Part 26

And now we are sailing easily amid an assemblage of objects, whose presence makes the heart sink, and the cheek burn as we contemplate the rotting millions they represent,--the fleet of huge discarded hulks, whose now comparatively untrustworthy fighting and defensive capabilities, represent the modern advance in the art of destruction in maritime warfare. Here and there a solitary figure peers over the rusty bulwarks, but with regard to the majority, not a living creature paces their deserted decks. Gay, golden, and bright-coloured figure heads,--nymph, triton, or naval hero,--still decorate their prows, but these to our fancy's eye, resolve themselves into gilded skeletons with eyes of flame, and grasping the lightning darts of destruction in their grisly clutches,--the ghastly phantasmagoria of Death! And then comes the mournful reflection, that the original cost of each of these now comparatively valueless hulls,--being for all other purposes mere useless accretions of old iron and wood,--and designed for the destruction of the human race, would have more than sufficed to have built and endowed a hospital or college, whose beneficent errand should have been for all time (and while our present institutions are also starving for want of funds), and that the aggregation of hulks floating lazily around us, and of their predecessors, would represent an amount of wealth sufficiently large to have dotted the empire all over with such excellent institutions.

Last thought of all, as we look back and watch the bright red cross slowly unfold itself on the summer breeze over the taffrail of one of the largest of them,--the hallowed symbol of peace and good will hoisted over these engines of bloodshed,--we muse at the strange antithesis suggested by its display, as if designed in bitterest satire, to justify, or as it were, consecrate their direful mission. A curious example of what we presume would be termed national religious ethics, as at present professed in this Christian land of ours. But then we recollect that favourite patriot, the courageous (at home) and braggart, fire-eating Jingo, with his eight hundred millions of debt on his back, has to be duly considered in the motley compact. "Peace and good will" at present looks like a hopeless dream, to be further off than ever, and its development in the boasted civilization of the last quarter of the nineteenth century exhibits, instead, the strange spectacle of more fighting men on land, and ships of war at sea, furnished with the most tremendous appliances for the destruction of human life than could be found, perhaps, at any previous era of the world's history. Europe appears a vast armed camp, filled with millions of soldiers, apparently only waiting in feverish suspense some chance incident, to march on each other, and deluge the continent with carnage.

And yet amid all this there are not wanting hopeful signs, that below these dread preparations, a wiser and healthier undercurrent is slowly, but surely moving, that will eventually, we trust, sap the foundations of this military incubus, and free the long-suffering peoples from its deadly glamour. The consequences of the wickedness and folly of that game "which kings delight to play at" will be clearly seen, and a larger and more comprehensive system of government take the control into its own hands, and put a veto on the players. Industry, guided by intellectual resource, is busily organizing its battalions, with a power, destined, we ween, at no distant date to be mightier than armies or navies. Intelligence, combined with a knowledge of social and commercial needs, will become the great factors of national influence and wealth in the future, and, unless we greatly mistake, the basis of a kingdom's prosperity in the coming time will be fought out on these battle-fields, and on them win its silent and bloodless victories.

But a much greater and consolatory thought possesses us as we take a final glance at the grim citadels of destruction lazily floating on the now smiling strength of the watery expanse,--but compared with which in its tempestuous wrath, they are as the bubble that vanishes on its surface,--even the controlling power of that Mighty Ruler of both, of which the Royal Minstrel has with prophetic grandeur sung; strikingly paraphrased by His humbler disciple and lyrist, the gifted Apostle of Cornish revival, here aptly recalled,--

"The Lord is King: ye saints rejoice And ceaseless alleluias sing; The angry floods lift up their voice In vain,--for lo, the Lord is King!

All ocean's waves may swell and roar, They cannot break their sandy chain; Supreme in majesty and power, The Lord shall o'er them rule and reign.

Though war's devouring surges rise, Beyond their bounds they cannot go; The Lord is King above the skies, And rules the embattled host below.

'Tis God the Lord, whose mighty will Makes angry war's contentions cease, And bids the maddened world be still, And brings the joyous gift of peace."

Withdraw thine eyes aft, friend of mine, banish all further contemplation of the decaying sea-dragons, and look a-head where a very different spectacle awaits thee. Immediately to the left is the little, quiet, steep-streeted Cornish borough of Saltash, but now made notable by the presence of Brunel's stupendous iron railway-bridge, spanning the river before us, and thrusting itself into the bosom of the old town; one of the largest mechanical works of this, or any age, and exhibiting the strange engineering inversion of suspending the load beneath the arch, as the road-way is slung or supported below, instead of traversing above it. Its great height from the water, to a considerable extent, contracts to the eye its huge proportions, which may however in a measure be estimated, by observation of the railway-train slowly threading its way across, being scarcely seen, and but little heard from below, or recognized merely by a thin white line streaming back above the parapet, and a subdued rumble; and by noting also the Liliputian dimensions of some artizans, that look like a bevy of insects perched on one of the great tubes. The extraordinary construction it displays seems to suggest that here for once, Science with syren persuasion must have charmed the ear of Wealth to accede to her request--"provide me with the means required, and in return you shall be shewn what can be accomplished"--so lavish is the strength, and fantastic the form of the vast structure. On the river below this immense creation, the floating steam-bridge crawls across at short intervals, for passengers and vehicles. As we look at the two extraordinary methods of transit, the reflection arises that at only a few miles up the stream, an inexhaustible supply of granite may have been obtained and easily floated. With this enduring material a handsome bridge might have been erected, with arches sufficiently high for all useful purposes of navigation, and the roadway on it made wide enough for railway and ordinary purposes, and, what is so dear to the calculating proclivities of our race, it would undoubtedly have paid well also, in addition to its enormous convenience. But then the wisdom of our senators would not have been exemplified, nor the constructive ingenuity of the engineer glorified.

We emerge from the shadow of the great bridge, and pass another smart training-ship. Moored there we presume to justify the outrageous and apparently prohibitive stipulation of Parliament,--which required that a railway train should be carried through the air above the masthead of a fully rigged old-fashioned man-of-war,--for we never heard of another performing such a feat. Nor did our sagacious and far-seeing legislators probably dream of the advent of the squat iron-clads, with neither mast or sail, and hulls more under the water than above it, that now form the fleet of the present.

Leaving this the last trace of grisly war behind, we enter on a glorious stretch of the uncontaminated Tamar, and admire two or three barges with their grand, looming, picturesque sails,--like great-winged sea-birds,--slowly traversing the bright expanse. Here a prophetic echo from the lyre of the poet who dwelled at its source, crosses the mental ear, and finds fulfilment,--

"Fount of a rushing river! wild flowers wreathe The home where thy first waters sunlight claim; The lark sits hushed beside thee, while I breathe, Sweet Tamar spring! the music of thy name.

Fair is the future scenery of thy days, Thy course domestic and thy paths of pride; Depths that give back the soft-eyed violet's gaze, Shores where tall navies march to meet the tide."

Delightfully we career along, and our thoughts suggest what a spirit-cheering, buoyant--heart as well as boat--feeling of freedom fills the mind, when afloat in a trim craft with a full sail, and a fair wind. Pre-eminently so on the boundless sea, and in lesser degree, but most enjoyable also, on this broad reach of inland water. The busy succession of waves rising up and greeting with flickering salute the prow of our little vessel, as with easy rocking motion she speeds over their undulating succession. And the contented satisfaction, also, that we have the pleasant breeze, with its varying force for our untiring steed; no haunting thought disturbs, that some noble animal in slavery is running the sands of his life out the faster for our gratification,--nor the dread possibility of instant annihilation, that hovers continuously over the rushing transit of the iron trackway. Verily of all modes of movement, none equals for pleasantness the sailor's, nor does the phantom of a wild pitiless sky, lee shore, and foam-mantled rocks greatly alloy it.

Wild glory of the weltering shore, The clouds dark portent hangeth o'er, The rushing billows muffled roar.

Like storm-drenched bird, from out the west The labouring bark by strong winds pressed, Beats to the haven of her rest.

The seaman views the turmoil grim, And be his vessel tight and trim, The tempest wears no fears for him.

Starboard the helm, friend, for we have now fetched nearly a mile _plus_ the bridge, and prepare to set thy foot for the first time on old Cornubia's shore, and make acquaintance with its inhabiters, a generous, independent liberty-loving race, who through the past centuries have "one and all" vigorously asserted their right to social and religious freedom. Yonder is Landulph church-tower peering up among the undulations of the shore,--this will be our first port of call, to visit the sanctuary nestling among the dwellings at its foot, and make note of sundry interesting associations--one specially unique--connected with it. We pull in our little craft, and having made fast to a place of safety among the seaweed-clad slaty ledges of rock, set off for our destination, and a few minutes' walk brings us to the door of the little edifice.

On entering, the first thing that arrests attention, is the large number of carved bench-ends with which the nave and south aisle are furnished. Although under any conditions these architectural features are most attractive to the antiquary, as displaying in their sculptured imagery, direct witness of the art of past existences, the examples here found, for quality of workmanship, reflect not the purer glory of the Plantagenet workman, nor the lavish wealth of the earlier Tudor. Their shallower and comparatively unstudied work, points to the era just before that crowned Dowsing,--who in relation to the church was dubbed Defender of her Faith, but whose truer and more congenial title should have been Destructor of her Works,--by his ravages among the religious establishments, gave the final quietus to the fast-dying spirit of ecclesiastical art. But even apart from his relentless savagery, its chief incentive had almost disappeared, for men were then fast learning the easier faith of word-service alone, unallied with the older self-denying, and more tangible offering of deeds. The real and the painstaking had given place to the less troublesome and quicker wrought,--rich deep-cut cusp, vine-leaf, rose, and blazoned shield were succeeded by coarse rustic allegory, ill-shaped animals and birds, tasteless initials and dates, and confused heraldry, interspersed with heathen masks and grotesques, elbowing the cross and sacred monogram--the last dying speech and confession of the expiring Gothic. Here the symbolism of the Passion seems to have been the old carvers' favourite subject, occurring in the greatest profusion, variety, and minuteness of detail,--a pertinent example of the lowest form of religious teaching, the objective (even now a favourite with some), designed by its pictured symbolism to impress, and in its way instruct the unlettered mind, a poor apology for the nobler and more comprehensive study of the sacred text. One or two of the panels are however more noteworthy, as preserving a flickering of the antient beauty of design, and these find record in our sketch-book.

A sprinkling of curiously imperfect and jumbled heraldry, apparently allusive to afore-time settlers in Landulph and important families located near, occupies many; on these we recognize the _roses_ of Lower, the _rudders_ of Willoughby de Broke, the _saltires_ of Glanville, and the _bells_ of Porter of Trematon, while on others occur the insignia of the See, and specially noticeable, those of the princely Courtenay,--_the eagle on the bundle of sticks, feathers_, and shields charged with the _three torteaux_, badges and arms of the last descendants of the first house of that illustrious descent,--armories almost ubiquitous, both within and without the church door in these western parts.

Here in Landulph this noble race owned considerable possessions, inherited through the marriage of Emmeline, daughter of Sir John Dauney (or De Alneto), with Sir Edward Courtenay, who died 1372, of whom Cleaveland records,--"he had sixteen manors, and died before his father the Earl, and had by his lady two sons, Edward who came to be Earl after his grandfather, and Sir Hugh of Haccombe, whose grandson Edward was restored to the Earldom of Devonshire upon the failure of the elder brother's issue." The effigies of Sir John Dauney, his daughter Emmeline and her husband Sir Edward Courtenay are found in the neighbouring church of Sheviocke. The property continued in the ownership of the Courtenays, until the cruel execution of Henry, Marquis of Exeter, by Henry VIII., when it was annexed to the Duchy of Cornwall.

And here an interesting circumstance may be noted, concerning the carved array of the symbolism of the Passion on the old seats before us, as we remember that these emblems appear to have been general favourites in Cornwall, and occur largely displayed in similar situations within many other churches in the county.

Cornwall has ever been distinguished for the earnest religious views of its inhabitants, and from the earliest times, its material record has survived. The large number of old Crosses strewn thickly over the wild moorlands or by the solitary wayside, in churchyard or village street, were set up as reminders to the passing foot, of the way to eternal life, and contemporary with them Holy Wells covered the bright springs in the valleys, and appealed with their simple imagery to those who came thither to draw, not to forget to thirst also for the living water that refreshes the soul; while Sainted Names numberless, the stories of whose devoted lives are lost in the mist of antiquity; all attest that olden deep spirit of religious influence and observance, not to be found in other regions of the west, and which continues almost undiminished down to the present hour.

It was this feeling which brought the hardy miners, and their half-brethren the Dartmoor peasantry, with their clubs and bows up to the gates of Exeter in sturdy remonstrance, and to leave their mangled bodies afterward on Clyst Heath, when the Mass they were accustomed to reverence was abolished from their sight in the rural sanctuaries where they worshipped, during the days of the sixth Edward. It was this that stirred their hearts, and sent their war-cry aloft, when their countryman Trelawney stood in peril of liberty and life at the hands of the sinister James. It was this unsatisfied yearning, stifled while under the religious torpor which had settled over the mid-Georgian era, that welcomed the evangelic cry of Wesley, when he breathed over their valley of dry bones, and devoted disciples by myriads sprang into new and spiritual existence, followed subsequently by the kindred and scarcely less-fruitful mission of O'Brien, the apostle of the north Devon hills; and later still with equal earnestness, their recognition and steadfast adhesion to the beneficent discipline of Father Matthew. The same earnest receptive spirit has continued in them through all the centuries. In emotive warmth of heart,--not altogether wanting in touch of chivalry,--home-loving clanship of nationality, and kinship of antient tongue, the Cornish hold much in common with the Welsh, Irish, and Scotch; qualities on crossing the Cheviots, Wrekin, or Dartmoor, lost altogether in the common-place, flavourless compromise called English character.

Slowly we wend our way through the nave, and observe in addition to the numerous carved bench-ends, the lower compartments of the antient rood-screen (its stair-turret still exists in the wall of the south aisle), all the upper portion having disappeared. The design of its tracery is similar, and from this we assume that the edifice was entirely refitted within, if not wholly rebuilt at the same era. But the majority of the benches have suffered curious treatment at the ingenious hands of the parish joiner, a generation or so since, when these old solid structures were transformed into pews, by grafting on them above slender deal continuations, furnished with doors. Then unfortunately the carved edging around their ends was nearly all cleared away, so as to form a panel at the base, and finished afterward by the whole being "neatly painted and grained" to acquire uniformity. The north aisle has a fine open-timbered waggon roof, the dividing arches between the nave and aisles are composed of granite--moor-stone as Polwhele delighted to designate it--ponderous and strong, and these, coupled with the old sturdy oak praying-benches beneath, convey a sense of reality and abidingness in work that contrasts strongly with our modern flimsy imitations.

"See now, along that pillared aisle The graven arches firm and fair; They bend their shoulders to the toil, And lift the hollow roof in air.

Huge, mighty, massive, hard, and strong, Were the choice stones they lifted then; The vision of their hope was long, They knew their God, those faithful men."

Having lingered a moment in the south aisle to note the badges of the royally descended Courtenay, our steps tend eastward to the memento that records an even more illustrious name than theirs, and that forms the unique association connected with this country church. But ere we reach it they are arrested a moment to observe the two large and singularly representative squires' pews of the Jacobean knight Sir Nicholas Lower, an olden resident of Clifton in Landulph, and of whom we shall have something further to say by and by. One was evidently intended for the use of the family, the other on the opposite side of the aisle, larger, raised and arranged as a sort of gallery, evidently intended to be occupied by his worship's servants and retainers. Both are elaborately decorated in their upper portions with carved panels displaying the armories of his descent and alliance, below they exhibit the linen pattern, and on the corners appears his crest sculptured in full relief. Immediately beyond is a large high-tomb, whose massive black marble table records that the bodies of the old knight and his dame repose below, while on the aisle wall immediately above the gallery-pew are two further inscribed brasses to their memories.

Now stay thy foot, and hearken! for we are standing not on princely, nay, nor royal, but even over imperial dust. Give thy thoughts wing, from these leaden skies and mist-hung coasts,--nor stay them until they have reached the sunny shores of the Bosphorus and the Golden Horn, the classic precincts and immortal traditions of that superlatively beautiful city that holds the keys of the two continents in her hands, and to the illustrious dynasty that erstwhile ruled her, and by whose name she is still designated. Then learn that a direct descendant of this distinguished race, an exile from his native clime, and almost an outcast on the face of the earth, found his last refuge in this life, under a friendly roof close by, and lies at rest,--not in marble sarcophagus under vaulted dome near the home of his royal ancestors,--but, equally well, beneath the simple pavement of this rustic sanctuary.

Resolve thy parable, you say. Read the inscription recorded on yonder unpretending brass plate:--

HERE LYETH THE BODY OF THEODORO PALEOLOGVS OF PESARO IN ITALYE; DESCENDED FROM YE IMPERYAIL LYNE OF YE LAST CHRISTIAN EMPERORS OF GREECE; BEING THE SONNE OF CAMILIO, YE SON'E OF PROSPER, THE SONNE OF THEODORO, THE SONNE OF IOHN, YE SONNE OF THOMAS, SECOND BROTHER TO CONSTANTINE PALEOLOGVS, THE 8TH OF THAT NAME, AND LAST OF YE LYNE YT RAYGNED IN CONSTANTINOPLE, VNTILL SVBDVED BY THE TVRKES; WHO MARRIED W'TH MARY, YE DAVGHTER OF WILLIAM BALLS OF HADLYE IN SOVFFOLKE, GENT: AND HAD ISSVE 5 CHILDREN THEODORO, IOHN, FERDINANDO, MARIA AND DOROTHY, AND DEPARTED THIS LIFE AT CLYFTON, YE 21TH OF IANVARY, 1636.

Over is the proud achievement of his race,--_Per fess, a double-headed eagle displayed, collared, and with an imperial crown between the heads, standing on the castles of Europe and Asia_, being the imperial arms of Greece, _with crescent for difference_.

Proceed we now to give such few particulars of the dynasty and life of this imperially descended exile as space permits. Thomas Paleologus, as the inscription informs us, was second brother to Constantine, last of the Christian Emperors of Greece. He succeeded his brother the Emperor John in 1448, and bravely defended his beautiful metropolis from the unclean foot of the invader, when Mahomet II. laid siege to it with an immense army; but being abandoned by the reigning princes of Christendom,--then too busy quarrelling among themselves to help him,--was unable to repel them, and died fighting like a hero in the breach 29 May, 1453. His death was followed by the capture of the royal city, which was forthwith handed over to all the horrors of pillage and outrage by the Moslem host. Thenceforward the unspeakable Turk, with his fanatic courage, his slavery, cruelty, and sensual sloth, settled himself within its delightful precincts, as the future capital of his dominions, and brought his unsavoury presence into the community of Christian nationalities, remaining only to become an unceasing source of sanguinary contention among them, his wretched and effete government being from time to time saved from summary extinction, only by the jealousy of his protectors. A notable and salutary change of circumstances and opinion notwithstanding, and in strong contrast to the apathy or fear with which the European potentates viewed the original triumphant entry and settlement of the disciples of Mahomet into the beautiful city of Constantine four centuries previously.