedigrees do this, claiming as ancestors some of the same name, though there is no evidence of the link.

“2. The peerage is no evidence that Lord Moray had not other brothers, though not twins. There is, for instance, evidence that Lord Moray had a brother mentioned in no peerage I ever saw, one John Stuart who was executed for murder in 1609.

“3. There may have been merely a tribal connection between the Doones of Bagworthy and the Stewarts of Doune, and a tribal feud caused them to fly to a remote spot; and they were recalled on a later Lord Moray wanting every help when he fell from Royal favour.

“Be this as it may, Miss Browne’s story fits in so wonderfully with Blackmore’s romance that I cannot conceive he had not heard of it. This I can vouch for--Miss Browne did not invent it.

“Now as to Miss Browne’s documentary evidence, I had the original of Charles Doone’s family history, and it was undoubtedly a genuine document of the age it purported to be. I made a full copy of it. Of other documents I only saw copies. The originals she stated to be in the possession of a cousin in Scotland, and promised to get them for me as soon as she could. I have, however, not seen them as yet. The relics also seem to me genuine.”

It must not be supposed that these were Blackmore’s only sources of information--they deal in the main with merely one side of the story. Other material, both written and oral, was available on the spot. Mr Chanter observes on this point: “I myself can perfectly recall that, when I first went to a boarding-school in 1863, there was a boy there from the Exmoor neighbourhood who used to relate at night in the dormitories blood-curdling stories of the Doones.” That boy, it is interesting to know, is still alive. At any rate, he was alive in July 1903, when he addressed to the _Daily Chronicle_ the following letter in answer to a sceptical effusion from a correspondent signing himself “West Somerset.” “‘West Somerset’ could never have known Exmoor half so intimately as was the case with myself during my boyhood, youth, and early manhood, or he must have heard of the Doones. During the ‘fifties’ and ‘sixties’ of last century I lived on Exmoor, knew it thoroughly, and rarely missed a meet of the staghounds. The stories or legends of the Doones were perfectly familiar to me. They varied much, but the germs of the great romance were so well known and remembered by me that when it was issued, one of its many charms was the tracing of the writer’s embroidery of the current tales. I have hardly been in the district since 1868, but my memory is sufficiently good to remember the names of several from whom I heard the traditional annals. Among them were John Perry, the old ‘wanter’ or mole-catcher of Luccombe; Larkham, the one-armed gamekeeper of Sir Thomas Acland, and above all, Blackmore, the harbourer of the deer.[15] The name of another old man, who allowed me on two occasions to take down Doone stories at the inn at Brendon, has escaped me. So familiar were these stories to me when I was a boy that I used to retail them with curdling embellishments of my own in the dormitory of a West-country boarding-school. The result of this was that a room-mate of mine, either just before or just after he went to Oxford, wove my yarns (he had not himself then ever visited Exmoor) into a story, which he called ‘The Doones of Exmoor.’ This tale was eventually published in some half-dozen consecutive numbers of the _Leisure Hour_. My copy of it has long been lost, but I remember that, though it was delayed some time by the editor, it appeared three or four years before _Lorna Doone_. Moreover, I had a letter from Mr R. D. Blackmore, soon after his immortal work was issued, wherein he acknowledged that it was the accidental glancing at the poor stuff in the _Leisure Hour_ that gave him the clue for the weaving of the romance, and caused him to study the details on the spot. I have never been across Exmoor since _Lorna Doone_ was published, but I am sure that I could at once find my way either on foot or horseback to the very place that I knew so well as the stronghold of the Doones, either from the Porlock or the Lynton side.”

I am permitted to quote also a passage from a private letter of Miss Gratiana Chanter (now Mrs Longworth Knocker), author of _Wanderings in North Devon_, who is a firm believer in the Doones.

“I wish you could have a talk with old John Bate of Tippacott [he is dead]; he gave me a most exciting description one day of how the Doones first ‘coomed in over.’ No dates, of course; you never get them. He said there was a farmhouse in the Doone Valley where an old farmer lived with his maidservant. ’Twas one terrible snowy night when the Doones first ‘coomed.’ They came to the house and turned the farmer and his maid out into the black night. Both were found dead--one at the withy bank and the other somewhere else. He said, ‘They say, Miss, they was honest folk in the North, but they took to thieving wonderful quick.’

“Bate, and one John Lethaby, a mason, were both at work at the building of the shepherd’s cot in the Doone Valley, and had tales of an underground passage they found that fell in, and that they took a lot of stones from the huts for the shepherd’s cot.”

To return to Mr Chanter, we learn that, even before those nightly entertainments in the dormitory, he had read about the Doones in an old manuscript belonging to his father, and he adds that there were to be found at that period in North Devon several such manuscripts, which, he thinks, had a common origin, and might be traced to the tales of old people living in and around Lynton seventy or eighty years ago. In range of information and power of memory none might compare with a reputed witch, one Ursula Johnson, who, though now practically forgotten, can be proved from the parish register to have been born a Babb in 1738--not forty years after the exeunt of the Doones. The family of Babb were servants to Wichehalses, and one may recall the circumstance that in