"j r ^weiheft, Bmki.
\ forttefowulingcfa. CcUtgi in, this; Colony"

BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME
of the
D. NEWTON BARNEY FUND

WEST-COUNTRY STORIES
AND SKETCHES.

Edition limited to 300 Copies numbered.
No..Jfap 

I

JOHN AKUNDELL, BISHOP OF EXETER. — A.D. 1502-4.

Fiom ihe Painting by Millar, at Wat dour C'axttc.

f^L^^/

WEST-COUNTRY STORIES

AND

SKETCHES
BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL.

BY

W. H. HAMILTON KOGEKS, F.S.A.

'TIME ALONE DOTH CHANGE AND LAST."

PRINTED FOE THE AUTHOB,
AND SOLD BY
JAMES G. COMMIN, 230, High Street, EXETER.
MDCCCXCV.

PREFACE.

A short explanation is due to the reader, as to the occurrence of what is
assumed to be, in large measure, an embodiment of fact extended by fiction,
and a relation of fact alone, appearing together in the same volume.
Originally it was intended to print the Stories only. These, written many
years ago, are founded on local tradition relative to events peculiarly representa
tive of old East Devon associations. Their comparative brevity suggested the
following of the Sketches, for the larger proportion of which considerable notes
had been collected in view of their eventual publication, and so their present
completion and inclusion was decided on.
It may be of interest to observe, that the story of the incident occurring
immediately after the fight at Sedgemoor, was related to the writer in his
boyhood a full half- century since, by a venerable individual who then, in age,
had entered the last decade of a century, and had heard its recital in youth from
persons, who, if not actually alive at the time, had been told of it by those who
were ; thus bringing an interval of two centuries within the memory of three,
or four generations at furthest.
For much valuable help afforded by kind friends relative to the text in the
Sketches, and illustration both of the Stories and Sketches, grateful thanks are
here tendered. Especially to Mr. Roscoe Gibbs, for his donation — as on previous
occasions— of the excellent pen-and-ink drawings that enrich the volume, and
for considerable generous assistance rendered otherwise. Also to the printer for
unremitting care.
W. H. H. R.
Exeter, 1894.

" Sure the dumb Earth hath Memory, nor for naught
Was Fancy given, on whose enchanted loom
Present and Past commingle, fruit and bloom
Of one fair bough inseparably wrought
Into the seamless tapestry of Thought.
So charmed, with undeluded eye we see
In History's fragmentary tale
Bright clues of continuity,
And feel ourselves a link in that entail
That binds all ages past, with all that are to be."
James Russell Lowell.

CONTENTS.

WEST-COUNTRY STORIES.
Saved ! An incident of the rebellion of Monmouth .
Doomed ! A smuggling tradition when George the Second was King .

SKETCHES.
Glimpses of Past Days ... ... , .
A Devonshire King - of - Arms 
Old Musical Echoes of the Cathedral 
A Ghost of Crime and Suffering. Ivelchester Gaol, and Olden Punishments
The Sweeter Side of ' Peter Pindar ' . . . ....
A Cornish Bishop, and Two Kings - of - Arms. Duloe and its associations .
Glimpses of Past Days. Part II 
A Sermon in Stone. West-Country Sun-Dials ....
A Tudor Merchant and his Wife 
Puritanism and Old Nonconformity in East Devon
The last Bonvilles . 
A Legend of Dartmoor. ... ... . .
A Wife and Mother of Carews 
Carew Castle, and of its possessors

PAGE. 1
41

67
78
82
89
117125
141
145 150
156169185
190 192

POEM-S.
The Trooper's Song  • • ... 17
The Fishermaiden's Song  • • 51
Beth-el  . . 168
' Litle Roger ' . .  • • '
184
Halnaker  1Q7
Carew Castle ... ...

" 'Tis to create, and in creating live
A being more intense, that we endow
With form our fancy, gaining as we Rive
The life we image."

¦¦>-.

JAMES, DUKE OF MONMOUTH.
From a Painting by Winning.

SAVED!
AN INCIDENT OF THE REBELLION OF MONMOUTH.

" The course of true love never did run smooth.'

Chapter I. — Suspense.

sultry summer evening
in early
July, and
the year of
gracel685, the little
quaint old-
fashionedrural town
of Colyton
lay in that
nascent quietude
of repose
so charac
teristicallyindigenousof its be
ing. A scent
of new
mown hay
pervadedthe atmos-
phere of
its short
maze of
streets, for anon, during the afternoon, heavily
laden wain-loads of the fragrant material creaked
slowly by to the farmer's barton in as much
haste as the rustic convoys could impress on
their toiling teams, for a long stretch of fine
weather had brought an unusually prolific hay
gathering near its close, and a well recognised
presage of an adverse change therein, was at
hand. To a stranger's eye, or to the observation of a
person unacquainted with some important events
lately occurring in the neighbourhood, the whole
being of the place seemed embodied in one

Arcadian existence of happiness and peaceful
security. Without, in the streets, as he passed along,
under the eaves of the low thatched cottage
tenements, the wayfarer would occasionally see
sat on the door step a young girl featly at work
with her pillow on her lap, fabricating the
costly bone lace whose mysterious intricacies of
production she had been taught by her aged
grandmother in the ingle corner, who had learnt
it in her youth of the queer portly old Dutchman
who lived some half century since up at the
corner. Or he would hear the heavy beat of the loom
from an open cottage casement, where the busy
serge maker was industriously availing himself
of the last rays of the daylight.
And yet, with all this seeming quietness and
peace, there was a certain incomprehensible
gloom settled over the place. No song broke
from the lace girl nor ditty from the weaver.
No merry whistle from the carter with the hay
waggon as he walked beside his smoking team.
The little streets were empty of passers, — the
usual coterie of village politicians, with their
evening pipes, were absent from their accustomed
trysting place, sitting on the roots of the bole of
the great tree near the churchyard hatch, and
the chattering cottage dames of the place as
they met at the conduit, instead of holding their
well-enjoyed gossip over their replenished
pitchers, merely exchanged a mysterious glance,
a nod, or a word, and parted.
Some circumstances very much more depres
sing than usual evidently held influence over the
town. The bright blink of the candle that
glimmered through the window of the cosy tap
room of the Red Lion hostelry by the shambles
corner was extinguished an hour earlier than
usual, and the face of the good humoured
boniface, as he barred up the well thumbed
hatch that night, wore a more careworn and
anxious expression than had ever before been
seen on it.

SAVED.

Even the town clock as it struck nine in the
tower that evening seemed in tone more ghostly
and sepulchral than usual, and the chimes that
tinkled away afterward on the sweet bells
appeared harshly disconsonant and out of place.
All foreboded some unusual season of suspense
and dread, and as the soft carrillons ceased their
pleasant changes, and just as the last load of
hay was jolted speedily through the deserted
street, the anticipated alternation in the weather
took place. Some curling eddies of dust swept
fitfully round the corners, — a few faint flashes
of lightning flickered momentarily across the
zenith, followed by a rapidly increasing darkness
and accompanied by a steady and continuous
downfall of rain.
The last light in the chamber of the bed-ridden
rustic was extinguished as the hand of the nurse
drew the white curtains together across the
lattice, and the little town was instantly
enveloped in intense quietness and gloom.
But to those initiated into the tone of social
feeling in the place, this mystery of gloom would
have been soon unravelled. That day it was
surmised, from some gleams of intelligence
received in the town in the morning, would
decide the fate and chances of a name whose
welfare for success was very near at heart with
many in the place, for the well known tyrannical
and Popish proclivities of James, and the old
Puritan spirit that still lingered in the breasts
of the inhabitants of Colyton, were sternly at
issue with each other.
The fatal fray of Sedgemoor had indeed taken
place. With a sort of hope against hope feeling,
and fascinated too with the handsome carriage
and deportment of the ill-fated Monmouth (who
was perfectly well known to Colyton people from
his having sojourned, previous to this his
ill-starred enterprise, at the Great House, the
residence of Sir Walter Yonge in their town)
when the Duke landed but seven miles off at
Lyme, several of the young and ardent spirits
of the place joined his cause, and many another
resident therein wished his desperate movement
success. And now the fearful day of reckoning
was at hand as the ghastly chance of battle was
cast. But though the actual tide of war
happily swept by their door step, yet its devasta
ting current had borne away many a young and
gallant heart to wreck it on the bloody rock of
defeat, or, more frightful still, reserve it for the
sickening orgies of the public executioner.
Hence the deep drawn suspense that hovered
over the little town that night, and the fearful
dread of an adverse issue to be revealed on the
morrow's dawn.
The rain continued falling heavily and without
cessation through the long and dismal hours,
and no footfall broke the silence or threaded the
gloom of the weltering streets.

Chapter II. — Trouble.
The first faint traces of returning daylight
were quietly stealing up the eastern sky, and the
town clock had chimed three. It was still rain
ing fast, and considerable darkness prevailed,
when the figure of a middle-sized well-knit young
man entered the town, passing over Umborne
Bridge, and, with the well-accustomed address
evidently of one thoroughly acquainted with the
intricate ins and outs of the place, proceeded
stealthily along under the low cottage eaves,
anon halting and listening at a corner, or beneath
a projecting porch. He did not go straight
through the town, but took a circuitous route up
the back streets to a position of secrecy near the
upper town dipping-place and conduit.
Let us see who this figure is like.
Streaming wet, and in a semi-soldier's uniform,
he takes the heavy iron morion from his brow
and leans his pale, dejected, weary, but hand
some countenance against the wall, as if for rest
and to support himself through some consuming
inward agony, more insupportable and sickening
than the bodily weariness that itad overtaken
him. A buff leathern jerkin, cuirass, sword
belt, and pair of heavy jack-boots, displayed his
costume. Where are his trusty sword and pike ? These
he had thrown into the swollen waters of the
Coly as he passed over thq bridge.
Who is he, this seeming outcast? He is a
soldier and a fugitive from the fatal field of
Sedgemoor, who left its gory precincts as the
last hope of his beloved chieftain was blasted,
and had immediately set off across the country
from Bridgwater, some forty miles, to his home,
where, so far, he had arrived safely.
But why this faintness and sickness of heart
now he was so far safe ? Ah ! the cause so
seemingly glorious to his youthful enthusiasm
was lostj — the frightful butchery of that scene
of carnage had scared his young brain. Home
ward to his old peaceful haunts his steps had
beaten unconsciously back again. But he was
now a proscribed man — a rebel and a traitor.
Visions of the executioner and his bloody rites,
the gibbet, and the gemmace, floated before his
tired sight, and when he thought thereon, and
of one whose bright eyes and despairing heart
had passionately entreated him to shun the fatal
danger, and who now waited with terror-stricken
vigil for his possible return, hot tears ran scald
ing from their source uncontrolled, and a partial
faintness overcame him. Thus he remained
some few minutes, when his helmet dropped
unconsciously from his relaxed grasp, and the
clatter of the heavy iron head-gear, as it
trundled down the pavement, recalled him to
consciousness and activity.
People who lived in Colyton some five and

SAVED.

twenty years ago will remember a large, old-
fashioned, timber-fronted house in the main
street a few doors below the cross-way to Seaton,
at the top of the town.
The building projected somewhat from the
ordinary line of the street, and had on the top a
double gable, between which a long spout was
cunningly contrived to cast the roof-water out
upon the passers below. Long windows, with
regiments of narrow casements, indicated the
various floors, while below on the basement a
long pair of shop windows, thickly divisioned
with numerous squares of glass, extended across
the whole front, and in the centre, supported on
massive carved oak posts, swung the antique
many-panelled, double -hatched doors.
The whole contour of the old house gave
unmistakable indications that it had been origi
nally the residence of one of those old master
tradesmen, or " marchants," as they were
called, who were prevalent about the middle of
the sixteenth century.
Such was the appearance of the antient
domicile, which of late, by accident of fire and
by man's destroying hand, has shared the
ultimate fate of all things earthly.
Return we to our fugitive, just wakened from
his painful trance.
Catching up his morion with the vigour of an
earnest consciousness of his position and peril,
he stole across the street and paused before a
window by the side of the old house we have
just described. He peered intently through its
various lights, as if looking anxiously for some
token amid the dark maze of quarrels, when
all at once, through a tiny opening in the close
drawn curtains, he saw a feeble glimmer of
light. In an instant he tapped the pane and
waited, but no reply or sign from within answered
his signal. Again and again, — but no response.
One knock more and louder, and he looked
nervously round as the noise echoed across the
quiet street. Now a cautious soft voice within, —
one answering word without in reply, — and the
youth stepped round to the front shop door,
which was quickly opened, then quietly closed,
and carefully and noiselessly barred.
Chapter III. — Heart-Ache.
Whose house was this in which the youth thus
found sanctuary ?
It was the dwelling of Master Edward Bird,
mercer and bone-lace factor, — a well-to-do and
wealthy tradesman of that era, — whose trading
token, struck for the purpose of necessary
change, is sometimes found in the cabinets of
the curious in the neighbourhood.
Who was the weary fugitive admitted ?
Young Master Thomas Vye, a woollen factor
of the place.

Whose was the soft voice that heard, and
the trembling hand that opened the friendly
door? Sweet Margery Bird, the good mercer's only
daughter. Let us describe her appearance that night.
Pale as a spectre, — eyes blue as the very
depths of heaven, but bright as Sirius himself, —
a profusion of curly chestnut hair, looped and
simply twisted behind, in rare contour with a
well-shaped head, — a fine straight nose the
merest thought retrousse, short upper lip, and
sweet full mouth, between whose quivering lips
two rows of small and beautiful teeth struggled
to display themselves.
Such was the face of Margery. In her stature
she hardly approached the middle size, but
graceful and womanly though scarcely eighteen
summers had shone on her. Over her shoulders
was thrown a small rich turnover of purple and
gold-coloured brocade, between whose slightly-
parted folds appeared a dazzlingly white neck
and rich lace stomacher, — below depended a short
deep-coloured maroon kirtle, beneath which
appeared two small feet, clad in grey satin shoes
with high heels, — and stretching from under the
heavy fringe of her shawl a bare, well-rounded,
fair arm, and a small and pretty hand, she
grasped the wrist of the drenched fugitive and
led him in through the dark passage to the
comfortable sitting-room within.
The greeting between this pair of young
hearts thus cruelly brought to the bar of the
most ominous destiny scarcely dares be put in
the poor imagery of words.
Leading her charge mechanically across the
apartment to the little oak table in the corner
where she had been sitting out the long hours,
she placed the light down beside her knitting
craft that had been hastily cast aside when she
was assured the knock at the casement was the
much desired one and not the beating of the
storm, and still holding the passive wrist, turned
round', and, placing the other hand on his
shoulder, gazed with the most intense look in
his pallid face — a look of the most searching
infinity, where love, and fear, and joy, and
suspense wove their, quadruple soul-binding
power together — a look where the heart truly
interprets the solution, but shrinks from the
dread positivism of language to confirm it.
Thus gazed she for many seconds without a
trace of movement— their eyes fixed in each
others' with convulsive glance. No word was
uttered, and when the youth stooped to kiss the
fair brow of his gentle detainer, a deep sigh
stole from her as if her whole being was
dissolved, a flood of welcome tears streamed
down over her blanched cheeks, and the youth,
forgetful of his reeking habiliments, held her
closely awhile to his mailed breast and then sat

SAVED.

her gently down in an old arm-chair near the few
still glowing embers on the hearth, and, taking
one of her hands between both of his, knelt
quietly down by her side.
" My own dearest Tom," said the maiden, "I
shudder to ask you your news, for I see by your
pale face that it is bad news. But oh ! tell me
all— all !"
"It is indeed bad news," answered the youth.
" Is the Duke defeated?"
"Oh yes, and nearly all our men killed and
wounded, while the remainder have fled for
their lives."
"And the Duke?"
" Yes, and the Duke gone too ! Oh, Margery I
Margery ! how dreadful is this, and what horrors
I have seen too ! Why did I not listen to you,
my own sweet Margery, and stay at home here
in peace, and not have tempted this dreadful
danger ! " — and he bowed his head down on the
arm of the huge chair and wept.
"But Tom, my own dear Tom! I know your
gallant heart, and I love you for it, though I
did most earnestly wish you not to go, — not
so much for my sake as for yours. But there !
you are home again, dear Tom, and safe, and
I shall soon forget all about it." " Here," she
continued, " I have something to refresh you,
and then hurry home and take off your wet
things and that dreadful armour. I have sat up
until daybreak, as I promised, every night, and
now I am well rewarded."
As she concluded she ran her fingers through
his dripping curls and kissed his damp brow.
" There Tom !" she continued, " it is all
over ! " — her eyes sparkling with joy, while a
transient blush stole over her pretty features.
" Safe at present, dear Margery," said he in a
musing tone, looking calmly and enquiringly in
her eyes, and laying noticeable stress on the
ominous words.
" At present, dear Tom," repeated the maiden,
turning deadly pale. " What do you mean — tell
me, dearest Tom, tell me all ! " — and she grasped
him by the arm convulsively.
"Dearest Margery," he answered calmly, "don't
frighten yourself, but I must tell you the truth. I
am no longer a free man — no longer your own
free Tom, I am a rebel, and the King's party know
it, and if they find me they will  "
A choking sensation prevented further utterance
of the ghastly sentence, but the terror-stricken
maiden had instantly divined the whole truth,
and, uttering a faint scream, sunk baek into
the chair perfectly unconscious.
Chapter IV. — Reflection.
How came this wretchedness all about ?
Thomas Vye, the weary and well nigh heart
broken fugitive, who had fled that night from a

bloody battle field, across a hostile country,
amid the beatings of a pitiless storm, was a
young well-to-do master cloth weaver and stapler
of the place. He was one of those small factors
of whom, at that era, several were found in
almost all our larger western country towns and
villages where the woollen trade flourished, —
one who dealt largely in yarn for a " stock," as
it was termed, and let out quantities of the same
to the weavers in the neighbourhood to be woven
into serge and kersey at the villagers' houses,
where they kept their looms, often in the corner
of the little cottage kitchen. His parents had
died hardly a year ago and left the young
" marchant " in easy circumstances, with a good
business and " full in all " of everything.
To court Margery Bird, the pretty and only
daughter of the old mercer in the Market Place,
was but a natural sequence. He, handsome, frank,
and manly, — she, with her sweet face and person,
the very flower of the place. The good mercer,
too, looked forward with pleasure to the not far-
distant and fitting time when his well-loved
Margery should become the very own of the
approved Thomas, for age was stealing apace
over his hale frame.
But Thomas Vye, with his impulsive disposi
tion, and fired with youthful enthusiasm in an
evil-advised hour, entered heart and soul into the
chivalric venture of the ill-fated Monmouth, —
whose handsome form and engaging address he
remembered on the occasion of his visit to the
Great House — and, procuring for himself a pike-
man's accoutrements, enlisted under the stan
dard of the Duke.
It will be asked, Was there no kind friend to
persuade him out of the perils of so hazardous
an undertaking ? Alas ! he kept it a close secret
from every one and would have done so too even
from his own dear Margery, if he could, and this
for two reasons — one, because he would not
distress her, and next, because he was not quite
convinced within his mind that the course he
was taking was the correct one.
But he had given his word for his appearance
in the movement, and he steadily determined to
keep it, regardless of the possible contingency of
defeat and ignominy — a contingency which
often foreshadowed itself uncomfortably over his
thoughts, when that saving reflection came, as it
too often does, when it is too late.
The quick perception, however, of the gentle
Margery could not be foiled or deceived. She
had noticed for two or three weeks of late, a
strange chastening over his usual joyous spirits,
and it troubled her, though she had not divined
its cause. True, she had heard it rumoured for
the past month that the darling of the west-
country folk was likely to land on the shore near,
and she had heard her father many a time, in
the shop, express to his confidential acquaintance

v^j

St**:- '

Another shake of the long red night-cap."

SAVED.

his sympathy and desire for the Duke's success,
—a wish her own little womanish heart shared
in, — the more especially as she thought her own
loved Tom leant that way as well, — but she had
no definite conception of the step he was about
to take, nor of its consequence.
One evening, about a week previous to the
Duke's landing, he seemed more depressed than
usual, and in answer to her repeated solicitations,
he confided to her at last the whole dreadful truth.
With the most passionate entreaty she prayed
and urged him to remain home, but he said that
he had given his word for his appearance, and
he would keep it.
Half distracted with terror, but powerless to
retain him, an whole age of grief passed during
the few days that elapsed ere she heard the
direful news of the Duke's landing and found
the next morning that he was gone, and with
him several other well-known inhabitants of the
town. •
The good old mercer, too, and his wife, were
struck dumb with the intelligence, which of
course was in everybody's mouth, and it smote
their hearts with the most mournful feeling,
doubly intensified as they looked at the grief-
struck pallid countenance of their child.
¦ No wonder the little town of Colyton wore a
gloomy appearance during the otherwise bright
summer tide, while that month of dismal
suspense lasted from the time of the Duke's first
landing till his final rout at Sedgemoor.
It had been arranged by the young couple that
Margery should sit up until daylight every night
until the Duke's chances should be decided for
weal or ill. And there were three desperate
issues at stake. Two were frightful to contemplate,
yet by far the more probable — should he be killed
in battle, or, worse still, flying for his life before
an infuriated soldiery, with the executioner and
the gallows for his ultimate goal — or the one
saving, but in comparison with both others
doubly hazardous, should he return to her a
conqueror. But even on this chance there was
hinged a wretched contingency, he might be even,
in that case, maimed for life.
Alas for poor Margery, — well nigh broken
hearted with grief,— should this last seemingly
unlikely solace be afforded, it would be most dearly
bought, and the victor's laurels be a poor recom
pense for a fatally imperilled lover's absence.
Chapter V. — Grief.
The faint scream uttered by the swooning
Margery had disturbed the troubled slumber of
the good old mercer and his wife, and immedi
ately after, the anxious man, hastily clad with a
tall, red, peaked night-cap on his head, entered
the room, followed at a' short interval by his still
more anxious wife. With motherly solicitude,

after bestowing a compassionate glance on the
young soldier, she raised her unconscious daughter
in the chair and spoke a few endearing words,
while the old mercer stood helplessly by, holding
the light.
In a few moments, with a long-drawn sigh, she
opened her bright bewildered eyes, and, glancing
hastily round on the fugitive, rose from the chair,
and, giving one hand to the youth, who pressed
it to his lips, leant with the other on her good
mother's shoulder and retreated slowly out of
the room.
" Well, Tom Vye," said the mercer, depositing
the light on the table, sitting down in the vacant
chair, and with a measured shake of the long red
night-cap, — " I don't want you to tell me your
news. 'Tis the very worst, I can see, and what
is to be done now, my poor led-away boy, God
only knows ! " Another shake of the long red
night-cap, and the old man planted his elbows
upon his ungartered knees, rested his chin within
his open palms, and buried his fingers in his grey
locks, while he looked fixedly into the smoulder
ing embers on the hearth.
" The very worst has happened," answered the
youth falteringly, " and every chance gone."
" I was sure of it — sure of it," continued the
mercer with a sigh. " Poor Monmouth ! My
dreams have troubled me these many nights
past, and besides, something too has continually
haunted me ever since you left so secretly that
all would end wrong. Heigh ho ! But that
would be nothing if I could have kept you at
home. And then my poor Margery, what will
she do ? " And the old man drew his hands over
his eyes and rocked himself from side to side in
his grief, while hot tears suffused themselves
through his fingers.
As if utterly at his wit's end, and quite power
less to say or do anything, the youth stood
vacantly looking at the sorrow-stricken old man
for several minutes. At last he asked quietly
and steadily, " But what must I do, now, or where
shall I go ? "
With a quick apprehension of the importance
of the query, the old man started to his feet, and
looking searchingly at the boy, said, " Does any
living soul know you are here in Colyton save
those in this house ? "
" No one — not a creature."
" Come with me, then," said the mercer, " for
the daylight has now been a full hour abroad,
and to know of your whereabouts would be the
road to certain destruction ! Perchance they will
think you were killed in the battle. At least, God
willing, I hope so," — and the old mercer lead- .
ing, and his young companion following, they
mounted the narrow roundabout stairway that led
to a chamber in one of the high gables on the
top of the house.
" Here, now, take off those miserable clothes,

SAVED.

and be quick, too ! " said the old man as he
vanished through the doorway, and went down
to his own room for a spare suit of his own
wearing apparel.
In a very short space of time the youth had
stripped himself of his reeking covering, and
was fully equipped in the mercer's habiliments.
" Now. then, roll up tightly together these
wet things. I think," he added to himself,
" I know where to place them securely till the
evening," — and again the old man made his
exit down the stairway.
The room in which Thomas Vye thus found
refuge was a tolerable-sized apartment, with a
window facing the street, but at considerable
altitude above it. The furniture consisted of a
large old oak coffer, or chest, with a richly-carved
front of panels exhibiting cunningly designed
interlacery of knot-work and flowers, and on it
was a small antique looking-glass and a few
books. In the centre of the room stood the bed,
a massive oaken creation, with great bossed foot-
posts deeply carved, a head-board divided into
elaborate sculptured panels displaying the story
of Adam and Eve, with grotesque caryatides
between. Above, a huge deeply-panelled tester
stretched over the top, and within this wooden
fortification, as it were of the god Somnus, was a
glorious feather bed, on which lay the snowiest
of quilts.
These, together with an antient chair placed
on each side of the bed, completed the furniture
of the dormitory.
The newly-risen sun was shining pleasantly
into the quaint old apartment, as in one of these
chairs, with a sort of mechanical amazement,
the youth sat himself down and waited the old
mercer's return.
To a stranger's eye there was nothing more
noteworthy than common in the look of the bed
room, nor did there seem to be any place available
as a position of secrecy and refuge at hand,
except under the bed or beneath the cover of the
old coffer, and yet the good man of the house
had evidently intended it to be a safe refuge and
sanctuary for the dangerous position of the youth.
How could this be afforded ? We shall see.
Chapter VI. — Caution.
"Here, Thomas Vye," said the well-nigh
breathless old man, who had mounted the long
flight for the third or fourth time that morning,
" I think I have safely disposed of your clothes,
and I also think," he continued, "that I know
where to dispose of the wearer of them, God
willing and prospering me. This way, young
man. Lend me a hand a minute."
The mercer walked round to the opposite side
of the bed, and taking it hold by the side-frame
below, with the help of his companion, slid the

ponderous structure along the floor- some three
feet or so, and the destined place of security was
soon apparent.
The massive tester of the bedstead butted
closely against the low ceiling of the room, and
not even the most suspicious would have dreamt
of anything above it. But there was an outlet
into the roof of the house by a small trap-door,
which was completely hidden from observation
by the friendly tester.
" There, Thomas Vye," again said the old
man, " no living being knows of that hiding
place but ourselves in the house, for I occasionally
carry my money up there when I have more than
common by me. Now you can stay here in this
room contented till the persecution is over, and
should any one come here in search of you, get
up into the roof. I will then pull the bed back
again in its place, and it must be a very cunning
man indeed that will find you ?"
Having said this, the old mercer hurried away
again down the stairs to open his shop, for the
town clock had already struck seven.
Colyton was all astir early that morning, and
the place wore a very different appearance from
that of the previous evening's sun-set, for the
brooding gloom had given way to feverish
anxiety. The sun was shining brightly, and
the air smelled of the pleasant freshness of the
last night's heavy rain-fall.
The news of the defeat at Sedgemoor had
already reached the town, and the dismal
intelligence ran like wildfire beneath the cottage
roofs. Groups of anxious men at the street
corners were busily discussing the matter with
great animation. Now and then a horseman
trotted rapidly through the town, and a large
cluster of village matrons were gathered at
the higher conduit busily talking in cautious
under-tones their secrets in the matter to each
other, holding their empty vessels by their sides,
while one sturdy little dame, who seemed to be
the chief spokeswoman of the assembly, was
supporting her vessel under the descending
stream, which had over-filled it and was running
away to waste for the past ten minutes.
The good old mercer had not the least troubled
heart that beat among the troubled population
of Colyton. He well divined the season of peril
and difficulty that was at hand — of the fate of
the captive in his house should anything by
chance go wrong — of his poor Margery's blighted
hopes, — and it worried him sadly. But then he
was a man of good common sense, and knew it
was useless to lament, and so after carefully
arranging his valuable stock of laces and silks
for the day's sale, he went inside and had a long
and earnest talk with his trusty wife as to future
operations and methods of secrecy and wisdom.
As for poor Margery, worn out with her long
nights' watchings and terrified beyond expression

SAVED.

with the excitement and incidents of the previous
early morning's meeting, she lay in her little
bed perfectly prostrate and powerless, while her
good mother busied herself incessantly in waiting
upon her and administering to the little comforts
of the prisoner overhead.
So the day wore on, — and toward evening,
according to his usual custom (which he was
to-day doubly careful in observing), the mercer
went down to the cosy tap-room of the Red
Lion to have his pipe, drink his accustomed
mug of beer, and discuss the small local news
of the place, but his interest -to hear what was
going on was doubly quickened to-night.
As the old gentleman entered the apartment
and looked for his usual corner in the fire-place
at the end of the settle, he was somewhat
surprised to find the room already almost full
of his neighbours and townsfolk, who had
evidently congregated there from strong motives
of curiosity and to get, like himself, some
intelligence of the previous day's battle.
The appearance of the respected old mercer
at the doorway caused some little commotion
among the assembled company, but a place was
speedily eked out among the close sate rows for
him to join them.
This being done, the conversation was again
busily renewed, when all at once, within a, few
minutes of his arrival, the gossipers' eyes were
suddenly turned toward the door, where a short
soiled and dirtied figure, with a sottish look,
but wearing the well-known uniform of the
Royal County Militia, was being ushered into
the room doorway by the landlord. In an
instant the company were all astir, and a place
was found for the new arrival, who was speedily
besieged by a volley of questions, in answer to
which, with a careless and consequential non
chalance, he requested the company to wait
awhile till he had rested and refreshed himself.
Chapter VII. — Treachery.
Who was the freshly-added guest ?
A glance at the new comer soon showed who
he was — one Jack Ham, a ne'er-do-well and
lazy weaver of the place, — a soldier in the
County Militia — and who, when the Duke landed,
with the true craftiness of idleness and a shrewd
divination of which was likely to be eventually
the winning side, left his home and speedily
reported himself at the head-quarters in Exeter,
whence he had been marched into Somerset
against Monmouth, was present at the battle on
the previous day, and, having sustained some
slight injury to one of his arms, which he wore
in a sling, was ordered home to his parish.
This was the history of the newly-added
guest, and, looking round upon the company
with all the air of a conqueror, he relieved his

head of the heavy iron pot, the which, with his
sword and belt, he placed on the table before
him, and then asked a person sitting near him,
rather authoritatively, to unbuckle his currion
and back-plate and pull off his wet boots.
This having been accomplished to his satis
faction, and, a pot of the best foaming ale set
before him, into which he at once dipped most
plentifully, he proceeded to describe to his
eager auditory the particulars of yesterday's
fight. It was something wonderful and deeply
interesting to watch the varying countenances,
the gasps, the grins, the nods and sighs of his
listeners, as the man graphically described the
frightful incidents of the battle.
Of the charges and firing across the deep
watery dykes of Sedgemoor, the wild cries and
shouts of the scythemen and clubmen of the
Duke, and the enthusiasm of his more disciplined
troops, but of their powerlessness to cope with
the regular and well-trained soldiery of the
King; — of the last final rout and flight of
Monmouth, and the bloody pursuit of the rebel
army by the dragoons of the Royal forces, and
their desperate leap for life across the broad
dykes ; — of the hundreds of mangled forms
lying dead or dying on the fatal morass, and
the preparation for their burial in the great
Bussex grave, where the poor wretches were
afterward thrown in, living or dead ; — of some
twenty prisoners, many of them in a dying state
from their wounds, who were savagely hung
that morning on the branches of a large oak
tree close by, — and other multiplied atrocities,
till the blood of his auditory fairly curdled with
horror at the relation.
Then, with an affectation of sympathy, joined
with a well-feigned deprecation of the unfortunate
issue of the battle as regarded the numerous
partisans of the Duke that had joined him
from Colyton, he proceeded to detail the names
of such as he knew from the town were enlisted
under his standard, and added that three or
four at least were prisoners now at Chedzoy and
would doubtless, he feared, be hanged, — and
there was one particularly, he continued, with
a significant glance at the old mercer, who sat
industriously smoking his pipe, with well
simulated complacence opposite, young Tom
Vye, that particularly distinguished himself in
Monmouth's Yellow Regiment, but whether he
was killed or had escaped he was not sure, but it
was thought the latter.
At any rate, continued the fellow, who was
now half-seas over, and had waxed garrulous
and pot-valiant, if he was not dead he deserved
to be hung, and he would warrant, if the King's
soldiers caught him, his trial would be a short
one, for Vye was extraordinarily active in
leading the rebels on.

SAVED.

The old mercer exhaled a long whiff as the
narrator concluded this last sentence, and cast a
glance of supreme contempt at the treacherous
vagabond, as he recollected that the fellow was
deeply indebted to the generous but unfortunate
Tom Vye.
Finally, he wound up his gloomy narration by
observing that he had heard, before he left the
camp that day, that the King's forces purposed
searching for rebels in all the towns of the West,
and he would answer for it that Jack Ketch
would have a busy time of it for the next two
months. The half-drunken wretch sank back in the
corner of the settle helplessly intoxicated as he
finished, rather disjointedly, this concluding
malediction, and letting his long clay pipe fall
on the stone floor, his head sank on his breast,
and he snored heavily.
Dreadfully hurt and disgusted at his narration
and inhuman commentary, the company rose
en masse at its conclusion, and, after exchanging
a few low guarded salutations, hurried away to
their respective homes.
The old mercer had another anxious chat with
his trusty dame that night after he had conveyed
to her the substance of the man's story heard at
the inn. He was now fully cognizant of the
imminent danger to all concerned, but his faith
in the gracious over-ruling of a merciful Provi
dence was strong — a Providence that had never
failed him as yet in times of his greatest trial, —
and he looked forward calmly and hopefully for
Divine assistance and interposition to ward off
the consummate peril that now threatened to
destroy him and his.
We shall see if that faith was well-founded
and those earnest prayers answered.
Chapter VIIL — Fidelity.
One more day and night of anxiety had passed
over the mercer's little household, and again the
blessed sunshine filled the streets and houses of
Colyton with its pleasant splendour, and the old
merchant was busily employed down in his shop
sorting over and preparing for despatch to the
far off metropolis a costly consignment of his
stock of bone lace.
Margery was also better, and had arisen, and
was down stairs in her accustomed place at the
little oak table, but looking sadly haggard and
worn. She had not seen Tom since her harrow
ing interview with him two nights previously,
though her good mother had carried many a
kind message between their young hearts in the
interval. Therefore, Margery bethought herself
she should like, with her dear mother's sanction
and company, to go up and spend an hour with
her imprisoned sweetheart, although her little
heart fluttered with a sort of indefinable dread,

coupled with intense yearning, at the prospects
For times were sadly altered now, — not her heart.
That would beat to its last pulsation true to its
own true love, that bright attribute and endlessly
holy safeguard that can alone deify the name of
woman in every real man's heart.
If there be one trace of the true Promethean
fire left in this poor distorted clay image of ours,
it is the priceless reality of a sole, true, and
endless woman's love that never has had, nor
ever can have, other than one supreme centre
for her affections, — that never has, or ever could,
suffer her heart to be soiled or courtezaned by
more. True, it may be affirmed, unfortunately,
that such hearts are like angels' visits. But
they do exist nevertheless, and become the sole
consummate glory and crown of true womanhood.
Such a heart was Margery's, and the reason
of that strangely new and anxious flutter in her
breast that morning was this : — She felt that
now Tom was not free — free and joyous to meet
her sweet smile as he was wont — free to tell her
and assure her again for the ten thousandth
time (though she did not need such reiteration)
that she was his dear Margery, and his own for
ever ! and that that ever was to have an ap
parently endless duration in this life.
Something now seemed to loom before her
thoughts that all this bright dream might be
marred. An indistinct idea, too fearful to con
template, warned her threateningly that her
erstwhile brightly filling cup of joy might now be
suddenly o'erturned and dashed to atoms, and
the dreadful haunting fear stunned and subdued
her, for to love Tom Vye had become the spring
of her whole life, and this great truth had forced
itself home with double intensity since he had
stood in such imminent peril.
As to any shame, disgrace, or reproach that
might be imputed to him (if there was any) that
did not cost her a moment's uneasiness. Her
true soul was twined round his heart too surely
to heed that. Nothing could alter him in her
sight, and, whether loaded with a malefactor's
chains or garlanded with honours, it would make
no difference to her. She had but one precious
being in the world to love, and the consuming
terror was the possibility of losing him or of his
coming to harm.
" Here, Tom Vye," said the old dame pushing
open the chamber door and leading her daughter
by the hand, " here's Margery come to see you
once more. God be praised, the maid 's better
to-day, but very much more trouble will break
her heart and mine too, methinks ! I thought I
would be along with ye the while to see that ye
don't grieve more than ye can help. So, prythee,
my children, be as cheerful as ye can. I've
seen many a dark and stormy day of sorrow in
my time and am alive yet," and she sat herself
down in one of the oak chairs.

SAVED.

There is a calmness and equableness beneath
the pressure of intense sorrow, when the worst
aspect is divined, that causes us to take things in
an almost methodical shape, as if all trace of
passion in ourselves and fear of contingent
consequence were obliterated, — when we accept
things as they are, and mechanically pursue the -
accustomed round of ordinary actions, being
fully persuaded of our own perfect helplessness
by any effort we could put in force to avert or
influence the dreaded issue.
This was exactly the frame of mind in which
Margery Bird and Thomas Vye met each other
on that afternoon.
" Well, then, Margery," said he, sitting down
beside her on the bed and taking her hand in
both of his, " I will be cheerful, and, do you
know, I've been thinking that it is even prefer
able to be the captive I am, with such a sweet
jailer to look after me, than to enjoy the fullest
liberty in the world without ! "
A slight flush overspread her sweet features as
the youth spoke the pleasant bit of badinage
with ill-concealed emotion, followed by a faint
smile that recalled transiently all their olden
expression of happiness and peace.
" Yes, dear Tom, it is a wonderful consolation
to know that in our misfortunes you are under
the same roof with me, and that I may come
and see you, but," — she added in more measured
tones, as the " grief that must have way," rose
to her faltering lips, — " 0, Tom, the time of our
distress has seemed ages to me, and I feel that I
have grown years older. But all this would be
nothing if .all was over now, — if — if " — and tears
that would flow stayed all further utterance.
" Come, now, Margery," said her mother,
rising from her chair and interposing, " you
know it was a promise that you were not to give
way, and " 
At that instant, and just as the kind old lady
was going to threaten to put an end to the
interview, a loud clatter of horses' feet was
heard to turn the corner by the conduit in the
street below and pass along the front of the house.
As if struck by an electric shock the youth
started to his feet and hurried over to the
window, and, as he pried through the hazy green
glass, a perceptible pallor stole over his counte
nance, -and a suppressed exclamation, which was
stifled with tremendous effort as he turned
round and said, with all the calmness he could
muster, " My dear Margery, you had better leave
me now and go down and tell your father I want
to see him at once. There's a good girl, now,
go," and he caught Margery in his arms, and,
giving her two or three passionate kisses, carried
her toward the door, which her mother, who
now seemed to quite understand who the
horsemen were, had already opened, and was
beckoning Margery out.

They had not proceeded many steps down the
stairway when they met the old mercer, with
countenance full of alarm, hastening with the
best of his speed up.
" Now then, Tom," said he, as soon as he
could recover his breath, " it's no use deceiving
you, the worst has come. A troop of the King's
dragoons has just ridden down to the Red Lion,
and are dismounting. Up, boy, into the roof,
and God protect you ! "
As he spoke he placed one of the old chairs
under the aperture, and, giving Tom a lift at the
knee, the youth vaulted through the opening
and disappeared from observation in a twinkling,
closing down the little trap-door after him.
Quietly placing the chair again in its place, the
mercer laid hold of the side of the bed, and, with
one or two well-directed efforts, slid the ponderous
somniferous structure back to its accustomed
position, completely concealing the hiding-place
from sight. This being done, he stripped the bed
of all its clothes, well shook up the tye, and,
gathering all articles of apparel of every sort
under his arm, carried them down into his own
bedroom, where his good dame folded them up
and placed them away.
Then, bidding her go up, put the room all
tidy, and open the window, he went down to
his usual place in the shop, at his desk, near
the door, and calmly awaited the future.
Chapter IX. — Alarm.
The squadron of dragoons, as they rode down
through the town, caused considerable conster
nation among the quiet Colyton people, and
many a head was seen thrust out of the cottage
doorways and windows as they trotted past,
and then as hastily withdrawn again, and door
and casement carefully closed.
The horsemen made a halt in the centre of
the place, and, after looking around them for.
a short time, the commanding officer, having
espied the ruddy proportions of the leonine
symbol on the swing sign by the shambles, and
the equally florid countenance and portly person
of the landlord, framed at half length in the
upper half of the tap-room doorway below,
forthwith passed the word of command to his
men, and, riding over to the expectant boniface,
wheeled his horse round and formed his troop
in a double line in front of him, and dismounted.
They were a sorry, dirty, dissipated lot of
men, — their horses soiled and ungroomed, — while
the officer was a tall ungainly-looking man, with
grizzled black hair and a low sinister type of
countenance. Two or three rustics, who had
been enjoying a day's booze at the inn, came
out, and, retiring a short distance off, stopped
to have their fill of sight-seeing at the soldiers.
The officer exchanged a word or two with his

10

SAVED.

men, and then looked around expecting some
one at hand to hold his horse, and, no one
coming, said in a loud, fierce, irritable tone to
one of the countrymen, " Here, pudding-chops !
Hold my horse, will ye."
The fellows looked at each other knowingly,
and emboldened by the liberal potations of
cider they had imbibed, grinned slyly but made
no movement toward the officer's relief.
The commandant of the troop had noticed their
covert irony, and boiling with rage, shouted out,
with a tremendous oath, as he advanced toward
them : —
" That's it, is it, ye grinning jobbernowls. I
suppose ye have been drinking success to the
traitorous cause till your courage is pretty high !
And ye refuse to hold the King's horses, do ye ?
I'll have your numbskulls nailed to the sign-post
there before I've done of ye. Ye're a trio of
rebels, I suppose ! "
The infuriated officer had by this time advanced
close to the now frightened yokels, whose faces
instantly assumed an appearance of grotesque
fear and pallor as he spoke the last part of the
sentence. " Noa, we beant raybels, that we beant, and
han't had nort to do wi' it," stammered out one of
them, while at the same instant they all three
stepped forward and held the bridles of a number
of the dragoons that had now dismounted.
Ordering his men to quarter themselves in
the public houses or private dwellings of the
inhabitants as they felt inclined, and to see that
they had good stables and plenty of fodder for
their steeds, he prepared himself, with two or
three troopers, to enter the hostelry of the
Red Lion.
By this time the inseparable little crowd of
sight-seers had congregated by the shambles'
corner, and the officer took a glance at them as
he was turning to enter the doorway. He stopped
suddenly as he recognized the Royal uniform
among the knot of people, and, beckoning over
the person so clad, enquired of him who he
was. "John Ham, an' please yer honner, belonging
to the King's Hirdgement of Malishy."
"A Colyton man ? "
" 0, 'ees, yer honner, and a-wounded at
Zidgemoor." " Ah ! we shall want you by and by. Come
this way with us," and forthwith together they
entered the tap-room.
The soldiers having seated themselves, the
officer ordered the best refreshment that the
house afforded, to be got and set before them as
speedily as possible. Stammering, apologising,
and half at his wits' end with anxiety, the
landlord said that he feared he had nothing
very special to offer, when the soldier, catching
sight of a trio of large smoked hams in the

ingle corner, bade a substantial meal to be
provided from the bounteous source.
While the mistress was busily broiling the
savoury rashers, the officer called for a bottle of
Rhenish, and, taking Militiaman Ham in a
corner by the window, was soon deep in a low
earnest conversation with him.
In all human combinations, whether for good
or for ill, the inseparable traitor finds his
distinctive place, — the hateful wretched spy
contrives his subtle ingress, — and the unprin
cipled busy-body and mischief-maker, with
apparently often aimless purpose, plies his ne
farious intermeddling and gossip. The dangerous
movement of Monmouth was, of course, not
free from these miserable influences, and,
although the almost entirety of feeling and
sympathy of the West Country folk was enlisted
in its favour, yet the large promises of reward
on the one hand, and dread of threatened
punishment on the other, raised the usual crop
of traitors and informers to heap persecution
on the vanquished when the insurrection was
quelled. Among this execrable class, dignified with the
title and form of human kind, the drunken, idle,
soldier-weaver found that he had now a safe.
opportunity of distinguishing himself, and he
was no ways loath or backward in playing his
part, nor desirous of concealing his hateful
agency. " Here, comrade," said the officer patronizingly,
"have a stoup out of my bottle," — and he
poured a considerable portion of his wine into
Ham's mug of cider, — "I -suppose you know all
in this village who joined the rebels, and now,
like a good loyal man, will give us all the
information you can, that we may bring them to
the punishment they deserve."
"I'se warrant I 'ool," said Ham, captivated
by the officer's condescension, " for I knows 'em
all, yer honner."
The militiaman forthwith gave him the names
of all such as he knew had joined Monmouth,
together with further particulars of all others
that he supposed were favourable to the move
ment, but had not actually borne arms, nor
appeared actively interested in his favour.
The officer said that two or three Colyton
men were in custody at Chedzoy among the
prisoners, but there were some others known to
have been in the battle, whose disappearance was
not satisfactorily accounted for, and the name
of Tom Vye was suggested by Ham as one of
them. It had been rumoured, the officer continued,
that some one answering to his description had
been seen to escape from Monmouth's Yellow
Regiment, where, during the battle, he had
made himself very conspicuous by his activity.
Some others also were named, but no one of

SAVED.

11

them had been seen about Colyton since the
battle, as far as he (Ham) could learn.
In answer to this, the officer replied that he
should make strict search by and by in all the
houses of the place, or at least in such as where
rebels might be likely to secrete themselves, and
concluded by observing that he was glad to have
alighted upon so trusty and loyal a guide to
their whereabouts as Jack Ham.
This latter part of the sentence seemed not
quite so pleasant to the said Master Jack Ham
as might have been inferred from his previous
readiness in volunteering information. To go
out openly and pilot the dragoons in "ferreting
out the traitors," as the officer described it, was
not so desirable a job in the face of his watchful
and jealous neighbours, and hardly so safe as
to give slyly such information as he possessed
in the tap-room, and he looked considerably
uncomfortable thereat.
However, to retreat from his position now
would be to place himself in the same proscribed
" category. There was, therefore, no help for it
but to do as he intimated he could. His zeal
had, it appeared, out-run his calculation, and
he would be obliged to complete his nauseous
errand, like it or not.
Chapter X. —Cowardice.
The officer had not heeded the sorry knave's
uneasiness, and the smoking repast having been
placed on the well polished oak table the soldiers
" fell to " with hearty appetite and goodwill.
About the time they had finished their meal
the dragoons, who had been billetting themselves
elsewhere, were returned to this the head-quarters
of the squadron according to orders given them
on their dispersion, and in a short period the
kitchen of the hostelry was filled with armed
men. After giving them general directions how
to proceed, the officer told them off in parties of
four and cautioned them to be particularly care
ful to seek for Vye, whom he said he had strong
suspicion to believe had returned to his native
place, as well as search for and apprehend all
others implicated, and, calling on Ham to accom
pany him specially with six troopers, bade him
take them first to Vye's house and premises,
which were situated toward the lower end of the
town, near the Rack Green, an open space near
Umborne Bridge where the " racks " with their
fierce serried rows of "hooks " lengthened along,
on which the staplers of the town stretched their
serges and kerseys.
There lived with Thomas Vye, since his
parents' death, as his housekeeper, an old maiden
aunt, his father's eldest sister, Thomasine by
name, but better known in the town by the cogno
men of old Aunt Tammy. She was a tall
venerable dame, hale for her years, with an

immense mob-cap on her head, — long, bare,
gaunt arrns, — a severe face wrinkled into, endless
convolutions, but still exhibiting traces of former
comeliness, — and a pair of quick grey eyes in end
less motion. She had the misfortune to be very
deaf, and this old lady, together with a hard
lad who assisted Tom in his business, formed all
the young stapler's little household.
The officer directed two of his men to go round
and keep guard in the court at the rear of the
premises, and directing Ham to lift the latch of
the door, the other four entered the large, roomy,
comfortable kitchen of the house.
It was a pleasant apartment, lighted by two
large windows, the sills being filled with pans of
flowers — the old lady's especial pride, — and
through one of them the sun shone cheerfully.
Opposite the door stood a large dresser, the
shelves of which were well garnished with rows
of shining pewter platters and dishes, interspersed
with choice specimens of blue-patterned delft.
At one end was a large open fire-place. On
the hearth a cheerful fire was burning, and
before the fire was standing old Aunt Tammy,
superintending some culinary operation, with
her back turned toward the company who had
thus so suddenly and unceremoniously invaded
her sanctum and whose ingress she had not
noticed on account of her deafness.
Lifting the little crock from the fire she turned
round and, when she saw the newly arrived
visitors, stood petrified with astonishment and
terror, and, giving a slight scream, dropped the
pot from her hand — a portion of the boiling
contents of which, in dispersing about struck a
large tabby cat quietly snoozing close by, who
forthwith bolted up on the table and through the
open window, as if shot at, upsetting a pot or
two of the choicest flowers in his exit.
" Massy ! massy ! who be ye ? what d'ye
want ? massy ! don't kill me, don't 'e — don't 'e "
— shrieked out the old woman, eyeing the officer's
naked sword which he held drawn in his hand.
The commander looked at the amazed dame
with a sort of amusement and contempt, in
which perhaps a shade of pity was blended, and,
on hearing from Ham that she was deaf, bade
the militiaman go over and explain the object
of their visit, which Ham endeavoured to do,
but the venerable auditor was so agitated that
for some time he could not get her to understand
a word. " Have 'e got my poor boy with you, eh ! Tom
Vye, I mean. Have 'e killed him ? — never zeed
'en since that morning, no, — poor Tom, poor
boy ! " continued the old woman, catching a
word here and there, shaking her head and
chattering continually, while Ham was en
deavouring to talk to her. At last she compre
hended what he was saying.
"No! no! no!" said the old lady hurriedly,

12

SAVED.

" he idden here. I wish he was. The Lord ha'
mercy upon him. You be welcome to sarch,"
and she tottered over to the form in the ingle
corner and sat herself down.
The soldiers, piloted by Ham, who knew the
house well, made minute search over the premises,
of course without result, the officer grumbling
gruffly at his ill luck.
" Ha'n't a vound'en, have 'e ? — I wish ye had —
nor yet that 20 yards of kersey, Jack Ham, thee
dost owe my poor boy, have 'e ? " squeaked out
the antient housekeeper as she closed the door
after them, casting a defiant glance at the
treacherous Ham.
Why did Thomas Vye leave this comfortable
home, his prosperous business, and his pretty
sweetheart thus, and make disastrous shipwreck
of almost the complete sum of earthly happi
ness ?
Simply one of those impulsive mysteries of
feeling that occasionally in generous breasts
overwhelm every other sentiment of mental
reserve, storm the citadel of caution and reflec
tion in the heart, and bear away irresistably
captive every energy, safely enlisted under the
chivalrous banner of some deeply convinced
sentiment of right, at the time fiercely and
persistently stifled or opposed by a selfish and
wicked world, displaying the noblest and grand
est attribute of the human mind, exhibiting its
deep-seated and quenchless love of justice and
truth and its dauntless pursuit after it — regard
less of the prospect of severing the tenderest and
most valuable ties, privileges, and associations,
and to whom the jail, the scaffold, or the stake
of the relentless persecutor convey neither terror
nor reproach. Chapter XL — Courage.
How fared poor Margery Bird the while these-
dread ceremonials were being proceeded with ? —
for the good old mercer and his family were fully
aware of all that was going on, and knew that
their turn of trial would come by and by.
Margery seemed in a semi-unconscious state.
This trouble appeared to overcloud all the others,
and she walked mechanically about the house,
pale and noiseless as a ghost. The old gentle
man and his wife, brimful of anxiety too of the
most painful kind, yet strove to be cheerful
toward their daughter, and counselled her to
bear up as much as possible for Tom's sake and
to foil the soldiers, and, as he was sure (as he
said) they could not find him, in a few hours all
danger would be over, and there would be an end
of it.
So matters wore along till just about four in
the afternoon, when the old mercer, sitting in
his shop window, saw the officer, with half *
dozen troopers and Jack Ham, walking up

toward his house, in front of which they halted
a minute while three of the men went round to
ward the mercer's back door.
The officer then drew his sword, and, giving
the under hatch of the door a thrust with the
point of it, entered the mercer's shop, on which,
the old man, moving away from the window,
took his accustomed place at the counter and
looked steadily and calmly at the intruder.
"Well, sirrah," began the officer in a loud
contemptuously sarcastic tone, " 1 hear you, too,
are one of these discontented rascally malignants
that wish well to the arch-traitor who has sought
to pull down the throne of our noble King ! But
ye're too old a fox and too great a coward to
disgrace a halter, and ye would rather stay at
home here with your tapes and bobbins in
security than have taken the chance of Sedge
moor and Jack Ketch ! " — and the soldier struck
the flat of his sword on the counter as he
shrieked out the last words in his rage.
The old mercer was still a strong hale man,
anything but decrepit, and his heart was as full
of courage and determination as ever. A rigid
Puritan in belief, of regular and temperate life,
he was still a vigorous and powerful man,
and by no means to be despised as an antagonist,
with his blood warmed by honest indignation, as
at the present trying juncture. Not only so, but
in his younger days he had been a stalwart
soldier too, and, espousing the Cromwellian
cause, served with the Roundheads in many
engagements. With a vague presentiment as to eventualities,
he had taken the precaution to bring out his
bright old basket-hilted broadsword from its
place of honour over the mantel-piece in his
parlour, and stood it up by his side, but free
from observation.
As the sword of the dragoon rang upon the
counter, the old man started back, and, fearing
personal violence, instinctively seized his own
weapon, and, darted out round the counter with
the celerity of youth, fronted the officer, and at
the same instant made the glittering blade
whistle over his head with all the skill of a
practised swordsman, and drew toward the officer
in an attitude of defence, his whole frame shak
ing with excitement.
" So you are going to murder me in cold
blood, are ye ? Not if I can prevent it," said
the mercer recovering himself somewhat. " If
I die, I'll die a soldier's death. This old sword
has served me many a time, and will serve me
again yet — hark ye 1 Call me coward and traitor.
I defy ye to prove either the one or the other, or
deserving Jack Ketch ! " — and the old man,
whose ire was once more in the ascendant,
whistled his sword over his head again. " What
do ye want here," he continued. " Get outside,
or, old as I am, I'll carve the Kingis name

SAVED.

13

upon ye ! Jack Ketch, forsooth ! " — and the old
mercer eyed his opponent keenly and firmly.
The shop was a tolerably sized one. There
was a counter or serving place down one side,
and on the other was piled up bales of goods of
various sorts, leaving a sort of narrow gang-way
in the middle.
Equally startled in his turn at the unexpected
challenge of the mercer, the dragoon drew back
a step to the doorway, where he stood confront
ing his assailant, with his companions looking
over either shoulder, and Militiaman Ham in
the rear. He could not retreat without dis
honour, nor had he room to use his own weapon
with effect if he felt so inclined, while the
mercer was standing in the middle of the shop
completely unfettered.
" Softly, old bobbinet," said the officer depre-
catingly, and lowering the point of his sword,
which he stood down by his side. " Ye seem
rather passionate at the sight of the King's
uniform. Look ye here," he continued, taking
a paper out of the pocket of his doublet, "here
is my warrant to search for rebels in all
suspected places, and we are informed that your
house is one."
" 'Tis a lie ! " interrupted the mercer.
" Hearken," rejoined the officer. " And we
are further informed that one Thomas Vye,
known to be an active traitor against His
Majesty, is at large, and supposed to have
returned to Colyton, and is, it may be, secreted
in your house, where, we hear, he hath had
resort in times past, and we, therefore, in the
King's name, purpose making search, the which
resist ye at your peril ! " — and the officer read
his general search-warrant, and then resumed
his sword.
" You are perfectly welcome to search my
house," said the mercer, by the side of whom
his trusty wife was now standing, " and I am
perfectly content to abide the issue. It will be
time enough to talk of Jack Ketch," continued
the old man, still chewing over the hateful
allusion, " when you find something connected
with me worthy of it," — and he resumed his
old position behind the counter. " Here, dame,"
said he, " show them over the house. There
never was a person or thing in it yet that I was
ashamed to show any one."
Chapter XII. — Address.
The old mercer's better half was standing in
the centre of the shop just before the door
leading within, looking as resolute as she could,
and behind her was poor Margery, pale as marble.
Summoning up as much courage as she could
muster, the old lady said, " This way then, Sir,
if it please ye. There will not be much diffi
culty to search our house."

The officer followed Mistress Bird, and pro
ceeded carefully to examine the house.
Evidently considerably annoyed and inwardly
chafed at his brusque reception by the mercer,
he made much pretence and ado in his scrutiny,
looking into every crack and corner, sounding
the partitions and wainscots for secret places
with the pommel of his sword, and tracing all
dark corners and recesses with the point of it.
Not only did he peer minutely into all the
cupboards and other apparently likely places,
but he opened all the drawers and rummaged
over all the papers he could find for any evidence
that would tend to criminate the mercer, who
had unmistakably deeply offended him by his
honest indignation and courage. But he found
nothing that would in the least answer his
treacherous purpose, though he most thoroughly
over-hauled an old bureau in the sitting-room.
While he was thus engaged the old mercer
entered the room and sat himself down on the
other side close to Margery, who was professedly
busy at her usual embroidery, but whose pallid
countenance showed how deeply she was suffer
ing. " Ugh ! " said the officer, " laces and bobbins
— bobbins and laces, Ah," he continued, looking
at Margery, whose beautiful countenance bright
ened up with a supernatural transparent glow as
he turned his conversation toward her, " there
is the pretty loadstone whom we think has lured
this arch-rebel back ! By my faith ! " said he,
lowering his tone and speaking with an undis
guised admiration of voice he could not mask as
he looked on her sweet face, ' ' a double rebel,
too ! that could leave the allegiance of so pretty
a chief, and face the dangers of a traitor's
chance and the hangman's fee ! " — and again he
went on with his search.
It was evident, however, from the great pains
he displayed in scrutinizing the old bureau that
there were other matters, besides treasonable
correspondence, he had hoped to stumble over,
for presently a half exclamation of surprise
escaped his lips as he discovered a small leather
pouch, the which, as he lifted, gave a significant
jingle. The soldier opened the little bag, and a
smile of satisfaction passed over his countenance
as he turned out about half a handful of large
gold coins into his expectant palm.
These were some doubloons and other valuable
Spanish and Dutch pieces that the old mercer
had come across in his travels abroad at various
periods, and had brought home one at a time as
presents for his darling Margery, by whom they
had been carefully hoarded.
The mercer was keenly eyeing the soldier's
proceedings, and had formed a pretty clear
surmise of the object of the close search, and
when he saw him preparing to open the little
scrip his indignation again broke silence.

14

SAVED.

" There's no treason in that bag you may
depend on it," said he. " Those gold pieces
belong to my child here."
" All ! " replied the dragoon, " I shall crave a
few of them in remembrance of her pretty face.
Soldiers, like lovers, are free askers," and he
leered round at her with a detestable smirk of
covetousness and cunning.
" Not by my leave," said the mercer gruffly.
"Never mind, dear father," replied Margery
imploringly, " if he wishes them."
" Pity to divide them ! " answered the searcher,
returning the coins back to the purse, and forth
with consigned purse and coins to the pocket of
his doublet.
" H'm 1 " — jerked out the mercer, rising from
his chair, turning round, and looking out of the
window to hide his fast rising choler.
But Margery did not care. Her heart was
racking with anxiety for the fate of some one
far dearer to her than her gold, and she thought
it may soften the soldier's heart and conciliate
him somewhat.
" Now then," said the soldier, " we will look
upstairs." If a person cognizant of the terrible secret of
the household that day had carefully watched
Margery as the soldier uttered those ominous
words he would have seen, by the slight in
voluntary fall of the hands and eyelids of the
poor girl as a momentary faintness passed over
her, how their dreadful import flashed like
hghtning through her soul.
But she recovered herself instantaneously, as
she knew the desperate consequence of the
slightest clue toward its betrayal, and, as the
dragoon left the room and proceeded upstairs
with her mother, she rose from her little work-
table and going over to her father buried her
face in his arm.
" Courage, my child," said he, with as much
cheerfulness as he could muster. " Remember
the issues of life are not in our hands, and you,
at least, have done nothing to deserve this
trouble. All shall be well yet," and he raised
her head and sat her down on the chair again.
" Hark ! " he continued softly, as he 'heard
footsteps approaching through the shop. " Sit
down. Nothing must be seen now for the
world ! " and quick as thought Margery resumed
her embroidery.
"Where's the Cap'n?" said one of the
soldiers coming in from the shop and thrusting
his head into the parlour doorway. "Methinks
he's a brave time about here. I s'pose he's got
scent somehow."
" You will find your Cap'n upstairs," curtly
rejoined the mercer, " where you can follow him
if you think proper." " No, not exactly that,"
he answered, " but look here, old fellow! This
is a miserable dry job, can't ye give us a drop of

Schiedam, or something of that sort, just to
drink the King's health in,"— then lowering his
tone to a hypocritical whine, " and jist to wish
good luck to Missy there, and hope she'll get
her sweetheart back again safe some day."
As he finished his request the fellow pointed
with his sword significantly to some half dozen
short squat rotund black bottles on the top
shelf of an old corner cupboard whose door was
standing ajar.
Margery looked up at her father imploringly,
and, the mercer glancing queringly at the soldier
a moment, walked over to the cupboard, took
down a couple of the bottles, and handing
them to the intruder said, " There, drink to
the health of all true men ! "
"Aye, that we will," answered the trooper
eagerly, "with thine among them!" and he
went back to the shop and joined his companions,
mightily pleased with the booty.
Chapter XIII. — Wariness.
How fared it up over all this while with good
dame Bird and her prying companion ?
The old lady had braced herself up for her
errand, and she fussily showed the officer over
the various bedrooms, and into every press,
chest, box, and bed, he looked with careful
minuteness, and scanned the ceilings, doors, and
closets with particular heed.
With garrulous pertinacity, but with consum
mate caution and apparent candour, she contin
ually assured him that there was no one secreted
within her house — in fact, she believed that the
poor lad must have made away with himself
in some way for fear of the consequences of his
folly, — or had gone over the seas, — for no person
had seen him that she could hear of by any
hand since the battle, — and what her poor
Margery would do without him she did not
know, for the poor child was already sadly
altered, and if anything were to go wrong with
the maid 'twould be the death of her old man
too. " Dearie me," she would exclaim with
well-feigned sorrow, " what troubles we be born
to. But there, do satisfy yourself ! " — as with
profusion of well simulated candour she followed
the officer about.
They looked through all the rooms, coming
lastly to that one above which Tom Vye was
secreted. All was studiedly arranged to foil the
scrutineer. The window was open, and the
large coffer at the end of the room had its cover
lifted against the wall behind, displaying its
wealth of snowy linen and divers articles of
women's wearing apparel. On the great oak
bedstead was a feather bed only, but no clothes
on it, as if unused and unmade of late.
" There's no one here it seems," said the
officer, turning over the bed-tye and then stoop-

SAVED.

15

ing and looking below. "'Tis a fine bedstead,
old lady," he continued, sitting himself down on
it and looking at the quaintly carved panels on
the head-board.
" Yes, 'tis a fine bedstead," chimed in the old
lady. " Faith, 'twas most the whole of my
wedding portion too. I had not got over-much
to bring my old man. My grandfather gave it
me, for I lived with him and used to sleep on it
when I was young, and I coveted it rather on
account of the story of Adam and Eve there
upon the head-board, and when I married
Edward Bird, he gave it me.
" 'Tis a fine bed," repeated the officer again,
musingly, " and if it was not but that I should
be found at my headquarters of the Red Lion,
I should be fain to billet myself within it
forthwith for the night, for I am mightily
tired." " I could have made ye comfortable for the
night, no doubt, if it had been your pleasure to
sleep here," said Mistress Bird cheerfully. "But
my old man is so very passionate. I was grieved
just now to see him so angry. But there ! he
was a soldier, too, in his younger days, when he
first courted me, and now he's got old and
fidgety, and can't bear much crossing."
The officer waited out the old lady's remarks,
then rising up and casting a last glance round
the apartment, hurried down over the stairs to
the room where the mercer and his daughter
were anxiously waiting his return, — the good
housewife following him to the best of her
ability. The old mercer was sat in his great arm-chair
in the chimney corner as the soldier entered the
room. " Well, have ye satisfied yourself of me now ? "
said he.
" 'Tis all right with ye I find," answered the
officer slowly, — " at least, as far as I can
discover, and I hope your choler has subsided
by this time, for which, it seems, there was
little reason."
" More reason than there was for your un
deserved taunts," replied the mercer.
" Ah well ! " replied the soldier, " I shall not
bandy reproaches with ye. Here ! " he con
tinued, looking into the shop, where the men
were just finishing the second bottle of Schiedam,
— " what are ye about there ! "
" Jist finishing up a drop of good stuff from
master's cupboard there," said one of the
troopers coming forward with an empty bottle
and pointing to the corner cupboard, where
some half dozen bottles more were standing.
" The real Dutchman, by my faith," quoth
the officer, smelling at the empty flask. " Here,
old fellow," he continued, " take down one
more, and as you and I are never likely to see
each other again  ."

" I hope not," jerked in the mercer.
" Never mind," said the officer, " let us drink
the King's health before I leave, and part good
friends. Old soldiers, you know, like a drop of
good stuff to their hearts — eh I old fellow ? " —
and the officer put his hand on the old mercer's
shoulder and looked as kindly as he dould in his
face. The mercer nodded his head significantly to
Margery, who darted over to the cupboard and
placed one of the aforesaid rotund bottles on the
table, together with a couple of old long-legged
glasses of fine Venetian workmanship, with
twisted stems, that our modern connoisseur
would have given any money to procure.
The officer drew the cork with all the practised
address of one well used to its mysteries, and,
pouring out a brimming bumper, held it up to
the mercer, who, accepting the proferred challenge,
held his glass in close contact.
" Here's to the mighty and glorious King
James, our rightful sovereign, — prosperity to his
noble reign and confusion to his traitorous
enemies everywhere ! " — repeated the soldier with
a malicious twinkle of his eye.
" As well drink that as anything else, "
satirically replied the mercer, " a glass of this
stuff would make any toast a good one."
They touched their glasses and drank off the
liquor, filling and refilling them until the bottle
was exhausted.
"Verily," said the officer, who was visibly
moved by his acquaintanceship with the Dutch
man, " I do believe you're a good fellow after all,
and 'tis quite a mistake my coming here to
search for rebels — none of 'em here. I say !
have ye got another bottle ? " — and he took the
old mercer by the hand and shook it heartily,
see-sawing toward him to and fro the while.
" Aye, that I have," said the mercer, " and as
to rebels and traitors ! none of 'em here I assure
you," and the old man took down another bottle.
" I tell thee what 'tis, Edward Bird," shrilly
interposed Mistress Bird, "I'm afraid ye'll get
too friendly by and by to be pleasant, not that
I begrudge ye the liquor."
" Madam ! " said the officer dignifiedly, " I do
not recollect so good a drop of the Dutchman."
" I brought it from Holland myself," continued
the mercer.
" I thought as much," replied the soldier.
They finished the second bottle, and the
troopers in the shop, on being summoned by their
commander, assisted him down to the Red Lion,
but not before he had sworn eternal friendship
with Master Bird.
Chapter XIV. — Uneasiness.
The evening had waxed somewhat late by the
time the troopers had finished their potations,

16

SAVED.

and Mistress Bird, seeing that her good husband
was quite elated and very talkative, straightway,
as soon as the soldiers were clear of the house,
informed him that she would shut the shop for
him, and the best place for him now was in bed.
" In bed, dame ! Not I. I feel inclined rather
to tap another bottle on the strength of it. Have
I not foiled the fellow well? There, I knew he
was safe, little puss ! " he continued, placing his
hand on Margery's head. " Confound the fellow.
I suppose he thought to frighten me just now !
Not so easily frightened, Grace, eh ! I'd have
shown him in another minute or two, old as I
am. So now I'll just go up and tell Tom 'tis all
over and give him a glass to cheer him up."
"You shall do nothing of the kind, Edward
Bird. But you shall go to bed instead."
" Now, dame ! " ejaculated the mercer, eyeing
his better half enquiringly, but with a lurking
despondency in the tone, which seemed to imply
that the sentence would not be commuted.
"Yes, go to bed instead. You have had a
glass too many already, more than I have known
you take for many a year. But, there, 'tis
excusable perhaps to-night, I shall go up and
tell Tom Vye all about it myself" — and the old
lady placed herself firmly and resolutely before
the old mercer.
" H'm ! I know what you say is law," continued
he, " but, if I do not go up and tell the boy
about it, I'll not go to bed " — and the old gentle
man was evidently trying to make up his mind
to be obstinate for once.
" Do go to bed, dear father," said Margery,
anxiously, " and let all go well, — do, dear father,
for my sake " — and she looked at him with
imploring earnestness.
The mercer gazed on his daughter's glowing
features with a kind of quizzing kindness for
half a minute, and then answered slowly — " Ah !
Margery, what troubles you children bring on
us. Perhaps, after all, my best place is in bed,
for I find my old head will not stand a drop of
the Dutchman as it used to when I was younger."
"Aye, aye ! quite right, by far the best plan.
Come on ! " finished up Mistress Grace, taking
the candle from the table, opening the stairfoot
door, and glancing back over her shoulder to see
that her dutiful spouse was following.
The old lady, having seen her husband safely
in bed, hurried down again, and, with as much
despatch as possible, closed the shop and then
returned to Margery.
Poor Margery ! The pallor had fled from her
cheek and a bright warm excited flush glowed in
its stead, while her eyes flashed with keen
anxiety, lighting up her beautiful features with
a wondrous charm.
" Now then, child," said the mother in a low
tone, looking carefully round and -listening
attentively for a moment, "we will quietly go up

and tell him that we hope all danger is over, at
least for the present "—and away they went up
into the trusty bedroom.
With careful strength they slid back the bed,
and then the old lady mounting on a chair
tapped lightly at the trap-door.
Immediately the door was cautiously raised,
and the signaller said, " 'Tis me, Tom. You're
safe I hope, now."
"Is he gone? "
"Yes! They are all gone ! "
" I heard all the conversation, and fancied
'twas an age you were here. Where's Margery? "
While this short colloquy was being proceeded
with, Margery was standing behind her mother,
out of Tom's sight. At the mention of her
name she came forward, and as soon as Tom saw
her he said in rather a loud unguarded tone,
" Dear Margery ! "
" Dear Tom ! " said she.
" Come ! come ! " interposed Mistress Bird,
alarmed, " this won't do. Shut down the door
at once. By and by, if all's well, we'll let you
down " — and she stepped off the chair and
carried it back, while immediately after Margery
and herself slid back the bed to its accustomed
position and both hurried down stairs.
Arrived there, Mistress Bird sat herself down
in her husband's large arm-chair, considerably
worn and jaded with the eventful day's excite
ment, and Margery, quite worn out too from the
cause, came over and, kneeling down before her,
buried her face in her mother's lap, and the good
old lady, placing both her hands on her much
loved daughter's head, uttered a long and fervent
thanksgiving to the Great Director of circum
stances which cross the chequered path of His
children in this life, for His mercies vouchsafed
to them during the past day, and imploring His
blessing and guidance' for the future, "which
shall surely be," added the good chime as she
kissed Margery and dismissed her to bed. " I
will see Tom all right, my child ! "
Then Mistress Bird softly entering their own
bedroom picked up a sufficiency of bedclothes
for her prisoner, and, after going over and
satisfying herself that her old helpmate was
securely enlocked in the arms of Morpheus, went
up and made Tom comfortable for the night,
and then crept noiselessly to bed herself beside
her fast-asleep spouse.
Chapter XV. — Revelry.
The half-tipsy officer, with the assistance of
his men, rammed his way back to the tap-room
of the Red Lion, where, on his arrival, he found
the rest of his men waiting the return of their
commander. The other part of the troop had finished their
search among such suspected houses as they had

SAVED.

17

been directed to, but their unsavoury scrutiny
had not been rewarded with any success. So
they were now enjoying themselves in a drunken
revel at the expense of the host, who was fully
employed replenishing the fast-emptied flagon
and tankard, and the majority of them were
ranged about the room, sitting in all the well-
known attitudes of inebriety in its various

At the entrance of the officer the men all rose,
— at least as many of them as were able to poise
themselves erect, — and a place for him was
speedily procured in a large chair at the end of
the settle.
Sitting himself down, he looked with half-
drunken vacuity round for an instant, and then
said : —
" Well, men, any luck ? "
"Not a d  d bit!" — answered the chief
petty officer of the squad, who wore a slightly
different uniform from the other men, — a savage
looking fellow, with a quantity of red shock hair
and beard, a bloated carrion coloured face, oyster
eyes, and a large coarse nose like a half-scraped
carrot. This fellow was one of the detestable
" Kirke's Lambs," told out with others from that
monster's regiment and sent with searching '
parties of dragoons to teach and pilot them on
their errands of cruelty and rapine.
"Not a d  d bit, Cap'n," continued he,
staggering over to the table in front of the officer,
bowing, and swaying, and balancing himself as
he clutched at its corner with both hands for
support. " Not — hie — a bit. None wha'soever
— hie — not a sixpence shall we put — hie — in
Jack Ketch's pocket — hie — fortunately two or
three — hie — be in hold at Chidzey — hie — ."
" Yes," said the officer, " I saw them securely
ironed yesterday, and it won't be long before
folks here will see what sort of a finish follows
the game of playing at soldiers sometimes when
Jack Ketch pockets the stakes."
" I'll warrant it, — hie — yer honner," answered
the sergeant, " and — hie — I hope we shall all live
to see it, and. — hie — hie — ."
" Sit down ! " said the commander sternly,
" ye're drunk ! "
" Not drunk, yer honner, — hie — only drinking
the King's health a little — hie — ."
Before he could finish the sentence a couple
of his companions pulled him back, by the skirts
of his doublet, into his place.
The profession of the soldier may at once be
the most glorious or the most detestable of
vocations. The most glorious, when, with his life
in one hand and the sword in the other, he fights
nobly and sacredly for the wronged and the
oppressed — for the preservation of his country
from the heel of the invader, his hearthstone
from pollution, his social or religious liberty from
tyranny or subjection — linked with such names

as Hampden, Tell, Wallace, Washington, or
Joan of Arc. But when the sword is wedded to
lust of conquest, greed of plunder, the oppression
of the vanquished, and the hideous pleasure
taken in cruelty as cruelty, — as in the present
instance, — then the vocation of the soldier falls
from the topmost pinnacle of human splendour
down to the lowest deeps of vivified depravity.
" Where's that militiaman ? " said the officer
looking round.
"Here I be," answered Ham from a retired
corner near the door.
" Come hither," continued the officer. " There
is a guinea for you for serving His Majesty so
faithfully in giving me information this day of
the haunts of rebels and suspected persons, and
hark ye ! — if you shall presently hear or know
anything of this man Vye, or any other sus
pected rebel, you are at once to give information
to a Justice of the Peace that he may be appre
hended and brought to proper punishment, for
which you shall be substantially rewarded."
" Ees sure, Zur, I ool," said Ham, spinning
the glittering coin in the air as he retreated
back to his seat, and calling at once to have his
mug refilled.
" Now, men," said the officer, " we muster
here to-morrow morning at five o' the clock, and
return to head-quarters at Taunton. Bring me
some more wine, landlord, and, comrades, fill
up your flagons. We'll drink the King's health
and enjoy ourselves awhile before we separate.
Now, old Pig's-whiskers," said he, directing his
conversation to a small wiry elderly man, with a
light grizzled beard, " give us one of your old
Royalist songs."
Laying his long pipe measuredly down on the
table, making fast his eyes, and throwing back
his head, which jutted his long tawny beard out
at a considerable angle from his iron breastplate,
he gave forth the following lay, his companions
joining lustily in the refrain at the end of each
verse : — THE TBOOPER'S SONG.
Lilibulero, — Gallants, I sing
Of a Spanish maiden true,
That once on a time great Charles our King
Went over the seas to woo !
Went over the seas to woo I
Like a proud cavalier young and bold.
King Philip he sat on his throne of gold,
With his nobles by his side ;
And " Prythee," said he, " O cavalier bold,
Now what may thy news betide ?
Now what may thy news betide ?
O proud cavalier young and bold I "
" I am come to ask for thy daughter fair
Old England's Queen to be."
" Is that thy request ? " and straightway there
" It is even so," said he,
" It is even so," said he,
Like a proud cavalier young and bold !

18

SAVED.

" Now, by our Lady," King Philip replied,
" Thou hast made a bold request ;
For of all sweet ladies to be thy bride,
Our daughter is fairest and best I
Our daughter is fairest and best t
0 proud cavalier young and bold ! "
" Her face is fair as the lily white,
Her eyes black as the sloe,
Her dower the Indies' wealth outright,
Whose tale no end may know,
Whose tale no end may know,
O proud cavalier young and bold I "
" Nor wot I yet if she be inclined
Thy fervent suit t'approve."
Said our King, " In me she soon shall find
A true knight for her love I "
A true knight for her love ! "
Like a proud cavalier young and bold I
Other songs followed, and after a while the
officer ordered his men all off to their quarters,
and he himself retired for the night.
Punctually at five the next morning, they
mustered in front of the hostelry, and by six
were well on their road over the Stockland hills
toward Taunton, and the people of Colyton
breathed freely again for a time.
Chapter XVI. — Roguery.
The good old mercer and his wife were early
awake that morning, as they heard the dragoons
trotting past and assembling at the Red Lion.
So they and Margery turned out and watched
their departure with considerable satisfaction, as
did also Tom Vye from a " coigne of vantage "
in his dormitory.
Soon after breakfast Mistress Bird, as was her
wont, went into the shop, and, after tidying the
place somewhat, opened a box, where her
husband, the day before, had been carefully
selecting and placing a quantity of bone-lace of
great value, to be exported forthwith to the London
market, just as the soldiers entered the shop, as
she was anxious to see if the same was all adjusted
to her fancy.
On raising the cover of the box, she was
surprise'd to find that its contents were missing,
but thinking that her husband might have
transferred them to some adjoining receptacle
she raised the lids of several others close by, but
with the same result. Suspecting something
wrong, she exclaimed : —
" Mercy well ! Edward Bird ! Margery ! here !
here ! where's the lace gone you put in this box
yesterday, packed, all ready to send off ? "
" There in the box you saw me pack it in, just
by the window," answered the mercer from
within. "No 1 no ! it is not there nor any where else
that I can see," quickly and alarmedly retorted
the good dame.
"What ! " said the mercer hurrying out into
the shop, with Margery just behind him. "If

it is not there, those wretches yesterday that
were here waiting and drinking the while the
officer was inside have carried it off and robbed
me ! " — and the mercer andhis wife looked at each
other with blank amazement, as the empty box
lay open on the counter.
The old man's surmise was too true. They
searched every other likely place, but no lace
was to be found.
" There was nearly three hundred pounds
worth in that parcel," said the mercer, — " well
nigh all the best of my stock, and it will half
ruin me. Oh, dear ! trouble upon trouble."
The lace thus stolen was a lot of fine old
point, sets of ruffles, collars and stomachers of
the most costly and elaborate description, all
prepared for export to London.
" That rascal Jack Ham must know something
about this," continued he. "But it's no use
making enquiries now, or we shall be brought
into fresh trouble, and get the fellows back again
with us, perhaps. How detestably wicked it is
to rob and half ruin a man thus. I will tell all
my neighbours how I have suffered, that I will,
and another day I will see if the law has any
remedy for me. Soldiers, indeed, sworn to
protect us ! common thieves to rob us, it seems,
instead ! " — and the old mercer returned inside,
and sitting himself down in his arm chair in the
fire-place, smoked his pipe moodily.
Poor Margery. Here was another fresh trial
for her, for she saw that these multiplied
misfortunes had all followed the one false step of
Tom Vye's. It completely overwhelmed her,
and she felt more sickened and heart-broken
than ever. She followed her father slowly out
of the shop, and sat down silently in her
accustomed place at her little table and tried to
go on with her work. But her heart was too
full, and, burying her face in her hands, she
leant her head down on the table and wept
desperately, her slight frame qnivering convul
sively as she tried to check
The grief that will have way I

ery ! " said the mercer
hurriedly standing his pipe down in the fire-place
corner, " don't weep so, my child, don't weep
so. It was none of your fault that they stole
the lace. Never mind, Margery, never mind.
By and by I shall lose you too if these trials
vex you so, and then I shall be bereft indeed !
Come hither, my daughter, come hither to me,"
and the old man rose from his chair, walked
across the room, and sat himself down on
another by the side of Margery.
" Look here, my child," said he raising the
sobbing girl from the table and drawing her over
to him and seating her upon his knee, while he
wiped her wet fevered cheeks with his handker
chief, " I know all that you are thinking about,

SAVED.

19

and how you are setting down all these misfor
tunes to be of your causing — that is indirectly,
because you love Tom Vye, and Tom has been a
wayward foolish boy and brought this uncon
sidered mischief on him and us. I know all
about it. But, Margery, I do not blame him. I
was_ quite as sanguine and fond of adventure as
he is, once, when I was young, and fought at
Naseby and elsewhere in old Cromwell's days,
and many an aching heart has your mother had
concerning me, and I shall not think the worse
of, him or you respecting it. Although a heavy
loss it will not ruin us Margery— indeed the chief
loss will be to yourself some day, for you will
have just that sum less for your wedding portion,
that's all, and so, if you cry any more, I shall
suppose you are crying for that, as it cannot be
for anything else, now you know that Tom Vye
is safe and I am not angry." And the old man
smiled cheerfully in his daughter's face, a tear
glistening in his eye the while he looked at her,
and with his hand put back the rich sunny curls
off her fair temples.
Margery's face brightened into an answering
smile as her father finished speaking, and she
replied, " Yes, my dear father, I know you love
me too dearly to be angry with me, and this is
doubly kind, but I do feel what trouble — we— I —
have brought on you," and again her eyes filled
with tears.
" Remember what I told you, and say nothing
more to me about it. There ! " he continued,
kissing her and putting her off his knee, " now
go on with your sewing and I will return to the
shop." But, on the whole, Margery had one dear
comfort to fall back on. She knew her Tom was
safe, — safe at least for the present, — and she
used to steal upstairs many times a day to
whisper a word of love and consolation to him.
The mercer went down that evening, as usual,
to the Red Lion and recounted his loss to the
assembled company, much to their indignation.
Some of them were for taking a speedy vengeance
on Jack Ham for his share in the miserable
transaction, but fear of after consequences deterred
them. The old mercer had, however, the satisfaction
of knowing that there was not the least suspicion
of the whereabouts of Tom Vye, but the general
surmise was that he had fled away northward
after the battle. Chapter XVII. — Security.
The next morning a council of war was held by
the mercer's little household as to the best
course to be pursued with regard to the future
security of Tom Vye.
Although the more immediate and pressing
danger was over, yet still he remained in the

most imminent peril if by any chance the least
clue should be found of his whereabouts.
" Now then, dame," said the mercer, " we
have to lay our heads together with the very
best wisdom and caution we possess as to the
safest place of refuge we can think of for our
prisoner upstairs. Of course he could remain
here, but it will be- a position full of difficulty.
And again it is equally difficult to say where he
shall go, and there go and stay safely. I declare
that it is a very anxious puzzle to me. What
think you, dame ? "
" Well, Edward Bird," replied his wife, " I've
been thinking it over too. You see, the country
is all full of soldiers, especially here about, and
' twon't do to go Somersetshire way. That's going
into the thick of the trouble. But have you not
got a sister down in Cornwall somewhere, a
widow woman — though to be sure you have not
heard about her for some years. Would not
that be a good place for him if he could get
there safely ? "
" Exactly the thing, dame ! " said the mercer
with animation. " Sister Eleanor lives down on
the north coast of Cornwall. I forget the exact
name of the. place, but I can see upstairs. Oh !
she's there safe enough. 'Twas not so very long
ago I heard of her. Nobody will suspect him
down there, and I know how to manage. I'll fit
up a pedlar's box for him, and he shall travel
mostly by night, and I'll write a letter to sister
Eleanor explaining all about it. She's a good
soul and will do her utmost to take care of him,
I am sure."
Margery fancied the present arrangement all
very well as it was, with her dainty little self to
wait on him. At least so she confided to her
good mother.
But the old mercer, who well knew the danger
of letting him stay there, decreed that he should
leave in the course of a day or two and set off by
night, being well disguised and carrying his
pedlar's box. First he was to strike along the
coast, and then make a detour across the county
on the other side of Dartmoor to his sister's
place of abode, and there to remain till all
danger was over and he was sent for to return.
Accordingly the old mercer busied himself in
making the necessary arrangements for his
departure, and, after many anxious words with
Margery, just before midnight one dark evening,
Tom set off with his pack, the old mercer and
his wife giving him their blessing and plenty of
money, together with a letter of introduction to
his sister.
What an indescribable sense of tranquil joy
and pleasant peace suffuses the mind and body,
so different in its experience from any other
grateful enjoyment of happiness, as we realise
the relief from some sudden, dangerous, and
persistent peril which we have braced ourselves

20

SAVED.

to the utmost to grapple with for a time, lived
and fought with until it has almost become
naturalised to us, — when we find, suddenly, all
at once the great cloud has passed away and we
have emerged from the constraining, depressing
gloom of anxious fear into the glad sunlight of
thorough relief. The world seems quite another
scene to us, the spectacles of fear, through
which we erstwhile had been looking and which
had tortured us so grievously by magnifying
every apparent danger into some threatening
and uncontrollable evil, are removed. Things
appear to us once more as they are, not as they
seem, and the mind finds itself beating in an
unison of joy with the great chorus of wise and
providential arrangement, ever hymning itself
with heavenly music around us.
Such were the feelings of the good old mercer,
his trusty wife, and gentle daughter, as they
found that the valued object of their intense
solicitude had passed from the leal but hazar
dous sanctuary of their dwelling into a scene of
security and comfort.
It was, indeed, well for him that he had
escaped so narrowly a cruel and ignominious
death, as the sequel will relate.

Chapter XVIII. — Terror.
There is no episode in our nation's history of
such ferocious character, nor one an Englishman
would with such willingness forget, as the period
of blood-thirsty vengeance that followed the
defeat of the unfortunate Monmouth at Sedge
moor. Under the disguise of the law administered
by that execrable and abhorrent being, Jeffreys,
whose name has found a place in the fair roll of
justice only to appear as its most foully indelible
and hideous plague spot — himself the instructed .
creature of a vicious, revengeful, remorseless
superstitious king — scenes of carnage and cruel
ty followed, heightened by atrocities of such
aggravation and savageness, and wreaked on the
Duke's helpless, ignorant, misguided followers,
as makes the mind stand aghast with horror at
their recital, and almost defies the ordeal of
belief. No sooner had the great Bussex grave on that
fatal battle field closed its cold pall over the
scores of mangled half-lifeless bodies of the
defeated, for it is recited in its history that
many of the poor maimed and wounded peasantry
were hurled in higgledy-piggledy before life was
completely extinct and buried alive with the
corpses of their companions — no sooner had the
noose of the hangman strung up twenty-three
victims on a great oak tree growing near, than
the victorious soldiery of the King set off in all

directions scouring the country for rebels, while
a large number who were taken prisoners were
marched off under escort to the various jails in
the neighbourhood to await a certain and fright
ful doom at the word of Jeffreys and his three
obsequious brother judges.
The dire and fiendish cruelty that followed on
the poor victims — the crafty traps — the sport
made of their sufferings — the callous barbarous
horrors that occurred in many directions, seem
past all human credence. Every kind of wanton
ingenuity to aggravate suffering was studied and
perpetrated. Death in its most horrible form
had become to the sight of the victors an
undisguised and enjoyable pastime, so thoroughly
brutalized and abjectly depraved had they
become, and not a tithe of the villainous
atrocities that were practised will ever be un
folded to mortal ear till the great day of account
reveals them all.
The number of those executed as traitors after
the special western assizes held by Jeffreys is
supposed to be about 350, and these were dis
tributed in various numbers over fifty towns and
parishes where their sentences were carried into
effect. What was the sentence of execution pronoun
ced on the rebels? Ingenuity itself could
scarcely be supposed to have imagined anything
so hideous, but that sentence, horrible as it was,
was to the letter, as a rule, strictly carried out.
Read this precept to the Sheriff of Somerset
" under the hand, and seal of the Right Honour
able the Lord Jeffreys for the executing of
several rebels," dated 16th of November, 1685.
" These are therefore to will and require of you, imme
diately on sight hereof, to erect a gallows in the most
public place to hang the said traitors on, and that you
provide halters to hang them with, a sufficient number
of faggots to burn the bowells, and a furnace or cauldron
to boil their heads and quarters, and salt to boil them
With, half a bushell to each traitor, and tar to tar them
with, and a sufficient number of spears and poles to fix
and place their heads and quarters, and that you warn
the owners of four oxen to be ready with dray and wain,
and the said four oxen, at the time hereafter mentioned
for execution, and you yourselves, together with a guard
of forty able men at the least, to be present by eight
o'clock of the morning to be aiding and assisting me or
my deputy to see the said rebels executed. You are
also to provide an axe and a cleaver for the quartering
the said rebels."
Could ever such scenes have been really
enacted in Christian England ? the mind is apt
to enquire, on reading the sickening instructions
in the above " precept." Yes, we answer, by
scores, carried out to the letter, the poor wretch
ed beings being first partially hung and then the
rest of the awful ceremony followed to the most
revolting minutiae. After the heads and quarters
had been thus " prepared " they were dispersed
about to all the neighbouring parishes with strict
impartiality, and the ghastly trophies were
affixed to poles set on church towers, four-cross

ij'MO'JOOJKJr' JTTtJjSTI'l'JI'',^)!!'' J'XX (hi ,,\^li) ;
n,*/,..-lt£a /Ac A.-/ J,r,,lr Au.,,ist, /,r/7n 4 /-v W-- /.', ¦;-, .?.¦¦/,-.¦,. , XX 17.-.-.-/ l.-t v. /.-;.Xv ,

SAVED.

21

ways, village greens, market places, and all
other public positions, and so munerous were
these dreadful appearances that the whole coun
try stank of the sickening spectacles ere decom
position, with kindly hand, finally destroyed the
lifeless limbs and jibbering sculls.
Occasionally, however, a rebel was ordered to
be hung in " gemmaces," or " chains," as it was
ordinarily termed. In these cases, some days
before the execution the village smith came to
"measure" the poor wretch "for his irons,"
which consisted of a kind of long cage con
structed of iron rods, in which, after the man had
been hung in the ordinary way, his lifeless body
was placed and the iron cage suspended from a
gibbet by a chain, and there it remained till the
worms and the crows had denuded all the flesh
away and the bones sunk down in a heap at
the bottom of the cage while the rusty receptacle
and its ghastly burthen swayed and creaked in
the night breeze, to the dire terror of all the
country side, till gibbet and victim toppled over
to the earth. Chapter XIX. — Duty.
" Here, boy," said Peter Ticken, the bailiff to
the Colyton Chamber of Feoffees as he stood at
the door of the old schoolhouse about six o'clock
on a fine morning in late September, 1685, "here,
look sharp down to old Isaak Drower and teU
him to get his muster together, and see the
constables and tythingmen, and not be late this
morning, and say that I am here waiting."
Away went the boy.
" 'Tis a sad job this, sure enough," continued
old Peter, shaking his head moodily and talking
to himself — " such a job as I never had a hand
in before, and never took place in poor old
Culliton, I know, and I hope I shall never see
* again. I wish I was a hundred miles away from
it now. Any how, can't run away. Sad job, sad
job !" and old Peter Ticken continued to shake
his head and scratch his temple vexedly.
The house, before the front door of which
Peter was standing, was the head quarters, or
burgage hall, of the Chamber of Feoffees of the
place. A part of the charity at their disposal was set
aside for the purpose of a school, and in the old
house, still standing with its tall pinnacled
gables and Tudor windows, lived the school
masters. At its back is the large schoolroom,
and over it the guild chamber or meeting place
of the feoffees when gathered in consultation on
business or other matters.
The Chamber of Feoffees are a sort of little
corporation. They have the management and
control of the town fairs and markets and a
court of "pye-poudre" given them by royal
charter, also the dispensing a large and beneficent

charity, the proceeds of a, portion of the
escheated manor of the unfortunate Henry
Courtenay, Marquis of Exeter, and of Colcombe,
in Colyton, purchased of the grim Henry VIIL
by their forefathers and ordered " to be devoted
to good, godly, and commendable uses and
purposes." Beside this, they are custodians of the town
water supply, and, at the date we write of and
before the present pernicious centralizing system
was in vogue, were in every respect a genuine
parish parliament.
To them the churchwardens and overseers
accounted for their outlays. The repair of the
church, shambles, and parish bridges passed
under their supervision. Apprentices were
bound, the settlement of the poor looked after,
and many other interesting and important
matters, as their valuable collection of old
muniments amply testify.
But there is one singular provision connected
with their charter of incorporation, interesting
in its way and very characteristic.
It is stipulated that should the King come that
way hunting or otherwise they are to provide
twelve sturdy bowmen, duly armed, to attend
him, or on any other occasion he may require.
As the fashion of " boes and arroes" was
supplanted by the deadlier musquet, the Feoffees,
like good men of progress, eschewed the older
and obsolete weapon and procured a dozen
firelocks of the most approved fashion, together
with sundry swords, and these were kept in a
closet or armoury in the corner of the Feoffee
chamber, where their charters and deeds were
also secured.
Moreover, they were also particularly careful
to keep the weapons in good order, and for this
purpose they appointed old Isaak Drower, who
was accounted a clever craftsmen in the black-
smithing line, to be their armourer and Sergeant
of the King's Guard.
The musquets themselves, of which a solitary
specimen or two is still in existence, were huge
long-barrelled pieces, with enormous locks. The
stocks were comparatively very small, and the
wood extended to within an inch or two of the
muzzle of the barrel. The swords were strong
basket-hilted weapons of rapier shape and fine
temper. Just before the time we are writing of, these
musquets and swords had been thoroughly
repaired and the firelocks " re-stocked " by
armourer Isaak Drower, as appears by his
" accompte," at the proper cost and charge of
the feoffees.
To-day, they were going to be used for a sad
event, and this was the reason why Peter Ticken,
their bailiff, stood in the golden sunlight that
morning before the schoolhouse door, scratching
his temple moodily, muttering to himself fret-

22

SAVED.

fully, and dangling the keys of the chamber and
armoury irresolutely.
Why did the old man seem thus grievously
tormented within himself that fine morning ?
No ordinary occurrence, assuredly. Oh, no !
But simply this, that within the space of a few
hours two of his well known fellow-townsmen
and neighbours were to suffer the ghastly and
fearful doom of traitors within the precincts of
sylvan peaceful Colyton, with all its attendant
horrors. That was all.
How seemed Colyton that morning ?
Nearly as it did on the night after the fatal
battle. The same gloom overhung the place,
but beneath it, instead of anxiety, there ran a
fierce under-current of stifled indignation. Men
walked to and fro hurriedly, and, as they passed
each other, shook their heads mournfully, with
compressed lips and contracted brows. But
every one scarcely dared believe that the dread
tragedy could be really meant to be carried out,
and yet the frightful butcheries taking place all
around assured them that it most likely would.
The deadly preparations had all been made, and
now only awaited the arrival of the victims.
" So, Isaak, you be come then," said Peter, as
armourer Drower neared him. " I suppose,
Isaak, you thought that I was in a great hurry
this morning, but truth is I be not myself at all,
and I've scarcely slept to-night."
" More hav'n't I, neighbour Ticken, sure,"
answered old Isaak. " Ah ! Peter, this is the
sorriest job I had ever to encounter with. The
Lord have mercy upon their poor souls, poor
fellows ! I little thought, when I finished stock
ing the musquets t'other day, that the first time
they were used would be at such a bad job as
this. They should have a-bide to stocking, I'll
warrant, instead, if I had thought of such a
thing as this. I'll tell thee what, Pete," conti
nued Isaak, lowering his tone to a half whisper,
looking full in Peter's face, and drawing down
his eyebrows, " I should like to shoot off one of
them through that judge's head, I should, Peter."
" Hush," replied Peter cautiously and glancing
round, "and I another through his master's!"
At the same moment, turning and knocking at
the schoolhouse door, then raising his voice, he
added, "Here comes the muster and the con
stables. 'Tis just seven, I see, by the dial."
Information had been sent to the town
authorities the day previously of the purposed
execution of the two unhappy men, with an
injunction to provide a sufficient guard, of trusty
men to see the execution duly performed and
keep order the while, and the Feoffees, as the
paramount authority of the place, having on
receipt of the precept called a special meeting to
consider what steps should be taken on the
unfortunate occasion, gave orders that the King's
Body Guard should be in attendance, duly armed,

with the constables and tythingmen. Hence the
appearance of their bailiff and armourer at the
schoolhouse that morning.
" Well, neighbours," said Peter, addressing
the guard as they sat themselves down in the
Feoffees' council chamber, " this is a sorry
business, sure enough, but there is no help for
it now" — and he unlocked the closet, sliding
baek the secret panel. " Here, Isaak, take out
the firelocks."
The weapons were duly handed out and served
to the guard, old Isaak severally loading and
carefully priming each in succession.
" There," said he as he finished the last, " 'tis
only a ceremony, but, mayhap, they may examine
the pieces by and by to see if we were prepared.
Safe bind, safe find, neighbours, say I."
The ceremony of loading being complete, old
Isaak marshalled his squad two and two, and,
putting the constables in front with himself at
their side, the little band marched over to the
Court House to await further orders.
Chapter XX. — Indignation.
Let us look in for a short time at the good old
mercer and his little household this eventful
morning. Devoutly thankful for the miraculous escape
of the being who had found such sure sanctuary
literally under his roof, the old man was on the
other hand stunned almost with the gathering
horrors and atrocities perpetrated all round, and
this detestable act of vengeance, to be enforced
in the town that day, quite unnerved him.
Not that his honest heart was in any wise
cowardly or fearful, but as brave and resolute as
well may be. In his youthful days he had
shared many a hair-breadth escape and venture
during the wars of the Commonwealth, had seen
many a gallant life lost in raid and sortie, and
had taken his full share in the numerous deadly
chances of battle, — but every thing had been
conducted with some semblance of generosity by
the victors afterwards. Now, to see two poor
fellows revengefully strung up in his native town,
after the savage mockery of a sham trial, smote
him with sickening feelings.
The old gentleman had strolled down the
street early that morning, as if to finally assure
himself that the dismal proceedings were to be
really carried out, and when he saw the muster
and the constables proceed over to the Court
House he hurried back to his home hopeless and
cast down.
Margery was in bed. Her good mother and
father had studiously kept the knowledge of the
fearful proceedings as much as possible from
their distressed child. But she was fully aware
of all that was about to take place.
It was, therefore, arranged that she was not

SAVED.

23

to get up that day, but in her little bedroom at
the back of the house keep as quiet as possible,
with her Bible and other good books for company,
together with the kindest attentions and solici
tations of loving and anxious parents.
" So, mother," said the mercer sitting down
to breakfast, "there is no hope left, and the
poor fellows will have to suffer by and by. I
wish I could have my way with some of their
murderers, — I would quickly change places with
them. But there ! I have lived to see many
changes in my life, Grace, — many, — and I hope
I shall live to behold one more yet, and see that
Popish and bloodthirsty tyrant tied to a block,
as happened to his grandfather, who was not
half as bad in many ways, or fleeing like a
vagabond, as he is, for his life ! The time must
come, Grace, it must ! " — and the mercer struck
his hand down on the table, making the crockery
jingle. " Hush, Edward Bird ! " said the old matron
deprecatingly, " don't talk so loud, and do keep
yourself quiet to-day. I know all about it, but
remember we have much to be thankful for,
notwithstanding the fellows robbed us so !
Somebody else, Edward Bird, may have been in
company with those poor fellows to-day, and we
may have lost " — and the good dame sank down
in her chair and wiped her streaming eyes with
the corner of her apron. " Oh dearie me ! " she
continued, " 'tis almost too much for me ! "
" 'Tis no use, Grace," said the mercer shaking
his head aud rising from the table, " I cannot
eat this morning, my heart is too full, nor can I
stay here. I must go out and see what is going
on. You lock up the shop door, — there will be
no customers to-day, — and then go up and sit
with Margery," — and, catching up his hat and
stick, away went the agitated old man.
The regal history of our native land relates
how surely the mercer's presentiment of coming
punishment fell like an avelanche and with
the most torturing retributive detail on the
Royal sanctioner of all these butcheries.
Chapter XXI. — Preparation.
After leaving his house the old mercer walked
down the town and, finding the streets almost
deserted, bent his steps toward the Court House,
in the direction of which he had seen the
muster and the constables marching some hour
or so before.
The Court House was an old building with
massive flint walls and stone windows, and stood
over in present Queen's Square. But its site is
now occupied by comparatively modern dwelling-
houses. Arrived there, he observed a number of
persons congregated at the door, and several
groups of three or four individuals, standing at

different intervals of distance outside, conversing
gravely and with earnest serious faces.
Just in front of the Court House, it may be
some fifty yards off, there grew three or four
fine flourishing elm trees, very handsome and
untrimmed, with large spreading branches, and,
being now in full foliage, with a few leaves here
and there slightly bronzed as a presage of
coming Autumn, they formed handsome objects
and cast a large and welcome shade around.
Under these trees, which were distinctively
know in the town as " The Elms," was a large
patch of greensward, where children used to
congregate and play on summer evenings, — and
parish revels, Maying, and merry makings took
place. In fact, it was the town green or trysting
place, and close to the old "Butts," where, a
generation or so before, the stalwart youth of
the town used to assemble and try their skill in
feats of archery, finding out who was the best
and most skilful bowman among them.
Of course, this village green — the heritage of
youthful sports, the patrimony of manly enjoy
ments, and common pastime ground of the
parish — has long ago been absorbed and filched
away slowly by greedy and stealthy freeholders
adjoining — that ineradicable and intensely be
setting sin of small owners of " real " property.
Glancing his eyes in the direction of the well
accustomed trees the old mercer observed a
larger knot of observers than common ranged
under one of them, while above the assembled
gazers, standing on a short ladder, he saw a
man with a heavy hammer driving some massive
fastening into the tree.
The old mercer advanced over to the group,
and there, to his horror, he saw stretched tightly
across between the two nearest trees a stout
chain, fastened to them at each end by a strong
hook, while between two short lengths of smaller
chains, with rings at their ends, depended.
A strange little swarthy man, with a short
black beard and a slouched hat drawn down
over his brow so as to partially conceal the upper
part of his face, dismounted from the latter as
the mercer drew near, and, after giving the
hammer and ladder to a blacksmith who stood
by, took a scrutinizing glance at the chains, then
walked over to a gentlemanly-looking stranger
standing a short distance off, and, after conver
sing with him a moment or two, the pair strolled
slowly over to the Court House.
" Can I believe my eyes, neighbour ? " said
the mercer in a husky voice, addressing an
acquaintance, and at the same time placing his
hand on the man's shoulder and looking him
mournfully in the face. " Can I believe my
eyes, neighbour, aye ? "
" Well may you ask that question, friend Bird.
Verily I feel that I can scarcely believe my own,
but 'tis aU too true " — pointing to the chains —

24

SAVED.

" there is the last preparation for the poor
fellows in this world. Dreadful, shameful !
Edward Bird, shameful ! I thought all the way
on that they would never surely do it. But
they will have their vengeance, the wretches ! "
" Who are those two men," said the mercer,
" just gone into the Court House ? "
" That dark little man is the hangman, or
executioner as they call him. He comes from
Exeter and has lived on blood, lately, a'most.
The other gentleman is the Sheriff's deputy, a
lawyer, I think I heard, come to see the men
properly hanged. I heard him read the precept
just now. 'Twas horrible to hearken to — hang
ing, drawing, and quartering such as they have
done up in Somersetshire of late, but I do hope
that they will only hang the poor fellows. Sure
'tis a wicked job."
" Let us go over to the Court House and see
what they are going to do next," responded the
mercer. And away the two friends hurried
across the green to the door of the old building.
Chapter XXII. — Routine.
Making his way slowly through the crowd that
thronged the entrance and passage leading to
the interior of the building, the mercer looked
into the large apartment where the guard and
authorities were assembled.
The old mercer was a man thoroughly respected
in the town, and his appearance in any company
was only a signal for a way to be made and a
place found for him, and so Peter Ticken, the
Feoffee bailiff, no sooner saw his portly form at
the door than he beckoned him over to a vacant
position by his side.
The grim preparations for the approaching
tragedy were in progress. A large oak table
occupied the centre of the room, and at the
head of it, with pen and standish before him,
sat the Sheriff's deputy busily writing.
Seated near him were Peter Ticken, Master
Robert Weston, the hundred constable ; and
the parish constables and tything-men, — while
ranged down on each side, on long forms, sat the
guard, with their musquets standing on the
ground between their knees, and old Isaak
Drower, the sergeant, leaning his chin moodily
on the hilt of his sword, whose point rested on
the pavement.
Back in one corner, behind the deputy sheriff,
was the little dusky-visaged hangman with an
ominous bundle in his hand. But no part of his
face was now visible. He had on a short, black,
crape mask, which reached down to his sable
beard. Yet behind the mask's semi-transparency
a pair of cruel restless eyes could be seen in
uneasy motion.
Complete silence reigned in the apartment,
broken only now and then by a scratch of the

lawyer's pen, or a suppressed whisper. There
was that deep hush and suspense as is felt in the
presence of death or the dying, or, as in this
case, the awaiting death's destined victims.
At last the lawyer finished his writing, and,
handing a document to the hundred constable,
packed up his papers, while the company sat on
in saddened quietude.
Presently a rumble of wheels was heard from
without, and, on looking through the latticed
casement of the room, the sitters there recog
nized old farmer Freake's four-wheeled wain
and two horses, hired by the constables, accord
ing to the Sheriff's precept, to go to the boundary
of the parish and meet and convey the unfor
tunate men to the place of their death, for the
f atalhour was drawing nigh. There came also with
the wain two other horses saddled — one for the
hundred constable and the other for the deputy
sheriff. Almost simultaneously with the arrival of the
waggon, a soldier galloped up to the door, and,
throwing the bridle to a bystander, hurried
through the crowd into the room where the
authorities were assembled.
Casting an enquiring glance at the company,
the dragoon pulled a letter out of his pouch, the
which, on being directed, he delivered to the
deputy sheriff.
The official, after reading the missive carefully
through to himself, rose from his seat and gave
its substance aloud to the assembly. Then he
added : — " Well, gentlemen, the men condemned
for execution are on the road toward Colyton,
and by the time we shall have advanced a mile
or so we shall meet them. I have only, there
fore in His Majesty's name, to require you to
accompany me on this melancholy occasion, and,
returning hither with me and them, see execution
done. I wish mine had been a pleasanter errand,
but I only represent the law in the matter."
The deputy sheriff then left his seat and
proceeded out, all the constables and guard
following him, except three. Those remained,
at his request, in the room to keep order, and
(although he did not say so) to prevent the
hangman being molested.
Accordingly, as soon as the officials had left the
apartment, the remaining guard cleared the room
of the rest of the company and closed the door.
The mournful cavalcade then set off after the
destined victims.
In front were the parish constables and tything
men, two and two ; then came the wain, with a
sturdy carter leading each horse ; and on each
side in single file, marched the Feoffee guard;
while walking beside the foremost right file was
old Peter Ticken.
Directly behind the waggon, mounted on
horses, rode the deputy sheriff and the high or
hundred constable.

SAVED.

25

The two poor fellows who were presently to
suffer such inhuman and revengeful punishment
were two out of about five or six persons, natives
of or dwellers in Colyton, who were executed for
participation in the unfortunate movement of
Monmouth. They had been tried and condemned
at Exeter, and were sent to Colyton to be hanged
in order to strike terror into the community.
Their names were William Clegg and John
Sprague — one, Sprague, was a weaver and a man
of middle age, and he had a wife and several
children ; the other, Clegg, was a husbandman
and younger.
. Sprague was, as has been intimated, a married
man, and had a wife and several children. She,
poor creature, was in a sad state of misery, as,
with her children, she awaited the arrival of her
husband, so soon to be wrested from her by
a cruel and violent death. Numerous kind
friends and neighbours had interested themselves
for her, and were doing their utmost to soothe
and comfort her under the frightful trouble that
this day was to bring about.
It will be asked, perhaps, Where were the
chief authorities of the neighbourhood, the
justices of the peace, the while these dismal
proceedings were being perpetrated? One, at
least, lived in the town — Sir Walter Yonge, Bart.
Where was he ?
The Yonges were a Puritan family, and, as such,
of course, held no sympathy with the Popish
tendencies of James. The baronet, then alive, had
entertained the unfortunate Monmouth at the
Great House, Colyton, and was believed to have
had great interest in the success of the Duke's
enterprise, and, when Monmouth landed at Lyme,
it is said that he was much chagrined to find that
Sir Walter did not actively espouse his cause.
Just at this juncture Sir Walter was engaged
building his new seat at Escot, near Honiton,
and several of the workmen, it is related, left
the building and joined the forces of the Duke.
But there was nothing to implicate Sir Walter.
Not to be outdone in his bloody revenge,
Jeffreys ordered three of the men to be hanged at
a crossway about a mile from Escot, as a hint to
Sir Walter of what his fate would have been could
the savage judge have laid hold of him also.
Sir Walter was therefore discreetly absent
from these sanguinary transactions, as were also
his neighbouring brother justices, and the Sheriff
was left, by the hand of his paid deputy, to see
the above dreadful sentences executed.
As the guard cleared the Court-house of the
throng of eager onlookers, the good old mercer
marched out with the rest, and, after watching
the cavalcade out of sight that left to fetch the
condemned men, he, in conjunction with a friend
or two, made his way across from the Court
house over to the fatal trees to take another
look at the dread preparations for death.

Chapter XXIII. — Retribution.
The crowd by this time had increased to a
considerable extent, and numbers of country
people came pouring in from every direction.
The mercer was engaged in an animated
conversation with his friends, when, all at once,
he stopped short and, raising his walking, stick,
pointed in the direction of a man who stood
some distance off busily surveying the fatal
arrangements, but who, from his quick move
ments and furtive glances, appeared very anxious
to avoid observation.
" Look there ! " said the mercer. " Unless
these old eyes deceive me there is surely Jack
Ham, come to see, I suppose, his words at the
Red Lion verified. You recollect him, don't you,
on his return from Sedgemoor, and his piloting
the officer and soldiers in their search when I
lost all that lace ? I have not heard that he has
been seen since in the town till now. But there
he is, the rascal ! "
The raising of the mercer's stick and his quick
tones had directed numerous other eyes toward
the spot, and there was a general movement in
that part of the crowd at once toward the
obnoxious individual, as soon as he was recog
nised. There is always a fascination lurking in
characters of Jack Ham's description of desiring
to see the result of their wickedness and baseness.
This propensity, which very often lures the
criminal to his punishment, Ham could not get
over, and, although he had prudently made
himself scarce since the affair of the searching,
yet he could not resist the curiosity of witness
ing the day's dismal proceedings.
But he had hoped to escape observation among
the numerous strangers present, with the help
also of a slight disguise he had assumed.
As when some stray mongrel cur finds itself
unexpectedly in a field with a flock of sheep,
which instantly gather round in imposing phalanx
and advance upon the crouching wretch, which,
with tail tucked down and fear-smitten eye,
looks right and left till the favourable oppor
tunity offers for speedy exit, — so looked Jack
Ham as, with almost telegraphic rapidity, his
hateful presence was passed from mouth to
mouth in the excited crowd, and a surging
movement was made toward him.
Ham saw the gathering danger, and, eyeing
the fierce sea of angry faces thus so suddenly
and unexpectedly turned on him for a moment,
with a show of dogged resolution, he affected
not to notice it.
Crossing his arms apparently unconcerned, he
awaited the gradual advance of the crowd, which
insensibly edged nearer and nearer, as if he
would not recognise their evidently hostile
intention, when suddenly a voice was heard

26

SAVED.

saying loudly, " Give it him ! " while, at the same
instant, a large stick spun by in unpleasant
proximity to his head.
The whiz of the missile caused Ham to start
on one side as it passed him, but his courage
instantly forsook him.
Taking an excited glance at the crowd now
close to him he instantly took to his heels, the
which, on the assemblage observing, a great
shout was raised, and simultaneously a large
number of men started in pursuit, while stones,
sticks, and missiles of all sorts were hurled after
the fugitive.
Terror, however, lent speed to the steps of
Ham, who distanced his pursuers, notwithstand
ing, in his hurry in leaping over the town lake,
he fell with tremendous force in the channel
and scrambled out covered with mud and water.
But once safely away, he never ventured to
return to Colyton again, and it was rumoured
that, after wandering about leading a vagabond
life for some time, he subsequently enlisted in
the regular army — his most fitting place.
" Ah ! " said the old mercer, as he turned to go
back toward the Court House, " 'tis right treach
erous men should know what people really think
of them. I dare say that his evil soul would
have taken delight in seeing Tom Vye here to-day,
strung up with the other unfortunate men. I
well recollect what he said at the Red Lion the
night of his return from Sedgemoor, but if he
had his deserts, I trow that he should be
swinging by the neck from one of those chains
instead ! " — a remark his auditors fully concurred
in. Chapter XXIV. — Orthodoxy.
After the dragoon had delivered his message
to the deputy sheriff in the Court Hall, on
getting outside again he enquired of the by
standers where the parson of the parish resided,
as he had a message also for him from the
condemned men, who desired to have his
spiritual assistance and consolation in their last
earthly moments.
Accordingly two or three compassionate people
at once volunteered to show the soldier the way
to the vicarage, where he was at once shown
into the presence of his reverence the vicar.
"Good morning, Master Bird," said a figure
in a long black gown and cassock, with a large
snuff-coloured wig on his head, on the top of which
was perched a small triangular hat, and a pair
of white lappets peeping out beneath his close-
shaven chin. " This is a very sad business this
morning, very. I have just been asked by the
soldier messenger to come and pray with these
unfortunate men before they die. Indeed, of
course, I was coming else without request, and I
have now for some time been endeavouring to

soothe the poor woman, the wife of Sprague, so
soon to be made a widow and her children
fatherless. 'Tis very sad, very, Master Bird, but
you see it plainly shows us the wickedness and
danger of resisting our lawful Prince, by Divine
Providence sent to rule over us, and the severe
and exemplary punishment it brings upon those
who have unfortunately and misguidedly listened
to the voice of treason."
The speaker who thus addressed the old mercer
was Parson William Salter, Vicar of Colyton,
who, on receipt of the message from the soldier to
attend and pray with the condemned men, had
immediately hastened to meet them, and was
now awaiting their arrival.
He had been but a few years inducted to the
living at the date these horrors were perpetrated,
but he held the incumbency a long time — more
than forty years.
In common with most of the established
clergy of that era, he was a staunch believer in
the doctrine of Passive Obedience and Non-Resis
tance to the Divinely -appointed Sovereign — no
matter what the divinely-appointed sovereign
may do or command.
Of course this was enjoined by Royal authority
to be thoroughly insisted on and set forth every
where and upon all occasions whatsoever, and it
now seems scarcely credible that these myths,
set up often to cover, and give warrant to the
vilest cruelty, as in the present instance, should,
in the parting hours of the poor wretches doomed
under their wretched pretensions to be executed,
be thrust down their throats by the clergy
appointed to pray with them, and instead of
supporting the poor doomed creatures with the
comforts of the Cross and the consolations of
the Christian faith, they were pertinaciously
pestered with dissertations on the truth of the
assertion, examined and tormented with questions
bearing on the odious subject, and urged to make
a complete confession of their truth, and the
consequent justice of the sentence under which
they were slain.
Could any cruelty be devised more fiendishly
finished, and offered too by the sanctified hand
of Religion, — its minister thus shriving the poor
victim with nauseous entreaties to ignore the
noble instinctive idea of liberty, for his belief in
which he was about to be chopped in fragments,
and with his own lips brand his martyrdom as a
felon's death, with the cleaver, the rope, and the
faggot staring him cruelly in the face, his ghostly
adviser confessing him on a hateful political
dogma, instead of soothing him with a Saviour's
love, and ushering the wretched, distracted,
terror-stricken being into His presence with a lie
on his tongue, instead of the accents of mercy
and entreaty ?
Such was the " religious fare " doled out to
these poor suffering creatures in their last

SAVED.

27

moments, from their leader, the ducal Monmouth,
on his scaffold at Tower Hill, to his humble
adherents under gallows trees at Colyton.
Therefore Parson Salter was quietly " improv
ing the occasion " to the old Puritan mercer,
whose antecedents he was well acquainted with.
" Ah. ! I hear what you say " answered the
mercer, " but these doctrines of passive obedience
and non-resistance, as you term them, and which
we hear so much about now, took a different
turn when I was a boy. I'm getting an old man
now, Parson Salter, but I can recollect when a
king stood on a scaffold for setting his heart too
much on them, and when old Noll Cromwell's
Roundheads knocked down Colcombe up there,
and old Parson Wilkins preached in Colyton
church, and Justice Drake, Justice Fry, and
Justice Putt, married folks down in the church
vestry without a parson, and people did and
went and said what they liked, and everybody
was very happy and prosperous too ! But there
was no such butcherings and hanging afterward
as we do see and hear of now, Parson Salter.
I'm sure I could never have believed men had
hearts bad enough to do such things — but there !
I may not live to see it, but sure enough am
I this wickedness will not go long unpunished."
The good vicar looked at the mercer enquir
ingly, as the old gentleman, with some warmth,
finished speaking, and then added compassion
ately, " Ah, I know all about it, my old friend.
You have not forgotten your younger days.
Things and times always look better as we look
back over them, but after all it is a great mercy
that that period of anarchy to which you refer is
over, and we have a lawful prince appointed to
reign over us, and,  "
" Here they come ! " quickly interposed the
mercer, and they both walked away toward the
mournful procession which was just emerging in
sight. Chapter XXV.— Misery.
It has been remarked that the poor men had
been through the mockery of a trial and received
condemnation at Exeter, and the escort from
Colyton, after proceeding about a couple of
miles on the road leading in that direction,
met the melancholy cortege and the unfortunate
prisoners. They were in a pitiable state of exhaustion,
as it was now near noon, and they had been
travelling on a slowly drawn wain over the deep
ly rutted roads since early dawn that morning
to their cruel and certain doom.
There was an escort of cavalry attending to
prevent a rescue, and the people whose waggon
had been impressed to convey the prisoners,
together with the rustic constables accompanying,
seemed greatly relieved as they transferred their

pitiful charge into the custody of the Colyton
authorities. The poor men, too, seemed to revive somewhat,
and smiled faintly as old Peter Ticken and his
companions, with much emotion, spoke some
words of comfort and consolation in their ears,
as they assisted their heavily ironed limbs into
farmer Freake's wain, where some nice clean
straw had been kindly and thoughtfully strewn,
and afterwards partook of some brown bread
and a portion of a pottle of wine the constables
produced, and with which they refreshed them
selves. The mournful procession, having again re
formed, returned to the town in exactly the same
order as it set out, half the dragoons riding in
front and the other portion bringing up the
rear. By the time the old mercer and the parson
had reached the door of the Court House the
cavalcade, with their hapless victims, had also
arrived in front of the building, and the waggon
was brought to a standstill, while the cavalry
formed a half circle just outside the vehicle, and
kept the crowd from intruding.
The hundred constable and the deputy sheriff
then dismounted, and the deputy sheriff, with
true professional routine, drew forth the fatal
warrant, and, with ghastly distinctness, read the
fearful doom in the hearing of the condemned
men. Returning the missive to his pocket he
motioned to the driver of the wain to proceed to
the place of execution.
The distance from the Court House over to the
fatal spot was very short. Apparently stunned
with the dreadful nature of their situation, the
poor men seemed almost unconscious of their
arrival at their native place, where they had
heretofore lived so long and so happily, and were
now about to suffer a violent and ignominious
death. But, as the waggon neared the trees, they
immediately recognised the dismal preparations,
and, as the troubled sleeper starts from some
portentous dream, so they quailed at the terrible
sight, and a still deadlier pallor crept over their
already blanched features.
From the universal, instinctively understood
nature of things, there is no other axiom more
absolute and comprehensive than the truism
that all men think all other men mortal but
themselves. There is no scepticism so productive
of faithful believers as this. Yet no unchal
lenged truth more consciously and silently
believed, though by every-day act so distinctly
and persistently ignored and thrust aside — no
event of such supreme magnitude so glibly
talked of with seeming unconcern when deemed
afar off, or shrunk from so abjectly with fear-
struck eye and bated breath when apparently
near, as Death.

28

SAVED.

This, too, amid the thousand-formed ordinary
terminations of human life, when the grim
monarch comes to us often after a long self-
invitation of his own, and his visit is fully
expected, as that of some unwelcome intrusive
guest whose approach we dare not resist, and
where he comes to us, too, with gloved hand and
courteous phrase of freezing kindness, and
accompanied with all the possible comforting
accessories of the situation, such as a mother's
love, a wife's devotion, a father's affliction, a
child's grief, or a friend's kindness, influences
that essay to smooth the pillow of death only to
make that pillow often the more bitter to con
template. And so to all the world death is death, no
matter how he comes — the great abyssmal
sunderer of life and its ties, even in his most
kindly and gradual approach — the thing of the
deepest human dread, between whose irreversible
edict and the throbbing soul no aid may interpose
to stay or avert the mysterious ill.
If, then, that innate terror of death be so deep
to those who, if the world or human means
could interpose, would be spared the dreaded
trial, and who, knowing that may not be, still
endeavour, with solicitous regard, to soothe by
every tender means its bitter trial, how great
and surpassingly bitter must its forced approach
be to those who in the meridian of life, and in
full health and strength, hear their lives clam
oured for by others of their kind, with relentless
pertinacity and obdurate cruelty, for some appa
rent fancied offence only, it may be, against their
pride or ambition, or selfish views, and whose
assumption but too often they had no real right
to lay claim to, and where, to retain which,
might, guilt, and suffering are had recourse
to, to overcome and stifle right, justice, and
freedom. Such was the bitterness of the death these
poor men had to submit to that day, the bitter
ness that crowded on their swimming sight as
they looked at the fatal preparations.
True — the stoic may say — the grandeur of
suffering in the cause we believe to be truth
should put all these reflections behind us. But
does it ? or can it entirely take out the consum
mate sting of suffering transfixed at such an
hour through our poor clay ? The warm
sensibilities of the heart curdle at such a prospect,
even in thought. Yet at the supreme moment
of trial, the glorious resignation of courageous
endurance finds its wonderous place in the soul,
and, as the heart-fire of human life dies in its
earthly seat, the immortal radiance leaps upward
to the temple and encircles the brow with the
eternal flame-tongued diadem of martyrdom.
This was the true kind of ordeal these poor
men were now so speedily to undergo.

Chapter XXVI. — Cruelty.
As the waggon neared the fatal trees the
cavalry forming the escort, together with the
Feoffee guard, the constables, and the tythingmen,
kept a square space clear about the place of
execution. The two doomed men were then assisted out
of the waggon and the heavy fetters that secured
their limbs removed, and, as this was being
proceeded with, Parson Salter advanced toward
them, shaking each of his unfortunate parish
ioners heartily by the hand and asking in what
way he could be of service to them.
To this request they answered that they
wished for his company and assistance in this
their extremity, and to administer spiritual help
to men in their circumstances, and that he
would pray with them.
The good vicar readily assented, and, kneeling
down with the condemned men, prayed fervently
with them a considerable time.
Then came as usual, that wretchedest of all
cruelty, but which doubtless he considered his
strict duty, his questioning the dying men, " in
order," as he said, " to give him and the world
satisfaction of the prepared condition they were
in previous to their launching into eternity,
especially about the doctrine of non-resistance."
After parrying for some time this miserable
attempt to extort a confession, Sprague, who
was for his station a sensible, well-informed man,
made him answer which many a reader of this
trifle would do well now-a-day to thoughtfully
consider. " I believe," said John Sprague, " that no
Christian ought to resist a lawful power, but the
case lying between Popery and Protestantism
altered the matter, and Protestantism being in
danger, I think it was lawful for me to do as I
did, though God in His providence had thought
fit to bring me to this place of execution."
Then the vicar read a chapter out of the
Corinthians, after which they sang a suitable
hymn, and then Sprague, kneeling down, prayed
very vehemently and fervently, committing his
soul to the keeping of his Maker, and producing
a great sensation on those standing around.
The saddest trial of all was now in store for
him, as his weeping wife and children were
brought to him to take their last agonizing
farewell. Embracing each severally in his arms, and
turning to the sorrowing spectators, he said,
" Weep not for me, but weep for yourselves, and
for your sins," for that he had that quiet
satisfaction of believing that he was only going
to be translated into a state of bliss and happi
ness, where he should sin and sorrow no more,
where all tears should be wiped away, and
urging them to be diligent in the service of God.

SAVED.

29

Then he recommended his wife and children
to the protection of Almighty God " who had
promised to be a husband to the widow and a
father to the fatherless, who was faithful and
able to make up their loss in Him in that which
should be better for them than he could be,
desiring God to be a refuge for them to fly to for
security and preservation from the troubles that
seemed to threaten this poor nation, and though
death here made a separation, he doubted not
of meeting them all again in heaven at last."
The last dread scene was now at hand, for as
Sprague finished his exhortation, with a look of
infinite trouble and distress, he motioned for his
heart-broken wife and children to leave him, and
then turning round, the unfortunate man, the
deputy sheriff, clergyman, constables, and hang
man, who kept baek from observation, moved
over toward the fatal chains.
The other poor fellow, William Clegg, remained
on his knees praying fervently (while his comrade
went to his death), with some compassionate
friends around him.
The executioner now proceeded to expedite the
closing scene.
Placing a ladder against a large limb that
sprang out from the main stock of the tree just
above the chain, he motioned Sprague to mount
a few rounds, himself following his victim like a
wretched and hateful spider crawling out from
his tangled ambush to pounce upon and suck
the life-blood of some hapless fly. He then
drew from his pocket a large cap, which he
dexterously slipped over Sprague's head, then,
with some short ends of cord, in an incredibly
short space of time he tied the wrists and
ankles together, and, catching at the rope already
fastened to the short chain, placed the noose
round the luckless man's neck, and at the same
instant running down the ladder with all the
agility of a practised hand, as he placed his feet
on the ground he gave the ladder a cant or turn,
and the body of Sprague dropped with a terrible
jerk in the air, and swung heavily to and fro.
In another instant the executioner was at the
feet of his victim steadying the body, which was
now twitching with convulsive throes of death
agony. An audible gasp burst from the eagerly watch
ing crowd as they witnessed the " turning off "
of their neighbour and fellow townsman. Num
bers averted their heads and shrank back appalled
from the frightful scene as they beheld the death
struggles of the fast-fleeting life, while others
kept a rivetting gaze on the sad spectacle, and
stared vacantly at the lifeless body with a sort
of constraining fascination they could not dispel.
In the course of three or four minutes, as soon
as life was extinct in the first victim, the hang
man approached the other poor fellow who was
to become the second sacrifice. He was still on

his knees praying fervently, and a number of
spectators had kindly and thoughtfully formed
a circle round him to prevent his seeing the
execution of his comrade.
As the hangman approached and the crowd
gave way to admit him, Clegg rose to his feet
and, turning to those standing near him, said
that his fellow sufferer had spoken what he
thought was necessary, and they were also his
own sentiments as well.
He then turned to follow the executioner, but
some compassionate bystanders requested that
he might be blindfolded by the cap at once, and
thus spared the dreadful trial of seeing his
lifeless comrade suspended in mid-air, and this
was immediately done.
He was then led over to the fatal ladder, the
same dread preparations were quickly proceeded
with, and two lifeless corpses were speedily
suspended side by side in the blessed sunshine
of that fine Autumn afternoon. '
Chapter XXVH. — Ferocity.
Immediately after the execution of the second
victim, the dragoons sheathed their swords, and,
on the word of command being given, trotted
away from the town, and were soon lost to the
sight. Old Isaak Drower, too, and his guard, well
nigh sickened to death with the proceedings,
hurried away back to the Feoffee-house, and the
muster, having deposited their musquets, was
disbanded. Who shall describe the horrible proceedings
afterward wreaked on the inanimate bodies of
the two " rebels ? " — of their decapitations, and
of their being " quartered " by the executioner,
while portions of their mangled bodies were
affixed to the hooks in the trees on which they
were hanged and elsewhere, as is handed down
by the voice of tradition as having actually been
perpetrated, and with the most probable truth.
Let us draw the softening veil of time over
these horrible orgies, where men forgot they
were human and revelled in the cruelty of
demons, for, as it has been before remarked,
their recital seems now to defy the ordeal of
belief. At the neighbouring little borough of Lyme,
according to the researches of the local historian,
twelve persons suffered very near the spot where
Monmouth landed (for the same refinement of
cruelty seems to have followed in the punishments
awarded by the " victorious " James everywhere),
being drawn across the beach to the place of
execution on a sledge. One of them was a
generous beautiful youth called Hewling, and
great exertions were made to get his life spared,
but to no avail. He was left hanging till the
next day, and the Sheriff having, spared the

.30

SAVED.

quartering, a curious ceremony took place. So
beloved was he that after he was coffined eight
ladies poured libations of wine over his bier,
and then, weeping, bore him to his grave.
The other eleven unfortunate men were doubt
less "quartered" according to their sentence,
for there is an entry in the Lyme Corporation
accompts, dated May the 11th, 1686, six months
after the execution, to this effect : —
" For money paid for beer for the men that set up the
rebels' quarters that had fallen, one shilling."
And it is related by tradition that there was a
farmer living at Lidgate, in Combepyne parish,
called Raphael, who conveyed some furze into the
town to burn the entrails of the prisoners, and he
was ever afterward dubbed with the expressive
sobriquet of "Burn-guts," and tradition further
relates that his horses and cattle visibly pined
away from that time, and nothing, to use the
expressive rural phraseology, ever " goodied "
with him afterward.
A brother of the unfortunate youth Hewling,
of Lyme, was executed at Taunton with a number
of others, and a devoted sister paid a thousand
pounds to have his body spared the indignity of
quartering. Taunten seems to have been the
head-quarters of these scenes of dreadful
butchery, and the executioner was almost
literally ankle deep in blood.
Relative to the fate of these youths, the
Hewlings, a fearful reminder was in store for the
wretched James, which will not be out of place
to relate here : —
" Mr. Kyffin, an eminent merchant of London,
— the maternal grandfather of the young man
executed at Taunton, — was left to take care of
him and his brother by the father. When
Hannah Hewling, the sister, presented a petition
to the King on behalf of her brothers, she was
introduced by Lord Churchill (afterward Duke
of Marlborough), and whilst she was waiting in
the antechamber for admittance, his Lordship
assured her that she had his hearty wishes of
success to her petition. ' But, madame,' added
he, ' I dare not flatter you with any such hopes,
for the marble is as capable of feeling compas
sion as the King's heart ! ' James afterwards,
when in trouble, applied, in a fawning manner,
to Mr. Kyffin, the grandfather, for his assistance
to support a tottering crown. ' Sire,' said the
affected old gentleman, ' I am a very old man,
and have withdrawn myself from all kinds of
business for some years past, and am incapable
of doing any service in such an affair to your
Majesty. Besides, Sire,' fixing his eyes stead
fastly on the King, while tears of anguish
trickled down his cheeks, he added, ' the death
of my grandsons gave a wound to my heart
which is still bleeding, and will never close but
in the grave.'

James was deeply struck with the manner, the
freedom, and the spirit of this unexpected
rebuke. A total silence ensued, while the galled
countenance of James seemed to shrink from
the horrid remembrance."
This was a greater punishment for the Royal
abject than when the rude people of Feversham
roughly overhauled his " Majesty " on board
the coal-hoy there, whither he had fled to
transport his Divine Right to France.
Chapter XXVIII. — Anger.
"Well, Grace," said the old mercer, in the
evening, after he had closed his shop, seating
himself down in his chair, shaking his head angrily
and indignantly as he stuffed his pipe with
more than ordinary unction, "I wish I was young
again, or I wish I was in my grave. I wish I
was young again, that's it, and that good old
sword by my side ! What have I seen to-day,
Grace ? I fancy I'm dreaming, — but no, — I am
in my sober senses verily. This is surely too
bad. I don't know what to think," — and the
old gentleman puffed away mightily.
" Don't fret yourself, Edward Bird, — it's no
use now, that's what I say. I know all you
would wish to do, Edward Bird, and I know if I
was a man what I should wish to do, too. I
remember when old Noll Cromwell was alive,
England was a free land, and folks were free in
it. But they longed for the flesh-pots of Egypt
again, — they desired a king to rule over them
and forgot the covenant of their fathers, Edward
Bird, and thou hast seen to-day some of the
bitter fruits thereof, and I can well bethink how
it hurts thee ! "
As has been described, the old mercer was a
Puritan, so was his shrewd sensible wife. He
was one of the few remaining of the Cromwellian
era, who had fought in the Parliamentary army
and shared the renown of the times, and the
events and prestige of his youthful days were
still uneffaced from his aged heart.
" Aye, dame, you are right there, — truly they
have sown to the wind and are reaping the
whirlwind. Could ever I have believed, dame,
when I first knew thee, when I served in Captain
Erie's troop, and Justice Walter Yonge lived at
Great House, and Parson Wilkins preached in
Colyton Church, and folk were, as you say, free
— that I should ever live to see old England
ruled again by two such sinful Kings, and I be
liable to be set in the stocks, fined half my
worth, or transported over the seas, for asking
a neighbour to come and worship God with me
in my own house, and be obliged instead to go
up and hide myself at Lough wood with the
badgers and foxes! And now, worse than all,
to see a King of England again setting up Popish
doctrines openly, and to be robbed so vilely of

SAVED.

31

half my substance, too, and then to see those
poor fellows hanged — I cannot bear it, dame, I
cannot, — and 'tis time for me to die ! " — and the
excited old man flung his pipe into the hearth
corner, shivering it to fragments.
As a beautiful spaniel creeps over to the
sportsman's foot, crouching stealthily and noise
lessly, and looks up with large, lustrous, anxious
eye; as the excited sportsman, with poised gun
and finger on the trigger, prepares to strike down
the flushed game, — so Margery stole gently
across the room as her father thus excitedly
delivered himself of his feelings, and, kneeling
down by his side, placed her hands on his arm
firmly but fondly as he was about to rise up in
his passion, and, looking earnestly in his face,
said — ' ' Dear father ! do calm yourself. You
know nothing can be done now to stop this
wickedness, and it grieves me to see you thus so
hurt. But do try co forget it, do for your own
Margery's sake ! These clouds will all pass
away soon, and the causers of this cruelty be
justly punished, I am sure, — but oh ! it grieves
me to see you in so much trouble."
The mercer, who had seated himself down
again as Margery addressed him, turned round
with a glance of supreme love twinkling in his
mild grey eye as he placed his hand upon her
sunny curls and looked, on her beautiful upturned
face. "Aye, child," he answered, "there will sure
to be punishment follow on the sanctioners of
this detestable cruelty. ' Vengeance is mine, I
will repay, saith the Lord,' and I know He will
avenge His truth and root the oppressor from
the land ! — for the blood of these men crieth
aloud to heaven, — and I know, too, the covenant
of the Lord is sure and faileth not ! Yes,
Margery, I know I should not be angry thus, but
my blood boils when I think of those two men I
saw hanged so basely just now. To talk of
Passive Obedience and Non-resistance foolery,
too, to the poor dying souls just about to suffer by
order of the Popish King ! I could hardly
refrain myself, I declare, from laying hold of
the parson by the gown."
"I'm very glad you did not, Edward Bird,"
interposed his wife, " or I fear I should not have
had you here to-day to tell me of it."
"Likely enough," sighed the mercer, who
was now fast recovering his usual equanimity.
" They do not think much of stringing up a
man or two now-a-day, it seems. I think I'll go
down to the Red Lion just for half an hour now,
and hear what the neighbours say about this
dreadful business."
"Oh no ! dear father, don't go to-night," said
Margery alarmed. " You will -be sure to hear
things to trouble you again."
" No no ! Edward Bird," said his careful
sensible wife. You shall not go down to the

Red Lion to-night. Here is a new pipe and
here is a drop of Schiedam — something to
comfort you, better than you'll get down there,"
— for the old lady had been busily brewing it
the while, — " and we will go to bed early to
night and rise with happier prospects to-morrow,
I hope." " "lis the best place, I believe, dame," said
the mercer. Chapter XXIX. — Expectation.
A season of dark portentous gloom again
hung over Colyton as her simple rustic popu
lation remembered the brutal and revolting
execution of her two townsmen and the fearful
stories of other even more aggravated atrocities
perpetrated in the adjoining towns, and which
from time to time reached their sickened ears
by the slow methods of locomotion available
at that period.
So the autumn wore away and the winter
succeeding it, and although the fierce tide of
persecution seemed satiated with the slaughter
that characterised its first activity, yet men still
trembled at its recollection and dreaded its
possible renewal.
But toward early spring some vague rumours
were current that a change was at hand — that
the promoters of this gross barbarism were well
nigh ashamed of what had been done, from the
King himself downward to all concerned in it,
and the wretched monarch's alarm and presenti
ment that matters had been carried too far, and
would perhaps recoil, as they so surely did, in
the end, on himself.
Great covert rejoicing and relief, therefore,
was experienced at Colyton about the beginning
of the month of March following, when it was
announced that the King was about to issue a
proclamation of amnesty and pardon to all
concerned in the rebellion, and that the poor
trembling outcasts now hiding as aliens from
their former homes would soon be able to return
to them again in safety and peace.
Soon after the soldiers had searched the
premises of Tom Vye, the mercer privately
informed old Aunt Tammy, Tom Vye's house
keeper, that Tom would, he had strong reason to
believe, all being well, turn up again some day.
The old lady was considerably rejoiced thereat,
and faithfully kept the secret entrusted to her,
as she truly divined its importance, and kept the
premises tidy and in good order till his possible
return. Indeed it was generally accepted for
granted in the town that Tom was not dead, but
had fled away to some place of security until
he might be able to come back to his home again.
Once in the interval the mercer had heard
from his sister to the effect that her visitor was
there safe and well, and hopeful of a happy

32

SAVED.

return some day. Margery was quiet and. com
paratively happy too — notwithstanding a few
anxious thoughts would intrude sometimes.
So winter wore away, and the mercer recover
ing himself somewhat, talked loudly of his
losses when the soldiers robbed him. He made
minute enquiries as to what regiment they were
attached to, and having found out that they
were a portion of Lord Churchill and Lord
Cornbury's troops of horse, petitioned at once
for restitution.
This was about Christmas, and, singularly
enough, the prayer of this petition was at once
attended to, owing to the men having formed a
portion of Lord Churchill's regiment, and the
reason doubtless was this : —
Lord Churchill, who was afterward the
celebrated Duke of Marlborough, was a great
favourite of James the 2nd, having been made
his page of honour when quite a child. He was
born at Ashe House, over in the adjoining parish
of Musbury, the residence of his grandfather,
Sir John Drake, Bart. At Ashe House there
now resided Lord Churchill's cousin, a succeed
ing Sir John Drake, who was also an active
Justice of the Peace. In consequence of the
old mercer's petition, and the Government being
ashamed of the atrocities committed by the
soldierly, an order was sent to the Devon
magistracy to investigate the affair and satisfy
the old mercer, in obedience to which the
semblance of an enquiry was begun, and there
the matter, as may have been expected, ended.
But a pleasanter sequel was in store for the
old mercer. Chapter XXX. — Peace.
Intimation of the coming amnesty had been
bruited about among the country folk some
short time before it actually took place, but no
certain intelligence had been received.
One morning the old mercer was standing
gossiping at the shambles' corner with one or
two acquaintances when a horseman, whom
they at once recognised as an old and trusty
retainer of Sir Courtenay Pole, of Shute House,
rode up to the Red Lion hostelry door and,
calling for a mug of the landlord's best, beck
oned the knot of gossipers over to him.
" Good morning to ye, Master Mercer and
friends," said the man, wiping the surplus froth
from his lips. "I've brave news for ye to-day.
I've got the King's pardon in my pocket for all
traitors, raybels, and everybody else — just come
to Shute about half an hour afore I come away.
A strange man rode up to the gate and axed for
Sir Courtenay. He was down in the garden
with my Lady, so I runned and fetched him, as
I thought 'twas something particular. And
presently, when he read the paper, I see him

smile and talk pleasantly to my Lady, and I
overyerd him say, ' Ureth, the pardon's come,'
and presently he told us sarvants all about it,
and ordered me down to Culliton. So here I be
— that's the firkum of it. Here's the prockel-
mation," continued the servant drawing the
document out from his waistcoat and taking
another vigorous swig at the mug. " I think
that's what Sir Courtenay called it, — and look
here, where do Master Peter Ticken live the
Fivee Bailly, — cause I be to give it to him and
tell him to hang it up at the shammell's
corner. "
" Let me read it first, do," said the mercer,
hunting in his pocket for his trusty brass
goggles. "Be ye sure 'tis the Pardon," said one of the
listeners, who seemed rather incredulous on the
matter. " I do fancy 'tis almost too good to be
true. Which way, so'os, did the man come,
d'ye know?"
"Well, to be sure I didden see him come,"
replied the servant, "But old Mathee Teape, the
woodman, told me he meet him half ways out
toward the Pillars. So I expect he corned
Honiton way, cause Sir Courtenay is Parliament
man for Honiton, you know. And now I come
to think of it, I yerd Sir Courtenay say he'd no
doubt Sir Walter Yonge, down here to Great
House, would get a Prockelmation, too, only you
know he idden home now. Shame 'pon it, I
say. I never zeed Sir Courtenay grieve half so
much all the forty years I've lived to sarvice up
there, as he did t'other day when all they
hangings went on — especially they poor fellers
down here to Culliton, and t'others down at
Escot, where Sir Walter is building his new
house. I yerd Sir Courtenay say over and over
again he could satisfy them there was nothing
wrong about Sir Walter, he knew, — only there's
no listening to any reason now-a-day. And my
Lady Ureth, too, didden she take on about it a
brave bit ? Sweet Lady is my Lady Ureth,
so'os!" " That's true," responded the mercer, who by
this time had found his goggles and, having
carefully wiped them, was satisfactorily adjust
ing them on his nasal promontory. " Sweet
Lady she is as ever I fitted a pair of ruffles on !"
The old gentleman then proceeded to read the
Proclamation to his attentive companions, who
were speedily joined by all the passers-by that
way, so that by the time the mercer came to the
inevitable " God save the King " at its conclusion,
the benediction on that hitherto unsavoury
name in Colyton was responded to this time by
a genuine and hearty "Amen" from the now
tolerable crowd -of auditors, and off they all
dispersed at once to convey the welcome
intelligence to their neighbours.
" So Margery," said the old mercer, entering

SAVED.

33

the little sitting room and looking earnestly at
his daughter, " the good news is come at last,
and your Tom is once more free ! Think of that
Margery, my maid, and be happy !"
A sort of breathless gasp seemed to seize
Margery — the work dropped from her hands
unconsciously — and intense anxiousness shot
from her beautiful eyes as she raised them to
her father's face and listened to what he said.
" All true !" continued the mercer, holding out
both his hands towards his daughter. " I've read
the Proclamation myself."
Margery rose hastily from her seat with heart
too full for utterance, and the mercer, seating
himself down in a chair, held his agitated child
close to his heart awhile.
" Hi ! Edward Bird, what's that I heard you
say — what's the matter now? " said the mistress
of the house, entering the room and bustling
anxiously over to her husband and daughter.
" Here Margery ! Edward Bird ! what is it ? "
" Sober, dame, sober, — don't frighten the child.
Good news, dame, very good, — the Pardon's
come, and everybody's free now, Tom and all, —
read it myself down by the shambles' corner."
" Sure of it, Edward Bird ? You're not
dreaming, be ye ? " said the old lady only half
crediting her spouse.
" Not I! " rejoined the mercer, slightly brist
ling at his wife's incredulity.
" The Lord be praised, then," continued
Mistress Bird. " Now I begin to see the end of
our troubles, I think. Come now, Margery, my
child, cheer up ! " — and the old lady pulled back
the glowing curls from her daughter's brow and
kissed the only portion visible, the rest of her
face being nestled in her father's bosom.
Chapter XXXI. — Inquisitiveness.
The great cloud which for six dreary months
rested over Colyton, had now, as it were by the
word of a magician, vanished.
People were busily discussing the return of
their friends, and the countenance of every
passer-by gave joyous indication of the relief
the Proclamation had afforded.
The fine old bells were ringing merrily, and
the little town wore almost a holiday appearance.
The old mercer strolled down the town that
evening to eke out his time and have a gossip.
As he came to the shambles' corner there was,
as there had been almost continuously during
the day, a knot of people gathered before the
Proclamation which was there hung up, and
they were busily discussing the probable result.
He had not been long engaged chatting with
the coterie assembled there when a person came
out of the Red Lion just adjoining, and, taking
the mercer on one side, told him that Master
Peter Ticken was in the tap-room, where a

numerous company was assembled, and that he
would be glad if he would come in and see him.
Accordingly the old mercer followed the
messenger, and, as he looked in at the door, he
found the room full of people, very joyous and
roystering, and not a few were slightly elevated
or " moved."
As soon as they recognised the old gentleman's
appearance, two of the company rose, and
taking the mercer each by an arm, proceeded,
with numerous encouraging pats on the back, to
escort him over beside his old friend Peter, who
was sitting composedly smoking his pipe at one
end of the capacious settle.
" Well, friend Bird," said Peter, " glad to see
you here to night. Faith, folk can breathe freer
again now, and you not the least among us, for
I suppose you will soon see Tom Vye home once
more in peace."
" I hope so," said the mercer.
" So do I, " answered Peter, ' ' for your daughter's
sake as well as yours. Faith, she's a good little
maid, I know, and it must have been a trying
time for her, sure enough, to hear of all these
hangings and such like, and to know how near
her own sweetheart stood to such a fate."
" So you would say, Peter, if you knew as
much about it as I do."
" Look here, Master Bird ! " jerked out a little
weasel-faced, fidgetty-looking man at the other
side of the room — one of those inveterate
newsmongers so rife in all country towns — " tell
us where Tom Vye has been all this time.
Should like to know very much, — no harm in
telling now, Master Bird ! "
" I don't know that," answered the mercer.
" But he has been of late down in Cornwall with
my sister there."
" Where was he when the soldiers searched
the town? Some folk said they were sure he
had come back here again, for they found a
sword and musquet down in the river, and I, for
one, believe 'twas his," continued this pertina
cious inquisitor, " but I never said so, as I know
of." " You have been further out in your time,"
drily responded the mercer, " and the owner of
them was not far away."
" As you know of — Ah ! " said a heavy obese
individual, who had been carefully digesting the
conversation, with measured severeness of tone,
and slowly turning his immense disc of face
threateningly on the little gossiper as if he
would annihilate him. " I dare say thy clapper
tongue said so to every body thee didst meet."
By this time the sole attention of the company
was drawn towards the conversation, for people
generally had taken great interest in the fate of
Tom Vye, and were very glad to hear that he
was alive and out of harm's way.
"Actually, you don't mean to say," again

34

SAVED.

rejoined the little questioner, fidgetting about on
his seat, undeterred by the proximity of his
ponderous neighbour, and evidently still intensely
desirous of picking out the mercer's secret, " that
Tom Vye was in the town when the soldiers
searched our houses, surely? "
" Well, he was not far away, as I told you."
"In Colyton?" jerked out the little man,
fixing his pair of purling gimlet eyes fiercely on
the old mercer's substantial visage.
" Well, — yes, — in Colyton, if you must know.
But scarce anyone knew where besides myself,
nor are they likely to know, my friend. But I
thought I would gratify your curiosity thus far,
and you may depend on what I say."
A general stamping of feet and thumping on
the tables greeted this announcement of the
mercer. " The Lord hath surely been very gracious to
thee, friend Bird, then," said old Peter Ticken
slowly and thoughtfully, "and so you thought,
too, when you saw those two poor fellows turned
off at the Elms last September, for there might
have been another along with them. That rascal
Jack Ham, too, whom they drove off  ."
A burst of execration came from the lips of
the company as the hated man's name was
mentioned. " Ought to have been hanged along with them,
did he not, neighbour?" said the little squint-
eyed inquisitor, who was now fitting his cue of
thought in harmony with the conversation and
taking a sup from all his neighbours' pots with
exemplary impartiality, and having an idea of
getting a treat out of the old mercer, too, in the
end. "Wish he had, that I do. I remember
what he said to you, Maister Bird, that night he
corned back from the battle — the rascal. But
there, we shall never see him back to Colyton
again, any how."
" Oh ! no," said the mercer, motioning to the
landlord to otherwise employ his garrulous
neighbour with a whole pot to himself to keep
his tongue quiet. "It is best as it is, and he
may live to be sorry for his treachery. At any
rate, I can afford to forgive him, and so I do,
for I have much to be thankful for. I am now
an old man, and have seen many ups and downs
in my time, and somehow I felt amongst it all
that this great trial would pass over safely, for I
knew the Lord had never failed me as yet, and I
was sure He would not send my grey hairs down
in sorrow to the grave."
"I wish I had thy faith, friend Bird!" said
old Peter. Then, rising up, he continued: —
" Let us drink Edward Bird's health, and a safe
return to Tom Vye, and prosperity to Missy
Margery, too, some day, all being well."
With hearty goodwill the assembly rose and
drank the proposed healths, and, as they resumed
their seats, the old mercer, whose heart was very

full, gave his grey eyes a rub with his handker
chief, and, grasping Peter Ticken by the hand
warmly, with a general nod to the rest, he said,
" Good night, Peter, and all !"
"Good night, Edward Bird!" answered the
company with one voice.
Chapter XXXII. — Return.
A change had come over the old mercer's little
household — a blessed and peaceful change.
Anxiety and Uncertainty, those consuming
feelings that make the heart sick and eat out, as .
it were, with cankering rust all the joy and
pleasure of life, were gone, and in their place
Hope, with its brightest forecast, lighted the
presentiment of the probable future.
The old mercer recovered his easy, good-
humoured equanimity, his good wife had lost the
slight increase of Mgettiness and irritability
that had ruffled her a trace more than usual
during the period of the trouble, and Margery
was becoming quite herself again. Her bright
eye, sweet smile, and wonted activity — quick and
agile as a roe — were all returned. And why?
Because she knew Tom Vye was free and safe,
and would speedily be back to see, and love, and
claim her once more for " good and a'."
One evening, about ten days after the pardon
ing Proclamation was made public, old Mistress
Bird was carefully employed brewing her
husband's " night-cap." The old mercer was
sitting contemplatively in his great chair,
snoozing and purring in comfortable half-
oblivious happiness, and Margery was busy
upstairs about some little household cares, when
a low but firm knock was heard at the mercer's
front door. It was an ordinary knock, as that of
a customer after night-fall.
The good dame pattered out with the candle
to enquire the caller's business, and, as she
neared the door, its hasp was twice lifted. But
the door had been carefully secured by the old
mercer, as usual, when he closed his shop, and
the would-be intruder found himself safely kept
on the "wrong side."
" Somebody who knows us, I suppose. No
stranger, it seems," said old Mistress Bird
musingly. Then, raising her tone a little, and
not being over well pleased at being disturbed,
she said, " If you want anything in the shop,
you ought to have come before, for 'tis now
nearly nine o'clock, and all good folks ought to
be in bed."
The old round-about stairway in the mercer's
house led up, as is usual in antient dwellings,
from the corner of the chief living-room, or
parlour. If the reader could have looked into the semi-
gloom of the apartment just at that moment, he
would have seen the portly form of the mercer

SAVED.

35

sitting comfortably in his great chair in the
shadows of the ingle corner, with the fitful
gleams of the wood fire, as it anon flashed up
and down, lighting up with true Rembrantesque
effect the salient points of his sturdy frame.
Over in the corner, the stairway door being
partially open, was Margery) with one hand on
the latch and the other holding the light, — her
sweet face thrust slightly forward, and wearing
the expression of the most intense anxiety, her
beautiful eyes gleaming like two stars, and her
rich chestnut hair glowing like a nimbus round
her brow, as the reflected light of the candle
struck on it.
She had heard the knock. Indeed, every
passer-by, and every sound at the door, had
thrilled through her ever since she had known
that her Tom would soon be home again, but
she would not let her modest womanly heart
betray itself too far even before that chief
repository of all secrets, her dear mother.
Hence she awaited in deep suspense at the stair
foot. So Mistress Bird slowly and carefully undid
the several fastenings of the door, and, partially
opening it, looked at the new comer.
"Who be ye?" said the old lady, not recog
nising the figure without, " and what do ye want
this time o' night ?"
The person in the dusk outside was dressed in
a long pair of leather boots, extending above the
knee, and he had on a large smock, or doublet,
of blue serge, pulled in round the waist by a
belt, on his head a wide-brimmed, round-polled
hat, and he held a bundle or pack in one hand
and a stout staff in the other.
" Who be ye?" said old Mistress Bird, peering
at the figure again. " I don't know ye as I
remember. Some seafaring man, I suppose.
Do ye want to see Edward Bird about lace, or
such like ?"
The figure, who was none else than the long-
exiled Tom Vye, dressed in a fisherman's suit,
which he had adopted as a disguise while he
stayed with the good mercer's sister on the North-
coast of Cornwall, did not speak for the moment,
because he saw the old lady did not recognise
him. But, as she finished her second salutation,
he answered her : —
" Then you do not remember Tom Vye, do
you?" Tom Vye ! Mercy well ! Surely 'tis," said
Mistress Bird, opening the door and holding up
the light to take a better view of him, for the
voice was the voice of Jacob, but the garb was
the garb of Esau.
But before she had fully opened the door, or
taken a satisfactory glance at the stranger, a
light form shot by her elbow, and, in an instant,
was locked in the visitor's arms, while, at the
same instant, the candle old Mistress Bird

carried in her hand was blown out by the
confusion, and all were left in darkness.
"Why Margery! Tom!" said she. "Bless
me ! — come in ! Here we are all in the dark."
But it was no darkness to Margery. The
warm earnest clasp of her dear Tom once more
had lighted a brightness in her heart that no
future time or change was destined to overcloud.
" Hullo !" said the old mercer, disturbed by the
scuffle and the busy tones of his wife, — " that's
Tom Vye's voice, I am sure," as the old gentle
man bustled out with another light. "Verily
I could scarcely believe my ears, for I was well-
nigh asleep."
" Well, Tom," continued the mercer, holding
the candle up and down and surveying his dress,
" glad to see you home again and safe." Then
with a roguish twinkle of his eye, " What service
d'ye belong to now, Tom ? A soldier the last
time you came here, now a sailor, I suppose ? "
and the mercer smiled quietly to himself as he
playfully quizzed his guest.
Tom looked very conscious for a moment or
two. Then getting the better of his little
confusion and turning his head toward Margery,
whose face crimsoned intensely as he quietly
answered, " I think I know."
Who shall describe the joy of Aunt Tammy
when Tom Vye made his appearance there early
the next morning.
The dreadful period of suspense she had
passed through and her grief' at Tom's long
absence had made considerable inroad on her
otherwise iron constitution, for Aunt Tammy,
albeit spinster though she was and inured to a
busy life always, was now just on the verge of
life's normal span, and she had sensibly aged
during the long winter of trouble, and her tall
gaunt frame, usually so erect, began gradually to
bend and her quick step to grow less dapper.
But the return of Tom seemed to infuse a
fresh lease of existence in the aged maid, for she
loved Tom better than all the world else, and
would not long have survived him had any
mischance happened to him, and he had his full
work in at all convenient opportunities for
several days after his arrival to hammer a
description of his adventures into the antient
spinster's ear, for her deafness was also fast
increasing with her age.
Many kind and warm greetings, too, awaited
the exile from his friends in the place, with
whom he was an especial favorite, but he quailed
with terror occasionally as he was constrained to
listen to one of those over-kind, officious, and
heartless acquaintances who would regale his
ears with a well detailed account of the hangings
at the Elms, and how thankful he ought to be to
think that he had escaped such a fate. So true
and mournful is it in human life that there are
always found some people who take delight in

36

SAVED.

awakening painful reflections in some tortured
heart, feel an undisguised pleasure in fiendishly
keeping open periodically some mental sore,
in a frailer or unfortunate neighbour it might be,
and are never contented or comfortable till, like
the carrion-fed vulture, they are gorged with his
wounded feelings.
Chapter XXXIII. — Thanksgiving.
"Well, Grace," said the old mercer one
evening after he had read his accustomed portion
of Holy Writ, taking his spectacles off his nose
and placing them down on the large open
volume lying before him, — " although we have
been so badly robbed yet we have very much
indeed to be thankful for, and therefore I've been
thinking, Grace, that next Sabbath morning we
will go up specially to Loughwood and worship
there once more. 'Tis true I have not been there
for some years now, since we can worship in our
own town again. But somehow or other I love the
old place 'better than all the dwellings of Jacob.'
You remember, Grace, I first saw thee there."
"I do, Edward Bird," interposed his wife,
shaking her head measuredly, " I remember the
very day as if 'twere yesterday."
"Aye," continued the old mercer, " that was
when the Conventicle Act was forced upon us,
and we were obliged to hide away like badgers
and foxes to worship. But still the Lord hath
been gracious to His people, and many pleasant
hours have I spent there. But there be very
few left of His old faithful servants that used to
worship there, I expect, for times are altered,
sure enough. But I think I can manage to walk
as far, and so can you, Margery, too, — Justus
three. 'Twill be the last time, Grace, I feel."
" That we will go, Edward Bird, aye, Margery,
child, what say you?" said the mother.
" Oh ! yes, dear mother," said Margery, with a
full heart and a tearful eye.
The conventicle called Loughwood, where the
old mercer thus determined in his mind to offer
his special thanksgiving to Divine providence
for His late merciful deliverance, is situated in a
lonely sequestered nook at the back of Shute
Hill, far away from the " busy haunts " of men,
and took its origin — 1662 — on the passing of
that monstrous act known as the ' ' Five-Mile
Act," whereby dissenting ministers, under heavy
penalties, are forbidden holding services for
Divine worship within five miles of any borough
or corporate town.
It was a beautiful soft morning in mid-April
when the mercer, and his better half, and
Margery, set off for Loughwood — a veritable
Sabbath morning, in itself a blessed symbol of
that endless Sabbath, which shall last for ever
some day to those who earnestly desire and are
prepared to enter on its Elysian eternity.

The sun shone brightly, blue periwinkles
twinkled, and golden primroses showed their
bright clusters in the hedgerows of the long
devious lane which winds away from Colyton
along the hill-side to the little sanctuary.
As they neared the hamlet of Shute, the bells
from the church tower were tinkling away
cheerfully, summoning the villagers to worship,
several of whom were walking leisurely toward
their pleasant sound, and presently they passed
what is now called old Shute House, but what
was then in its pristine splendour, and consisted
of a large block of building, of which the
portion now remaining formed the right wing
only. The old mercer and his companions lingered a
moment as they passed the fine old gateway,
more especially as the honoured master of the
mansion, Sir Courtenay, and his sweet wife the
Lady Ureth, passed out to go to church, with
all his household following. The mercer made
a respectful salutation to " his honour " and
received a courteous recognition in return, for
Sir Courtenay was well acquainted with Master
Bird and held him in high estimation, while
Margery got a kind smile from Lady Ureth, who
took great interest in the pretty little maid who
attended her often in her father's shop.
Another mile and a half's walk, through the
winding lane, and the little Bethel was reached.
But unless a person well knew the locality it
would never have been found. There was no
broad turnpike-road at that time stretching over
the plateau of the hill, from which, as at present,
a detour of a hundred yards or so brings the
seeker to its precincts, — all was studiedly hidden
and enshrined amid the leafy verdure from
observation. Arrived at the tiny, low-thatched conventicle,
the old mercer waited awhile for the arrival
of the scattered congregation who assembled
themselves together there for worship, firmly
believing that wherever two or three are gather
ed together there the Great Head of the Church
comes down in the midst of them to bless them,
— for the time of service was not quite yet come.
Bowing his head reverently, and smoothing
the grey locks over his brow, the old mercer and
his family entered the. little conventicle and took
their places in one of the narrow, tall, old-
fashioned seats, and all of them, kneeling
devoutly down, uttered a silent prayer to the
Great Master of Assemblies.
Presently, one by one, the worshippers arrived,
and almost all of them had come a long distance,
— some of them many miles.
In the corner of the little graveyard surround
ing the chapel is a long, low building, with an
antique door, well studded with iron nails (and
still hanging there). At intervals, the sound of
horses' hoofs was heard outside, and a figure would

SAVED.

37

dismount from horseback, and the sleek steed
immediately make away to the well-accustomed,
iron-studded door which was the entrance to the
stable to receive the horses of the worshippers
during service ;— now the substantial charger of
the Puritan gentleman ;— now the pretty jennet
of his daughter. And a dependent old disciple
was there in attendance to receive them and tie
them securely up.
Then the old and venerable pastor of this
mountain sheep-fold walked measuredly in and
ascended the pulpit. He was a spare, gaunt man,
some seventy years old, slightly stooping in his
gait, with a noble forehead deeply wrinkled, long
silver hair drooping down his neck behind, and
large shaggy eyebrows, beneath whose deeply-
recessed cavernous orbits a pair of dark searching
eyes_ looked earnestly and complacently around.
Rising measuredly from his seat, and opening
the Book of Life before him, he read with grand
intonation and marvellous emphasis the eighty-
ninth Psalm, interspersing it here and there with
a short pertinent commentary, displaying great
acquaintance with, and knowledge of, Holy Writ.
Then bidding his audience rise and sing to the
praise of the King of Kings, he read a verse or
two of a hymn, and, after waiting a second or two,
a sweet soft voice in one of the seats indicated
the tune, and then the whole of the little band
of worshippers joined in, with wonderful hearti
ness and force, as they sang, as with one voice,
the plain and striking melody of the tune.
The hymn over, all instinctively sank on their
knees within the high seats, and. then the old
pastor, leaning forward over his lowly flock, and
stretching forth his hand in the attitude of
benediction, poured forth slowly, in intensely
reverent and conscious accents, a long and
earnest prayer — so holy, so subdued, and so
heart-searching — amid hushed silence, broken
only now and then by a sigh from the worshippers.
Then drawing himself up to his full height
and placing both hands upon the sacred volume,
which was still open before him at the place
from which he had been reading, he directed his
hearers to the 34th and three following verses of
that Psalm.
This passage he described to his auditory as
being the oath of God unto His people, con
firming and conveying to them His everlasting
and immutable covenant. With extraordinary
fire and eloquence, he dilated and dwelt upon
the grand theme as being the great sheet anchor
of their faith cast within the veil, that should
never fail them, and concluded by assuring them
that come whatever troubles may, they had only
to be still and know that He is God, and to wait
(as of late), through the darkness of the storm
until the pillar of flame again appeared, for they
knew that this life was but a shifting quicksand,
but their faith and promise of deliverance were

founded upon a rock, and that rock was Christ,
the Author and Finisher of their faith.
The sermon over, another hymn was sung
suitable to this occasion of thanksgiving, and
was a paraphrase of the first portion of the Song
o.f Zacharias, of which we subjoin the transcript :-
HYMN.
" The only Lord of Israel
Be praised for evermore I
For through His visitation
And mercy kept in store
His people now He hath redeemed
That long have been in thrall,
And spread abroad His saving health
Upon His servants all.
In David's house, His servant true,
According to His mind,
And also His anointed king,
As we in scripture find ;
As by His holy prophets all
Oft-times He did declare,
The which were since the worlds began
His ways for to prepare.
That we might be delivered
From those that make debate,
Our enemies, and eke the hands
Of all that do us hate.
The mercy which He promised
Our fathers to fulfil,
And think upon His covenant made
According to His will.
And also to perform the oath
Which He before had sworn
To Abraham our father dear
For us that were forlorn ;
That He would give Himself for us
And us from bondage bring,
Out of the hand of all our foes
To serve our heavenly King ! "
Then the venerable minister pronounced the
concluding prayer, in which he combined a
special offering of thanks for the cessation of
the late troubles and concluded by invoking
solemnly the Divine blessing on his flock.
While the service was proceeding there was a
noticeable feature to the initiated, but which
would easily have escaped the observation of a
person unaccustomed to worship there. This
was the position of the trusty old deacon of the
place, who was seated alone near the door, which
was left partially open during the whole time of
Divine service. This was to watch for, and give
notice to the congregation of the presence of,
any eavesdropper or informer who often skulked
at the doors of conventicles to catch any language
which could be twisted into the semblance of
seditious phrase and then went and gave infor
mation to some neighbouring justice of the
peace who was only too glad, often, it is sorrowful
to relate, to give ear to the godless spy and
inflict merciless and heavy punishment on the
poor pastor and his flock, to please and attract
the notice of the governing power.
The simple service over, many a warm and
affectionate greeting took place between the old

38

SAVED.

mercer, his wife, and the more antient portion
of the congregation, several of whom had not
seen him for many years, and, as he sorrowfully
but cheerfully remarked, would not probably
behold him again until they met on the other
side of the dark waters of Jordan, " where
congregations ne'er break up."
Specially affecting was his farewell to the aged
minister, who was cognizant of the severe trials
the old mercer had been subject to of late.
Then the venerable pastor turned to speak a
few words of sweet counsel to Margery, urging her
with the greatest kindness not to forget the God
of her fathers and ever to keep her pure soul
unsullied both in her heavenly and earthly
affections. Then, placing one hand upon her
head and lifting his hat reverently with the
other, he implored a special blessing upon the
future of the modest and gentle girl.
Down the winding lanes to Colyton the old
mercer and his family, with calm and trustful
hearts, returned to their home, carrying with
them that inestimable assurance that a day
well spent in the courts of His house is better
than a thousand so-called pleasant ones passed
elsewhere. Chapter XXXIV. — Happiness.
A year had passed in the history of the little
town of Colyton, and people were tolerably
recovered from the depressing shock of the late
persecutions. The old healthy buoyant tone
had returned, and the place was as prosperous
and comfortable as usual.
" I know 'tis true," said a little wiry dame, who
was standing at the central " town-pail," or
dipping-place, at the lower corner of the shambles,
her bucket half immersed in the crystal flood,
and her upturned face confronting another
water-seeking matron, who was waiting for her
turn on the opposite side of the " pail." " I
tell 'ee I know 'tis true, for I yerd it from Goody
Bagwell, and she overyerd another woman telling
of it who yerd old Betty Gould, the clerk's wife,
tell of it, and she do chairey up there. Aye 1
aye ! — they thought to be mighty cunning, and
keep it a terrible secret, but trust me, Jinny, I
always picks out these things."
" What time is it going to be ? " said her
companion. "Bless thee chield, why now most directly,
and I must look sharp home with my water, or
else I shall not see them," and the sturdy little
woman drew up her bucket with a rush, and
trotted off with the replenished vessel.
It will easily be divined what the secret was
that the drawer of water was so positive as to
her knowledge of. Not but that it was well
known in the town, for Thomas Vye had been
duly " asked " in the church for three several

Sundays to the fair and gentle Margery Bird,—
only it was not generally known the exact day
the wedding was to take place, and this was the
special piece of information the little dame
had ferreted out by such a round-about mode.
But somehow or other these matters always
leak out, and, as Margery and Tom were such
special favourites, the main street was pretty
well astir that morning at about half past nine
o'clock, and dotted here and there with groups
of waiters to see the young couple " go to church."
"Faith, Jasper," said old Peter Ticken,
walking up the churchyard path and stopping to
chat for a minute with Jasper Gould, the clerk,
who was standing at the lytch-gate talking to
some of the ringers who were waiting there, —
"so the wedding is to take place this morning,
is it ? I should suppose so, seeing you are
rigged out in your Sunday best."
" Yes, I'm sure," answered Jasper. " I've just
put open the porch door for them. Sure I'm
very glad to help join them together. Ah ! Peter,
she's a sweet maid is Miss Margery, that she is.
My old ooman, you know, Peter, do chairey up
there, and I declare, when the trouble was, -and
they poor fellows was hanged, and Missy Margery
in such a taking about young Tom Vye, my old
ooman never sleeped for nights and nights for
a -thinking about her, for she grieved so about
her for fear anything mid go wrong with him,
for I do believe she do love her as well as any of
our own, and well enough she may, considering
how kind the maid is to her."
" Right, Jasper," replied Peter, " she is as
sweet a maid as ever thee said Amen to the
wedding of, and her father is as good and honest
an old heart as ever lived. So is Tom Vye a
brave good boy, too, notwithstanding that
' treason ' job, as they call it, but, for my part,
I can't see it so. But this is a different finish,
Jasper, to Tom Vye's adventures than might
have been if that officer had found him up in the
old gentleman's cock-loft. Oh dear ! it makes
me shudder even now as I think of those poor
fellows I saw murdered so barbarously, for 'twas
nothing short of it, and it was a nigh chance,
sure enough, that Tom Vye had not been there
with them.  But here they come, Jasper ! "
Who shall describe Margery's appearance that
eventful morning, holding timidly on the old
mercer's arm, or Tom Vye and a pretty olive
featured dark-eyed cousin of his, who acted as
bridesmaid ?
Margery was simply but superbly dressed — a
petticoat of pearl-grey lutestring, braided with
rich golden fringe, and over this a kirtle and
boddice of the most costly white flashing satin,
with high-heeled shoes of the same sheeny
material, on her shoulders a large dependant
collar of magnificent Vandyke point, from which
rose a short stiff collaret of the same material,

SAVED.

39

setting round her neck Uke a coronet. Her
beautiful hair, pulled slightly back from the
forehead, hung simply curled in glorious pro
fusion down nearly to her waist, and on her head
was a small tasteful hat.
One ornament only graced her sweet person,
the gift of her father, which he had purchased
some years before in the Low Countries of an
old Dutch baroness — two strings of beautiful
pearls around her neck, from which drooped a
star-shaped pendant, in whose centre gleamed a
large and costly sapphire. But the modest
confusion of her gentle countenance, as she
listened to the kindly greetings of the on-lookers,
was the peerless charm that outshone all the
attractions of her apparel.
The old mercer was arrayed in a grand suit of
brown kersey, with a sea of lace-neckerchief
encircling his neck, on which his ample double
chin found a comfortable resting-place, and on
his head a large felt hat, whose expansive brims
were slyly trimmed to the " cock " known as that
adopted by the followers of Monmouth.
The bridegroom was apparelled with all the
smartness that became a well-to-do young gallant
of the day, and equally tasteful was the dress
of the bridesmaid.
With a kindly nod to old Peter and a smile to
every one his eye lighted on, the old mercer and
' the wedding party passed under the lytch gate,
with old Jasper Gould, the clerk, toddling on in
front for his life to help on his reverence the
vicar's surplice, who had just gone into the
church, for the bridal folk had come rather
unexpectedly on the antient clerk.
No sooner had the wedding party entered the
church than after them in streamed a crowd of
townsfolks, determined to see the pretty Margery
married, as she was such a special favourite with
every person, and great sympathy was felt for
her relative to the great trouble she had expe
rienced, all the particulars of which they were
fully cognizant of, and very speedily the fine old
church was half filled with interested spectators.
Parson Salter having, with the attentive
assistance of clerk Jasper, robed himself in his
surplice behind the cunning mazes of the Roman
Canon Brerewood's screen, and standing on the
gravestone beneath which, some twenty years
before, the old Puritan minister Wilkins was
• sepulchred, marched across the chancel, followed
by Jasper, the crowd making way for him as he
passed, and closing up quickly again behind him.
With kindly greeting to the old mercer, amid
the most profound and reverent attention of
the on-lookers, Parson Salter, evidently with
considerable feeling, proceeded carefully and
solemnly with the wedding service — a tear
trickling down the old mercer's cheek as he
placed his much loved Margery's trembling hand
in Tom Vye's, and stood gazing fixedly at her

pale sweet countenance and listening to her
gentle, timid accents of endless troth. But a
cheerful smile spread over his countenance as
the parson closed his book and shook the newly
made bride and bridegroom cordially by the hand.
"Well, Parson Salter," said the old mercer,
shaking the vicar's hand with great emotion, as
he waited a minute or two while old Jasper
recorded the names of the newly wedded couple
in the pages of the register, " Surely goodness and
mercy have followed me all the days of my life,
and this the greatest of all His mercies ! and is it
not written, — he that trusteth in Him shall never
be put to confusion. Aye, parson, you remember
that dreadful scene which seems to rise before
me now with all the freshness of yesterday,
where, but for the special mercy of Him alone,
one whom thou hast made happy within this
holy place to-day might have been sleeping in a
traitor's shroud and an unblest grave outside
these walls instead ! Two or three others would
have quickly followed to the same peaceful land,
Parson Salter, but God in His mercy hath
ordered it otherwise."
" Indeed you have had mercies to be thankful
for, my worthy and much esteemed old friend,"
answered the vicar, "the which, thanks be to
God, — who does not often cause His people to
pass through such troubles, — fall to the lot of
very few ! I do remember that fearful scene,
and its horrors seem to gather before me
terribly intensified as I have partaken of the
holy duty and the pleasure of to-day ! That
day, my friend, was the saddest I trust,
under the providence of God, that I shall ever
be called upon to experience. This, I am sure,
is one of the happiest, if not the very happiest."
"Truly it is," responded the old mercer.
Then with a jocose twinkle of his eye, " and do
you know, Parson Salter, I believe, too, in the
Divine right of kings, or rather of the King of
Kings, for hath He not decreed all things well
for me this day ! aye and in passive obedience as
well, — that is, to His supreme will and pleasure,
whereof no man shall be ashamed or suffer
wrong. That's about the right version of the
doctrine, is it not, Parson, eh ?"
" I will have no polemics to-day," said the
vicar, giving the mercer a good humoured nudge,
" but I am going up with you to drink Margery's
health instead ! See, they are waiting."
At that instant the fine old bells in the tower
struck out a merry peal, and many a benison
was poured by the simple country folks standing
by on the flushed and pretty bride.
" There !" said old Jasper, taking the spectacles
off his nose and carefully laying his pen down
on the grand old register, thereby implying that
he had now fully completed the wedding ceremony,
and looking up at Margery with great affection,
"And now, God bless thee, Mistress Margery Vye !"

fc

<r&%

JACK HAM.

DOOMED!
A SMUGGLING TRADITION WHEN GEORGE THE SECOND WAS KING.

" We are such stuff as dreams are made of."

Chapter I.
A late afternoon of a fine November day, but
wearing a more threatening attitude as the
evening hours crept on. The outlook from
the little cliff platform that juts out above
the short semi-circular beach at Beer was a
diversified, characteristic, and picturesque one.
Seaward the ocean heaved with troubled,
uneasy motion, in long swells that betokened
restlessness below, and pressure from far without,
of dark-shadowed semi-transparent green, vary
ing continuously as the large billowy undulations
rose and subsided, reflecting in their gloomy
depths the grey masses of cloud that hung
lowering above them.
Skirting the sullen expanse, a weU-defined
edging of spray rushed with foaming quick-
repeated cream-like curves along the little beach,
and chafed and scattered itself over the rocks
that lie at the feet of the two white-cliffed
promontories that stretch out like the jaws of a
huge reptile and form the cove of Beer.
The sky, cloudy and threatening, was hung
with dark rainclouds, with here and there
brighter transparencies between, while far away
in the westward rim of the horizon, close down
on the dusky keen sea-line, gleamed a pale
amber streak, the faint adieu of a late autumn day.
Although the sea has great and peculiar
attractions for the landsman, yet it is reserved
for him alone who maketh his home on, or
liveth by the everlasting murmurous margin of
the great waters, to have that perfect,. mysterious,
undefinable and quenchless love for it, that
never tires, cloys, gets weary, or " sighs for
change," braves and glories in its storms and
tempestuous fury, dreams and delights in its
calms and quiet moods.
Hence, go whenever you may upon that little
platform, at morn or eve, shadow or sunshine,
when the winds pipe loud, or not a breath
disturbs its glassy bosom, there you will be sure
to find a knot of these true lovers of the sea

gathered on the coigne of vantage and surveying
with careful scrutinising look their ever-change
ful mistress's face.
Nor was this evening any exception to the
rule, for independent of the ordinary never-
ceasing attraction of the blue waters, there was
special interest attached to their appearance
there that evening. Chapter II.
"Well, Uncle Jeff," said a dark curly-pated
boy, some ten summers old, climbing up the
bank at the back of the capstan, and giving the
sitting figure in front of him a pat on his
tattered head gear, " what be about keeping on
fumbling with that old pipe."
The person the boy addressed was a short,
decrepit, but still hale old man, a few years
beyond life's appointed span, sitting almost
knees and nose together, and with two short
sturdy square-headed walking sticks carefully
enlocked between his crossed legs.
He was clad in a well-patched suit of cast-off
fisherman's garments, and a glance at his face
at once assured the beholder unerringly, of a
deficiency of mental calibre. A quick, uncertain,
smaU grey eye, low receding forehead, and
massive jaws, garnished with a week's growth
of grisly beard, made up a. countenance that
betokened the sufficient advance from hopeless,
helpless idiotcy, to that of being just able
to be entrusted with the care of himself,
but always incapable of any kind of labour or
employment. A certain amount of sly cunning lurked in his
twinkling glance, and he was usually good tem
pered, except when teased occasionally into furious
rage by the children of the village, who well
knew his peculiarities, and often gathered
round the old man when he daily crept slowly
down to his appointed seat on the capstan on
the platform, by a sort of marine instinct that
was born with him.

42

DOOMED.

Jeffrey Sydenham by name, descended from a
respectable generation of fishermen, and having
a numerous stock of nephews and nieces
resident in the village, he was by common
consent known to all inhabitants therein under
the cognomen of Uncle Jeff.
Inquisitive to learn all the small news circula
ting in the place, and exceedingly garrulous to
communicate to everyone who would listen to
him all he had heard, the sailors were very
circumspect as a rule to give Uncle Jeff a wide
berth, when assembled in conclave and chatting
about any smuggling transactions, or any
business of the kind connected therewith, for all

small dole of this luxury. This he often got
from his neighbours assembling on the platform,
and Uncle Jeff was in nowise backward in
soliciting their charity.
As usual, three or four sailors were gathered
in a knot at the verge of the platform, carefully
scanning the sky and sea before them, and
engaged in serious conversation, which was
carried on in a low tone to be out of earshot of
Uncle Jeff, perched on the capstan some dozen
yards behind them.
"What be I about?" responded Uncle Jeff,
" well enow you may ask me," he continued,
still fumbling away at the little short discoloured

THE CLIFF PLATFORM.

of which Uncle Jeff had always a keen ear, and
just sufficient wit to understand, the more
readily as he occasionally got an extra glass of
spirits or roll of tobacco when a fortunate run
had been accomplished.
Uncle Jeff's home was with one of his nephews,
who was also largely interested in the contra
band traffic, and due caution was generally
observed in talking of matters relating to it in
his presence.
A pipe of tobacco was Uncle Jeff's great
worldly solace, and when he could get it he was
an inveterate smoker, and no earthly present
was at all comparable in his estimation to a

clay receptacle, anon striking the bowl in
the palm of his hand, and then searching
hurriedly, with a sort of forlorn hope, in
the pockets of his jerkin, "here I've been
two whole days without a bit of backey, and
nobody won't give me a bit either. Drat if I
think there's a morsel in Beer, that I do."
As Uncle Jeff finished speaking he raised his
eyes to the group of three boys standing close in
front of him and eyeing his empty pipe, while
the lad who addressed him had descended from
the bank behind and had seated himself by Jeff's
side. "Ah! Uncle Jeff," said the eldest of two

DOOMED.

43

brothers fronting the old man, " you never what
a lot of backey I saw father bring in to our
house one night, little while ago, just as we were
going to bed. Such a 'lot, and some kegs, too.
If you had been there then, Uncle Jeff, you
could have had as much as you had a mind too,
I'll warrant."
"I saw it, too, Uncle Jeff," chimed in the
younger brother, " such a lot ! Where do backey
come from?"
" France, to be sure," said the bigger boy,
"don't it, Uncle Jeff, backey and brandy too?
I've heard father say so."
"What d'ye say?" responded the old man,
"France? Yes— no — where? Drat if I- know
where it comes from, but I wish I'd got a bit
now. The boys haven't had any runs lately.
Drat if I knows what's come to them, but I
expect I shall have a bit to-morrow, anyhow,
drat if I don't," and Uncle Jeff cast a sly know
ing leer at the group of sailors, and chuckled
cunningly to himself with suppressed glee.
"How d'ye know that, Uncle Jeff," said the
curly-pated boy by his side, at the same time
putting over his hand and attempting, half-
playfully, half-misehievously, to take the pipe
out of the old man's hands, " let's see your pipe,
Uncle Jeff."
" Thee let go my pipe, you rascal," quickly
and almost . savagely retorted the old man, and
grasping the head of one of his sticks, " if you
broke 'en I could kill 'ee, for I should never be
able to get another !"
" Never mind, Uncle Jeff," said the boy,
soothingly, " I won't hurt your pipe. But tell us
how you know you'll have some backey to
morrow." " Ah ! " said the old man, his little steel
eyes twinkling and the same crafty expression
creeping over his face, as he again directed his
eyes toward the sailors. " They think I don't
know what's going on sometimes, but I do !
Hold thee tongue when Uncle Jeff's about, they
say at home — he — he — he — and so I make wise
I be asleep in the corner sometimes when they
be talking, but I been't asleeped, not I ; more I
was'nt last night when they were talking — he
— he — he — and I know what they be talking
about over there now. Uncle Jeff knows — he
—he— he ! "
" What do you know, Uncle Jeff," said two or
three of the children almost simultaneously,
their interest having been quickened by Uncle
Jeff's unwonted sprightly manner, the little
group ' at the same instant bringing their heads
almost in close contact with each other, "tell
us," continued one of them, "is it about the
backey, or what," and the little speaker, knowing
the old man's garrulous propensity, assumed a
coaxing tone, patting him on the shoulder and
continuing, " Tell us, now do, Uncle Jeff."

"Ay! ay! I shall have plenty of backey
to-morrow. I tell'ee, I know that, drat if I
don't," replied Uncle Jeff, who had a vague. idea
of the meaning of a secret, but thought that the
finding it out and publishing it was a sort of
intellectual triumph, and the best use he could
possibly make of it, a purpose, by the way, too
often shared by many others professing to have
more 'brains than Uncle Jeff, and the old man
was reticent, and assumed an air of mystery,
only that he might whet the appetite of his
youthful questioners the keener, until he resolved
their impatient curiosity, when again they
returned to the charge, which they did immedi
ately, as he expected.
" Well, you told us that before," said the
biggest boy half vexedly, and with louder and
more pronounced tone, " but tell us how do you
know you'll have plenty of backey to-morrow ?"
"Now, I'll tell'ee," replied Uncle Jeff, raising
his voice with exultant emphasis, and looking
into the enquiring children's faces, "they be
going to have a brave run to-night, they be. I
know that, drat if I don't, our Jack and the rest
of 'em, he — he — he — but they don't know that
I know it, but I overyeard them telling of it last
night when they thought I was asleeped, I wasn't
asleeped— he— he — he — and then I asked for
some backey, and they said I should have some
in a day or two, but I shall have plenty to
morrow, wish I had got_it now. 'Tis Tom
Abbot's boat they've got, the Saucy Jenny."
"Why that's my father's boat," broke in the
eldest of the two brothers. "He's out fishing."
" Ay, I know 'tis," continued Uncle Jeff. " He
went to sea this morning fore I was up, but they
been't fishing, they be gone after brandy and
backey — he — he— he — that's what they be talk
ing about over there, they thinks I don't know."
The old man raised his head from the level of
the little group of children that surrounded him
as he pronounced the last words, but to his
great astonishment, the group of sailors had
disappeared. The children drew back at the
same instant with a sort of half start, and
exchanged surprised glances with each other, as
they found that a new companion had, quite
unobserved, added himself to their company
and was sitting close beside, where he had been
some little time, altogether unnoticed by them,
while they were listening to Uncle Jeff's secret
of the tobacco.
By a sort of tacit understanding, the children
edged themselves away, and, with a " good
night, Uncle Jeff," trotted back to the main
street. Chapter III.
The stranger who had thus so quietly and
uninvited joined the little company was a man

44

DOOMED.

who had perhaps seen the experience of near
half-a-century. Gf strong-built mould, a firm and thoughtful
cast of features, calm dark eye, and curly black
hair slightly silvered, peeping out beneath his
triangular-peaked hat, composed a rather hand
some countenance.
He was clad in a brown rough frieze coat
reaching to the knees, where it met well-fitting,
close-buttoned leather gaiters, that overlapped a
substantial pair of boots, and his right hand
rested on a strong, well-selected walking stick.
As the children disappeared, old Uncle Jeff,
after casting an uneasy glance or two at his new
companion, planted his two sticks firmly in front
of him, and made one or two vigorous essays to
raise himself and hobble away.
But before he could succeed, the hand of the
stranger was placed kindly but firmly on his arm
and entirely impeded his immediate withdrawal.
"What's the matter, Uncle Jeff," began the
stranger in bland and pleasant tone, " that you
are in such a hurry to be off to-night? You
and I have had many a gossip on this old
capstan." " I know it," said Uncle Jeff rather gruffly,
with his eyes fixed straight out at sea.
Now, half imbecile as Uncle Jeff was, he was
not entirely destitute of the faintest apprehen
sion between right and wrong, and, as usual
with people of his class, had strong antipathies
toward those who in any way militated against
his pleasures or comforts, and who his friends
had not a good word for.
His companion was evidently one of the
proscribed class, in his estimation, and garrulous
as he was, this prejudice, the hasty retreat of the
children, combined with a dim idea that the less
said the better just now, made the old man
urgent to get away back to his home.
But the stranger was not minded to let Uncle
Jeff off so quickly if he could help it.
" Well, what's the hurry to-night, Uncle Jeff,"
he continued, " you know me, don't you, and
what's become of your pipe ? "
" Yes, I know 'ee," answered Uncle Jeff, with
his eyes still stedfastly fixed on the blue water,
" and I don't like 'ee, drat if I do. Here's my
pipe," he continued, mechanically taking it out
of his pocket, yet not altering his seaward
glance, " but I've got no backey, nor there isn't
a bit in all Beer, and that's all owing to you,
and I don't like 'ee, drat if I do," and the old
man again fidgetted to depart.
" Now stay a minute or two, Uncle Jeff," said
his companion in the same pleasant persuasive
tone, and again placing his hand on the old
man's arm, " and let me see if I can find a pipe
full or two for you," displaying at the same
instant «, tolerable well-sized pouch well filled
with the fragrant weed.

Sudden or well-planned temptation is perhaps
the strongest leverage .that can be used to hoist
the firmest and most carefully guarded resolves.
It is a weapon, that when used with address
and tact, is almost sure to storm the captive
into submission, and too often degradation,
while the recoil is occasionally even more severe
on the tempter than the tempted, and if the
so-called strong-minded be not proof against its
potent assaults, what must its effects be on
minds constituted as Uncle Jeff's ?
The stranger sitting by his side had quite
unexpectedly heard the concluding portion of
the conversation between the old man and his
youthful auditory. It was of singular impor
tance to him, and he was determined if possible
by a little naturally planned temptation, to get
some further information out of Uncle Jeff if
he could.
The display of the pouch of tobacco brought
the old man's eyes instantly round on the
coveted commodity, and the stranger, taking out
nearly half of the bulk, offered it to his
companion. This was a sore moment for Uncle Jeff, his
whole frame quivered with emotion, the pipe in
his hand clattered against the cross-head of his
walking stick, his lower jaw shivered in concert,
while his keen grey eyes glanced momentarily
up and down from his companion's face to the
tobacco in his extended hand.
The stranger, instantly comprehending the
position, solved it at once by depositing the
tobacco in his companion's lap.
" Why, Uncle Jeff," said he, " how long have
you been so particular? There, put it in your
pocket, and go home and enjoy it, now you have
not had any for so long. But tell me how long
ago it is since you had any ? "
" Drat if I know whether I shall smoke it or
no," replied Uncle Jeff, at the same instant
stuffing the tobacco hastily into his pocket.
" Mustn't let they see it home anyhow. When
had I got any backey last, drat if I know, but I
shall have plenty to-morrow," and the old man
made a determined effort and scrambled up on
his feet.
" Hope you will, Uncle Jeff," said the stranger,
as his companion hobbled by.
The stranger sat on a minute or two until
Uncle Jeff had passed from his sight behind the
cottages at the end of the cliff platform. Then
gazing seaward, he said to himself, musingly,
"By how strange and unsought-for means has
this intelligence reached me to-night ! I know
well enough but little has been done of late, and
had strong presentiment that something would
be attempted before long, yet had not the
slightest idea I should get such almost certain
and definite information. Old Jeff will have
plenty of tobacco to-morrow, that means a run

DOOMED.

45

to-night. The notice is short, and I have no
time to get assistance, but I know to a yard
almost where they will land. 1 must not loiter
here. May all go well. Mine is not the
pleasantest occupation, I know, but while I am
in the service I must do my duty." Then,
rising on his feet, he re-threaded his way up the
cliff path, and passed by a circuitous and unob
served direction to his home.
Chapter IV.
The wayfarer who, at the date which we
describe, should happen to pass along the
undulating cottage-skirted length of road which
connects the two hamlets that form the pictur
esque village of Branscombe — we say happen to
pass, for these were the pleasant days before
the recent abomination of troops of unwashed
excursionists had obtruded their vulgarity and
profaned every beautiful spot in the land —might
have observed among the sequence of cottages
dotting the winding highway, one rather more
noticeable than its companions.
This cottage was distinguishable, not so
much from any superiority of size, but the air
of neatness and taste — the sure evidences of
refinement — that pervaded it.
Carefully trained honeysuckles and roses
festooned themselves gracefully over the low
doorway, and through the many-paned bright
casements choice flowers glinted, and on the
night which we relate, for it had now grown
quite dark, a cheerful light illuminated the
clean white blind of one of the lower windows,
across which, thrown from within, the shadow
of a woman occasionally slowly traversed.
This was the home of John Harley, exciseman,
and the stranger who had shared with Uncle
Jeff, on the old capstan on the platform at
Beer, half his pouch of tobacco that evening.
The shadow traversing the blind within the
cottage was Mistress Hannah Harley, his wife,
then rather anxiously expecting her husband,
for he had full two hours outstayed his usual
time for return.
She was a somewhat tall, but graceful woman,
certainly over forty, but apparently in nowise
age-worn, with fair oval face, light brown eyes
and hair, and a placid pleasant expression of
countenance. Eschewing the enormous head-gear usually
worn by gentlewomen of the period, she
affected nothing beyond her own still ample
natural adornment, parted simply in front and
twisted into a knot behind with a bow of lace.
Below, she had put on that evening, partly on
account of its eminent becomingness to her
countenance and figure, and still more so because
it was a present made to her by her husband
after his last voyage from India, and which she

highly prized— a gown of that pure and beauti
ful indigo-coloured silk, dotted over with white
spots, limpid as water, and of almost inexhausti
ble wear.
Well-bred and still comely, she had been
esteemed a very handsome blonde in her youth,
and was such when her husband, almost equally
handsome, and then a mate of a large merchant
man, ran away with her.
Two children had been born to them, but
were not — and Mr. Harley, upon retiring from a
seafaring life, applied for an appointment in the
then newly-created and not very popular impost
of Excise, which he easily obtained, the emolu
ments from which, together with some little
means of their own, made their worldly circum
stances comfortable.
Strongly devoted to each other, Mrs Harley
fancied her comfort would be greatly augmented
when her husband finally gave up his seafaring
life, but the unpopularity of the service he was
now engaged in worried her very much, and she
had secretly wished many a time that her husband
was still employed sailing the trackless main,
even though the intervals of his company she
should share were few and far between.
But it was too late to alter things now. Her
husband, firm, light-hearted, brave, and unflinch
ing in his duty, rather liked than otherwise the
excitement, if not to say danger, of his present
employment. He was much respected by his neighbours
and friends, greatly valued as an efficient officer
by the department to which he belonged, and
was not altogether unkindly looked upon by
those whose contraband doings it was, if possible,
his duty to detect, for he never sought unfair or
vindictive advantage against them.
Nevertheless, if opportunity presented, he
unflinchingly did his duty, which was at the
early time we write, a very hazardous one, as it
combined the offices now jointly shared by the
coastguardsman and inland revenue officer.
Mrs. Harley was well acquainted with its
dangers, and this was a source of continual
disquietude to her. Chapter V.
Within the little parlour the fire was cheer
fully burning, on which a teakettle was hissing
impatiently a tiny stream of steam. The room
neatly and cosily furnished, a few pieces of rare
china on the mantel-shelf, over it her children's
miniatures and her husband's sword, and two or
three mezzotints, the offspring of this their very
best age, hung on the side walls. A full-sized
round table in front of the fire, with tea things
and eatables nicely spread, and teapot with cover
raised, all waiting the approaching, but some
what deferred return of the master of the
household.

46

DOOMED.

Mrs. Harley was rather more anxious than
usual, and having a little additional time, busied
herself with more minutiae than common to while
it away.But all being now complete, she deposited her
husband's slippers in front of his easy chair by
the fire-place side, and, taking up a fine tortoise-
shell cat that was snoozing therein and putting
her gently down on the hearthrug, she sat down
herself to wait her husband's return, which was
not long deferred, as, opening the door somewhat
quickly, he stood before her.
" So late, John, to-night ! I was really getting
anxious," began the wife, rising promptly from
her seat, " what has hindered you ? Something
more than common, I feel sure ? "
" Well, I did intend being home earlier to
night," he replied, "but something strange and
unlooked-for has turned up and so delayed me,"
and taking off his great frieze coat, deposited it
on a chair, then from under his second coat he
unbuckled a leather belt with two pouches, in
which were a pair of pistols, and these he placed
on the coat.
"Why do you leave the pistols there to-night,
John, instead of putting them in the bureau
with your books and papers as usual ? " said
Mrs. Harley, with slight apprehensiveness of
tone. " I am so afraid of them, and beside you
will not want to put them on again to-night."
But there was a considerable misgiving in
Mrs. Harley's mind as she saw the of late
unusual proceeding. Nevertheless she deemed
it wise not to be too urgently inquisitive.
" Now then, Nanny dear," replied her husband,
seating himself in the chair, and pulling the
table gently towards him. " I am altogether
ready for tea, for the wind is freshening outside,
and it has quite freshened my appetite."
"But, John, dear, do you know you have
forgotten to take off your gaiters and put on
your slippers as usual. See, here they are 1
Had you not better make yourself comfortable
first ? " answered Mrs. Harley, her hand and
voice somewhat trembling as she tended on her
husband, and feeling sure in her mind some
thing more than common was about to happen.
" Now, don't fidget and torment yourself,
Nanny dear," said her husband, looking his
waiting wife full in the face, while an involun
tary tear trembled in both then eyes as then-
glances met, " I am going to tell you all about
it, why I am so late, why I do not put away my
pistols, and not take off my gaiters and boots."
"Do tell me, and tell me quickly," answered
the wife, " I feel certain you are going out again
to-night, however, and it troubles me sadly."
" Well, Nanny, listen to this. This evening,
on my return from Seaton, I came, or was
coming, through Beer, as usual, and as I
descended the White Cliff path, there was the

usual group of three or four sailors standing on
the platform, but as soon as I came fairly in
sight, they separated and walked away. This
was rather an unusual circumstance to begin
with, as I do not remember noticing them on
previous occasions leaving at my approach, and
I used usually to stop and have a chat with
them. I don't know why, but a thought seemed
to occur to me that something was going on, but
I should have passed on, and did for a step or
two, when I noticed old Jeff Sydenham — you
know who I mean — he goes by the name of
' Uncle Jeff '¦ — a half-witted chattering old fellow,
sitting, where I have often seen him, on the end
of the capstan, and engaged busily talking with
three or four boys. I can't explain why I did so,
but my curiosity was moved, and I walked over
beside the group and sat down, but so interested
were they in their conversation, that I soon
found they were not aware of, or did not notice,
my approach."
" Old Jeff," continued Mr. Harley, "was talk
ing to the boys excitedly, and although I could
not distinguish all he said, I heard that he had
no tobacco, which was a great annoyance to him,
next that he knew something which his people
did not know that he was aware of, and, finally,
that he would have plenty of tobacco to-morrow.
I could not hear distinctly the whole of the
conversation, but I gathered these three points
out of it, and as soon as he had finished relating,
the boys looked round, evidently in great surprise
to see me sitting near them, and made off at
once back to Beer."
" Old Jeff also wanted to get away, too,
directly, and I tried and did keep him there some
little time, and sought to get a little more out of
him, but he evidently was not over-pleased with
my company, which is unusual, nor would he be
detained although I gave him a half -handful of
tobacco, and I got nothing further told me,
except he should have plenty of tobacco to-

Chapter VI.
"Well John," said his wife, "and what of
all this ? You mean this is the reason why you
were detained, I suppose ? "
" Yes, Nanny, just so," answered Mr. Harley,
"but from these circumstances so strangely
occurring this evening, and putting them all
together, I feel certain that a run will be
attempted to-night, and I must see what I can
do to prevent it."
" Oh no, John, nothing of the sort," said
Mrs. Harley, "you are building too large a
castle on these matters. Old Jeff cannot really
know whether he will get any tobacco to-morrow
or not, and of course the sailors did not stop to
speak to you, because in their hearts naturally

DOOMED.

47

they do not like you. So, dear John, if you
really have nothing more to tell me than this,
put away the pistols, and put on your slippers."
" Well, Nanny, I fancy I never had clearer
circumstantial evidence to deal with, Old Jeff
Uves with his nephew, who, of course, is one of
the party, and I believe he was one of the group
who so hastily left 'the platform. Old Jeff's
manner, too, was very mysterious and reticent,
and, all things put together, I believe my
judgment is correct. But there is one thing
about the matter, Nanny, I don't exactly like,
although in the profession I am engaged in I
am bound to profit by any information I can
procure, and must not be over scrupulous, and
that is the way I got the information."
" You know, Nanny," he continued, " I am no
eavesdropper, except Nanny "—and here Mr.
Harley's hitherto serious face broadened into a
bright smile—" when I stole you— and I am not
quite satisfied with myself in tempting that poor
half-witted man with the tobacco, to betray
his secret, and which with better sense he
rebuked me by refusing to do. But it was done
under the sudden impulse of the moment, and I
really got nothing more from him than I heard
during his conversation with the children."
" Quite right, John," replied the wife with
animation, catching at the new idea, " it is not a
desirable way of getting information, and quite
foreign, I know, to your idea of what is straight
forward and wise, and, after all, may mean
nothing. So let this decide you not to think
any more about it, and now as you have finished
your tea, put away your pistols, and take off
your gaiters."
Mrs. Harley anxiously scrutinised the counte
nance of her husband, while she made this, as
she fervently hoped, effectual appeal, as it
touched what she knew was very dear to him,
his sense of honour. Mr. Harley was looking
fixedly and thoughtfully into the fire, and ran
his fingers through his dark curly locks, as with
a suppressed sigh, he replied, —
" I do not like to slight your advice, dear
Nanny, you know me too weU for that, but I
have carefully thought this matter over, aU the
way home, as I passed to the back of Beer, and
came round by way of Bovey to avoid observa
tion, and I feel it to be my duty to go to-night
and see at any rate if a run be attempted, which
will (if it does take place) be between this and
Beer. There can be no harm in that, and I
shall have done my duty, and if a run does take
place, and it should be suspected that I had some
knowledge of it, and was home in my bed instead
of being on patrol on the cliffs, you know what
would be made out of that, which would be a
dishonour of far larger dimensions than taking
precaution from this undesignedly overheard
conversation."

Mrs. Harley's courage died within her, and aU
her anxiety returned as she listened to the last
reply of her husband, for she felt sure he would
do as he had indicated.
Nevertheless, she had still one more persuasion
to try, and she determined nothing should be
left unsaid or undone to keep him, if possible,
at home that night.
"Yes, but, dear John, no person could possibly
surmise" you could have been acquainted with
the possibility of a run being attempted, so do
not let that weigh with you for an instant. I
wish you would not go. I do not know how it is,
but I have an uneasy presentiment about your
leaving me to-night," and going over to her
husband she pushed back the curls, and, putting
her lips down on his forehead, concluded by
saying in softer accents, "Stay at home, do,
to-night, for my sake."
So they remained for half-a-minute, when Mr.
Harley, raising his wife's head with his hand,
and rising out of the chair at the same instant
said, looking calmly and cheerfully in his wife's
face, though the shghtest tremble was preceptible
in his accents.
" Why are you so anxious about me to-night,
Nanny ? You know how often I have patrolled
those cliffs until I have made myself acquainted
with every nook and corner in them. All will be
well, doubtless, and I will not (as I never do)
provoke any needless antagonism if I find things
as I fully expect I shall. See," he continued,
pointing to the little Dutch clock merrily ticking
away in the corner, " it is now nearly ten o'clock,
and I must lose no further time. I will not stay
away a minute longer than I am obUged to."
Mrs. Harley, as she listened to these words,
felt her last appeal was vain, and resigned herself
to what she now found to be an inevitable con
clusion. Mr. Harley went over to his bureau, and, with
neatness and care, arranged his books, made the
usual entries of the day's proceedings, and
headed the morrow's work. After carefully
locking the repository of his papers, he gave, as
he was accustomed, the key to his wife, then
taking the belt and pistols over to the table, and
having carefully examined the priming, returned
them to their pouches, buckled the belt that
suspended them over his inside coat, then put
on his grey frieze great coat, his wife standing
by his side gave him his triangular-peaked hat,
which he drew down firmly over his ears, and
handed him his walking stick.
All farewells should be sudden, when for ever,
Else they make an eternity of moments,
And clog the last sad sands of life with tears.
For a moment the couple looked at each other
in silence, his hand was on the latch of the door,
an instant's pressure of heart to heart, a
measured kiss, " God be with you," from the

48

DOOMED.

wife's lips, and Mr. Harley strode off in the
darkness. Could it be possible, the momentary glimpse
of that retreating shadow was the last glanee the
devoted woman who watched its disappearance
would have of him she loved, alive, in this
world. What morrow ever brought back to-day ?
Chapter VII.
" I know 'twas him, Jack Sydenham, I cpuld
swear to him by his long brown coat, but I don't
think he saw us."
" What if he did ? 'Twas a stupid game to
run away like that. What made you start off,
as if you were afraid to be seen, and I, bigger
fool than you, to follow ? If the man did see
us, why 'tis the way to make him think some-
-thing, for we never got out of his way before,
and he used to stop and talk with us, and we
ought to have waited for him as usual. I be
quite put out about it, — hope he did not see us."
Thus Jack Sydenham delivered his mind to
his friends Dick Abbott and Tom Starre, on the
Beer cliff platform, where they had re-assembled
for the second time some half-hour after Mr.
Harley's descent from the cliffs and return home.
" I am quite of your mind, Jack," said Tom
Starre, " it was a silly thing to do. He's a sharp
chap, I'll allow, although I don't dislike him
altogether. Still, I know enough of him to be
well sure of this — if he suspects anything, he
wonst be far away from his beat over the cliffs
to-night, and it will be pretty much of a pity if
the biggest run we have a chance of for a long
time is spoiled. I don't think he did see us,
though I saw him plain enough, and we ought
to have stood fast. But, there, 'tis only our
thoughts on the matter ! We have got every
thing snug enough, and quiet enough, I believe,
so let's hope 'twill be all right by to-morrow this
time. Saucy Jenny is a good boat. Tom Abbott
knows what he is about, and so do we, I hope."
Conscience undoubtedly is of aU the mental
powers the most difficult to prepare for, allay, or
subdue. No other foe has such vantage of
attack, or is armed with weapons that know no
foil. Revenge or resentment set free by the Ught-
ning impulse of opportunity, springs often on
its victim like a Hon from its lair. Malice may
dog the steps of the doomed with relentless
perseverance, until the favourable moment
arrives for its hideous purpose to be accomplish
ed. Love may dare or suffer until the harpstrings
of life break or cease to tremble, but these and
other kindred passions may be ruled and subdued.
But Conscience attacks the citadel of the soul
with clasp of iron, and instantly shivers it into
capitulation.

It was this power that shot its shaft through
the heart of Dick Abbott as he saw the shadow
of the exciseman descending the path in the
gloom of that November evening, and the same
weapon instantly sent his two companions captive
after him in their hasty exit from the platform.
Not that three braver or firmer men were to
be found in the whole village, but one of
those unaccountable, indescribable impulses that
occasionaUy seize the strongest and wariest when
everything perhaps is not exactly what could be
wished connected with the object to be attained ;
and may be simply described as a surprise of
conscience, as the possible foil of that enterprise
suddenly appeared on the scene.
"Well, Jack," rejoined Dick Abbott senten-
tiously, " I expected you'd blame me, but I could
not help it, nor can I exactly teU you what made
me hurry away, but somehow or another I am
not easy to-night, for I've got an idea all won't
go well. Well, you may laugh, but that won't
alter my mind. I'd got a nasty dream last
night, and my dreams do usually come true in
some way or another, when I do dream, which
is not very often, and things have not been
straight with me all the day either. I be no
coward, and that you know weU enough, when
you and I were boys together in the Swiftsure,
and we took Belle Isle under the old Admiral
Vernon, nor yet since in making any runs such
as we hope to to-night. But somehow or
another, just now, I bee'nt myself at all. There's
some fool, too, whistUng up in the street. I
wish I was near enough, I would shut his mouth
for him in a way he would not like ! '
"Nonsense, Dick, what b'ye telUng about,"
replied Jack Sydenham, " don't let your mind be
capsized that fashion. I fancy we never had
things better planned, and it won't do for us to
be frightened now. I don't take any notice of
dreams, and forget them generaUy as soon as I
wake up. But I wish I was near enough to stop
that whistling fellow's tune, nevertheless."
"Right, Jack," continued Tom Starre, "you
know Dick, as weU as we do, that we never
managed better or had a finer chance of a good
run, and I am surprised to hear you talk like
this. I own 'twas foolish to start away just now
wh^n Harley hove in sight. But what of that ?
How can he possibly know anything about it,
and he must be a conjuror to make anything out
of our leaving, even if he saw us, which I don't
believe he did. I don't dispute if he thinks
anything's going on, but that we shall likely
enough have his company to-night, and if he
does interfere, well, we must take care of our
selves, that's all I have got to say."
" Exactly," answered Dick Abbott, " No doubt
we shall get it all ashore and sent off right
enough, even if he, or his mates, if he brings
them, should interfere. But I should not care

DOOMED.

49

to get another cruise against my will if I could
help it, neither would either of you, I warrant,
and that would be the end of it unless we made
ourselves scarce all together, and this would be
as bad the other way, and what none of us want
now. Still, I don't feel half the man to-night I
have before now on such occasions, and why, I
don't know. However, it's no use talking about
it any longer, we must be off and see all things
right. The old clock has just struck nine ! "
_ The cruise against their wills Dick Abbott had
hinted at was a term of servitude of more or
less duration in one of His Majesty's ships, and
usually on a foreign station, a punishment often
meted out to seamen caught in prosecution of
contraband traffic.
" The best way," said Jack Sydenham. " 'Tis
dark enough and no mistake, the wind has died
down capitally, and he'll be soon off the point.
All hands in their places. Good night for the
present ! "
Dick Abbott walked moodily away to his
cottage near the platform. The other two, with
faster steps, but questioning each other some
what earnestly as to Dick Abbott's strange
uncertainty of demeanour, having got half way
up the street, Jack Sydenham lifted the latch of
his cottage door, and both went inside.
Chapter VIIL
There were few cottages in Beer that had such
a cheerful and tidy interior as Jack Sydenham's,
and the household consisted of his sister Amy,
old Uncle Jeff, and himself.
Descended, as we have said, from a respectable
race of fishermen for three or four generations,
they claimed for their forefathers for a descent
or two anterior to these, to have been merchants
and freeholders in a smaU way, when first
settled in the parish, and boasted (with that
inherent pride which is almost the last thing to
die out even among the chills and contumely of
poverty) that they originally descended from
the distinguished family of their name, whose
home and dweUing-place was in Somerset, and
treasured and kept in the house with sedulous
care several little mementos handed down from
generations past to attest the truth of their
ancestral claims.
Be this as it may, if ancestry had not
distinguished John and Amy Sydenham, Nature,
the fairest and most unbiassed herald, had
written the unchallenged bearings of distinction
on the manly and comely lineaments and limbs
of the young fisherman and his sister.
Notwithstanding all that may be said to the
contrary, breed wiU assert its distinction both in
the mental and material frames of these bodies
of ours, nor will apparently, often, the most
inveterate crossing entirely obscure or obliterate

it, but Uke a phoenix, when mated congenially,
will again arise from the ashes in renewed native
beauty and splendour — the chief of those irre
pressible and mysterious influences inherent in
Nature for her own perservation.
OccasionaUy an incomplete branch may be
thrown out as in the case of poor old Uncle Jeff,
but such do not disturb the genuine ascendancy of
the perfect and complete, and, having lived their
brief and feeble day of existence, pass without
being reproduced.
John Sydenham was almost symmetry itself
in bodily frame, sufficiently tall, well-knit and
muscular, with leonine expression of counte
nance, a deeply-bronzed face, mantled with
abundant light-brown hair and beard, and a
clear blue eye that spoke of courage and
determination. Neat and trim in his dress, all
his surroundings partook of the same spirit, and
there was no better ordered or found craft in
Beer than John's trawler, named after his sister,
and its stores, and few, as a rule, had better luck
as a fisherman.
His sister Amy — of fair woman's height and
somewhat slender figure, with weU-formed limbs
and clear transparent complexion, the almost
sure index of a sensitive mind and heart, bright
dark eyes and hair that lay with wavy abundance
on her forehead and clustered around deUcately-
shaped ears.
Smart, but tasteful in her attire (as what Beer
girl is not ?), a dress as dark as her hair, simply
made, with open bodice laced up with crimson
(a present from the other side of the water)
displayed her attire that evening, when some
one was waiting to admire — none other than the
best beloved of her heart, Tom Starre, who had
come in as usual with her brother Jack.
Tom was the last remnant of the old nobihty
of Beer proper, whose ancestry and lineage
claimed priority second only to the 'squire of
Bovey. Located there immediately after the
Reformation, the Starres with the Walronds
divided the territorial magnateship of the Uttle
parish. Of considerable worldly means and allied with
some of the leading mercantile families of the
West, the first John Starre, toward the end of
the sixteenth century, built a house becoming
his status in the place, at the higher end of
the street (and still remaining), substantiaUy
constructed of stone delved out of the adjoining
quarry, and fashioned in the then fast-decaying
proportions of Tudor design, but with still
sufficient grace to leave us, even until this day,
gracefuUy turned arches and windows to admire,
while on the chimneys and iron work of his new
home he impressed his initials and mark-^a star
radiated of many points.
So the family continued to flourish for several
generations, but some of the later descendants

50

DOOMED.

wasted their patrimony, and the race dwindled
back until Tom, its last Uving representative,
inherited the name, but the possessions were aU
irretrievably encumbered, and he, although
treated with considerable respect by his brother
fishermen, had no alternative but to cast in his
lot with them for a livelihood.
Of slenderer build than John Sydenham, Tom
was of lithe but well-developed frame, clean-cut
intellectual cast of features, thoughtful and easy
deportment, and a certain dignity of manner and
speech that bespoke the gentle descent from
which he sprang.
Amy Sydenham, in mind and mould, was pre
eminently the ideal taste of Tom, and two hearts
were perhaps never more truly and closely
entwined than theirs. A great favourite in the
village, every one had a kind word of recognition
for Amy Sydenham. Even Uncle Jeff, to whom
she was very kind and attentive, was very proud
and greatly attached to her, and nothing gave
him greater pleasure than to hobble away by her
side up to the quaint old church on a Sunday
morning, a gratification she was always pleased
and careful to afford him.
Chapter IX.
The little cottage kitchen looked neat and trim
that evening, as usual.
A small, bright fire was burning on the hearth,
a kettle singing gaily, suspended over it, in
front two flat irons, and behind them the
inevitable dish of fish, carefully cooked, and
warmly covered up, awaiting the coming meal
when the expected guests should arrive, who,
soon after they had entered and greeted the host,
sat themselves down to a little table already laid
out with the necessary paraphernaUa.
Amy was busily engaged ironing at another
side -table, and Uncle Jeff was comfortably
ensconced in a large oak chair in a niche of the
wall, scooped out specially for its reception by
the hearth side, and the old man was gazing
complacently at the bright embers, but as the
fishermen entered, he brightened up, and almost
before they had seated themselves, he began —
" Got any backey, boys, want a bit very bad,
drat if I don't?"
" Bother the thing," said Tom, half-aside
and somewhat petulantly, " I told you, uncle,
to-day, we have not got any, but we would try
and get you some to-morrow."
" Can't wait till to-morrow, drat if I can,"
answered Uncle Jeff tartly.
" Don't be so impatient, Uncle Jeff," said Amy
persuasively, " you know I have told you several
times this evening we have not got any tobacco,
and you must wait until we can get you some."
" How is it you are up so late to-night, Uncle
Jeff ! " said Tom Starre.

"Thought I'd wait till you came home,"
repUed old Jeff, " to see if  ," and the old
man checked himself of the rest of the pro
scribed sentence.
"Look here, Uncle Jeff," said Jack, "you
shall have a drop of Hollands to-night, as you
are so put out for want of some backey, and
that will make up for it and warm you up."
" Ay, ay," replied Uncle Jeff, " I like Hollands
above a bit, but I like backey better, drat if I
don't," A small cup, with a drop of the genuine
Dutchman duly diluted, was handed by Amy to
her uncle, with the request for him to drink ¦ it
off at once, and then go to bed.
Old Jeff, however, was not to be hurried, and
as he drained the last drop of the grateful
potation, handed his niece the cup, and imme
diately sank back in his chair in deep slumber.
" Fast asleep," said Tom, taking the candle
off the table and scrutinizing closely his uncle's
face, " and without mistake. Now we may
venture to speak to each other ! "
The meal having been partaken of and the
table cleared of its contents, —
" Amy," said Jack Sydenham, " I see no
reason at all why Tom and I should not have a
drop of Hollands as well as Uncle Jeff before
we start, only we must be careful not to take
enough to give us such a night-cap as the old
man has got. The church-clock has just struck
ten, and we need not hurry for a good half-hour
or more. Therefore, let us make ourselves com
fortable the while, so hand round the bottle,
Amy, and a couple of glasses."
The request had hardly passed Jack's Ups
before Amy, agile as a doe, had placed the old
squat black bottle on the table and a couple
small French liqueur glasses by its side, arid with
a bright penetrative glance at both their faces,
said —
" Now, be good boys, only a glass for each eye,
and no more remember ! "
" Right, Amy, love," said Tom Starre, uncork
ing the bottle, " we always obey orders when
you are the captain ! "
" Sometimes you do," said Amy, with a nod
and sidelong look, as she resumed her ironing.
The two sailors filled their glasses, and placing
then- arms on the table, with the glasses in front,
looked earnestly in each other's faces.
"Well, Jack," said Tom, "I know your
thoughts well enough, another hour or so will
decide our fortune, which I see no reason at aU
for believing will be anything else but a good
one, and all will be got safely ashore, and taken
away. I cannot make out Dick Abbott's fears
at aU. It's very strange and unusual, for Dick
is as firm and as good a fellow as I know, but
all the manhood seems knocked out of him
to-night, and without his being able to teU why.

DOOMED.

51

That's the curious part of it, except his dream,
which should be scarcely reason sufficient."
" What's the matter with Dick Abbott ? " said
Amy, who had been listening, and stopped her
ironing for a minute to enquire.
"WeU, Amy," said Tom, "not much in a
sense, but he says he has had an ugly dream,
and fears things won't turn out well, and a lot of
it. Something seemed to come over him just
now when we were chatting on the cliff platform,
just as Mr. Harley hove in sight, and he made
off as if he saw the press gang behind him, and
we fooUshly followed him, and since then we
have seen him again, and he's stiU of the same
opinion ! "
" It is strange," said Amy, " that Dick should
appear frightened as you describe. Dear me, I
hope all wiU go weU, and that you will never
engage in another run. No one knows the
anxiety it costs me, and how troubled I am, and
my fears that some day you wiU get six years
abroad in a king's ship, and I shaU perhaps
never see you again,"
" Nonsense Amy," said Jack, " don't talk to
us like that, fishing by itself is a poor Uving. I
don't fear but all will go right enough, so " —
raising his glass — " here's luck to us. You know
the old smugglers' saying, ' Nothing venture,
nothing have ? ' "
" To be sure," said Tom Starre, draining the
Uttle glass and again replenishing it, "do your
best, be as careful as you can, I say, and give
. good luck a chance, and that's what I beUeve
we have done to-night. Amy, my love, come
hither and sit down with us, and cheer us up
before we go with one of your songs. Come, my
maid, I know you won't refuse ? "
Amy had finished her ironing, and was
leaning against the table watching her two
companions. " I don't think I can sing to-night, Tom. I
feel low-spirited, I always do on these occasions,
until it is over, as no one knows how it may turn
out." "Now, Amy," said Tom, rising from his
seat, and leading her over to the table and
seating her on his knee, " this won't do at aU.
I shall begin to think myself that things wiU go
wrong by and by, if you give out too. Come,
now, see what you can do, there's a good girl ? "
and he looked searchingly in her dark eyes and
traced baek her dark hair over her forehead.
Chapter X.
One of the most heartless disciplines Ufe is
susceptible of, is that cruelly difficult mockery of
appearing to be joyous when the heart is almost
suffocated with sickening anxiety or suspense.
Yet where is the being that has not at some time
or other been caUed on to sustain such a part.

Every smUe or expression of delight engen
dered in others by such a display strikes like a
dagger at the heart of the poor actor, and there
is perhaps no punishment that could be devised
that would give to a sensitive mind such pain as
the often almost forced commission of this a
fraud. It was not feelings quite so intense as those
we have described that smote Amy's heart when
asked by her sweetheart to sing, but still in some
sense mildly akin to them.
Amy had a sweet voice and taste, and to sing
one of her songs to Tom was one of her supreme
deUghts, but to-night her heart was aching with
anxiety for him, as she knew the dangers of
his perilous errand, and was greatly unstrung.
But yet she felt to refuse Tom's appeal would be
perhaps helping to unnerve him in the enterprise
he was about to engage in.
" Come Amy," said Jack, " just a verse or
two, our time is nearly up. You need not be
afraid of waking Uncle Jeff," he continued,
looking across at the old man, who was still
sleeping soundly.
" My voice will not be very bright to-night,
Tom, I fear," said Amy, as in sweet clear
accents, slightly tremulous, she sung the follow
ing:— THE FISHER MAIDEN'S SONG.
The boat with my true love is coming,
The breeze follows fair to the land,
And I with my kerchief am watching,
To signal him safe to the strand 1
Far off o'er the water's blue bosom,
I see the white seagull float by, —
O bird with the silvery pinion,
Why bring'st thou the tear to my eye?
The boat with my true love is coming,
But I search the dim offing in vain
For the gleam of his sail in the twilight,
Coming back from the deep darkling main.
The lighthouse blink shines from the headland,
The tide ripples up with a sigh, —
O wave o'er the bar slowly breaking,
Why bring'st thou the tear to my eye?
The boat with my true love is coming,
But, ah t the bright sun is gone down,
And the fishermen all have departed,
Away to their homes in the town.
But I see a dark point slowly rising
Athwart yon long streak of gold sky, —
O shadow that comes in the gloaming,
Why bring'st thou the tear to my eye?
As the last words of the sweet strain died on
Amy's lips, old Uncle Jeff appeared disturbed in
his slumber, and made sundry indications of
waking up. This the two seamen would rather
did not happen, but the old man, after an
uneasy turn or two, again settled down in deep

'I am rather glad uncle did not wake up,"
said Jack, "for all Beer would know about it
to-morrow morning, that we had given him some
HoUands, and that he had gone to sleep and

52

DOOMED.

woke up again and found us together late in the
night. Poor old man," continued Jack, looking
over with great commiseration, and with a sort
of half-sigh, at the little dwarfed mannikin
curled up in the old chair, his feet planted on
the large fire-dog for support, his face almost
bent to his knees, and his long grey hair
drooping down on each side, " 'tis the only fault
he has, if fault it may be called, and the only
pleasure beside his backey that he enjoys. But
our time is up, Tom, and we must be off at
once." "Right, Jack," said Tom, both sailors rising
to their feet at the same moment, ' ' Dick and
the others are gone on, I expect, and we must
follow, — and good luck attend us."
" Good night for the present, my maid," said
Tom, giving Amy a pat on the shoulder, " see
old Uncle Jeff safe off to bed, and go there
yourself, and don't fidget, we shall soon be
back I hope," and Jack Sydenham passed out
into the street.
Tom Starre lingered a half-minute on the
threshold to give Amy a parting word, and strode
off after Jack. Chapter XL
Quietly closing and locking the door, Amy
walked slowly across the little kitchen and sat
herself down on a stool on the other side of the
hearth opposite Uncle Jeff, and with both hands
clasped in her lap, gazed abstractedly at the few
dying embers that every now and then faintly
flickered up, giving her sweet pale features a
ghostly evanescence in the gloom.
"I wonder," thought Amy, "if men have any
true idea of the keen, unallayable anxiety of a
woman's heart, when she fears for the well-
being of him she loves ? No, it cannot, should
not be — for then he would cease to disquiet her,
— and woman's heart would be robbed of the
love that consumes it, and man would lay aside
for her sake, all the bold and courageous craving
for hazardous adventure that distinguishes him
and excites her admiration, and while it often
consumes and crushes her with anxiety, is at
once the spring and stay of her deepest love. I
must wait quietly in peace, and wiU trust that
the day will certainly come when Tom shall
have different employment and I shall no longer
be harassed with these fears."
"What, Uncle Jeff, awake at last ? " said Amy,
looking across at the stirring rounded bundle of
old clothes and grey hair, that slowly raised
itself in the chair, and was gradually resolved
into the semblance of an apology for a man.
" Wake — yes — no — where be I, what o'clock is
it?" replied Jeff in quick, uncertain accents.
"Is that you, Amy — where's Jack — where's my
pipe — what's the matter with me ? " and the old

man made a clutch at the arm of the chair to
steady himself, for the strength of the HoUands
was not out of his feeble brain, and his talk
was rambling and unconnected.
Amy comprehended at a glance what was the
matter with her uncle, and darting across the
hearth, supported the old man in his chair, or he
would have fallen.
"There now, Uncle Jeff," she said, "keep
yourself quiet for a bit, and then you shall go
upstairs to bed, and go to sleep again."
Both remained silent for a few minutes, when
Uncle Jeff, recovering himself somewhat, re
sumed the conversation.
"Better now, Amy, better now, all mazed like
just now, where's my pipe ? " — involuntarily
searching his pockets — "where's my backey?
will have a bit before I go to bed, drat if I
don't," and the old man fumbled away first in
one pocket and then in the other with great
impatience. Amy had ceased supporting her uncle, but
had sat herself down near to watch him, for the
influence of the Hollands had slightly passed
off, but sufficient of it remained to put old Jeff
off his guard, relative to the few wits he
possessed. So, after again searching vainly his
pockets for the coveted luxury, he resumed his
enquiry —
" Where's my backey gone ? Can't find it,
drat if I can, had plenty just now!"
"Nonsense, Uncle," said Amy, naturally
divining the effect of the HoUands was not out
of her uncle's head, "you don't know what you
are talking about. You have not got any tobacco,
neither have you had any for several days.
Come, go to bed, there's a dear good uncle, you
know you always do when I ask you."
Shan't go to bed yet, drat if I do," said Uncle
Jeff, swaying himself about in his chair and
stiU searching his pockets, " till I've had my
backey." Then stopping himself as if he
suddenly recollected something, and giving that
peculiar leer and laugh of self-satisfaction he
was wont to assume when pleased, " I know
where 'tis, drat if I don't, 'tis up here in the
'cess behind me, he — he — he."
As old Jeff concluded, he turned himself
round in his chair, took up one of his crooked
walking sticks in the corner, and raising it above
his head, thrust the hooked end into a square
hole of the wall some eighteen inches above
him, and which was a sort of receptacle sacred
to the keeping of Uncle Jeff's odds and ends,
old pipes, and occasionally, when he was pos
sessed of such, surplus stock of tobacco.
The old man made a vigorous effort or two
to reach the secreted treasure, but was unsuc
cessful. " Amy ! reach down the backey for me, 'tis up
there in the 'cess," said Uncle Jeff excitedly.

DOOMED.

53

Chapter XII.
When the wine is in a man — saith the proverb,
— the wit is out — and no more pertinent illus
tration of this, one of the truest of true
proverbs, ever occurred or was exemplified in a
more complete sense, than with Uncle Jeff that
evening. He had carefully stowed away the tobacco Mr.
Harley had given him up in the hole or recess
('cess, as he termed it), intending to keep it
until the next day, when he would have had a
legitimate supply from his nephew, and then
he could have had an extra pipe from the
exciseman's present, and smoked it unchal
lenged. But, alas, for poor old Jeffery Sydenham (or
other man ten times stronger-minded than he),
in alliance with Strong Drink the Mocker — that
unfortunate glass of Hollands had stolen the
key of Jeff's resolution to secrecy, and betrayed,
without remorse, his fixed determination to
resist a perilous temptation.
Amy had been watching, with some curiosity,
her uncle's pertinacity about the tobacco, but
being perfectly assured in her mind he could not
be possessed of any, told him to put his stick
down, and not make such an useless fuss about
nothing. But old Jeff would not be appeased, and, on
seeing him attempt to rise and get out of his
chair to reach the 'cess, as he termed it, she,
smiling at what she considered his persevering
illusion, got up from her seat, and, stretching
over the old man, said", as she thrust her hand
in the opening, —
" There, Uncle, now I hope you will be satis
fied, there is  "
A sort of start, as if she had discovered
something altogether unlooked for, checked the
finish of the sentence, as she rapidly drew out
her hand, full of unmistakable tobacco, which
she held before her an instant to assure herself
she was not dreaming, and which Uncle Jeff
instantly caught out of her unresisting grasp.
Had a gun been fired past her ear, or old
Uncle Jeff fallen lifeless from his seat, Amy
Sydenham would scarcely have been more
frightened, and this surprise was intensified
considerably when she saw the tobacco was
altogether of a different quaUty from what her
uncle was accustomed to smoke, but long before
she could recover herself the old man had
stuffed his pipe to repletion, and was asking her
for a Ught.
" Uncle Jeff," said Amy, when she had recover
ed her astonishment somewhat, and with as
much sternness as she could convey into her
voice, " Where did you get that tobacco, tell me
directly ?"
" Give me a light first, then," said Uncle Jeff.

"That I wiU not," said Amy, considerably
alarmed, " until you tell me."
" That I won't until you do, drat if I will,"
said old Jeff resolutely.
"Here's the light," said Amy, holding a little
burning brand, the old man pulling vigorously
at his pipe and ecstatically throwing out large
puffs of smoke, " Now then, Uncle, where did
you get that nice tobacco ?"
" Didn't steal it Amy, drat if I did," said the
old man with a trace of evasion in the accent.
' ' Oh no, Uncle, " said Amy coaxingly, " I know
that, somebody gave it you no doubt Uncle, who
was it?" and Amy saw she had need be both
quick and adroit to get the secret out of the old
man, as the tobacco was sensibly sobering and
calming him very much.
" I'll teU 'ee, Amy, because I tell you every
thing," responded old Jeff, puffing away with
undisguised satisfaction. " Mr. Harley gave it
to me as I was sitting down on the cap'san last
night." A momentary pallor shot over Amy's counte
nance as she heard these ominous and unlooked-
for words, and a choking sense of anxiety
seemed to paralyze her utterance as she continued
to question the old man.
'"Twas very kind of him, Uncle Jeff, sure,
what did he say to you ?"
" Oh, he asked me Amy if I'd got any backey,
and I said no."
" What then, Uncle ?"
" Then he took a bagful out his pocket, and
took me this."
" WeU, and what did he say?"
" Oh, he asked me when I was liking to have
any again,"
" And what did you tell him, Uncle Jeff ?"
' ' Oh, I said I should have plenty to-morrow,
and so I hope I shall, drat if I dont."
" Was that all he said to you, or you said to
him? Come now tell me, Uncle Jeff," Amy's
anxiety increasing every minute.
" Yes, that was all he said, and then I rose up
and come away home."
" Are you sure now this was all Mr. Harley
said to you?"
" Yes I teU 'ee 'twas," replied old Jeff, with
curter emphasis, and evidently to some extent
uneasy, as the tobacco had soothed his brain,
and he was pretty much himself again, and
evidently had a dim idea Amy would not approve
of his having taken the tobacco from the
exciseman. "0! Uncle Jeff, Uncle Jeff," said Amy,
walking slowly out into the centre of the kitchen,
and pressing both hands upon her bursting
temples, " why did you not tell us he had given
you the tobacco ? Oh dear, dear."
" I be going to bed, Amy, I be," repUed the
old man, hastily knocking the ashes out of his

54

DOOMED.

pipe and dragging himself out of his chair, for
he evidently knew something wrong had been
done, that he had no business to have received
the tobacco, and to have hidden it away, and
now it had been betrayed out of him by the glass
of Hollands, and he could not make it out at all,
only it was wrong, and so he clambered up the
cottage staircase and got into bed.
Chapter XIII.
Amy scarcely heeded her uncle's departure,
and when she recovered herself a little and
found he was gone, it became a source of relief
to her.
For a few moments she seemed almost
paralyzed with apprehension, as her thoughts
rapidly ran to the conclusion that her uncle's
admission to the exciseman that he should have
plenty of tobacco the next day, would be a sure
clue to him that something would be probably
attempted to-night, and that he and his brother
officers would be keeping a vigilant look-out
along the coast, and the chanees were almost
certain that the party would be caught, and
what the consequences would be no one could
predict. Had her uncle told her all the conversation,
it was impossible to say, but certainly he had
admitted enough to arouse the man's suspicions,
and doubtless everything would be discovered.
To think, too, though her uncle liked tobacco
so well, he forbore to use any he had thus
obtained, and so he must certainly have thought
it was wrong, and hid it away up in the hole,
and no one would have known anything about it
but for the glass of Hollands, and Amy devoutly
wished there were no such things as spirits and
tobacco, for then there would be no smuggling.
But what was to be done now she had become
the possessor of this, she feared, dreadful secret ?
At first she thought she would put on her
things and . try to find her way along the cUffs
and see if she could meet with them, but the
night was very dark, so dark, that on looking out
of the. cottage door she could scarcely discern
the houses on the other side of the street, and
they had now been gone a full hour and half.
What could she do, and that soul-shattering
word " Nothing," crept to her lips, so she closed
the door, and going over to the little corner, sat
down, and found the truest and best relief for
her overburdened heart in an unrestrained burst
of tears.
So she remained some few minutes, then
drying her eyes with calm but resolute courage,
she arose, drew the curtains carefully over the
casement that no one should see she was up,
re-trimmed the little fire, and again sat down
before it. " This night will decide much," she
said, " God help me through it, and preserve

those who are away. If no evil happens, much
as I love Tom, he shall either give up this
perilous work or me. But of the issue of that
condition I fear not, for if we cannot Uve here
without it, we will go to America. But if evil
does happen, and I so fear it will, why then I
must try— try — try to be brave — and— bear it
all," and another rush of tears choked all
further utterance. Chapter XIV.
The two companions walked rapidly but
quietly down the street.
Beer was at that hour as if such a place were
not. So silent, so quiet, there was no vestige of
Uf e manifest down the long low-thatched rows of
cottage tenements that formed its antient
picturesque street, except here and there at wide
spread intervals the scarcely recognisable glim
mer of a light behind one of the small upstair
casements that betokened the vigil of sickness.
No sound disturbed the ear beside the whispery
gush of the beautiful stream that flows en-
channeled through the main thoroughfare ; aU
was intensely dark and quiet.
Arrived at the end of the street, where the
lane strikes off leading over the cliffs to
Branscombe, the men halted a second or two,
and instantly a figure emerged from the gloom
and joined them, and the three walked quietly
up the lane a short distance, and then getting
over a hedge, made a detour over the fields.
The newly-added companion was Dick Abbott,
but beyond a simple recognition in a subdued
tone, not a word was uttered until they were
fairly in the centre of the first field from the lane.
" Here, Jack," said Dick, " take hold of some
of this gear and help carry," and with that he
threw from his shoulder a somewhat heavy
bundle, which on its descent to the ground,
resolved itself into sundry pieces of rope of
different lengths and one or two long lines, aU
carefully wound up and packed together.
"Who's got the lantern and tinder box?"
said Dick.
"Here are both," said Jack Sydenham, " we
took care for that, and plenty of candle, if we
should happen to want it."
The gear having been divided for easier
carriage, the men proceeded on their way.
"WeU, Dick," said Tom Starre half-jocosely,
" in better heart now? The night is as dark as
I ever knew, and the sea quiet as a bit of glass.
Lucky you see in every way ! "
" My heart is right enough, Tom," said Dick,
" and that you know, and I am prepared for my
part like a man, but if I was to say that I felt
as free as I have afore now, I should tell a Ue,
for I don't, but I shaU say nothing more about
that, only I don't know why I do."

DOOMED.

55

"Best way, by half," said Jack Sydenham,
" Say no more about it. I don't know, as I said
before, that we ever had things better planned.
Tom Abbott knows what he's about I'm sure, all
is quiet, and for aught I know, dark as the grave
here, and all of us true to each other, I believe,
so if it should happen wrong to-night, 'tis no
fault of ours. Is old Peter Cawley and the
horses in place ? ' '
"Oh yes," answered Dick, "they are over
here in the Common right enough. I saw old
Peter last thing, and he said everything should
be in place, and that's enough, I know, if he
says so. But we shall see in a few minutes ! "
The men continued their walk, and soon
reached the Common — a large open space stretch
ing back from Beer headland, then of much
larger extent than now, and spotted over at
intervals with large patches of tall furze and
underwood, forming capital cover, and sufficient
ly high even in the daytime to hide a horse from
observation. After looking about in the gloom as weU as
they could for a short time, on turning the
corner of a large clump on the further side, they
found the allies they were in search of.
Quietly browsing on the short grass between
the furze, were four short strong gaunt horses,
such as were used in hauling lime from the
adjacent kilns, and freestone from the noted
quarry whose underground ramifications almost
stretched into the earth beneath their feet.
Their halters were tied round their necks, and
on their backs were rough pads with large
wooden crooks dependent on each side, rigged
up with cross pieces, forming capacious panniers,
the old pack-horse gear, in constant ordinary
use in the neighbourhood, capable of carrying
a large quantity of stuff, and especially suitable
for the transport of contraband commodity.
" Here you be in your place, Farmer Peter,"
said Jack Sydenham, going over to a figure
engaged in examining one of the " crooks " of
the horses.
The person addressed by Jack was a man
of full average height, about sixty-four years of
age, thin, sinewy, and slightly stooping, but evi
dently still very hale and strong, and no stranger
to hard work. Hair silvery grey and cut close, a
bright ruddy face, well crowfooted with age
lines, two clear grey eyes, glancing quickly
below a labour-soiled slouch hat, constituted his
appearance and head gear. Beneath, a capacious
low-reaching smock frock, once grey, buckled in
with a rusty strap around the waist, a pair of
equally rusty leather gaiters encasing his legs
below, and all well-grimed and spotted with
white soil that betokened the nature of his daily
occupation, constituted his garb.

Chapter XV.
Farmer Peter Cawley, as he was usually
termed, was a haulier or tranter, and got his
living chiefly by conveying stone from the Quarry,
which just at that time was in considerable
request, as several of the larger mansions in the
country were being rebuilt about this era.
He also farmed a few acres of land, and " from
his youth upward " was noted as one of the
longest-headed.wariest smugglers in the place, for
the inland transport of which, as on the present
occasion, he usually found the means of loco
motion when any run was contemplated.
His three horses, Uke himself, were tough and
sinewy, and of no known age — and he used
to wager that he would puU more with them,
than with four of the best farmer's horses of the
parish. AU together, they were a knowing lot,
old Peter and his horses, well accustomed to
each other, and they understood their work, his
ways and voice, as well as he did himself, while
to be tired or out of a job was an event
altogether unknown.
The mysterious and mazy intricacies of the
Quarry, especially all the newer portion and a
large proportion of the older part, was to old
Peter and his horses an open book — as they
passed half their existence in it at their daily
work, and scores and hundreds of tubs and
bales he had secreted there tiU opportunity
offered for safe transit, and no stranger in the
shape of Exciseman or Custom House official
would trust himself within its gloomy precincts
on errand of capture, for fear he might never see
the daylight again.
Therefore old Peter was almost part and
parcel of every venture that was attempted, and
got his share of the spoil accordingly.
If all things were right, and the contraband
could be safely transported inland at once, so be
it, old Peter knew every lane, halter-path, and
safe resting-place for many miles, but if alarmed
and safety was questionable, the Quarry afforded
sure means of refuge until opportunity offered.
On occasions of this sort, if required, a trusty
"friend" had always an extra horse at his
disposal, and the additional beast was duly
requisitioned to-night.
" Here I be in my place, Jack Sydenham, do ye
say, aye, aye, safe enough for that," said old
Peter, " and for many a year ago here, my boy,
before you saw the dayUght," and old Peter
continued his work about the crooks without
even turning his head.
" All right and taut, Peter? " said Jack, turn
ing over the ropes and gear.
"WeU, I was just seeing, or rather feeling,
that all was snug and proper before we start,"
answered Peter.

56

DOOMED.

" If aU goes right, they'U be loaded rather
heavy to-night, Peter," said Tom.
"They'll carry a pretty good load apiece,"
said Peter, " I wish I'd got the worth of all the
stuff they've carried afore now. Now then, lads,
most ready ? I've finished, and the horses be aU
in place. Who's got the lantern ? Better strike
a light at once and cover up ! "
" I'll manage that," said Dick Abbott, and a
candle was cautiously lit among some tali furze,
transferred to the lantern, and carefully covered
up. "Now, then," said Jack, "who's got the
signals ? "
These were small bundles of dry underwood
tied up to light, if occasion should require,
from some well-protected crevice of the cliff,
and used only in thick weather as a signal where
to land, if the candle in the lanthorn was
insufficient. " Hope we shall not want them to-night," said
Dick Abbott, " I never believe in them and ought
always to be done without. Sent many a fellow
across the sea ! "
" I be quite of your mind, Dick," said old
Peter, " but as I thought we would not forget
anything, and the night so dark, I bean't a bit
sure, but that we shall want them perhaps.
Worse luck," continued the old man, " 'tis going
to rain or I'm much mistaken."
"I don't like them, either," said Tom, who
was carrying the little bundles, " and I've a good
mind to leave them here, and then we can't use
them." "Nonsense," said Jack, "we're not such
babies as that. Bring on all that we're likely to
want, and now wish for good luck."
With the well- accustomed knowledge of men
who knew every inch of the way, the four
stepped noiselessly over the turf to a spot where
a path led down over the cliffs, on the westward
side of Beer Head — the horses being left quietly
browsing among the furze.
Chapter XVI.
As the men reached the verge of the cliff
where the path descended, they halted an instant
to decide who should remain above and who
descend below, where another companion in the
venture would probably be found waiting, when
it was ultimately decided that Tom Starre and
old Peter should go down under to the place of
rendezvous, and having found the companion
expected there, Tom should return to the top of
the cliff, until the signal from the sea showed
the boat at hand, and then aU descend together.
The night had got very dark, and a drizzUng
rain swept past the cliffs at intervals, making it
stiU gloomier and difficult for the coming
operations, and signalling the boat to the
required point.

The two men, however, descended with perfect
safety, and with as much ease as if walking
down the main street of Beer, and having found
the companion they expected, Tom Starre
threaded his way up the cliff again and rejoined
his companions.
The coast on the west of Beer Head consists
of high chalk cliffs, and below at great distance
a second plateau of broken cliffs and boulders,
the debris evidently of a former slip from the
mainland, very wild and romantic by day, and
very difficult of transit by night, except to the
practised steps of the smuggler, for whose
operations it was singularly adapted, and it was
at a carefully-chosen spot here that the landing
was to take place.
The three watchers were stationed on the
higher cliffs, and were sat down in a nook a
short distance from the path near the top.
" 'Tis almost too dark to-night to be comfort
able," said Tom, " and 'tis thicker below I
really believe than up here. Old Peter says 'twill
be next to impossible for Tom Abbott to see the
lantern, but he advises not to light up if it can
any way be avoided, but is afraid we shall be
obliged to, after all. Can't see the lantern
down below ten yards away, hardly ! "
" 'Tis dark, sure enough," answered Jack
Sydenham, "and weU acquainted as I am with
every inch here, 'tis troublesome getting about,
but I would not care for that, if I was not
afraid Tom will never see his way ashore, nor
we show him without lighting up, and that's
very dangerous. But there's one thing about it,
nobody wiU suppose anything's going on to-night.
The Ught's all right," said Jack, cautiously un
covering the lantern, " I wish we could see Tom's
signal. We must keep a sharp look out, for the
time's up, I know."
" Had we not better provide for Ughting up ? "
said Tom Starre, " supposing he can't see the
lantern. I think so."
" WeU, I suppose 'tis the best way," said Dick
Abbott, " but I can't bear the thought of it, 'tis
so dangerous."
"Right enough that," said Jack, "hope
'twon't be wanted. Then we must go further
over round the corner for that."
Two of the men got up from where they were
sitting, and carefuUy crept over the face of the
cliff near to a smaU overhanging ledge, beneath
which they would light the fire if needed. This
would show well out at sea, but the projecting
portion of cUff would considerably hide any
reflection landward.
It would be quite possible in the daytime with
care and address to reach the spot safely, but at
night it was very hazardous, although it was
only a few feet from the crest of the cliff. So
one of the men went up above and with a line
succoured -his companion as he carefully felt his
way over.

DOOMED.

57

There may be said to have been two approaches
to this spot — one from either side — but each
equally dangerous, and the opposite one even
more difficult than that they were approaching
it by.
" Hold on a bit," said Jack Sydenham, " now
let's wait and try if we can see anything. I've
got everything ready to light up in a minute.
Lie down, Tom, and keep quiet."
The men strained then- eyes seaward, the
thick misty rain every now and then rolling in a
volume past them and then partially clearing.
In the luU between one of these sweeps,
the faintest possible momentary twinkle came
through the fog, a few hundred yards out at sea
and somewhat to the westward of where they
were stationed.
" There he is ! " said Tom, who was laid along
above, his head out over the cliff, and speaking
through his hands in a loud whisper.
Jack's quick eye had also seen the faint gleam,
and quick as thought answered with his light in
the lantern, but the wished-for response did not
come, and again a dense cloud of drizzle hid
everything for some seconds.
" There again," said Tom, " 'tis further west."
" He ought to see us this time," said Jack,
" 'tis clear now, comparatively, but I don't think
he can. This is vexing, sure enough ! "
But no answer was returned from the boat,
and the little twinkle from the sea continued at
intervals to show itseh, and evidently did not
recognise any reply on land.
Chapter XVII.
" He doesn't see us for certain," said Jack,
" and 'twon't do to let him keep on shewing like
that. There's no remedy but to light up. Hold
on up over ! " and Jack fastened the Une round
his waist, and a few feet further cautious creep
ing landed him under the ledge.
Taking the little bundle of fuel and wisp
of straw from under his arm, he tucked it
closely back against the cliff, and giving the
line a twitch as a signal of return, he Ughted
the Uttle pile, and scrambling back along the
path as quickly as possible, where all three
crouched down in their original place of look
out. The fire did not catch up very quickly at first,
giving the men ample time to retreat.
" Lucky ! " said Jack, " keep a look-out !
Now 'tis burning ! "
The little fire shone brightly out from the
nook, almost Uke a gem in the darkness, and
simultaneously two tiny flashes in succession
showed that the signal had been seen by the
boat. " There's Tom," said Jack. " AU right ! He
sees it, safe enough. Now we must get below."

"Hold on," said Dick Abbott, "a minute or
two until tbe fire is out. 'Tis burning on longer
than I wish, see how 'tis shining against the
rain? This is very dangerous! Hope there's
nobody about. They would be sure to see,
couldn't help it ! "
" Don't begin again, Dick," said Tom in a
whisper, which showed he was fully alive to the
danger. " Look there ! " said Jack hurriedly, whUe at
the same moment all three simultaneously rose
on their feet and moved as quickly as they could
toward the place where the fire was graduaUy
dying down.
"Keep back, man! Keep back!" shouted
Jack Sydenham, " you can't come round ! Keep
baek ! You'll be kUled ! "
The object that had so suddenly startled them
was the figure of a man perfectly discernible in
the dying glow of the fire, trying to approach it
from the opposite side, and it was instantly
recognised as Mr. Harley. The men knew that
without succour from above, he would be almost
sure to go out over before he could reach it, and
so forgetting everything at the sight of their
fellow-creature in such fearful peril, —
" Hold on," again said Jack, " stay where you
are. We'll help you back, hold on for God's

By this time the men had got over nearly
opposite Mr. Harley as far as they could get with
safety, but he, still believing he could reach the
fire, paused a moment as he heard the voice,
raised and turned his head toward the direction of
the sound,and simultaneously planted his walking
stick in advance, as if feeling and succouring
himself on his perilous way, then made a sort
of effort to reach the little nook, and, as the
men expected, lost his footing, and throwing up
his arms, disappeared in the gloom, the little
fire flashing momentarily up as he feU, and then
died instantly completely out,
" On each footstep hangs a life, —
And the destroying angel hovers o'er,
Even as the eagle overlooks his prey,
And for a moment poised in middle air,
Suspends the motion of his mighty wings, —
Then swoops unerring."
" So my dream is true," said Dick Abbott,
huskily, and catching Jack tightly on the
shoulder after a moment's pause, during which
not a word was uttered, for the terrible sight the
men had just witnessed had stricken them
dumb. " This is a bad business," said Jack, quietly,
" very bad. He's dead as a herring. 'Tis thirty
fathom clear down,"
"That's not the worst of it," said Tom, "it
wiU sure to be said we threw him over."
"Likely enough," said Jack, "but I don't
mind that — our consciences are clear enough

58

DOOMED.

on that score. We tried to save him right
enough, but he would not hearken to us, and now
he's past listening to any one. Poor fellow,
'twill break his wife's heart, too, no doubt.
Well, it can't be helped now, so let's go down
under and get the goods ashore as soon as
possible. Come on, Dick, it's a bad job, but we
must put on the man and make the best of it,"
and all three hurried down over the cliff as fast
as the darkness would let them.
Chapter XVIII.
"Here's Tom Abbott and the Saucy Jenny,
right enough," said old Peter Cawley, cheerfully,
to his comrades just descended from the cliff,
"and a brave lot of stuff to be sure. Hold on
the line with us a bit."
Old Peter had got hold of a line from the boat,
and was, with his companions, slowly getting
the prow of the boat up on the shingle, as the
waves came and went.
The other men unconsciously fell into rank
along the rope with the rest, but Tom Sydenham,
who was standing next Peter, put his face close
to the old man's ear and said —
"It's a bad job, Peter — Harley's fallen out
over the cliffs and is dead to a certainty."
" What d'ye mean? " said Peter, dropping the
rope, starting round as if electrified, and taking
off his hat. " Hold hard, lads, wljere is he ? "
The quick anxious tones of Peter soon brought
the men together, and Tom quietly and shortly
related the whole circumstances of the accident.
"Bad job, sure enough," said Peter, " I'm not
a bit surprised he saw the signal, always
dangerous. Oh, dear, dear, where is the man ?
Come on, lads ! A couple of ye remain here.
Bring on some brandy. He may not be dead."
" No fear of that," said Tom. " Thirty
fathoms, if 'tis an inch. He's dead, safe enough,
I'll warrant, poor fellow."
With quick, moody steps the men made across
the beach, and over a portion of the under-cliff,
to the situation under the main cliff, from which
he had fallen.
"Here, Tom, let's have your lantern," said
Peter. " I wish I could hope he may be able to
see us. Look well about."
The men separated themselves, and in the
space perhaps of a minute's duration were
speedily summoned together by the quick,
nervous call of Dick Abbott, to whom, of all the
others, it was destined to find the unfortunate
man. " Hi ! Peter ! Tom ! here he is. Come on
quick ! "
Another few seconds' duration, and the whole
group were bending over the inanimate form of
Mr. Harley.
Slightly drawn together, almost as if asleep,

limbs in no wise unnaturally contorted, the face
partially driven into the shingle, and covered by
one arm. It was scarcely the work of an
instant before it was lifted, and being laid on its
back, old Peter knelt down and closely scrutinised
the countenance for a few seconds, Tom
Sydenham opening the door of the lantern and
holding it as close as possible.
"All over," said Peter, measuredly shaking his
head, rising upright on his knees, while the
whole group crowded down and eagerly scanned
the palhd countenance by the dim lantern light.
No disfigurement was discernible, the eyes
were closed as in sleep, the grey curls clustered
over the temples, and but for a tiny stream of
blood that trickled from the lips and formed a
striking contrast to the blanched features, no
one would have supposed he had died under such
violent circumstances. Shock had killed him
instantaneously. No sermon preaches to the heart of man Uke
the sight of a dead face. Perils, escapes,
chances, opportunities, occasionally startle us,
and fasten themselves vividly on the soul for a
time, yet soon soften under the veU of days ; but
the mute unappealable sentence of despair that
reads itself to the throbbing heart, as it views
the indescribable pallor of the passionless,
powerless, features, is of itself the unapproach
able lesson of lessons it cannot forget. No
station or circumstances is exempt from its
influence, and every other consideration vanishes
at its approach. " That one deed, the last,
And greatest to all mortals, — crowning act
Of all that was, — or is, — or is to be, —
The only thing common to all mankind,
To which we tend, for which we're born, and thread
The labyrinth of mystery called life."
" What's best to be done now, Peter ? " said
Tom Starre, as the whole group simultaneously
rose to their feet.
" Well, lads, we can't bring the poor man to
life again," repUed Peter, " so the only thing to
be done now, is to get the stuff out, and made
snug, and then get the poor fellow back to Beer
somehow." It had been intended to have carried the stuff
clear away inland, but now it was considered
advisable to lodge it, until the unfortunate
occurrence had blown over a little.
" We must get it ah into the Quarry as quick
as we can," said Peter. " There will be plenty,
I dare say, wanting to believe we kiUed the poor
man, and we shall have some trouble, but we
have only got to tell the truth. I don't fear
much about it ; but anyhow we must get the
stuff put away all secure. That's the first care."
With great celerity, to which the unfortunate
occurrence lent wings, the boat was speedily
unladen, and dismissed again to the ocean to

^>\J\Ji.1XHHJ,

come to the little beach at Beer the next
morning with the accustomed venture of fish.
The contraband commodity was then as quickly
as possible conveyed to the top of the cliff, the
horses fetched, and the whole having been
deposited within the capacious "crooks" of
their panniers, the cavalcade set off to the
Quarry. Chapter XIX.
As thoroughly as rabbits know the recesses of
their native warren, the horses threaded their
way along the winding intricacies of the Quarry,
old Peter at their heels with the lantern, and the
rest closely following.
After going a considerable distance under
ground, old Peter called a halt, when a detour
was made out of the main passages, and the
stuff unladen, being again transported to a
further place of security on the shoulders of the
men, and carefully stowed away in one of the
mazes of the ramifications known as the Old
Quarry. They then returned to the horses, where a
council of war was held respecting future move
ments. "The first thing," said Jack Sydenham, "is
to send home the horses, and then one of two
courses is open to us — either to let the poor
man remain where he is, and let others find out
the secret of his death, or fetch him back to
Beer ourselves and tell the whole truth about it,
barring, of course, anything about the stuff we
have now stowed away. What do ye say, lads ?
I prefer the second plan best. I'll never run
away from a bad job ! "
" In every respect the best way," replied Tom
Starre, " what say you, Peter ? "
" The only thing we can do," said Peter, " I
have had many a turn up at this trade, but
nothing so bad as what has happened to-night,
so we must put a brave face on it. The Custom
House folks will say we helped him out over the
eUff, no doubt, but nobody else will believe it, I
hope." "If they do we can't help it," said Tom
Starre, " I would give all I'm worth to bring the
poor man back to life again. What puzzles me
is, what made him think we were about any
thing to-night."
"D'ye think he suspected anything because
we left the cliff so quickly to-night, when he saw
us ? " replied Jack, " for I'm sure he did see us."
" Cannot tell," said Tom.
"That was my fault," said Tom Abbott, "if
'twas anybody's. But I do not think that had
anything to do with it. 'Tis very strange, but
one thing's certain, my dream has come true
enough." "Now lads, we must be off," said Peter,

" 'twill be dayUght before we get the poor man
back to Beer. We can unhang a door from the
linhay up in the lane to carry him on, and this
old sail will do to throw over him," and away
the men went back to the fatal spot.
The rain had cleared away and the stars were
shining brightly, as the men stood round the,
inanimate form stretched on the shingle. No
sound broke the silence of the solitude, except
the plash of the waves, and there was just
sufficient light to clearly distinguish the white
features of the dead.
"Let us see if we can find the poor fellow's
hat and stick," said Jack, " they cannot be far
off." The men dispersed themselves a minute, and
after a brief search both were found, then
winding the sail round the body carefully, they
raised it from the shingle and carried it, not
without some difficulty, up the path to the
summit of the cliff, then placing it on the
temporary bier, raised it on their shoulders, and
set off on their mournful march toward Beer.
Chapter XX.
Amy Sydenham had a wearisome and anxious
vigil, as she watched and waited through the
long hours of that eventful night, and, as the
morning hours advanced, her fears intensified. '
From time to time she opened the door and
listened attentively for a footfall, but no sound
broke the silence of the long quaint street,
except the soft busy rush of the riU by the
pavement. At length, however, the old clock struck five,
and it was perhaps some score of minutes after
when a kind of slow measured tread as of men
burthened, but stepping together, echoed up the
street, and as their measured pace passed
opposite Amy's door, she saw in the indistinct
light four men bearing evidently some heavy
burthen on then shoulders, and she felt positive
one of the men was her brother John. Two
other men were apparently walking by their side,
one of which she knew almost certainly from
his light-coloured apparel was old Peter Cawley.
Great curiosity, mingled with intense mis
giving, nearly choked her, as she hastUy pulled
her shawl over her head, and stealthily followed
the burthened men up the street.
What could they be carrying, thought Amy.
Surely nothing contraband in the main street
thus, nor fishing gear. What could it be ? and
a thought seemed to flash across her mind that
it was some human being perhaps, desperately
hurt, but wMle these dreadful anxieties were
passing, the men had reached the door of the
Dolphin hostelry, where they halted, and old
Peter knocked loudly at the front door.
SpeedUy a window was opened, and a conver-

60

DOOMED.

sation in a low tone was carried on for a minute,
the import of which she could not catch. The
window was then hastily shut, and presently
lights began to flash in the old casements and
the door hurriedly opened, while the half-dressed
figure of the landlord, with candle held over his
head, stood in the opening.
Then the men carefully lowered their burthen,
and raising the sail it was covered with for an
instant, Amy distinctly saw beneath it the
semblance of a human being, and she recognised
the bearers of the ghastly freight.
A sudden faintness smote her for the moment,
as the men lifted their burthen through the
doorway, and as she recovered herseU, the door
was closed, a dull light flickered in the large
parlour window of the inn, and Amy fled,
noiseless as a zephyr, back to her cottage, and
throwing herseU down in a chair, rocked herself
to and fro in intense agony of trouble. But
scarcely a minute had elapsed before quick
footsteps approached, the latch lifted quickly,
and Jack and Tom stood before her.
" Don't be frightened, Amy. A bad job — no
fault of ours ! Mr. Harley is dead ! Keep quiet,
there's a good girl, we'll tell you all about it,"
said Jack, and Tom and himself seated them
selves down opposite her.
" I cannot hear it," said Amy quietly and
almost speechless with terror.
Briefly and succinctly they related the circum
stances of their unhappy adventure.
" I know full well," said Amy, " you could not
do anything wrong to the poor man, who was
only doing his duty, but it will be sure to be said
you did. Oh, how I have prayed that you might
give up this dreadful occupation, — and now I
don't know what to think."
"Listen to me, Amy," said Tom Starre, "give
us a favourable deliverance — which must be the
case — from this dreadful business, and I at least
will answer for myself it shall be the last
venture I will ever make or be mixed up in ! "
"And so say I," said Jack, "the worth of
worlds would not compensate for the fearful
sight of that man disappearing in the gloom
of that frightful fall. I cannot shut my eyes
but he is before me, and will be to my dying
hour, I fear. What is the worth of the paltry
acquisition of a few pounds, to the memory of
such a sight as that ! But it is too late to think
of that now. We must get out and tell the
truth, for all Beer is astir."
Ill news travels apace, and the quick patter of
feet, passing and re-passing outside, showed
what intense interest had been awakened through
the street.
The two men walked leisurely toward the
Dolphin, where they were speedily surrounded
by a large number of their neighbours busily
asking particulars of the accident.

Chapter XXI.
Exactly as the clock in the little church turret
struck eight, Mr. Zechariah Good, master
mariner and parish constable of Beer for the
time being, set off up the lane toward Bovey
House, the residence of the 'squire of the
parish — Mr. Walrond — to ask advice and get
instructions as to the melancholy occurrence,
and accompanying him was another kind-
hearted individual, who was to proceed to
Branscombe to request the vicar to break the
dreadful intelUgence to the anxiously- waiting and
soon-to-be-informed widow, well-nigh broken
hearted. Bovey House at that time had much the same
appearance as at present, the old time-honoured
residence of one of the smaller 'squirearchy of
the county, whose chief architectural features
received their impress during the reigns of the
earlier Stuarts. There was perhaps a trace
more of stir and life in its surroundings, but the
same venerable antiquity was stamped over its
whole. The then resident was Mr. William Walrond,
the last male representative of that branch of
the antient race of the name, and was then in
the prime of manhood.
As the constable walked down the short
avenued approach, the family chariot drawn by
a pair of good horses came round from the rear
of the house and stopped before the main
entrance, so the constable quickened his steps,
as the 'squire was evidently going abroad, and
catching sight of a servant, announced the
urgency of his desire to see Mr. Walrond.
The space of a minute or two passed, and the
constable was ushered into the dining room
where Mr. Walrond en grande tenue was standing
to receive him.
A coat of dark plum-coloured velvet, the
coUar, buttonholes, capacious cuffs, skirts, and
pockets richly embroidered with gold, breeches
of the same material, pearl grey silk stockings,
and high-tongued shoes with large diamond
buckles. Rich lace ruffles garnished his wrists,
and a neckerchief of the same costly material
with long dependent ends, completed his
costume. Upon his head he wore a long brown curled
peruke that descended to his shoulders, and on
the table beside him was placed his laced
triangular-peaked hat and gold-headed cane.
Bowing profoundly and stroking his front
locks with his right hand as he entered the
room, Mr. Zechariah Good narrated briefly aU
the particulars of the sad occurrence, and asked
for orders.
" This is indeed a sad occurrence," said the
'squire. " Poor Harley was a most honourable
and energetic officer. I suppose there is no

DOOMED.

61

suspicion of foul play. I could not believe in
such a thing myself occurring with my tenantry,
however much they are wedded to the contraband
traffic, and the names you mention I think still
further make such supposition impossible. Never
theless, all the circumstances must be carefuUy
inquired into, and the Crown authorities made
acquainted with the matter. But the first person
to be informed is the coroner. I am going to
call on my friend, Mr. Reymundo Putt, of
Gittisham, and we will take steps to let both
him and the authorities at Exeter know as
speedUy as possible."
" Thank your honour," said Zechariah.
" Has any one been over to break the dreadful
intelUgence to his wife ? "
" Yes, your honour, some one is gone to the
parson to get him to break the news to her."
" Very thoughtful, Zechariah. Poor woman,
I fear the shock will be almost too much for
her ! I will get Mrs. Walrond to go over and
see her at once, for she highly esteems her."
" Thank your honour, 'twill be very kind
of your honour toward the poor lady ! " and
Zechariah Good bowed himself out of the room,
and after going round to the kitchen and
narrating his sad story to the domestics, while he
refreshed himself with a horn of the unstinted
home-brewed, set off again to his home at Beer.
Chapter XXII.
" Well, Amy," said Jack Sydenham, seating
himself down in the cottage kitchen, " I have
just parted with Zachary Good, gone to Bovey
to see the 'squire and get orders, I suppose, to
fetch the Crowner."
"Your breakfast is ready," said Amy, "and
you must be well in want of it, I know."
" Well, Uncle Jeff," said Jack to the old man,
who was sitting in his niche as usual, but
looking fixedly into the fire, "I suppose you
have been out and heard all the bad news ? "
" That I have," answered Jeff, " and I be
terribly frightened, drat if I be'ent."
"I dare say you are," replied Jack, "but we
could not help it, and sorry enough, and fright
ened enough we are, I assure you. But amongst
it all, old man, I did not forget you ! Here,
Uncle Jeff, is something to comfort you ! " and
Jack, thrusting his hand into his side pocket,
puUed out a little roll of the fragrant weed, and
going over offered it to his uncle, telUng him
when that was done he should have plenty more.
The old man turned haU-round and with a
furtive wistful glance, looked first at the tobacco,
then at Jack, then into the fire and shook his
head. " I be terribly frightened, Jack," said the old
man, "drat if be'ent, and I can't smoke Jack,
drat if I can ! "

" Nonsense, Uncle," said Jack soothingly,
"have your pipe as usual, aU will be right
enough again," and Jack placed the tobacco in
the old man's lap.
Old Jeff again looked at Jack mournfully and
irresolutely, and taking up the tobacco mechani
cally, thrust it into his pocket.
" Can't smoke now, Jack, drat if I can," and
the old man with the same shuffled himself
out of his chair and hobbled out into the street.
" Who would have thought, Amy," said Jack,
" that Uncle Jeff would have taken this bad job
to heart Uke this. Never knew anything interfere
with his pipe before. I daresay they have been
filling up the poor old man's head with all sorts
of dreadful stories. Just what we may expect,
but very cruel," and Jack gazed at Amy fixedly
as if lost in thought.
If Tom could have looked further and seen
the secret that filled his sister's heart almost to
bursting, he would have divined the meaning of
her quivering lip, and the faint colour that came
and went almost instantly over her pale features,
leaving the bitter dew of anxiety thick upon her
temples. But that secret was a sealed book to Jack, and
so he rose to his feet and was preparing to go
out into the street, when he was bade seat
himself again for a time by his sister, who told
him she had something of importance to tell
him. "Jack," said Amy quietly, "I know there is
no one on this earth you love better than me,
and I know whatever you promise me you will
f aithfuUy perform. Is that not so, my brother ? "
" Right, Amy, my maid," said Jack, " true as
steel, you know, and I'U promise. But what
can it be."
" Much that wiU explain to you the secret of
the cause of last night's dreadful accident, but
which I was not in possession of until after you
left, when I would have given worlds to have
followed and found you, but could not. The
promise that I require is that you will never
divulge it, or allude to it to any one, until I give
you leave, nor harbour a trace of resentment or
anger toward any one, from what you hear ! "
Jack gave his faithful promise, and Amy
carefully narrated aU the circumstances of her
conversation with Uncle Jeff the previous night,
his present of tobacco from the- unfortunate
Mr. Harley, and his admission to him that he
should have plenty on the morrow.
"All is clear enough to me now," said Jack
quietly, " of course he would well calculate when
and where the run would take place. Oh, no,
nothing must be said about this ! Poor old man,
no wonder he cannot smoke his pipe, but it was
not his fault. Mr. Harley asked a question and
had his answer, and his blood must be at his
own door. ' Lead us not into temptation,' and

62

DOOMED.

so ' we shall be delivered from evil,' — is not
this the summing up of the whole matter,
Amy ? "
" It is, Jack, " replied his sister, " and let me
carry its meaning further by asking you to give
me another promise based on the same prayer."
" That I will cheerfully do," said Jack,
" because I know its meaning, and I have made
it to myself already, and I beUeve also to you.
This must be our last venture — is not that it ? "
" It is," said Amy.
" And I promise it," said Jack, " but what
about Tom ? "
"I do not fear for him," said Amy, a deep
flush passing over her countenance, "nor for
anything almost, now I have your promise.
When this deep cloud has passed away I trust
something much better and brighter will be in
store for us."
" So say I, Amy dear," replied Jack, as he
closed the street door.
Chapter XXIII.
It was an eventful day for Beer, and a most
anxious spirit was abroad among the dwellers
therein on the morning (two days after the
accident) appointed for the enquiry as to the
death of Mr. Harley.
There was but one opinion really prevalent in
the little place as to the cause of his death, that
of its being pure accident. Still the time and the
circumstances — a dark night and a smuggling
venture — gave a handle of great advantage to
those who were disposed, if possible, to cast
a shade of unfavourable suspicion, over the
mournful event, and doubtless there were — are
there not always? — some to be found desirous
of fastening such suspicion, as every man has
his enemies in particular, and some there are so
depraved who are common enemies, and who
delight in assigning evil motives, if possible, to
all circumstances passing round them.
So, about ten o'clock in the morning, the
Coroner and a shrewd lawyer from Exeter,
retained by the Crown, drove over from Seaton
to the Dolphin at Beer to enquire into the
circumstances of the death.
The majority of the jury had by the coroner's
warrant and direction been summoned -from
Seaton for the sake of impartiaUty, and there
were there, together with Mr. Zechariah Good,
several of the neighbouring Custom House and
Excise officers, and a large crowd of other
people outside the inn door awaiting his arrival.
In a few minutes the coroner and his court
were seated in the large parlour of the little inn.
Beside the coroner, sat the lawyer, a slim-
built man in a dark suit, with keen inteUectual
face and curled grey periwig. At the right
of the coroner and somewhat behind him,

supported on two chairs, lay the unmistakable
white form of a coffin covered with a sheet, and
at the other end of the table, with their backs
against the wall, stood the three witnesses of its
unfortunate occupant's death.
The usual preUminaries were soon disposed
of, the last formal look of recognition cast into
the coffin on the immovable marble face by the
jurors, and all were again seated in that deep
silence, broken only by the scratch of the
coroner's pen, preparatory to caUing the wit
nesses, when a stir took place in the crowd about
the door, and an opening having been made,
Mr. Walrond and his friend and fellow magis
trate, Mr. Drake, the vicar of Seaton and Beer,
entered the room, and chairs having been
provided, sat themselves down at the left of the
coroner. A certain sensation was caused among the
company at the entry of the two gentlemen, and
ominous and unsatisfactory glances exchanged
at the appearance of Mr. Drake, who had any
thing but a favourable reputation among adven
turers in the contraband traffic, as being a
severe legal administrator in any cases connected
therewith brought before him, and who himself
was strangely enough some few years after found
dead on BoshiU Hill, fallen from his horse
"through natural causes" assigned as his death,
though rumour hinted a more vengeful agency
might have been possible.
One by one the three witnesses as to Mr.
Harley's death were ealled, and each gave the
same simple history of it.
Each in his turn was shrewdly and fiercely
cross-examined by the lawyer, and the inference
was pointedly and persistently kept before the
jury, that if these men were not the actual
agents of his death, they were indirectly the
causers of it, for had they not been engaged in
their unlawful undertaking and lit the fire, Mr.
Harley would not have come to his death in
endeavouring to put it out, which was part of
his duty. Chapter XXIV.
" You say," said the lawyer, in cross-examining
Jack Sydenham, "he fell from the cliff while
endeavouring to extinguish the fire ? Now give
me a reason why he should fall from the chff in
extinguishing it, any more than you in lighting
it, and he had also the advantage of the Ught
of the fire to guide him which you had not ? "
" He tried to approach the fire," answered
Jack, "on the other side from us, a far more
dangerous path, in fact impassable, and so we
felt the moment we saw him, and shouted for
him to keep back, or he would be sure to go out
over. But he only halted a second or so, and
then tried again to proceed, slipped, and went
down."

DOOMED.

63

"But you managed to get over there safely
enough and carried the materials for the fire
with you, and in the dark, too. How were you
so fortunate and he so unlucky, for I understand
Mr. Harley knew every inch of the cliffs as well
as any man of you, and was constantly in the
habit of patrolling them, and was always con
sidered a very safe, sensible man?" continued
the lawyer.
" The path I went over by is a much safer
one, as may be seen," said Jack, " but even that
is so dangerous that I did not venture over
without a line lashed round me and held on by
a mate above."
" What made Mr. Harley take the more
dangerous path of the two, as doubtless he knew
of them both ? "
" I cannot say," said Jack, " it appeared to
us that he must have been coming from Brans-
combe, and seeing the reflection of the fire,
thought he could have reached it from the side
he approached it by."
" Very strange, and a very hazardous thing
for a man of Mr. Harley's strong good common
sense to do. You say you had not the least
chance of saving him ? "
" Not the least. The whole thing happened
in less than a minute's space. We called
urgently to him that we would let him down a
rope if he would wait, and that he would be
sure to faU if he attempted to go further."
"He was quite dead when you found him
below." " Quite," said Jack.
" Very unfortunate," said the lawyer, resum
ing his seat, " and had you men not been there
for an unlawful purpose, his life had not been
lost, for which you are morally, if not legaUy
responsible." Again and again as each witness was ex
amined, he also tried to inveigle them into an
admission as to what took place afterwards, but
the men under examination were agreed as to
this, and the simple answer given was that they
immediately went below to see if it were possible
he could be alive, and then they conveyed him
to Beer. This was all he could get out of them.
So the coroner summed up carefuUy, and was
ordering the room to be cleared for the jury
to consider their verdict, when the foreman
announced they were quite agreed that his death
was caused by accident, and that no blame
could be attached to any one.
It had been a most trying ordeal to all
concerned. Jack Sydenham and Tom Starre were calm
and collected, but pale and necessarily anxious
under the trying circumstances. Dick Abbott
was altogether dejected and haggard, and it took
all his companions' time and care to keep him
well propped during the suspense.

Immediately after the enquiry, the remains of
the unfortunate man were conveyed to the
desolate home of his heartbroken widow at
Branscombe, and the next day interred in
a corner of the quiet and picturesque little
churchyard. The viUagers returned to their homes with
reUeved but saddened feeUngs, and three homes
at least were made comparatively happy by the
issue of the day's proceedings.
Chapter XXV.
One of the most anxious observers of the
proceedings at the inquest was old Uncle Jeff.
Unable to get admittance to the room, the
little decrepid old man perched himself as near
the door of the inn as possible, and there
patiently resting on his two sticks, eagerly asked
every one he possibly could the purport of the
proceedings inside. He was very much agitated
during the pending enquiry, but appeared
relieved in some degree when the result was
made known to him.
StiU with that fascination that haunts even
the strongest brains during periods of suspense,
old Jeff hung about the entrance to see the
coroner and officials depart, and to pick up the
last tidings of the enquiry.
Jack Sydenham had once or twice urged the
old man to return home, but he would not
do so, and knowing his uncle's peculiarities,
thought he would get tired at last and find his
way back.
The day was well advanced, it had grown
almost dusk, and Uncle Jeff was stUl near the
inn door and apparently listening attentively to
the conversation of three or four men from
Branscombe standing near him, and who were
evidently waiting in expectation of something
further taking place in connection with the
unfortunate subject of the day's proceedings.
The reason of their stay was soon apparent,
a light four-wheeled vehicle drew up to the inn
door, when the men talking near Uncle Jeff at
once passed inside, and in a very short space
re-appeared, bearing the coffin containing the
remains of the unfortunate man.
This was lifted into the vehicle, and being
carefuUy and reverently covered over, the vehicle
departed, the men following behind.
It is questionable if Uncle Jeff caught the
exact import of the conversation he was endea
vouring to listen to, as it was carried on in a low
subdued tone, and Uncle Jeff, from their being
comparative strangers to him, did not advance
so close to them as he would if it had been his
own acquaintances at Beer.
As the men passed inside, the old man
followed close to the lintel and looked in after
them, flanked by the inevitable group of

64

DOOMED.

children, and when they rather suddenly re
appeared bearing the coffin, old Uncle Jeff was
apparently greatly surprised and shocked, and
so frightened as to be almost incapable of
movement for a few seconds, so much so, and
being rather in the way of the men carrying
their heavy burthen, they begged him to move
out of their way.
This old Uncle Jeff did as soon as he could
recover himself sufficiently, and making his way
through his youthful companions, hobbled away
as fast as he possibly could back to his home.
" Glad you are come home again, Uncle Jeff,"
said Amy, cheerfully, as the old man hurriedly
shuffled across the kitchen, ' ' I am so vexed you
stayed up there so long. Now have something
to eat, for you must want it sadly."
Before the fireplace, seated at the tea-table,
were Tom Starre, Amy, and her brother, and
carefully and earnestly talking over the day's
proceedings, As the old man seated himself in his chair,
Amy carried him over some broiled fish, which
she knew he was very fond of, and a cup of hot
tea. " Now, uncle, make a good tea," spake Amy.
" Can't eat nothing," said the old man with a
sort of shiver, " drat if I can."
" WeU then, uncle, drink the tea, you are cold,
and then you'll be better."
" Can't drink nothing either, Amy, drat if I
can ! I be frightened, Amy, I be, drat if I
be'ent! I be bad, Amy, I be, I be!" and the
old man again shivered violently.
Jack, who had been rather uneasily watching
his uncle's refusal, rose up and went over to him
and endeavoured to soothe the old man, but he
could not induce him either to eat or to drink.
Jack then offered his uncle a glass of HoUands
and water, but this, too, was declined.
"Well, then," said Jack, almost in despair,
"have your pipe, uncle, and then you'U be
better, and teU us how you like the new backey,
for I've now got plenty for you ? "
" I can't smoke either," said the old man
huskUy, " drat if I can."
" Oh, nonsense, uncle, yes you can," said Jack
anxiously, " Here, let me have your pipe, I'll
fill it for you."
Habit, by its influence, becomes second
nature, and exercises its mechanical power
unfettered, even amid the duration of the acutest
mental distress. So, quite unwittingly, the pipe
was produced from its accustomed place, and
Jack, taking it from the feeble grasp of the old
man, carefully fiUed it with tobacco, and Ufting
a lighted stick from the hearth, offered both to
the old man.
" Now then, uncle, have a good whiff or two,
and then you'U soon be better."
Habit again came to the rescue. The old man
raised his hand to take the pipe, but he

had scarcely raised it from his lap, when it
trembled violently, and sunk helplessly back
again. At the same moment, his eyes, which
had been mechanically watching the motions of
his nephew's kindness, were lifted instantly
to Jack's, with the most piteously appealing
expression, and filled with tears, which chased
themselves copiously down the old man's fur
rowed cheeks.
" This is the greatest trial of aU," said Jack
in a whisper, almost as much upset as his uncle.
" There, uncle, never mind ! Let me help
you," and putting the pipe in the old man's
hand and steadying it to his lips, supported him
a minute, while Amy dried his face and steadied
him in his chair.
Old Jeff drew a few whiffs, and the soothing
influence of the fragrant weed seemed to console
and revive him.
"That'll do, Jack," said he, "I think lean
smoke by myself now," and the old man, not
without some difficulty, however, managed com
paratively feebly to continue to smoke his pipe.
After satisfying themselves old Jeff was
recovered somewhat, the group resumed then-
seats, keeping, however, a watch upon the old
man, and resumed the conversation on the events
of the day.
" I can bear everything connected with this
trouble," resumed Jack Sydenham, "but one,
and that one I can't get over."
" What's that ? " said Amy earnestly.
" The insinuation of that rascally Exeter
lawyer, and said before aU one's friends and
neighbours, too."
" Right, Jack," said Tom Starre.
" What did he say? " said Amy.
"He said this," repUed Jack, "that moraUy,
if not legaUy, we were answerable for the poor
man's death. If we had not been there for an
unlawful purpose and lit the fire, he -would not
have been killed in trying to put it out. I
suppose he thought the jury would bring us in
guUty of manslaughter, or murder, or some
thing. There will be plenty here who wiU be
delighted to remember what he said against us,
and to say his logic is right enough, but what I
look at is, it wiU be very difficult and trying to
live on in Beer aU the rest of one's Uf e and have
this every now and then thrown in one's teeth."
" That would be dreadful, Jack," said Amy,
" would it not ? "
"And I, for one," said Tom Starre, "will
never live here to hear it ! "
"Nor I for another," said Jack, firmly.
At this instant the absorbing topic of the
conversation was disturbed by something of a
Hght nature falling on the floor, which had
broken in pieces, and some small portions of
which shot across the polished surface of the
lime-ashed floor.

DOOMED.

65

An instant's glance revealed that it was the
pipe, shivered to fragments, that had fallen out
of Uncle Jeff's hand.
Another showed its owner fallen back in his
chair, with listless hands in his lap, his head on
one side, with face turned toward the chimney.
One more instant and Jack Sydenham was
bending over the little decrepid form and calling
earnestly the name he had lisped in his chUd-
hood, for the first time to ears that heard not.
During the concluding portion of the conver
sation so important in its issues and resolves,
the King of Terrors had silently and unobser-
vedly entered, and passed out again, having for
his companion the spirit of the only hindrance
that stood in the path of its completion.
" The darkest hour is that before the dawn,"
spake Amy through her tears.
*****
The sequel is soon told. Old Uncle Jeff was
laid at rest in Seaton churchyard. As speedily
as could be managed, Jack and Tom, together
with Amy his wife, emigrated to Newfoundland,
where the fine qualities of seamanship possessed
by the two men soon found them active and
profitable employment on that great fishing
station. And it was not until some twelve

months afterward while cruising off the Dogger
Bank on a night nearly as dark as that of Mr.
Harley's death, that Tom Starre first heard from
Jack Sydenham the full relation of the tempt
ation that broke old Uncle Jeff's heart and sent
Mr. Harley to his doom.

In Branscombe churchyard on a decaying
tomb, the inscription, nearly obliterated by age,
is the following : —
"Here lieth the body of Mr. John Harley, Custom
House Officer, of this place. As he was endeavouring
to extinguish some fire made between Beer and Seaton
as a signal to a smuggling boat then off at sea, he fell
by some means or other from the top of tbe cliff to the
bottom, by which he was unfortunately killed.
This unhappy accident happened the 9th of August,
in the year of our Lord 1755. .Etatis sua? 45.
He was a brave and diligent officer, and very inoffen
sive in his life and conversation."
The foregoing record supplies the main in
cidents of the little story ; the fascinating and
almost deathless voice of tradition, linked with
the wing of imagination, has woven together its
homely detail.
" So be it. Tliere no shade can last,
In that deep dawn behind the tomb,
But clear from marge to marge shall bloom
The eternal landscape of the past."

0P- .

THE TJNDERCLIFF— BEER.

e
f

(frvcfa^ft Wtrfttik.

GLIMPSES OF PAST DAYS.

' The fashion of this world passeth away."

The present manners and customs of "ye
Englysshe," to which may be added their
duties, offices, and emoluments, together
with other social functions, in this 19th century
of ours, contrast so strongly, if not preferentially,
with what our forefathers considered consistent
and exemplary in their day and generation of
three centuries last past and downward, that
any Ulustrations of their habits and life, how
ever small and homely, carry with them peculiar,
if not considerable, interest. The sources from
which such details may be drawn are compara
tively small, and are occasionaUy found in old
parochial registers, wills, and accounts, whUe
not a few occur among the multifarious collection
of old papers in the possession of the Colyton
Chamber of Feoffees, where numerous entries
exist, calculated to illustrate the olden social life
of a Uttle country town. From extracts made
from these papers, the Church register, and
other sources, we purpose to give a few iUustra-
tions, which we hope wUl prove interesting.
1538. The Feoffees. — It may be mentioned
that toward the end of the reign of that
" dradde sov'einge lord," King Henry VIIL,
who appeared to exist only to breathe out
threatenings and slaughter by turns to every one
around him, there feU in 1538 one of the
noblest victims to his suspicion and resentment
in the person of his kinsman, Henry Courtenay,
Marquis of Exeter, Lord of the Manor of
Colyton, and then engaged in re-building his
Castle of Colcombe. The occasion of the
murderous deed that sent the iU-fated Marquis
to a bloody death, was the opportunity soon
after of the birth of the Feoffee Corporation of
Colyton, with its beneficent errand and purposes,
and it happened on this wise : — Of course the
decapitated Marquis's Estates were duly escheat
ed to the Crown, already gorged with the
confiscated possessions of numbers of other
equally unfortunate men, together with the
territorial spoils of all the recently dissolved
abbeys and ecclesiastical foundations. Land
was doubtless at a discount, and, Uke shrewd
men of business, although actuated by the best
and most charitable feelings that give an im
perishable lustre to their memory, certain weU-
to-do inhabitants of the town coUected their

moneys together, to the amount of a thousand
marks, and with this sum they bargained for
and bought of the grim Monarch a portion of
the confiscated Manor of Colyton, the rents and
proceeds to be expended in such good, godly
and commendable uses as they should determine.
Straightway "to his loving subjects greeting,"
they were enfeoffed by the terrible King, who
also added to their dignity by granting them the
management of the fans and markets and a
court of ' pyepowdre ' — and they became a sort of
complete Uttle parochial corporation, with whom
and to whom, by common consent, all the social
machinery of the parish, short of the admistra-
tion of the law, seemed to devolve, and be
responsible — a much more sensible state of
affairs, we trow, than the present cumbrous
maze of boards and officers.
1547. Their Bayly. — To appoint their
' Bayly,' or, as we should now more genteelly
style him, steward or secretary (although, fortu
nately, in the present instance the good old
name is stUl preserved), was of course a primary
care, and so one of the earliest records is their
selection in 1547 of him, together with his
duties and emoluments, which latter for a whole
twelvemonth appears to have been the same sum
accorded to our modern attorney for half-an-
hour's chat, or exactly one forty-fifth part of the
present bailiff's salary, which is stiU sufficiently
smaU : —
" Itm, — That Robert Ffollyet was apoynted by all the
flfeoffees of Colyton the is daye of Marche, and the
firste yer of our Soveringe King Edward the VI., to be
bayly of all ye sayd lands, to levye the sayde rents from
tyme to tyme, and to be dylygent in his offys, and also
to accompte from time to time for all causes as needful
ys to be done and belong to the said offys, havynge for
the discharge of the said offyce the sum of vjs. viijd.
yerely, and so to charge him with the anuncyane of our
Lady next ensuing with the debte of the rentes off the
same." 1555. Voluntary Church-rate. — The date
1555 was a fearful one for England, for in that
year Queen Mary manifested her religious
proclivities in earnest, the old statutes against
heretics, long obsolete and passed before the
Reformation, were again put in force ; the early
spring witnessed the martyrdom of Hooper,
roasted to death by a slow fire at Gloucester,
whUe Eastertide was cheerfuUy celebrated by

68

GLIMPSES OF PAST DAYS.

burning Bradford and Taylor, to be succeeded
by a host of others during the year. Whether
the tidings of these barbarities reached the
quiet combes of the West in all their appalling
incidents cannot be known, but certainly, if
they did, the staunch inhabitants of Colyton,
with their still well-preserved hereditary apathy
and adaptability, remained loyal to Mother
Church, as the following resolution certified,
passed in the autumn of that year : —
" Whereas it is agreed throwlye bye the hoole
consyent of the prysshe of Colyton, yt from henceforthe
every greate place shall paye Yjd., every house iiijti, a
tythe manns land ijd., a coatte (cot) id., toward the
reperacions of the pysshe churche, which order was
taken the xx. of October, in the second yeare of Quene
Mary." 1570. How expended. — The churchwardens,
in disbursing the amounts collected by this
voluntary self-assessment, rendered their ' ac-
comptes ' annually to the Chamber, which were
carefully preserved. In 1579 a bell was re-cast,
and so they bring in —
"Itm, — Payd the bell founder in earnest . . . .xijd."
As there is no bell in the tower bearing that
date now, it is probable the same was again
re-cast at a subsequent date. Another entry
records —
f< Itm, for makyng the Whytsondaye Boke . . vjd."
That " bright occidental star," Queen Eliza
beth, was now on the throne, and so we find a
better and pleasanter state of things —
" Itm, — Payde for candells at the ringing for the
Quene at Christmas day in the mournynge  iijd."
1579. Value of Books. — Books were especially
valuable just about this era, but provision was
made for their being perused in the church,
where they were chained to a desk or lectern,
one of which still exists at Colyton. The staples
for the chains remain, as do also a book or books,
with a portion of a chain attached — perhaps one
of them held the identical books so charged for
by the old churchwardens : —
" Itm. — Payd for a Homlye Booke . . iiijs. viijd."
And another in 1610 records : —
" Itm. — Paid for Mr Iuel's works . . . . xxxijs.
,, „ an iron chain for chaining
the same and fastening  js. Hid."
The books were chained for security's sake. No
such precaution about a book of the Homilies
(unless it be such a particularly old and valuable
one) is necessary now, in these days of inundation
of chea,p trashy literature. Curiously, the
lectern, or shelf, where these books were chained
was at the back of the poor-box, so that the
richer parishioners, going to church and casting
their mites into the treasury, could see who their
more studiously-disposed poorer brethren con
sisted of — a suggestive picture.^

A Functionary. — The same year we find: —
"Itm. — Payd the Clearke for kepynge the Reger
(Register) Booke, and for waishing the surplishes one
yeare  iiijs. viijd."
Parish scribe as well as clerk, it seems, and
washer- woman into the bargain. Excellently
weU has this fine old register been kept by these
useful officials, who were evidently important
men in the parish.
1585. A local Magnate. — The death of a
distinguished member of the Feoffee body, and
to this worthy a lengthy obituary notice occurs
in the parish Register : —
"John Clarke the elder, of Coliton, marchant, was
buried the 9 of Aprill, who in his lyfe time was the
cheffest traviler of the purchas of the mannor of
Colliton, and the marketts with other lyberties pertayn-
ing the same, as aperleth by the pattent, — and deceased
the 6 day of Aprill, 1585."
1588. The Armada. — The next entry is a
remarkable one, — in the year that sent many a
stout Protestant on his knees and stirred the
hearts of Englishmen to the utmost, as the
threatened swoop of that terrible Armada drew
near : —
" 1588. — Pd Mr. Collens for a booke of prayers when
the troble was  vjd."
Yet the Devonshire men were fighting men as
well as praying men, as the Spaniards found to
their cost in the persons of Drake, Raleigh,
Gilbert, and others of lesser fame, when that
seven miles crescent of hostile sail neared the
white-cUffed coast.
Hospitality. — The religious element largely
prevailing, "given to hospitality" was among
the very necessary virtues exercised toward the
officiating minister by the churchwardens, espe
cially if he happened to be a stranger, and so we
read : —
" Itm. — Paid for two quarts of wyne and one quartern
of suger, when Mr. Lyght did preache . . xxijd."
1590. Rustic Torture. — From the sublime to
the ridiculous is proverbially but a step, and so
our next quotation from these ' accomptes '
verifies the proverb. We find : —
"1590.— Payd for drawing the playnte aboute the
cukkenstoole  ijd."
What the ' playnte ' was about, concerning
this olden engine of torture does not appear,
and the sum expended was not a large one.
The ' cukkenstoole ' — cuckingstool, or ducking-
stool — was a barbarous method of repressing
the noisy, impudent, and scandalising tongues
of scolding village dames. The offender was
taken by the mob to the nearest horse-pond, and
the cuckingstool, which consisted of a large
stool, was set at the water's edge, on which was
placed a long strong plank with one end over
the water, to which was affixed a sort of chair,
and the other on land. The unfortunate victim
being secured in the chair, the mob amused

GLIMPSES OF PAST DAYS.

69

themselves by tilting her up and down until she
was nearly drowned or suffocated by mud and
water. Whether the Feoffee " Bayly " presided
over these antient revels and saw justice done,
does not appear. Colyton, at any rate, seems
to have been provided in olden time with such
an engine to "dou't" the fire of the tongues
of her noisy daughters— a proclivity that has
not entirely died out in their descendants.
1591. Martial Matters. — Very different are
the next memoranda, which relate to the mili
tary preparations of the parish, the home
custody of which also devolved on the Feoffee
Chamber, who had their armoury of antient
swords and musquets, some specimens of which
still exist, in their keeping : —
"1591.— Payd for wine when the muster was .. iiiju. ivd.
„ „ suger the same tyme . . . . xd.
„ to John Tycken for arming the
picket  vs.
„ to Stephen Burd for a post horse
and his stabell . . . . . . ijg.
,, for kepyng the armory for one
year  iija. ivd."
Rather a jovial time these old soldiers appear to
have made of it from these allowed charges of
wine and sugar at the periodical musters.
1600. A Court of Enquiry. — Doubtless a
flutter of anxiety passed through the breasts of
the members of the Chamber as they heard the
contents of the following missive read at their
meeting, though, pleasantly for them, the Com
missioners appointed to examine their trust were
gentlemen residing near. We believe this, or
similar commissions, enquired into the condition
of all the local charities about this time : —
" By virtue of a commission unto us and others
directed for the examination of the employment of
landes and goods geven to the mayntenance of the
poore accordynge unto the statute in that behalfe
provided,— Theise are therefore by vertue thereof to
will and require you and every of you whose names are
hereunder written, to be and appeare before us att
Colyton on Thursdaie syneight next, being the xviij.
daye of this present moneth of September. And that
you bringe with you all such wrytynges as you or any of
you have concernynge the same. Whereoff fayle not
att your perill. Shute the IX. daie of September, 1600.
Your lovinge friends, Robert Bassett
William Pole
J. Drake
Edm. Prideaux
These are to require you to bringe with you all such
leases, accomptes, counterparts of leases, feeoffments,
willes, and all other wrytynges whereby any landes or
goods are given for the mayntenance of the poore.
To the Feoffees of all the landes of Colyton, and to all
others that have any wrytynge that concerne the landes
of Colyton. And to all such as have been bayliffes, and
have received fynes, or rents by the space of six years
last past and before."
Of these commissioners Mr. Bassett was a
gentleman of antient descent and considerable
social position in North Devon ; Mr. William

Pole was the distinguished antiquary ; Mr. John
Drake, of Great Trill and Ash ; and Mr. (after
ward Sir) Edmund Prideaux, of Netherton,
Farway, and whose double effigy, both in his
legal robes and martial habiliments, is in Farway
Church. We presume the enquiry terminated
satisfactorily, as just about this time the Chamber
received a new charter of feoffment from Queen
Elizabeth. 1643. Want of Work ; a " Stock."— Dulness of
employment appears to have been equally rife
in the middle of the seventeenth century, as it
does now in the nineteenth. The clothing was
still the staple trade in the West of England,
several fulling and tucking mills existed on the
Coly, and a large number of labouring men of
the town were weavers of serges and cloths, and
had their looms in the corner of the cottage
kitchen. To alleviate this want of work it was
customary to loan a sum to some trustworthy
woollen factor to be used in giving employment
to the weavers, and such a loan was called a
' stock.' Accordingly, in 1643, we find the
churchwardens and overseers lending John
Hewes, sergemaker, of Colyton, —
" The sume of three score pounds of lawfull English
money, being part of a sum of money rated uppon the
inhabitants and occupiers of land within the parish of
Colyton aforesaid, for a stock to set the poore people on
worke, by the space of one whole yeare, and no other
person or persons whatever."
and the said John Hewes —
" Was well and surely to paye or cause to be paid the
same within three months next ensuing tbe end of the
same yeare."
to the overseers and churchwardens. And the
bond continues, —
" The said John Hewes shall well and faithfully
imploye and dispose of the said sume, and every parte
thereof for the setting of the poore people on worke by
the space of one whole yeare."
And within three months after the said year
has expired, he shall repay the aforesaid sum : —
" Att or within the nowe dwelling house of Bernard
Dassell, Innkeeper in Colyton aforesaid."
Then, after the usual subscriptions to the
bond, is added this important clause : —
" Me : — it is agreed between the obligees and obligors
within named, before the sealeing hereof, by the
consent of the parishioners of Colyton, that if ill shall
happen the said John Hewes his goods *§hall be
plundered, rifled, spoiled, or taken by force and
violence of mann's or any other rebellious manner,
that soe much of the same being soe taken and
bought with parte of the money within mentioned, the
same being duely proved, the value thejjeof shall be
abated out of the sume within written."
1643. Plundering. — A very excellent and
saving proviso for the said John Hewes, as the
sequel demonstrated, and the production of the
' accompte ' of the ' plundering ' he afterward

70

GLIMPSES OF PAST DAYS.

sustained, rendered to the Feoffees, and which
shows the loss of a larger sum than he was ¦
entrusted with.
Here is the old clothier's account of his losses
duly vouched for by witnesses, —
" January the 16th 1643.
My shoope was broken upp and my cloth £ s. d.
caried away to the valew of  20 00 00
The same time caried from mee out of
William Stockers house the Tucker, 25
yerds of cloth work  06 00 00
Moore a piece of 13 yerds which William
Stocker putt to drynge (drying) for mee,
which was plundered, worth  02 10 00
March 9th 1643.
The second tyme tbe Towne was routed by
Lyme men, the souldiers serchinge for
men and arms as they pretended, found
my Cloth hid in a Cocke loft and caried
away the valew of tenn pounds worth. . 10 00 00
I gave one Capt Wood a sute cloth 4 yerds
and ^ to save the rest.
About the 18th or 20th March, 1643.
Those that garensed (garrisoned) Colcomb
House, in wostard woole and wostard
yearn and other yearn from the Spin
stry, and a piece of sarge torne out of
the Racke-work  05 00 00
July the 26th 1644.
Percy's men when they came back after
they were rowted caried away the worth
of  16 00 00
About the 12th or 14th October 1644.
Caried away from me by those that gariensed
Axminster 3 broads which was lost to
me  10 00 00
Besides the cloth I had lost, I hid in suoh places
whare it was spoiled by weather, and that I sould in
those tymes of trouble to a losinge hand, to save it from
plundering." 1643. Fighting. — Quite impartially, it seems,
Hewes was plundered by each side of the con
tending factions, and his account is specially
interesting, when compared with the contem
porary history of the events it refers to. March
the 9th describes the town as being " routed the
second time by the Lyme men." Lyme was
held by the Parliamentary forces, and stood an
extraordinary siege. This second rout was
probably when a squadron of the King's party
succeeded in surprising Capt. Weare, who had
sallied with a Parliamentary troop from Lyme,
and having killed some of them, carried the
remainder prisoners to Colyton. On the follow
ing night, they themselves were surprised in the
midst of revelry, by Capt. Pyne and a party
from the Lyme garrison, when the Colonel of
the Royalist force, with some inferior officers,
and sixty men, were taken prisoners with their
horses and arms.
Directly after this a body of the King's troops
under Prince Maurice, came on from Beaminster
and fixed their quarters at Colcombe Castle.

This was the ' garrison ' that invaded- the old
cloth-worker's ' Spinstry,' and tore the cloth
from the rack-work, which was situate at a place
still known as Rack Green, between the town
and Colcombe.
"Percy's men," so styled by Mr. John Hewes,
was a King's regiment, commanded by Lord
Henry Percy, marching West, and took possession
of the town of Colyton about the latter end of
July, 1644. On the 28th they marched to Lyme,
on a bootless errand, contenting themselves with
"threatening" the garrison there, and then
retired back to their quarters at Colyton.
" The insulted garrison," writes Mr. Davidson,
quoting from Whitelocke, " determined to re
quite the visit, and lost no time in dispatching
on the same night a party of 120 horse com
manded by Captains Pyne, Erie, and Bragge,
who surprised the Royalists so promptly and
effectually that a Major and other officers, 55
men, 100 stand of arms, 120 horses and good
pillage fell into their hands, and the regiment
was entirely dispersed."
This redoubtable Captain Pyne, was a gentle
man of antient family belonging to Axmouth,
as was also Captain Erie, and Captain Bragge,
of Thorncombe. It is probable Colcombe Castle
was burnt in this fight. On a previous occasion,
when Prince Maurice was ' garrisoned ' at
Colcombe, they sallied out one night and sur
prised Captain Erie's house at Stedcombe,
Axmouth, which after a fierce fight, they got
possession of, took a lot of prisoners, and then
reduced it to ashes.
In the Register are entries of " Maye a
Captain," and " Clarke a Captain," as being
respectively buried on the 8th and 11th March,
1643. Killed doubtless at the ' second rout.'
Colyton appears to have been a common battle
ground between the Royalists from Axminster,
with Colcombe as an outpost, on one side, and
the invincible Parliamentary garrison of Lyme,
with Stedeombe as an advanced work, on the
other, both houses being destroyed in the end —
the Poles being Royalists and the Erles Parlia
mentarians. Trades occurring. — In the clothing tx&o\e,fuller,
weaver, tucker, serge-maker, fusten-weaver, (query
of flax or wool) and point-maker. This last
referred to point-lace, or bone-lace as it was
sometimes called, on account of the "sticks"
whereon the thread is wound, and with which it
is woven on the pillow, being often composed of
bone. It is now called Honiton lace, and was first
introduced toward the close of the sixteenth
century from Holland. This beautiful fabric is
still abundantly made, but the clothing trade
has long departed from our valleys.
1652. The Free School. — The " maintaining
and keeping up a school" appears from their

GLIMPSES OF PAST DAYS.

71

earliest enfeoffment to have been one of the
beneficent purposes of their charity, and so in
1652 appear payments to two schoolmasters, a
' Lattin ' and an ' English ' one, —
" Paid Mr. Louden, the Lattin scholemaster, one
whole yeare . . -  £3
Paid Mr. Edward Clarke, the English scholemaster £1 "
They do not appear to have found rooms for
their schools, and the ' English ' master seems
to have taken possession of the parvise, or room
over the church porch for his schoolroom, which
by an entry a few years afterward did not meet
their sanction.
1660. An assistant Overseer. — In 1660 we find
the Feoffees and twenty men at
" A publique meetinge, doe agree that Peter Ticken
shall keep the accountes and make all the rates (except
the rate for. the poore) and shall have for his paine
thirteen shillings and fourpence."
No Desecration. — They also order —
" That no person or persons whatsoever shall after this
present day putt, dry, or hange any wool on the lyddes
of the church. And alsoe, we order the churchwarden
to take upp the key of the said lydds and to keep the
said keye and to suffer noe person to have him for the
use aforesaid.
Alsoe, that there shall be allowed yearly out of the
parish account the sum of 4s. for the geathering and
carrying out the stones in the churchyard."
Then follows, —
" Alsoe, that Edward Clarke have notice that hee shall
departe from keepinge of scoole from the chamber over
the church porch."
Both these two last entries appear subsequently
to have been struck out, the churchyard left with
its rubbish, and their poor English pedagogue
up in the porch allowed to continue his vocation
in peace.
1664. The Chimes.— The beautiful peal of
bells had formerly a set of ' cheemes,' the old
barrel belonging to which was in existence a few
years since, and . a clock, probably the same in
the tower now, —
" 1664.— Paid for keepinge the clock and cheemes,
and sweeping the church for a year . . £3 5s."
A little Law. — A difference arising between the
Chamber and John Butten, it was by an order
" Referred to be decided by Mr. Yarde, to whom John
Hewes, was desired to goe and bring his oppinion
concerninge the sayd difference, and he was to be payd
for his paines."
The pay was 6s. 3d., our modern lawyer's fee.
Mr. Yarde was probably of Treasurer's Bere,
Honiton Clyst, descending from a very old Devon
shire family. Mr. John Hewes was evidently a
trusty man and the custodian of the parish
' stock,' as aforementioned.
1666. The Curfew. — Ringing the Curfew was
also regularly observed, and a yearly salary of
8s. allowed, —
" 1666.— For ringing of Kurphy  8s."

Succeeding scribes seem to have tried to
outvie each other in quaintness of recording the
name of this antient custom, and the word
appears in subsequent entries as " Coverfew,"
" Colfry," " Curfiew," <fec.
1667. Financial and Sanitary. — Thrifty farm
ers of their money, it is found, —
" We order that the money which is in the hands of
Sir John Yonge and John Whicker, Bhall be lent out att
interest on such security as Captain William Drake,
Mr. Edward Drake, Mr. Edward Pratt, or any two of
them shall approve."
And further of their landed property, —
" Alsoe, that the parish bayliffe desire Mr. Edward
Drake to keepe A Court of Survey of all the parish
land on the next Monday the Feoffees meete, and that
he summon all the tennantes of the parish lands to be
then and there with their leases, &c."
Nothing being new under the sun, our modern
sanitary craze with its ' Boards ' of rural
authority and cumbrous machinery, was an
ticipated 200 years ago by this little rustic
corporation, and the duties doubtless much
better performed. So a further resolution sets
forth,— " Alsoe, that the parish bayliffe sue in our Court all
annusences in our towne of dunghills, pigsties, &c."
Another entry exhibits a further portion of
their duties, —
"Alsoe, John Porter is to have yearly 50s. from the
parish bayliffe for keeping the glassing in the church
windowes for 7 yeares, and the tyme is to beginn att
Midsumer next, and in the end to leave all glasses as
he found."
1645-6. The Plague.— Ihe ghastly plague,
however, has left a fearful record in the Register.
November 28, 1645, — "Here ye sickness begun,"
notes the scribe in the margin, and then a long
list of 458 names brings us to 22nd December,
1646, and "Here ye sickness ended," occurs by
the same pen, and doubtless inscribed with a
thankful heart, as the writer still existed to
insert the terrible list. Whole families were
swept away, rich and poor alike, and probably
more than half the population of the place
perished. What a dreadful spectacle the dozens
of emptied homes in the little town must have
exhibited afterward.
1648-54. Marriage Ceremonies. — This institu
tion was deemed a civil one by the Common
wealth, and in so doing they only anticipated,
what now three centuries afterward has been
again enacted, for the use of those who so wish
to be tied in the bonds of wedlock without
religious ceremony, by being ' hung up ' in the
modern Registry Office.
In 1648, there is -the following significant
entry in the Colyton Register, — " There weare
none married in this yeare in regard that we had
no Minister." Five years afterward the Puritan

72

GLIMPSES OF PAST DAYS.

vicar, John Wilkins, notes : — " 28. Sep. 1653 — ye
day before Michalmas, wherein the Act for marry
ing by Justices of Peace, came in force." AU
were married alike by this plain civil form, both
gentle and simple. Here is the form of record
found in the Colyton Register, and the ' con
tracting parties ' members of the local aristoc
racy : —
Thomas Hodges Esq., of Shipton-Moigne in the
County of Gloucester, was married to Elizabeth Yonge,
daughter of Sir John Yonge of Colyton, Knight, the
last day of July 1656 : — By John Drake Esq., one of the
Justices of the Peace for the County of Devon ; —
according to the late Acte of Parliament ;— in the
presence of

William Wright
Edward Leigh
Jo : Looseley

JOHN DRAKE

The officiating Justice, John Drake, Esq.,
afterward the second Baronet, was of Ashe,
Musbury, and uncle to the bride, having married
as his first wife, Jane, sister to Sir John Yonge.
The signatures of the attesting witnesses, are
apparently those of gentlemen, and fine speci
mens of caligraphy. Where the ceremony was
performed is not known, but probably in the
vestry. In the Shute Register we get another glimpse
of how Hymen's fetters were sometimes rivetted
on, — a different kind of ceremony, at least in
part, — where, instead of the Parson, the Town
Crier in the busy market ' asked the banns,' and
officiated in a preliminary sense, —
" In the yeare of our Lord God, 1653, —The purpose
of marriage between William Newton and Margaret
Seller, both of the parish of Shute, was openly publish
ed in the Market Place at Culliton, on three several
market dayes following, being ye viij, the xv, and ye xxii,
of December, and were married the six and twentieth
day of the same month."
The year following however a different course
was observed, and some candidates for matrimony
were —
" Published in the church, three several sabbath daies,
with the consent of their parents, without any ex
ceptions." A more decent observance of the sanctity of
the obligation, and made in the solemnity of His
house, rather than amid the ribaldry and coarse
jeers of the Market Place.
1668. A poor and wronged Suitor. — Not only
the needy and distressed, but the oppressed and
wronged found their way to the council table of
this little rustic court of humanity, and a ready
and sympathising ear was lent to the relation
of their misfortunes. A characteristic record of
one such, still remains and tells its own tale, —
" Devonsh.
Wee whose names are subscribed Justices of the
Peace, within the county aforesaid, do hereby certify
—That Thomas Wheeker, of Coliton, in the county
aforesaid, marriner, being really possest of the moyetie

of a small tenement lyeing in Coliton aforesaid (the
other moyetie being possest by Michall Wheeker his
brother), in February, 1665, was emprest for his Maties
service and went aboard the Friggott called the Clovetree,
wherein he was taken and carryed into Holland and
there kept prisioner eleaven moneths, during which
tyme the said Michall took possession of the whole
tenement, and being animated by one Edward Drake,
an attornye liveing thereby (who hath alsoe gotten the
ground into his possession) will not suffer the said
Thomas (now returned very poore, sick, and unable to
recover by law for want of money) to enjoy the said
moyetie as formerly. Dated the 15th day of Aprill in
the twentyeth year of his Maties Raigne, 1668."
The Edward Drake, ' attornye,' thus so dis
reputably spoken of by the magistrates, who
' animated ' the covetous Michael Wheeker to
take possession of his absent brother's patrimony,
simply as cat's-paw for the aforesaid ' attornye ' —
in the end to get hold of the property himself —
was probably a scion of the Yardbury family of
that name, which was a branch of the Drakes
of Ashe, baronets. His vocation as an attorney
bespeaks this, though his practice in the pro
fession seems to have been not the most re
spectable, although in the previous year he
appears to have acted for the Feoffees, holding
a court of survey for them, and he was also a
member of their body. The poor " marriner's"
case seems immediately after the magistrate's
certificate to have been submitted to counsel,
but whether at the instigation of the Chamber,
or by whom, is not apparent, but the following
letter, superscribed " To any Attorney in Devon
shire," accompanies the certificate : —
" Sir,— I have perused poore Tom Wheeker's case, and
I have been advised that hee must peticon the Justices
at the Assizes, and they will make his complaint to the
Judge that comes that circuit, and the Judge will
summon all the partyes concerned in the businesse
before him, and if he Andes that Tom Wheeker's title
bee good, then hee will admit him in forma pauperis, and
will allso assyne him Councell and Attorney in Devon
shire to presenile for him without any fees, whatsoever.
There can bee nothing done in the businesse here untill
hee hath done this in the country, and if his title bee
good, and that the Judge admitts him, and assynes him
Councill and Attorney, in ye country, I will promise you
to make his proceedings ready for tryall when I see his
admission, also the declaration, issue, record, venue,
h'eas corpora and subpoena, and more I cannot doe.
Let him show this letter to his friends in the country.
and they will put him in the way the next Assizes by
some able country attorney to perfect his businesse.
Yrs, Edward Story
Barnard's Inn in Holborne, May 7th, 1668."
Whether the " able country attorney " was
found to second the kind offer of the London
lawyer, and so circumvent the scheming of the
Colyton lawyer, Edward Drake, is not left on
record. Let us hope "poore Tom," destitute,
sick, aud just escaped from durance vile, under
Mynheer recovered his little property. The
pretty name of the ' friggott ' to which he was
' imprest ' forms a strong contrast to the
cognomens of our modern ugly ironclads.

GLIMPSES OF PAST DAYS.

73

1670. Ortlmgraphic. — In 1670 their income
was about £115, and the purest vernacular
adorns the accounts, an item in which reads, —
" Paid for a piece to make a trashall for a dore at
Hampton  13."
Even phonography itseU is distanced by this
ingenuity in the transformation of the word
threshold. The stipend afforded the schoolmaster ap
pears to have been augmented, and so it is found
in 1673 —
" Paid Mr James Button for keeping of the schole
for one yeare  £15. "
A very fair salary, considering the value of
money at that period. Orthography was pro
bably not one of the accomplishments insisted
on at that era.
1674. The Church. — Feoffees and church
wardens seem to have been alike interested in
the repairs of the church, and the Feoffees thus
eharge themselves in 1674, —

' Paid Mr Tanner toward the leckturne

10s.'

While the churchwardens credit themselves
sundry sums as, —
" Paid for Sacke, Malaga, and Canary wine at the
Communion."
A fastidious Parson. — On another occasion the
supply not being to the minister's satisfaction,
they record, —
" When we had provided wine for ye Communion at
Chrystyde, Mr. Tanner would not accept it, but sent for
sacke himself, which was a loss to us, we charge
nothing for either."
The old Presbyter seems to have been rather
capricious in his choice of wine for use at the
Communion. Sack, Malaga, and Canary appear
to have been used in turn, but whether "High
and Low Celebrations," in accordance with some
modern notions, were in vogue at the time does
not appear. Another entry speaks of a disburse
ment, —
" For new quarrells of glass above the Presession
Dore and in the Presession window."
The word being doubtless meant for Procession,
and the window the large west one.
1675. Damping the dust. — Good home-brewed
was introduced into the Chamber when the
dry business of looking over the muniments
occurred, —
" Paid for beere brought into the Parish Chamber
when Mr. Daniel Marwood did looke over our
writinge . . . .  6d."
Doubtless a lawyer, the name survived for many
generations in the town in a respectable sphere
of life.

The Town Lake.— Then appears, —
" Paid for cleansing 3 piles in the towne, and carry
ing of the rubish in a tyme of drough to make
use of the water if need required . . . . 6d."
The "piles" meant pails, or open dipping-
places, many of which survived to the remem
brance of the elder generation now living, and
were eventually superseded by the modern
conduit. At that period and long afterward,
down to the first quarter of the present century,
the stream or " town lake " was an open water
course. At this time the salary of the " water -
bayly " who looked after the stream was 8s. 8d.
per annum, and the " dore-keeper," another
official, had 4s.
Beauty and the Beasts. — Fox-hunting was
evidently unknown at Colyton at this era, as the
charge occurs, —
" Paid for two fox's heads  2s."
And an entry in a subsequent year records, —

' Paid for three foxes heads
,, „ ten grays (badgers)
„ ,, fourteen bullfinches

10s. Is."

What a wretched atrocity thus to pay for the
destruction of these beautiful Uttle harmless
birds. But ignorance knows neither limit nor
shame, hence the deed and its record. Supple
menting the above occurs another line setting
forth— " Itm. — Paid the passons maid for scouring the
plate  Is. "
1677. A Parish Passport. — The following
transcript pictures suggestively the poor " or-
phane" girl of the period, parish passport in
hand, and just trudged from Sidbury, appearing
before the Colyton parochial officials and waiting
their leave to " bee and abide " with her new
mistress-to-be at " Culliforde" : —
" To the Churchwardens and other officers of ye P'ish
of Culliton, these : —
Whereas, the bearer of this our certificate, Elizabeth
Cole, being an orphane and under age, is desirous to
bee and abide with Jane, the wife of William Cole, of
Culliforde, within ye P'ish of Culliton, for and during
ye space of five years, for her to be taught and instruct
ed in the making of bone-lace for her future better live
lihood; — now know yee, that we, the present vicar,
churchwardens, and overseers of ye Poore of Sidbury,
doe owne her the said Elizabeth to be an inhabitant of
the said P'ish, and doe hereby for ourselves, and our
successors, covenant and promise to and with you the
present churchwardens and overseers of ye Poore of ye
P'ish of Culliton and your successors for ye time being,
to receive the said Elizabeth again single into ye said
P'ish of Sidbury, if at any time within the same five
yeares she becom or be likely to becom chargeable to
ye said P'ish. Witness our hands the tenth day of June
in ye 29 year of the reigne of King Charles the Second
over England, &c, Anno Domini 1677. — (Signed by the
vicar, churchwardens, and overseers of Sidbury.)"
Only to be received back if single, to return
only as she went. Let us hope — her apprentice
ship to bone-lace making over — a good act of

74

GLIMPSES OF PAST DAYS.

settlement was found for her at Culliton in the
shape of comfortable wifehood, and that as such
she did "bee and abide" there ever afterward,
nor any possible vision of her returning ghost
ever haunted the anxious bosoms of Sidbury
officials from that time thenceforward.
License to Travel. — Another interesting manu
mission or "discharge," as it was then termed,
and of similar import, occurs the same year,
given to a mechanic of ' ' sober life and conversa
tion" desirous to "travell abroad" the then
great distance from. Beaminster to Colyton —
but those were not the days of railroads, neither
are these the days of very many workmen of
such excellent character we are afraid, —
" March 20, 1677-8. These are to give you to understand
yt Hugh Sugar of ye parish of Bemister in ye county of
Dorset, Locksmith, is desirous for his best advantage to
travell abroad, and is now in your Towne or Parish of
Cullyton abiding, and for your discharge, we will at any
time or occasion, receive him into our Towne again,
acknowledging him to be our parishioner. He is of
sober life and conversation. Given under our hands
and seals, — This twentyeth day of March, in the year of
our Lord 1677. —(Signed by the parish officials as
before.)" 1679. Time and Death. — In this year
appears, —

" Paid for setting up ye sun dial

£ 1 10s.

Presumably over the church porch, and in the
same position now occupied by a modern one.
And further charges for the Armoury, —
"Paid for stocks, locks, and mending musketts,
and paid Phillip Gould for cleansing ye 12
musketts  . . £1 is."
1680. Tax on Fire-hearths. — The ingenuity
of man has been ' taxed ' at various times
to select subjects to tax their fellow-men for
imperial exigencies, horses, carriages, dogs,
windows, guns, and many other things, have
received attention in turn, but here is one for
fire-hearths in vogue in 1680, — the receipt for
which occurs on a little orthodox-sized square
printed missive, almost the exact counterpart of
our modern overseers' collecting book, —

t the 2nd 1600 & Eighty.
Received of Mr. John Freake the sum of
3 shillings in full for a half years duty
for three fire-hearths in a house in
Culiton due and ended at Lady-day last
past. I say received, by llobt. Stedham
Collector, 3s."
A memorandum on the document adds, — " This
is for ye parish house " or old poor-house of the
town, then probably in the custody of the
Feoffees, and does not appear to have been
exempted from the two shillings payable annually
for each fire-hearth. This, perhaps one of the
most unpopular taxes ever levied, was first im
posed in 1662 by that pattern profligate Charles
II. It fell to the province of the parish constable

to inspect all houses and make a return to the
justices of every smoking ' chimley,' under
heavy penalties, and that functionary's duties
were often not of the most enviable description,
as he lifted the peasant's latch, and confronted
the hostile looks within, while occasionally he had
to take his chances of a greeting much more
demonstrative and uncomfortable.
Great complaints were made also of the
rapacious way in which it was gathered in, for
its collection seems to have been 'farmed,'
and the bedsteads and other chattels of the
poor, seized and sold at times to pay the hateful
impost as none were excused, except that by
reason of poverty they did not contribute to the
poor rate, and any other exemptions had to be
certified by the churchwardens and overseers,
and duly allowed by two justices. It continued
to be collected until the landing of William of
Orange, who, during his progress to London,
was besieged by the populace, with clamorous
demands for its repeal ; and one of the earUest
acts of King William and his gentle Consort, was
its removal from the statute book.
But curious anomaly — eight years afterward
was imposed the scarcely less objectionable
window-tax, that lasted on to the memory of the
present generation, — and which beside mulcting
so many English houses of the healthful bless
ings of light and air, — stinted and deformed
its architecture for nearly a century and half.
But these were the days before our modern
sanitary giant was born, or thought of.
1704-30. Curious Baptisms. — The following
entries concerning the christening of certain
little human waifs and strays, stranded on the
sympathy of the stranger at Colyton, occur in
the Register ; —
" 1704. 28 Feb.— William St. Andrew, found on St.
Andrews day at the Hare and Hounds in a basket."
So-named after the patron saint of the church.
" 1714. 26 May. — Elizabeth, found in a basket at
Christopher Browns door at Culliford."
Left after the manner of Moses of old, but in an
ark of twigs, instead of bulrushes. Here is
another which doubtless set many a mother's
heart fluttering that Sabbath afternoon ; —
"1730. 24 Maye.— Henry Hepor, a child baptized.
(Note) This child was borne up by the Cundiett while
people were att church."
1720. A Parish Apprentice. — What a host of
sad-toned misgivings arise in the mind at the
echo of these two words through the gloom of a
century and half ! A vision of scanty food and
clothing, hard work and harder treatment, de
generating often, it is to be feared, almost into
cruelty. A sinister memory still clings to the
now happily banished phrase and observance

GLIMPSES OF PAST DAYS.

7o

that consigned the poor bereft friendless child
to a sort of semi-serfdom, to be nurtured in
remorseless toil and dark ignorance, at the
caprice often of a harsh and equally ignorant
employer. Yet the law, as set forth in the
indenture, was carefuUy humane and provided
sufficiently for the good estate of the poor hired-
out child, but we trow, the chances were few,
and the vindication of the law very precarious,
to enforce its just provisions against a hard
hearted employer : —
" This Indenture made the 21 day of April in the sixth
year of the Reign of our most Gracious Sovereign Lord
George, by the Grace of God of Great Britain France
and Ireland, King, Defender of the Faith &c— 1720.
Between John Pinney and Robert Hoore, church
wardens, Henry Mallacke, Robert Lyddon, John Dyment
and Nicholas Loring, Overseers of the Poor of the
Parish of Axminster, within the County of Devon of
the one Part, and Edward Bilke, of the Parish and
County aforesaid, Clothier, of the other,— Witnesseth,
That the said officers by and with the consent of His
Majesty's Justices of the peace of the said County,
whose names are subscribed, have put and bound forth
Elizabeth Edwards, one of the Poor of the Parish
aforesaid, Apprentice unto and with the said Edward
Bilke, to dwell from the day of the date hereof until
the said Elizabeth Edwards shall come to be of the age
of one and twenty years, according to the Statute in
that case made and provided, during all which Term
and Time, the said Elizabeth Edwards shall the said
Edward Bilke, well and faithfully serve in all things fit
and convenient for an Apprentice to be done, and shall
behave herself honestly in Word and Deed. And he
the said Edward Bilke doth Covenant or Promise to
bring up, or cause her the said Apprentice to be brought
up, in Housewifery, finding and providing for her the
said Apprentice, Meat, Drink, Apparel, Lodging, Hose,
Shoes, and all things fit and necessary for such an
Apprentice, during the said Term, and at the end there
of to discharge her well Apparelled. In witness where
of the Parties aforesaid to these Indentures their
Hands and Seals interchangeably have set the Day and
Year abovewritten."
There is something almost ludicrous in the
pompous array of titles of the sprightly Uttle
Dutchman as a heading and authority to the
document by which one of the tenderest and
poorest of his subjects was " put and bound
forth " to sundry years of servitude. Yet the
position is right enough, and let us hope in this
poor girl's case, at least, the glamour of Majesty
thus invoked was something more than useless
phantom, and preserved her comfortable during
her years of service, and ensured her being
taught the useful but now too much neglected
art and mystery of ' housewifery.'
1711. Hanged. — Such is the word conspicu
ously placed against an entry in the Register.
Then is set forth more circumstantially, —
" William Austin hanged at Heavy Tree gallows the
13 Aprill, buried there, dug up again, brought to Culliton,
and buried in ye ch yard ye 17 Aprill."
For what crime did he suffer ? The record is
silent. Not for red-handed murder surely, or
loving hands and hearts that must have well
cared for and valued him, would not have

brought back his lifeless body to Colyton and
buried it in holy earth, doubtless with his kindred.
1714. Advertising. — These are said to be pre
eminently the days of advertising, yet the
science was not altogether unknown even so long
ago as when George the First was king — and
enterprising tradesmen of the West were not
forgetful to set forth the goodness and cheapness
of their wares when they had opportunity. At
the foot of the indenture ' before recited ' which
is printed, is the advertisement of its producer
to this affect : —
" Exon : — Printed for Tho : Batter Bookseller, near St.
Martin's Lane ; where (besides Stationary Wares of all
sorts) is sold the best Stampt-paper and Parchment,
Bonds, &c. — with Dr. Daffys Elixir Salutis, Dr. Stoughtons
Elixir Magnum Stomachicum, Spirits of Skurvy Grass
golden and plain, the famous Liquid Snuff prepared for
the Queen, &c. Also, great variety of Paper- Hangings
for Rooms, of the newest Figures. All sorts of Ink and
Ink-Horns, Pounce and Pounce Boxes, with the best
and most variety of Mathematical and Sea Instruments,
of any one in the West of England. At very reasonable
rates, by Wholesale or Retail. 1714."
There is nothing new under the sun— the
shade of Dr. Daffy salutes us to-day from the
columns of the penny weekly, and mysteriously
ponderous Latin names, evolved from the " in
ner consciousness " of the modern quacks occur
often there likewise, and show them to be but
the successors in the craft to their antient pro
genitors in this line of business, but Dr. Stough-
ton's grand Elixir Magnum Stomachicum, seems to
ecUpse all recent efforts in that direction. From
this Uttle missive we learn, too, that dear homely
comfortable Queen Anne was a snuffer, but
surely not one of the common order, something
special was prepared, for the advertisement terms
it " the famous Liquid snuff " as prepared for
her Majesty. As " dry as snuff " is the modern
acceptance of the powder, especially from the
" high-dried " Scotch point of view ; what this
Regal paradox could have been composed of, the
history of secrets does not supply. Ink and ink
horns, pounce and pounce boxes, too ! Para-
phernaUa of antient scribes prim and pedantic —
and precursors of manifold writers and copying
presses, ad libitum and nauseam too, for these
cacoethes scribendi days of ours. All, too, " at
very reasonable rates" with the "best and
most variety" to select from. Peace to thee, old
tradesman of the past, we wUl take thee at thy
word, for thine were not the days of sham and
shoddy, and the mysteries of the medicaments
thou didst vend were but substantial adjuncts to
their potency and virtue, as much valued and
prized in these ' enUghtened ' days of ours, as
they were in the old real days of thine.
Some old Signatures. Next to his portrait, a
man's signature, is perhaps the most interesting
and characteristic remembrance of him. Ten
of these old autographs are found at the com-

76

GLIMPSES OF PAST DAYS.

mencement of this paper, and a short notice of
their writers will not be without interest. Sir
Courtenay Pole, of Shute (1677), was the second
Baronet, and died in 1695. Sir William Pole
(1713), was his grandson, master of the House
hold to Queen Anne, died 1741. Sir Peter
Prideaux, of Netherton, Farway (1668), second
Baronet, died 1681. Sir Thomas Putt, of Combe,
Gittisham (1678), was the first Baronet, died
1686. William Fry, Esq., of Yarty, Membury
(1668), and John Fry, Esq., also of Yarty (1700),
grandson probably of the preceding. Edmond
Walrond, Esq., of Bovey, Beer (1677), William
Drake, Esq., of Yardbury, Colyton (1713), and
George Southcott, Esq., one of the last descen
dants of that antient Devonshire family, of Dulcis,
Kilmington (1741). The fine signature, William
Bird (1680), is that of the representative of a
respectable family of that name, then resident in
Colyton, a mercer, and who lived in an old
double-gabled, half-timbered house at the upper
end of the Market Place, known as the ' Bird
cage,' and which was partially destroyed by fire,
and subsequently pulled down about forty years
since. After the rebellion of Monmouth, a party
of Lord Cornbury's and Lord Churchill's troops
of dragoons, were moved in October, 1685, from
Ottery St. Mary and Honiton to Colyton ; —
" These soldiers broke open the house of one William
Bird, and carried off bone-lace to the value of £325-17-9,
beside frightening his wife and children to the danger
of their lives. On December 3 the Devon Magistrates
were directed to go to Colyton, and find out the
offenders and satisfy Bird. On December 31 a second
enquiry was instituted ; Bird's brother having written a
letter by which it appeared Bird had exaggerated his
losses 1 "
It should be added, the signatures are taken
from old official documents, on which they were
inscribed. The Bells. — The "reparation and amending"
the church bells is a very fruitful source of
entries in the old churchwardens' accounts, and
suspiciously suggestive of the meaning of the
well-understood phrase church-work, as it is
commonly applied now-a-day to any Uttle piece
of constructed jobbery, or work very question
ably done, but exceedingly well charged for.
So all through these old functionaries' accounts
a surprising jingle of charges dance up and
down, for "wheeles, clippers, ropes, bauderics,
oile, crutches, gudgions, nayles, tymber, leathers,"
and other gear, whose names are almost endless.
Doubtless the beautiful peal was always a great
source of attraction and pleasure for the Colyton
youth to learn to handle them, and bring out
their fine tones, and few anniversaries were left
unremembered then as now. In 1606 we read. —
"Payd John Page for amendinge the clipper of
the great bell, also amending the goodgens of
the fourth bell  2s."
It is somewhat curious that 250 years after

ward another John Page should have been sexton
and ringer of the great beU.
The anniversary of the Accession of pedantic
King Jamie was duly honoured by the Southron
in Colyton, and so the churchwardens loyally
credit themselves as having in
" 1607, March 24— Payd for bread and bere for the
ringers when they runge for the Kinge . . ijs.'
From King to peasant their sweet tones were
alike available, the one in life, the other in
death —
" 1607 Received for ringing the bells at the
buriall of old Raye  6s."
By which it seems the charge for ringing for the
departed " old Raye " was more than the King's.
This was probably a knell, for in 1610 occurs
another charge, thus : —
"Receaved of John Sprak for a knill at his son's
buriall  Is. 8d."
The year 1611 witnessed a remarkable under
taking in Colyton. Nothing less than the re
casting in the town of two of the church bells,
being those answering to the third and tenor
bells of the present peal, and when we recollect
that the tenor weighs near a ton and a half, the
enterprise was no mean one for the time and the
facilities at hand in a little out-of-the-way
country town. A very long and circumstantial
account of the charges is given by the then
churchwardens — Robert Farrant and John Samp
son, who begin operations by borrowing of the
Feoffees £41. A " bell house " was constructed
in which was the furnace, and was covered with
the orthodox, but rather dangerous roof of
thatch. A detailed list informs us of payments
for "nayles, hookes and twigges, sparres, posses
(posts), lathes, rede, tile-stones, freestones, and
burr stones fetcht at Beere quarry for the
furnace, ' ' and other necessaries for the re-casting.
Then
" Itm, paid to Blackford for going to the bell
founder to have him come hither when the
parish met about castinge the bells . . . . js. vjd."
The said bell founder was Robert Wiseman, and
his place of abode at Montacute, Somerset.
Would it not savour of something like crazy
romance nowaday, to suggest the going to a
little country village like Montacute for an
artizan to come to Colyton to put up his furnace
and re-cast the great bell ? Yet such was done
in 1611, and well done, too, as we certainly know,
for one of the bells so re-cast still hangs in the
tower, and such was the precision of the old
workman, that it was cast in tune, being what is
termed a maiden bell, that is, one that required
no chipping at the sound-bow to bring it in tune.
It is of very sweet tone, and has this inscription
on it —
O Lord, how glorious are Thy works.
Ao. Dni. i6ii.

GLIMPSES OF PAST DAYS.

It

The tenor bell appears to have been again
broken in 1711, when it was probably re-cast by
Abraham RudhaU, of Gloucester, founder of the
magnificent tenor at Pilton, one of the finest
bells ever cast. The Colyton bell strongly
rivalled its Pilton sister in tone and was nearly
as possible the same weight. It was again
broken and re-cast by Mears of Whitechapel,
in 1837, — its weight twenty-six hundred-weight,
and key E flat.
But although Master Wiseman performed his
work so satisfactorily, as far as his bell craft was
concerned, he and his employers did not so weU
agree, and a lawsuit was the consequence. So
we read further, —
" Item, — Payd to Robert Wiseman, the bell-founder,
£xxv iijs., whereof ^xvi for the new casting the second
and lift bells, £tl viijs. for 2031bs. of metall, iijs. for brick
to make the furnace, and other xijs. for the charges hee
sustayned about the suit he commenced against Robert
Farrant and others."

Law being invoked, the inevitable ' attorney '
appears on the scene, consulted by the church
warden, who appears to have come off second
best in this ' suit ' with the bell founder, who
records, —
" Item, — Paid by Robert Farrant for his attor
ney's fee to answer the said suit . . . . iijs. ivd."
By which we see the dangerously attractive bait
of a legal consultation has not increased in price
for two centuries and half. Fortunately in this
instance it did not result in the consulters being
eventually hooked into a formidable bill of costs,
and so he adds, —
" Item, — Paid to the Baliffe vjd., and for making
the Sheryf's bond  iiijd."
" Item, — For making the bell-founders, and his
quittance unto us.. ..  js."

Happily ended, departed bell-founder.

A DEVONSHIRE KING OF ARMS.

'There's u, divinity that shapes our ends."

AMONG the numerous Worthies the County of
Devon has produced, in science, literature,
art, song, and arms, there should also be
included another, unique in his way, one who
attained the foremost position in heraldic and
genealogic lore, — Sir Isaac Heard, Garter King
of Arms, who was born at Ottery St. Mary, in
1730. " From " Short Notes on the Parish and Church
of Ottery St. Mary," by Dr. Cornish the vicar,
1869, we get the following notice of him : —
" Sir Isaac Heard, Knight, Garter Principal King of
Arms, was born at Ottery St Mary, 10 December 1730.
o. s.— and died 22 April 1822, in the ninety-second year
of his age.
In early life he entered the Navy as a midshipman,
but quitted the service in 1751, and eight years after was
appointed by the Earl of Effingham, then exercising the
office of Earl-Marshal for the Duke of Norfolk, to the
office of Blue-Mantle Pursuivant of Arms. He rose by
degrees to the highest dignity in the Heralds' College
and proclaimed on the 31 January 1820, King George IV.,
— but was unable to take part in his Coronation. It is a
curious fact that he officiated at the interment of a
Prince or Princess of each generation in a succession
of six generations of the House of Brunswick, begin
ning with King George the II., and ending with the
Princess Charlotte and her Royal Infant.
While serving as a Midshipman on board the Bland-
ford off the .coast of Guinea in 1750, he was carried
over-board from the effects of a tornado, with the
main-mast of the ship, whilst standing on the topsail
yard, encouraging the sailors to do their duty. By the
interposition of Providence, at a moment when the
attention of the whole crew was directed to disen
cumber the vessel from the wreck, he was observed
enveloped in the shattered rigging, floating alongside
the ship, and he owed his immediate rescue to the
hand of his shipmate, afterward Admiral Sir Robert
Kingsmill. In grateful commemoration of his wonderful escape
from death, he adopted the following arms, which were
assigned to him when he became Lancaster Herald : —
Argent, a Neptune crowned with an eastern crown of gold,
his trident sable, headed or, issuing from a stoi-my ocean,
tlie sinister liand grasping the head of a ship's mast appear
ing above the waves as part of the wreck, all proper ; on a
chief azure, tlie Arctic Polar star of the first, between two
water-bougets of the second. His motto was " naufragus
IN PORTUM."
Sir Isaac Heard is said to have been an excellent Latin
scholar, and a good modern linguist, which enabled him
to acquit himself with great distinction on several
occasions of the investiture of foreign princes."
It was on the mother's side that, more pecu
liarly Sir Isaac may be claimed as being of
Devonshire extraction. She was the only
daughter (and apparently ultimate heir of the

family) of a gentleman-yeoman named Michell,
possessing estates in the parishes of Branscombe
and Salcombe. He probably resided on his
Salcombe estate, and in the churchyard of that
parish he is interred. To this family we shaU
subsequently make further reference.
A pedigree of the knight's family has lately
appeared inMiscellanea Genealogica etHeraldiea,
vol. iv., second series, No. 14, compiled by
J. H. Fuller, Esq., f.s.a., Dublin. From this we
learn that the name Heard is probably a variant
of several spellings akin, beginning with the
same letter, as also of Yearde, or our own
antient and familiar Devonshire name Yarde.
It also appears that Sir Isaac stated his family
was of Wiltshire extraction, but gives as his
paternal coat, substantially the same blazon
as Yarde of Devon, — Argent, a chevron gules,
between three water-bougets sable. For his
Crest, — A demi-goat salient, gorged with a ducal
coronet. Motto, — " toujoues fidSile." It will
be seen also in the coat assigned to him, when
he became Lancaster Herald, and previously
referred to, he is said to have introduced therein
the water-bouget, the badge of Yarde.
The earUest name recorded in the pedigree is
John Heard, "of the County of Wilts." He
migrated to Ireland, and married Mary, daughter
of John Heanes, of Bandon, county Cork ; his
will was dated 20 April 1619. This John had
two sons : Henry, the eldest, from whom the
present existing descent of Heard, of Ireland,
derive, and John, a posthumous son (the ancestor
of Sir Isaac), who deceased about 1670. The
family of Heard appear to have occupied, and
still continue to hold a good social position in
the county of Cork.
Isaac Heard, apparently third son of John,
who died in 1670, came to England, and was a
merchant of Bridgwater, in Somerset. He
married Mary, sole daughter and heiress of
William Maysey, of Bridgwater, twice Mayor of
that town, and widow of Alexander Bowles, of
Bridgwater, gent. He died and was buried at
Bridgwater, 2 April 1704.
John Heard, the only surviving son of Isaac
aforesaid, was of Bridgwater, and afterward of
London. He was born 30 May 1698, died at
Richmond, in Surrey, and was there buried, 24

SIR ISAAC HEARD, Knt.
Gaetee Principal King of Arms.

SIR ISAAC HEARD.

79

June 1759. He married Elizabeth only daughter
and at length heir of Benjamin Michell, of
Seaside in Branscombe, and Slade, in Salcombe,
Devon. She was born 1 August 1705, married
11 June, 1726, died 22 September 1778, and was
buried at St. George's Cemetery, Bloomsbury.
They had two sons, Isaac (afterward Garter) ;
Benjamin who died unmarried 26 September
1765 ; and four daughters.
Sir Isaac, who appears to have been his
parents' third child, was born at Ottery St. Mary,
10 December 1730, and baptized 22nd January
following. He was constituted Blue-Mantle
Pursuivant, 5 December 1759 ; Lancaster Herald
3 July 1761 ; Norroy King of Arms, 18 October
1774 ; Clarencieux, 16 March 1780 ; Garter
Principal King of Arms ; Gentleman Usher of
the Most Honourable Order of the Bath, and
Brunswick Herald, 1 May 1784. He was knighted
at a Chapter of the Most Noble Order of the
Garter, 2 June 1786.
Sir Isaac was married twice, and each time to
a widow. First, to Katherine, second daughter
of Andrew Tyler, of New England, gent., by
Miriam, sister of Sir William PeppereU, of
Kittery, New Hampshire, Bart. ; and widow of
David Ochterlony, of Boston, New England,
second son of Alexander Ochterlony, of Pitforthy,
in the shire of Angus, Esq. She was married to
Sir Isaac, 7 March 1770, died 30 August 1783,
and was buried at St. George's, Bloomsbury.
Secondly, Sir Isaac married 17 August, 1787, —
Alicia, daughter of Charles Hayes, of Chelsea,
gent., by Elizabeth his second wife, daughter of
Francis Black, Esq., and widow of John George
Felton, Esq., Inspector General of the Customs
for the Leeward Islands.
Sir Isaac, who left no issue, died 29 April 1822,
aged 92. He was buried at Windsor, where a
tablet of white marble to his memory is affixed
to the west wall of the cloister of the Royal
Chapel of St. George, and is thus inscribed :—
HtJNC JUXTA PAEIETEM DEPOSITS SUNT MORTALES
EXUVIAE VIRI VENEEABILIS ET PROBATISSIMI
ISAACI HEARD
EQUITIS AURATI GARTERI PEINCIPALIS EEGIS
ABMOEUM CUJUS OFFICIUM XXXVm PEE ANNOS
SUMMA CUM INTEGEITATE ET INDEFESSA SEDULITATE
ADUSQUE VIT^E TEEMINUM EXERCUIT VAEIIS
FECIALIBUS MUNIIS PLUSQUAM LXn ANNOS
PERFUNCTUS OBIIT DIE XXIX APRILIS M. D. CCCXXII
.asTATis su.e, xcn.
QUEM SI NOVERIS AMASTI.
Which may be thus translated : —
Near this wall are deposited, the mortal remains of the
venerable and most esteemed man Sir Isaac Heard, Knight,
Garter Principal King of Arms, which office he exercised
with the greatest integrity and care for thirty-eight years,
even to the end of his life, having discharged vaHous heraldic
offices for more than sixty-two years. He died 29 April 1832.
Aged 92 years.
Wliom if thou had'st known thou had'st loved.

Above the inscription is a shield: — Per pale :
dexter, — a St. George's cross, in a chief, a garter
between a lion passant guardant and a fleur-de-lys ;
sinister, the coat assigned to him as previously
described when he became Lancaster Herald, but
with no water-bougets in the chief: over the
shield is placed the Crown of the Garter King of
Arms. Of the family of Michell, from whom Sir Isaac
descended (on the mother's side), few particulars
are known. They were evidently however of
gentle descent, and probably resided at Slade, in
Salcombe, an estate of some extent, with a
residence on it of considerable size, much
modernised of late years, but still shewing some
traces of olden days. It is situated about half-a-
mile east of the church, in one of those little
pleasant ' combes,' that slope down to the sea,
called Dunscombe.
Toward the end of the seventeenth century,
Slade was held by Hooper, who was probably
succeeded in the possession by Michell. Two
generations of them appear to have held it until
the middle of the last century, and the extinction
of the family in the male line, when it passed to
Leigh. The Michells were probably an offshoot of the
old Somersetshire family of that name, from the
similarity of their arms found on the monument
in Salcombe Church, compared with those as
given for MichaeU in the Visitation fox Somerset
for 1623, and borne by the present existing
family of Michell of Langport and Huish-
Episcopi. In the nave of Salcombe Church there is a
mural monument to the memory of the parents
of Sir Isaac's mother, and her five brothers,
with this inscription.
"In Memory of Edmond, Son of Benjamin Michell,
of this Parish, Gent', who died the 15th of Decemr, 1721,
Aged 18 Tears. William Michell died at Sea, on or upon
the 18th of June, 1734, Aged 17 years. Benjamin Died
ye 19th of Octr, 1734, Aged 24 Tears. John Michell died
the 17th of August 1737, Aged 36 Tears.
Also of their parents, — benjn michell, Gent : who
died the 1st of April 1751, Aged 73. And of Elizabeth,
his relict the Dau'r and Heir of edmond rowe, Gent
who died the 11th March, 1760. Aged 83.
Thomas michell, Gent : son of the said benjamin and
Elizabeth, in whom concluded all the male Issue of
this ancient and respectable Family, died without Issue
the 8th of Sepr 1785. Aged 77.
His sole Nephew isaac heard, garter, p.c — 1785."
Arms, — Per chevron gules and sable, a chevron
between three swans argent (michell) — impaling,
Argent, a beehive on a stock, surrounded by bees
volant, sable, (rowe ?)
The burial place of the Michells was in the
churchyard on the south side of the chancel,
where there is a large mound, and inserted on

cSU

SIR ISAAC HEARD.

the chancel wall immediately opposite is a stone
thus inscribed : —
" Near this Place lie the Bodies of benjamin michell,
gent:— Buried the 4 April 1751. Aged 73. And
Elizabeth his relict, Buried the 14 of March 1760,
Aged 83. And also of thomas michell, gent : their sole
surviving Son ; Buried the 15 of Sept"" 1785. Aged 77.
ISAAC HEARD, GARTER, P.C. — 1785."
Mrs. Michell, Sir Isaac's grandmother, was
also of gentle descent. She was the only daugh
ter of Edmund Rowe, Esq., of Clyst St. George,
who died in 1687, and his wife Elizabeth,
daughter of Samuel Codrington, Esq., of Doding-
ton, in the county of Gloucester. Edmund Rowe
was the son of Edmund Rowe, Rector of Lymp-
stone, ob : 1675, by his wife Ann Prideaux,
daughter of Sir Thomas Prideaux, Knt, of
Nutwell, in Woodbury.
From the Rev. Edmund Butcher's New Guide
to Sidmouth and its Environs, published about
1820, we get this information with regard to the
family of Michell. —
" Slade House, placed at the head of the beautiful
and richly wooded vale of Dunscombe (in Salcombe),
commands a delightful view of the sea, it was built by
the late William Leigh, Esq., and is now the residence
of his son. It formerly belonged to the Michells of
Salcombe. The family of Michell, previously to their removal to
Slade, resided for nearly two centuries in a mansion
called Sea-side House, within the parish of Branscombe,
now a farm-house, its situation is salubrious and near
the sea. There is an interesting tradition in the family,
which has been conveyed to us by respectable authority,
that a number of unfortunate persons, informed against,
for having been seen among Monmouth's followers, yet
wholly innocent of any overt act of rebellion, or
intention of committing any offensive acts, were
sheltered in a cavern, or secret recess, or recesses, on
the sea shore near to Sea-side House, and supported
with provisions by John Michell, Esq. — the great grand
father of Sir Isaac Heard, — and his wife, during several
weeks, or at least, until the fury of the Judge (Jefferys)
and executioners, and the rigour of the government
under James II. had begun to subside.
The above mentioned John Michell (who was a steady
adherent to the Royalist cause) paid £140, as a compo
sition for his estate, as appears hy a list of nobility,
clergy, and gentry, who compounded for their estates in
1655. The estate was afterward wrested from him by the
violence of the times, — but repurchased, — yet he met
with better treatment than many others, — for William
Isack of Gittisham, father of his wife Joan, was con
sidered to be a strong adherent to the Cromwellian
interest. This John Michell died in 1710, aged 80,— his wife
Joan, the sole daugter and heir of the said William Isack,
in September 1730, aged 100, — and Ursula Michell, his
mother, whose family name was Drake, died in 1690
aged 100. These three persons were buried in Brans
combe Church, and their advanced ages may be adduced
as some proof of the salubrity of the air in which they
resided." Thus far Mr. Butcher's notes. A reference to
the Branscombe Register gives the foUowing
further particulars of the earlier members of the
Michell famfly. In the Baptisms, two children
of John Michell and Ursula his wife, — Anna, 3
February 1634, and Sarah, 10 May 1637. Six

children of John Michell, gent., and Joan his
wife, — John, 15 February 1660 ; Isacke, 14 July
1663 ; Thomas, 20 December 1664 ; Ursula, 18
December 1666 ; John, 8 January 1669 ; Sarah,
24 March 1670. In the Burials, three children
of John and Joan Michell, — William, 29 October
1660; John, 17 September 1661; John, 10
January 1668 ; and Mrs. Michell widow, 27
November 1691 ; Mrs. Sarah Michell, 30 October
1692 ; Mrs. Ursula Michell, 12 October 1703.
If the Mrs. Ursula Michell was a Drake by
birth, she was probably of the Wiscombe
branch, for among them Ursula was a fanuly
name. Robert Drake of the Ashe descent, —
the first settler at Wiscombe, — died in 1600, one
of his daughters was named Ursula ; assuming
the lady lived to be a centenarian, and died in
1691, it may have been her. The Sarah and
Ursula Michell, buried in 1692 and 1703, were
probably the daughters of John and Joan
Michell, born respectively in 1670 and 1666, and
the old lady's grand-daughters. There was a
strain of the Drakes, who descended from the
parent stock at Littleham, located at Dunscombe,
the intermediate ' combe ' between Branscombe
and Salcombe. Sundry generations of them
lived there, and inscriptions to their memory
with the famUy arms, occur on a flat stone in
Salcombe Church. In the Branscombe Register
is recorded the baptism of Susanna, the daughter
of Robert Drake, vicar, and Susanna, his wife,
10 March 1654. There is no memorial to the
Michells in Branscombe Church.
Sea-side 'House,' as Mr. Butcher terms it, —
the earlier residence of the Michells before they
migrated to Slade in Dunscombe, — is a building
of moderate dimensions, exhibiting characteristic
traces of the earlier part of the seventeenth
century, and there still exists within it a nicely
panelled room dating about the first quarter of
the eighteenth century. The situation, a little
way up the eastern side of the deep combe, near
to and fronting the sea, is very sheltered and
delightful. A curious circumstance relative to Sir Isaac's
reputation as a linguist, as mentioned by Dr.
Cornish, is narrated in Jerom Murch's History
of the Presbyterian, and General Baptist Churches,
in the West of England, page 326, — in the
biography of the Rev. Francis Webb, sometime
stationed at Honiton and other pastorates, a man
of great literary attainments, and singular inde
pendence of character : —
" In 1786, he (Mr Webb) went to Hesse Cassel, with
Sir Isaac Heard, who was deputed to convey the ensign
of the order of the Garter, to the Landgrave of Hesse.
The Latin oration delivered at the investiture was the
production of Mr. Webb's pen."
An engraved portrait of Sir Isaac from a
painting by A. W. Devis, Esq., appeared in the
European Magazine for the 15th of January,

SIR ISAAC HEARD.

81

1819, and is reproduced in our illustration. He
appears to have been a man of good presence,
and grave, thoughtful countenance. We are
able also to give a reduced copy of his autograph
written in 1812, at eighty two years of age. The
original is sufficiently large to stretch across an
ordinary quarto page, and written with a freedom
that shews the old Knight's natural force was
even then, very little abated.
It is a far cry from rural Salcombe to royal
Windsor, that witnessed the beginning and con
clusion of the King of Arms life, — from the
peaceful scenes of country surroundings, to the
grand pageants, rife in the precincts of the Court,
where he was one of its most distinguished and
prominent officials. An almost charmed exist

ence was accorded him, when quite a youth,
snatched as it were miraculously from the jaws
of death, amid the perils of the wreck, he return
ed in safety to his native land. There, his span
of Uf e was lengthened to near a century's duration,
and spent through a strange transformation of
vocation, with fortune foUowing his steps, among
the highest and noblest of the realm ; until in
the fulness of time the King of Terrors bade the
King of Arms divest himseU of his tabard and
lay down his crown.
" The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Await alike the inevitable hour,
The paths of glory lead but to the grave."

OLD MUSICAL ECHOES OF THE CATHEDRAL.

When the full organ joins the tuneful quire.'

LISTENING in some quiet corner of the
Cathedral to the plaintive pleadings of the
inimitable responses of Tallis, varied at
intervals by the rise and swell of the grand
oigan, blending in full and perfect harmony with
anthem and chant, — the wonder ceases why the
science of sweet sounds exercises its unique and
in many respects unapproachable charm on the
soul, — or that it is given to Music alone by its
peculiarly soothing or passionate influence, to
afford the truest utterance to its emotions, that
all other methods fail to impart, and which for
the time, laps it in an Elysium of calm delight,
the most potent, relentless thoughts of the outer
world, are powerless to disturb or penetrate.
Thus Music in one of its most beneficent
attributes, comes to the spirit's aid in almost
every circumstance that affects the life of man,
whether it be his joys, hopes, sorrows, loves,
triumphs or despairs. By the aid of its delight
ful agency, the outpouring of his heart finds that
satisfying utterance of expression which other
means fail to afford, and conveys to sympathetic
minds the nature and value of those emotive
feelings uncommunicable by other methods.
Or, when realized in what may be strictly
termed its highest walk as a science, abstract
from all passion and sympathy of mental colour
ing — he that hath ears to hear, let him hear —
for its own sake ; here its pure, etherial beauty,
though so evanescent that it perishes as it is
created, gives an indefinable measureless delight,
that constitutes it at once one of the soul's chief
joys, — a gift or art of such divine power that the
vocabulary of language has been exhausted in its
praise, but is powerless to describe.
And so, when wedded in its alUed sense as an
expression of man's religious feelings, it becomes
the consecrated interpreter of his loftiest aspi
rations, and therefore with all the faiths that in
every age have occupied his attention, Music has
ever formed one of their chief modes of expres
sion, and held a foremost place in their cere
monies of observance, down through aU the
avenues of time to the present hour, with the
same unfailing soothing or joyous solemnity that
at once attests its divine origin, and by its

exercise becomes the exponent of the truest
worship. Its culture and offering being a direct
command of its Author, it has, in the devotional
offices of the Christian dispensation, been blessed
with a fulfilment of unapproachable beauty and
solemnity. With such thoughts for a prelude, as the last
strain of the noble organ dies along the vaulted
roof, sympathetic echoes respond from the
mental ear, enquiring as to whom and where are
those, who through the past centuries have con
tinuously carried on by direction or help, without
break or hindrance, the service of song and praise
within these antient waUs, — Precentor, Sub-
chanter, and Informator Puerorum, Vicar-Choral,
Master of Music, Organist and Chorister ; and
among the monuments placed to bishop, noble,
knight, ecclesiastic, squire or burgess. — scattered
around, — what memorials exist to perpetuate the
memory of those who in their day and generation,
by their office and gifts, have contributed so
delightfuUy to public worship here below, and
are sepulchred near, waiting the call to join the
eternal choir above. Of these, a cursory survey
and passing record.
The earliest indication of such, who have been
connected with the musical portion of the Cathe
dral service at Exeter, is found in St. Andrew's
Chapel in the north choir-aisle, where are two
large gravestones exactly alike, on which are
incised elegant crosses fleurie, in the centre of
the cross an indent in which was originally the
bust of the deceased. The ledger-Unes contained
the inscriptions, in fine Lombardic capitals,
which, from a fragment remaining, were once
fiUed in with metal. Only a portion of one can
be read, —
ORATE PRO B . . . M . . . QUONDAM PRECENTOR
HUJUS ECCLESIE.
Early fourteenth-century memorials, — Pre
centors Ralph Germyn 1317, and John WeU
1318, would come within the presumed era.
These are the earliest visible.
In the north-east corner of the north tower is
the chantry of Subchanter William Sylke, who

The Revd. Me. Tobias Langdon, Priest Vicar of the Cathedral Church of
St. Peter in EXON, a Celebrated Master of Musick.

Done from a Drawing in Ciaru Osema of Mr. Nath. Tucktr, by J. Faber.

OLD MUSICAL ECHOES.

83

died about 1485. In the enclosing stone skreen of
pierced tracery and niches with figures, is the
effigy of a memento mori, and on the frieze above
this inscription ; —
Stmt q'b- eris fuerarrt q'e ij'b ts pr' me pretor
era mill: Sglke.
which tells us ; —
I am what you will be, I was what you are, — pray, I
beseech thee for me William Sylke.
Behind the high altar a flat stone to Precentor
Harryes, 1511,— •
Jens mistreat' n'i't |$l'ri cjjjctme parrgts
Caito'ki quoba' dorrrab' girctj'j:' tt W.t\V
61 lies' ac Ijuis eccU'ie ^reteittoris, qui obiit
ultimo bie Qertmbris anno Dom'imilfmfraxari.
These inscriptions appear to end the memorials
of the pre-Reformation musical directors ; after
this event, one only, presumably was interred in
the choir-aisles or chantries, and his monument,
originally in the Chapel of St. Mary Magdalene,
at the east end of the north choir-aisle, has been
removed to the north tower.
It consists of a mural tablet having sculptured
on it the bas-relief of a youth, habited in a ruff
and university gown and hood, his hands raised
in prayer, kneeling on a cushion before an organ,
on which is an open book, with other books
lying open below. Over his head are clouds,
and in them cherubs' faces with wings. Behind
him are two viols with bow, and a trumpet. On a
panel is this inscription : —
matthei godwin adolescentis pii mitis ingeniosli
mvsic.e eacchalavrii dignissimi scientissimii
ecclesiarvm cathed : cantvar : et exon : abchi-
mvsioi. jeteen^i memobi& posvit g : m : fr :
vixit annos xvij : menses v : hinc ad co5l0s
migeavit xij ianvarii 1586.
which may be thus translated : —
G. M. Fr. placed (this) to the eternal memory of Matthew
Godwin, a pious, gentle and clever youth, bachelor of music,
and most skilful chief-musician of the Cathedrals of
Canterbury and Exeter. He lived seventeen years and five
months, and departed hence to heaven 12 January, 1586.
Above the panel are these arms, — Or, two lions
passant sable, in a canton three roundels of the
second, — in the fess point a martlet sable for
difference. The whole composition was originally
painted and gilded.
Our steps now lead us to the south tower, or
rather transept, which, like the Poets' Corner in
Westminster Abbey, may be termed the Musicians'
Corner in Exeter Cathedral, from the number of
inscriptions appearing in the pavement to the

memory of those who aforetime were employed
either by voice or hand in the direction of
its services, and presumably have been interred
there. The earliest, to a Vicar - Choral, is thus
nscribed : —
Exuvias hie suas Thomas Irish hujus Ecc'esiae
45 annos Presbyter Choralis, Anno Domini 1627.
The next brings us to a memorial of much
interest, that of the original builder of the noble
organ, John Loosemore. Occupying a position
very similar to the last resting-place of Sir
Christopher Wren in St. Paul's, the famous old
craftsman is buried very near the centre of the
Cathedral, just in front of the entrance to the
south aisle of the choir. An inscribed flat stone
only, commemorates him, but almost immedi
ately above it, on the choir screen, is the outward
semblance of the glorious organ he originaUy
erected there, — its handsome design, but compar
atively little altered, — and if the spectator desires
to behold an enduring monument worthy of its
first builder's skill, he has only to look at it.
John Loosemore — who is said to have been
Devonshire born and a native of Tiverton —
appears from the inscription on his gravestone
to have been the Curator, probably overseer as
to the condition of the Cathedral fabric to the
Dean and Chapter, in addition to his craft as an
organ-builder. The date of its completion is
seen on the choir front, —
JOHN LOOSEMORE MADE THIS ORGAN 1665.
There appears previously to have been a fine
organ, for the period, in the Cathedral, which
was destroyed during the Commonwealth, and it
is traditionally related that Loosemore thereon
quietly employed himself in beginning the new
one, which he afterward completed and erected.
Izacke, the city historian, writing in 1676, makes
this note of the circumstance : —
"1665. The great organ erected in the Cathedral
Church, being the fairest and by many sounds the
deepest of any organ in the Kingdom."
It was set up during the episcopacy of Bishop
Seth Ward, and in his life it is recorded : —
" The organ of our Cathedral was esteemed to be the
best in England, and cost two thousand pounds."
which would be a large sum comparatively even
in these days of mechanical appliance, but the
materials Loosemore used appear to have been
of the finest quality, the metal pipes being of
nearly pure tin, and the richly carved oak case
a costly item, its whole fabrication affording a
good example of what the hand of genius is
capable of achieving, when its fingers are not
cramped by the clutch of mammon. Thomas

84

OLD MUSICAL ECHOES,

Colby, a reputed German, is presumed to have
been its first organist ; and Dr. Burney ranks
Loosemore among the first organ builders of
his era.
From time to time the original instrument
received many alterations, additions, and im
provements by Schreider, Jordan, Micheau,
Lincoln and others, and at the restoration of the
Cathedral a few years since it was entirely taken
down, and wholly rebuilt within by Speedily, the
old pipes containing ninety-nine per cent of pure
tin were recast, burnished and set outside. It
contained thirty-seven stops, and the two
detached towers of large pipes at the transept
angles were removed, and their equivalents
placed inside.
As in by-gone days Exeter Cathedral had the
reputation of possessing the finest organ in the
kingdom, — but of late years much larger instru
ments had been constructed, furnished with all
modern improvements, that left far behind even
the new organ as rebuilt at the restoration of the
fabric, — the Dean and Chapter desirous of up
holding the antient fame of the edifice in this
particular, determined to again rebuild it, and
as far as possible in a manner that for size,
beauty, variety, and fullness of tone, it should
bear comparison with any organ now existing.
This has recently been accomplished at a cost of
over three thousand five hundred pounds, the work
was entrusted to Messrs. Henry Willis & Sons,
and the result is a magnificent instrument, a
marvel of musical mechanism, purity and power
of tone. The " deep sounds " of the organ are
now ranged against the west wall of the south
tower. Thus two hundred years after, in its accus
tomed and undoubtedly proper position, there
appears a worthy successor to Loosemore's original
creation. Although the handsome case has been
necessarily extended, and a smaller organ added
below on the nave side, similar to that toward
the choir ; the additions have been made in
excellent taste, and we rejoice to see its general
appearance is little altered. The bright silvery
pipes that decorate its fronts have a fine effect ;
but we miss the golden repose of the old crafts
man's diapasons, that in their plain or embossed
livery, harmonized so perfectly with the richly
carved oak they were set in.
On his gravestone the following inscription is
recorded ; — Hie jacet Spe Resvrrectionis
Johannes Loosmore,
qvondam Decano et Capitvlo hvjvs Ecclesise
Orator fidelissimvs, et inter Artifices svi
Generis facile Princeps. Sit Organvm hoc
avgvstvm prope sitvm perpetvvm istivs Artis et
Ingenii Monvmentvm. Obiit 18 Aprilis An :
1681; — iEta: sus 68.

Hie etiam Spe laete Resvrrectionis
reqviescvnt exvvias.
Johannis Shearme
qvi ejvsdem prsedicti Johannis Loosmore fvit
Gener, tanto dignissimvs qvanto Artis et
Ingenii Hseres peritissimvs necnon in eadem
Cvratione Svccessor fidelissimvs.
Sit Organvm igitvr hoc avgvstvm prope sitvm
perpetvvm Utrivs qve Artis et Ingenii Monv
mentvm. Obiit 12 Jvlii Anno Salvtis 1686;
jEtatis . .
By which we learn, —
Here lies in hope of the resurrection John Loosmore,
formerly the most faithful Curator to the Dean and Chapter
of this Church ,- and by far the chief among the artificers
of his kind : let this noble Organ placed near be a per
petual monument to his art and genius. He died 18 April
1687, in the 68th year of his age.
Here also in the same hope of a joyful resurrection rest
the remains of John Shearme who was the son-in-law of the
same aforesaid John Loosmore, and so much most worthily,
as being the most accomplished heir of his art and skill, as
also his most faithful successor in the same Curatorship :
let this noble organ placed near be therefore the perpetual
monument of the art and skill of either. He died 12 July
in the year of Salvation 1686, and . ... of his age.
The next memorial brings us to the venerable
Subchanter Wake, from his boyhood a member
of the Cathedral choir : —
Here lyeth ye Body of Mr. William Wake,
Subchaunter of this Church, and was Member
thereof 72 years ; who died the 6th of May,
1687 ;— iEtatis sua: 88.
Here lyeth the Body of Elizabeth the Wife of
Mr. William Wake, Subchaunter of this
Church, who died the second day of February
1682. To him follows Tobias Langdon, Master of
Music and Subchanter ; —
Here lie ye Reliques of ye Rev : Mr. Tobias
Langdon, Master of Musick, Priest Vicar
and Subchaunter of this Church, and Preben
dary of Bodmyn in Cornwall.
He was Generally Beloved by those yt knew
him, and his loss was as Generally Lamented,
which Happened on the 14th of Setembr :
1712.
Also Mary his Wife, who died 17 April 1726.
Anne, his Daughter, died 11 Feb. 1716.
Here Lyeth the Body of John, the Son of Mr.
Tobias Langdon, one of ye Priests of this
Church, who Died the 15 Jvly 1682.
Also Walter his Son, who Died December ye
3, I683-
From particulars kindly furnished by Mr.
Winslow Jones, we find Tobias Langdon was
married at Heavitree 10 Nov. 1674, to Mary

OLD MUSICAL ECHOES.

85

Baker of Exeter, and on the 16th of the same
month constituted Prebendary of Bodmin. On
May 8, 1687 (in succession to William Wake,
deceased two days previously) he was appointed
Priest-Vicar of the Cathedral ; and on 21 of Feb.
1688-9, Custos of the College of Vicars Choral.
He had seven children, John, baptized 10 July,
1677, buried 17 July, 1682 ;— Gilbert, baptized
10 Jany., 1680-1, married 30 Nov., 1731, Mrs.
Mary Holwell ; — Richard, baptized 18 July,
1686 ;— Charles, baptized 28 Feb. 1691-2 ; elected
Lay Vicar of the Cathedral 23 July, 1743;—
Walter, died 3 Dec, 1683 ;— Mary, baptized 2
Nov., 1684, married 26 Aug., 1707 at Woodbury,
to Mr. William Whateley, of Exeter, apothecary ;
—Ann, baptized 29 Sep., 1693; buried 13 Feb.,
1716-7. Mr. Langdon set the Communion Hymn to
music, which was published after his death.
The replica of a portrait of Mr. Tobias Lang
don is in the College Hall, and a, strange story is
connected with its substitution for a previous
and more valuable one, painted by James Gandy,
an excellent portrait painter, born in Exeter
1619, and who died in 1689. Mr, Pycroft in his
Art in Devonshire relates ; —
" This picture is alas 1 no longer to be found. In its
place hangs an admirable copy by the very clever
Exeter artist William Sharland ; but where the original
is gone no one knows. The picture was long ago
entrusted to a varnisher, cleaner, and restorer of paint
ings, who kept it so long on his hands that the owners
were tired of asking for it. He then caused a copy to
be made, and this he sent to the Vicars' Hall, and sold
the original to a Mr. Kendall, an Exeter lawyer and
picture collector. Kendall met his death by drowning,
and when his goods were sold the portrait passed into
the hands of a Mr. Birt a picture dealer, who had a
shop near the old Grammar School, and he sold it to
the late Charles Brutton of Exeter. At his death it was
sold, and up to the present time has not been traced.
When in the hands of the Vicars Choral it was in an
oval, but the fraudulent restorer altered it to a square,
to match the other paintings in the hall."
Jackson, in his Essays, thus alludes to it ; —
" About the beginning of this century was a painter in
Exeter called Gandy, of whose colouring Sir Joshua
thought highly. I heard him say, that on his return
from Italy, when he was fresh from seeing the pictures
of the Venetian school, he again looked at the works of
Gandy, and that they had lost nothing in his estimation.
There are many pictures of this artist in Exeter, and its
neighbourhood. The portrait Sir Joshua seemed most
to value, is in the Hall belonging to the College of
Vicars in that c'.ty— but I have seen some very much
superior to it."
Next in the succession is another Master of
Music, —
Here lyeth the Body of Mr. John Savery,
one of the Priest Vicars of this Church,
and Master of Musick, who died ye 23rd of
May, 1727.
and to him, a functionary for a long period in
various offices, beside the musical directorship :

as Subchanter he appears to have succeeded
Tobias Langdon ; —
Here lyeth ye Reverend Mr. John Vinni-
combe, who married Elizabeth, Daughter of
Mr. Charles Ford, and was Priest Vicar of this
Church, Dean's Vicar and Reader to ye
Winards 33 years, Subchaunter and Informator
Puerorum 29 years, Subtreasurer and Receiver
of the Bishops Rent 25, Apparitor General
of the Diocese, and formerly Chaplain to ye
Hon. Colonel Chudleigh's regiment of Foot.
He was born Deer. 2nd 1681, and died June
4th 1741.
a name still worthily represented in the divine
art, in the Cathedral city.
Subchanter Hicks followed Vinnicombe, he
also from childhood took part in the musical
services, evidently had his place among the
chorister boys and rose eventually to be their
Master and Director. Of him we read : —
Here lye the Remains of ye Revd. Mr. John
Hicks, Member of this Church 70 years, 34
years Priest Vicar, 21 years Subchanter, Master
of the Boys and Reader of the Wynards
Chapell, — died Aug. 14th 1762, aged 80 Years,
4 Months and nine Days.
Another veteran in the musical administration
of the Cathedral. The science of sweet sounds
appears to have been evidently conducive to
length of days.
Richard Langdon Bachelor of Music, probably
a grandson of Tobias, was 16 June, 1753, ap
pointed Lay- Vicar, Organist, Subchanter, and
Informator Puerorum.
He was a composer, published a " Collection
in Score of Psalms and Anthems, — London 1774,"
— and several of his chants are still in constant
use. On the 4th Oct. 1777, Langdon resigned
his appointments and went to Bristol Cathedral
He survived Jackson, his successor, two months
only. He was buried — presumably — in St. Paul's
Church, Exeter, where on a small marble tablet
on the south waU is this inscription : —
Richaed Langdon
Batchellor of Music
died the 8*h of Septr
1803, aged 74.
Arms : — Or, a chevron between three lions' heads
in profile, erazed at the shoulders, sable, — Crest: a
paternoster cross or.
William Jackson was appointed Organist, Sub
chanter, Lay- Vicar, and Informator Puerorum,
18 Oct. 1777, on Langdon's resignation.
He was an Exonian by birth and descent, and
an exceedingly accomplished man, not only in

86

OLD MUSICAL ECHOES.

music, but also in the sister arts of painting and
literature. As a musician he was one of the most popular
composers of his day, and his part-songs, can
zonets, and other vocal compositions, are well
known, of great merit, and much admired by true
lovers of melody, still standing out as classics
amid the flood of ephemeral meaningless pro
ductions that have succeeded them. In psalmody
and chant also, ever graceful and harmonious,
or strong, as the subject suggested, and a remark
able setting — now almost forgotten — of Tate and
Brady's version of the ninety-sixth psalm, for
homely vigour fairly puts to the rout the tamed
down mechanical inexpressiveness of modern
' inspirations ' a contrast as marked in its way,
as that between the impassioned lyrics of Charles
Wesley — offspring of the same .age — and the
sentimental placidity of John Keble.
In sacred music it is principally through his
well-known Services in F that Jackson is kept
in remembrance. What may be termed their
musical tramp or progression, at once caught the
congregational ear, showing how truly the com
poser kept step with his subject as " understanded
by the people ;" they became enormously popular,
still hold their own and are occasionally heard
"in quires and places where they sing."
Although perhaps not claiming a place in the
front rank of compositions of this class, and
notwithstanding the modern aesthetic shrug that
sometimes greets the mention of their existence,
their simple but expressive harmony is. eminently
pleasing, and forms a grateful relief at times,
amid the studied intricacy, with often correspon
ding baldness of melody and absence of motif,
affected by later composers, the tiresome
monotony of Gregorians, or the unendurable
repetition of (very) plain song.
As a painter, Jackson's pictures exhibit much
refined feeling and knowledge of the art, and he
enjoyed the rare, indeed almost unexampled
privilege of being the intimate friend of both
Gainsborough and Reynolds. In his Essays, he
gives interesting and graphic sketches of both
these celebrated painters. Of Gainsborough he
remarks, "his character was perhaps, better
known to me than any other person," and, strange
the leaning of these kindred geniuses, each
appears to have preferred the other's pursuit.
" Gainsborough'sprofession," says Jackson, " was
painting, and music was his amusement — yet,
there were times when music seemed to be his
employment, and painting his diversion." The
friendship between these gifted men must have
been almost unique. After giving a humorous
description of his friend's musical efforts, and a
discriminating view of his paintings, Jackson
concludes, —

" He died with this expression—" We are all going to
heaven, and Vandyke is of the party"— strongly expres
sive of a good heart, a quiet conscience, and a love for
his profession, which only left him with his life."
Of Sir Joshua Reynolds, Jackson gives an
equally interesting personal and critical sketch,
and alluding to his death says " after the loss of
Gainsborough, the world sustained a greater in
the death of Sir Joshua." Jackson minutely
compares the temperament and tastes of these
eminent painters, — so very unlike each other in
most things, — and among them " Sir Joshua
(not because he was deaf) wanted all idea and
perception of music, being perfectly destitute of
ear ;— Gainsborough has as correct an ear as
possible and great enjoyment of exquisite
instrumental performance, — vocal music he did
not relish." After paying a full tribute of
admiration to the merits of both, he continues : —
"Hitherto we have marked the difference of these
great men. In one thing, and, I believe in one only,
they perfectly agreed— they each possessed a heart full-
fraught with the warmest wishes for the advancement
of the divine art they professed, — of kindness to their
friends— and general benevolence to men of merit,
wherever found and however distinguished "—
the inseparable characteristics of the large
heart of true genius. Whoever wishes to read
piquant bits of biography, simply narrated,
commend them to these word-pictures of the
painters by a kindred spirit.
Of Jackson's paintings, three landscapes, for
merly belonging to Sir George Yonge, are stiU
at Escot, they are considerably in advance of the
mannerism of the time, shew an intimate know
ledge of nature, and are imbued with much
etherial feeling and refinement.
In his literary attempts, he published : — " The
Foue Ages ; together with Essays on various
subjects. By William Jackson, of Exeter. Lon
don, printed for Cadell and Davies, in the Strand,
1798." These, in the preface, he says " should be
considered as sketches for a periodical paper,
which was once intended for publication, — are
upon familiar subjects, and are treated as such."
The evidences of a cultured and intuitive mind
with great power of observation, are found on
every page (with one strange perversion, to be
subsequently alluded to) , and harmonize with the
other allied gifts of the writer. He further adds
" They may be considered as an addition to the
Thirty Letters, already published by the same
author," which we have not been able to obtain.
A portrait of Jackson, at seventy years of age,
painted by Keenan, is in the Devon and Exeter
Institution, to which it was presented by his son
in 1832. His friend Gainsborough also painted
his portrait.

WILLIAM JACKSON.

From tlir Painting ''.'/ AVrii.in

OLD MUSICAL ECHOES.

87

He died in 1803, was not buried in the
Cathedral, but in St. Stephen's Church, where,
in the vestry, is a white marble monument thus
inscribed ; — WILLIAM JACKSON,
BORN IN THIS CITY XXIX MAY, MDCCXXX,
DIED V JULY, MDOCCIII.
IN THE SCIENCE OF MUSIC AN EMINENT PROFESSOR,
WHOSE GENIUS UNITED ELEGANT EXPRESSION, PUEE
AND OEIGINAL MELODY, WITH PEOULIAE DELICACY OF
HARMONIC COMBINATION. IN PAINTING, IN LITERATURE,
IN EVERY LIBEEAL STUDY THAT ENLIGHTENS THE
INTELLECT, OE EXPANDS THE HEAKT, HIS ATTAINMENTS
WERE RARE AND DISTINGUISHED : A WRITER, NOVEL
AND ACUTE IN OBSERVATION A COEEECT AND
DISCRIMINATING CEITIC ; ENDEAEED TO HIS SELECT
ASSOCIATES BY A CONVERSATION AND DEMEANOUR OF
IMPRESSIVE AND FASCINATING SIMPLICITY.
ALSO THE REMAINS OF MARY JACKSON, RELICT OF
THE ABOVE-NAMED WILLIAM JACKSON WHO DEED X
JANUARY MDCCCXI, IN THE LXXXIIND YEAR OF HEE
AGE. MARY WIFE OF JOHN DOWNMAN, ESQ. (WHOSE
REMAINS WITH THOSE OF FOUR OF HEE BROTHERS,
CHARLES, FEEDEEIOK, EOMULUS AND EEMUS, ARE
DEPOSITED NEAE THIS PLACE) DIEECTED THIS
MONUMENT TO BE EAISED. AND OF HERSELF REQUIRED
NO OTHER MEMORIAL THAN THAT SHE WAS THE
DAUGHTER OF WILLIAM JACKSON.
It is noticeable that in this inscription Mrs.
Downman does not mention Jackson's official
position as Organist of the Cathedral, which
would constitute him virtually the head of the
musical profession in the city. Doubtless she
rightly judged, her father's celebrity as a musi
cian in alliance with other kindred gifts, would
be the basis on which his fame would rest,
apart from the office he held, conferring lustre
thereon, rather than receiving any dignity from
it, and so make the record unnecessary.
Jame? Paddon, a pupil of Jackson 12 April,
1804, succeeded to the appointment, and held it

for the long period of thirty-one years. A flat
stone, the inscription almost obUterated, in the
south aisle of the nave records —
James Paddon, died 14 June, 1835, — Elizabeth
Maria, wife of James Paddon, organist, 6. Jany.
1835. At Paddon's decease, Dr. S. S. Wesley,
inheritor of the genius and name of a gifted
family, a composer of great merit, and sub-
organist of Hereford Cathedral, was elected as his
successor, but resigned the appointment in 1842.
He died in 1876, and a monument in the north
aisle of the nave thus commemorates him, —
"In memory of Samuel Sebastian Wesley, Doctor of
Music, Oxford, many years Organist and Succentor of
this Cathedral ; who was born August 14th 1810, died
April the 19th 1876, at Gloucester, and is buried in the
Old Cemetery of this City.
This monument has been placed here by friends as an
expression of high esteem for his personal worth, and
admiration of his great musical genius."
On Dr. Wesley's resignation in 1842, Mr.
Alfred Angel, assistant organist of Wells Cathe
dral was appointed, he died 24 May, 1876, —
surviving Dr. Wesley a month only. A consci
entious musician and fine accompanist. To
him Mr. D. J. Wood, the present able represen
tative of a long list of eminent professors of the
divine art, who have had the direction of the
musical services of the Cathedral.
So ends our perambulation and reverie, and as
our foot turns to depart, the soft yet powerful
echo of a venerable but mighty minstrel in the
tower, reverberates through the sacred edifice,
and bids us not forget to enrol the name of him
that placed it there, Bishop Peter Courtenay, and
who, through its constant voice, has so long in
its own proper sphere, contributed to the musical
services of the Cathedral, melodiously marking
hour by hour for four centuries the noiseless
march of down-footed Time. Its donor is
sepulchred at the sister fane of Winchester, and,
as at Exeter amid kindred associations ; —
"Where, through the long drawn aisle and fretted
vault,
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise."

A PEEP INTO ILCHESTER BASTILE.

A GHOST OF CRIME AND SUFFERING.

IVELCHESTER GAOL, AND OLDEN PUNISHMENTS.

Their memorial is perished with them."

FROM the ordinary
pleasant high-ways
and by-ways of the Past,
which present-day archae
ologists so busily affect
to explore, our thoughts
for once lead us aside, •
and conduct us through
a dark and weU-nigh
forgotten track, where a
host of sad associations
wiU arise at almost every
footfall of our progress,
while beyond, dimly dis
cerned in Time's soft
ening distance, looms the
apparition of a vanished
building, in which they
all concentrate.
Why, it may be asked,
should we seek to traverse
this haunted road, or
the antiquary's investi
gations be led to exhume
with seemingly aimless
cruelty, particulars of the
frailty of human nature ;
of actions and scenes
over which oblivion in
apparently tender mercy
has cast its pall, which
the world would willing
ly forget, and not in this
respect at least, let the
dead bury their dead ?
The Mace. To this itis answered,
theantiquary's researches
are limited to no one subject, and are ever
tempered by tender sympathies, as he seeks to
bring back past lives and events for a while
from Time's keeping, to the bar of his thoughts,
— and least of all with the morbid curiosity of

-> ^ty-'s^/^^

recalling transgressions to cast a stone at their
remembrance, but rather to
" Implore the passing tribute of a sigh "
over offences and consequent suffering, in the
main, it is to be feared, greatly in excess of the
transgression. And with this also educe the inevitable lesson,
and offer an ascription to be kept from the
temptations that infest the path of life, which
so potently lay siege to, and but too often van
quish the strongest resolves, and lead to a
corresponding doom.
To him also it appears — as it should seem to
be the duty of all wise, reflective men — that
the darker and unfortunate, equally with the
brighter and nobler episodes of character,
should be held in remembrance, each with its
distinctive warning or encouragement.
Animated by such thoughts, along one of
these by-ways — sadly unique in gloomy associa
tions — we invite the reader to stray awhile ; and
also pari passu, Usten to a short recital of some
of the dreadful punishments which our fore
fathers thought fit in the " interests of justice "
— certainly not of mercy — to inflict upon their
feUow creatures, with an occasional reference to
those who suffered them, — a subject replete with
sad but absorbing interest.
A glance at the map of Somerset, assures us
at once, from the number of important roads
radiating from its site, that the very antient
town of Ivelchester or Ilchester, situate on the
southern boundary of the county, was in former
times a place of considerable importance.
From Collinson we learn that : —
" Its Roman name was Ischalis ; the Fosse-way ran
through it, and large remains of Roman work, coins
and ornaments have been found there. Vast arches
and immense foundations of antient buildings lie
beneath the surface of the ground, and the entire site
of the old city is filled with subterraneous ruins.
There exists a tradition that it owed its demolition to
fire, by matches tied to the tails of sparrows let fly
from Stannard-Cross hill. It continued to be a place

90

IVELCHESTER GAOL.

of consequence to the Romans and Saxons, having
round it strong walls and large fortifications, and has
been a market town since the Conquest."
• The modern appearance of Ilchester, con
trasted with its olden importance, is however
singularly uninteresting and disappointing.
Two rather long and nearly straight Streets
meet near the river, at what is presumably the
market-place ; an open space of some size,
having in the centre a few trees, and a classic
column with ball at the top, successor probably
to the Market Cross. At the corner by the trees
is the Town-Hall, a small structure with a
Tudor transomed window, but within it is
preserved a very antient relic — the mace of the
town authority, — old probably as any now ex
isting, dating from the thirteenth century. The
head-piece is of latten (brass) and consists of
four figures standing in arched niches, above is
an ornamental cap with studs, and below the
figures this inscription ; —
IK SV DE DRVERIE
NE ME DVNET MIE
the meaning is obscure, but its translation has
been inferred to mean, —
lam a mark of amity,
Do not forget me (ox, give me away.)
There is only one church, in no-wise remark
able for size or architecture, — yet Ilchester in
mediaeval days was ecclesiastically well provided.
Collinson tells us further that : —
" On the Ilchester side of the river, was the antient
Hospital of Whitehall founded in 1226, dedicated to the
Holy Trinity, for the entertainment of pilgrims and
poor travellers, afterward converted to a nunnery ;
a house of lepers ; a house of Black Friars, and an
almshouse. There were also six churches in the town,
of which only St. Mary's now remains."
In addition to the church, there is a building
having the appearance of a manor house, with
characteristics of Jacobean origin, and this is
apparently the only edifice otherwise having any
claim to antiquity in the place. It should not
be forgotten however, whUe speaking of the past
of Ilchester, that the celebrated Roger Bacon
was born here in 1214 — " in the Friary," — was
educated at Oxford, became a Franciscan monk,
and died there 11th June, 1292.
But for centuries, — it is not known how many
— Ilchester has sustained the rather sinister
reputation of possessing within its boundaries
the common gaol of the county, which was
removed and its last representative structure
razed to the ground, at a comparatively recent
date, about a half-century since (1843).
" As to its antiquity and importance in early times,
the gaol is mentioned in the Pipe Roll of 13 Henry II.,
(A.D. 1166-1167) in which the Sheriff of the county
claimed at the Exchequer an allowance of 100 shillings
which he had expended on the works about the gaol
' in opat' Gaoile ad Iuelcestr' e. s'. '

" In John's reign there is frequent mention of this gaol
as in 1 John (A.D. 1199-1200), when the Sheriff claimed
10/10, the cost incurred by the King's order in bringing
prisoners from Ilchester to Westminster, and 3/- for tha
repair of the gaol, — 't custam'to ducendi p'isones ab
Yuelcestr' tij s'. p br'. B'.' In 3 John (A.D. 1102-3) he
paid 18/6 for bringing five prisoners from Westminster
to Ilchester, — ' I custam'to ducendi v p'isones a Westm'
usque ad Yvelcestr' xviij s\ d: vi d\ p. id', br.' " *
Collinson thus notices it : —
" The original county gaol is said to have stood near
the old Town-Hall, eastward from the church, which
being destroyed, another was erected near the bridge
on the site (as tradition affirms) of an antient castle
built to guard the pass through the river Ivel. This is
now (1791) superseded by a new gaol built upon the
modern improved plan.
" In 45 Edward III.— 1372— the custody of the old gaol
was granted for life to Richard Porter ; other grants of
this kind were made 1 and 13 Henry iv. — 1400-13."
It should be added that the modern gaol was
really situate in Northover, on the opposite bank
of the Ivel, the river which divides that parish
from Ilchester. When it was first built we have
not been able to ascertain.
Of the common gaols of England, and the
unspeakable horrors that were known to have
existed within them up to the beginning of the
present century, connected with the condition
of the wretched inmates, very little reUable
detailed record exists, apart from the revelations
of the visits of Howard and other philanthro
pists. Nor is our knowledge of the adminis
tration of Ilchester gaol any exception to this
rule up to the above date, and probably the
same fate would have attended its history
extending to the subsequent twenty-five years,
had not a • remarkable person been incarcerated
there, and by persistent agitation induced a
record to be furnished, and it is from this
circumstance and other collateral sources the
foUowing information has been compiled, rela
tive to its condition and discipline.
This prisoner was the well known political
agitator Henry Hunt, otherwise better known as
" Orator " Hunt, who for participation in the
Manchester open-air meeting in August, 1819,
which was apparently conducted in a perfectly
quiet and orderly way, the magistrates affirmed
they read the Riot Act to disperse them, when
suddenly a body of yeomanry-cavalry appeared
on the ground, charged among the people,
cutting at them with their sabres, and trampling
many under the horses' feet. Men and women
shared alike, and the number killed and injured
amounted to between three and four hundred.
Hunt was first indicted for high treason, but
this charge was abandoned for conspiracy ; and
in May 1820, he was committed to Ilchester gaol,
sentenced to be imprisoned for two years and
six months, and at the expiration of that period
to find security for his good conduct for five
* Mb. W. Miles Barnes, in " Notes and Queries, for
Somerset and Dorset." Vol. iii. Page 183.

IVELCHESTER GAOL.

91

years, himself in a thousand pounds, and two
sureties of five hundred pounds each.
Hunt immediately on his arrival at Ilchester,
found congenial employment in investigating
the condition of the gaol, and treatment of the
prisoners, and with his usual relentless perse
verance, laying complaints against his gaoler.
This was foUowed in April, 1821, by the issue of
a pamphlet entitled ; —
"A Peep into a Prison, or the inside of Ilchester
Bastile. Dedicated without permission to William
Hanning, Esq., High Sheriff, and the Magistrates of the
County of Somerset."
The description of things within the gaol is
written with all the graphic pungency and out
spokenness characteristic of the writer, and »
sickening picture it is, albeit then, bad as it was,
considerably better than previous to the then
present Governor's introduction to the building
and its management, whose side of the story of
how he found it, the improvements he effected,
and partial refutation of Hunt's charges, will
be duly referred to. A characteristic etching
(which we reproduce) of the punishments in
vogue within the gaol, is given as a frontispiece.
To begin with a few particulars of the state
of the gaol as Hunt found them, and after the
improvements were in vogue, effected by the
then Governor. First as to its situation : —
" The gaol is in some parts below the bed of the
river, which skirts it, the water from which oozes
through the banks into and under the gaol ; in many
parts being built of porous stone, the water pervades
the walls from the foundation to its roofs. The river
frequently overflows its banks, fills the drains and wells,
and sometimes inundates the whole gaol. The winter
before last, the gaol was under water of a sudden about
fourteen inches throughout, and the prisoners con
sequently, in the dead of winter, wet to the knees. In
this state it remained a day and a night without access
¦or egress but by a boat."
We next get a description of the gaol : —
" It consists of a mass of irregular building erected
at various periods in which the prisoners have assisted ;
and the premises altogether cover about a statute acre
¦of land."
Those confined within it were not only pri
soners for criminal offences, but also as debtors
in custody of the Sheriff,— and as to its dread
fully crowded state we learn : —
" The total number of prisoners within its walls have
¦of late been as many as 266, the average number is
about 200. When it is considered the workshops
-occupy about an eighth of the gaol, the gaoler's house
and premises another eighth, the chapel, passages, &c,
a similar quantity, and that there is besides within its
walls three (separate) houses for the turnkeys and their
families, it must be obvious that it is a crowded gaol
when it contains 266 prisoners besides the officers and
their families, making in all a community of 300 persons."
As to sanitary arrangements outside, and
supply of water : —
" In the summer time, many of the wells have been
entirely dry for a long period ; after rain, the water

from the river beats into the wells, rendering them foul
and muddy, the water at all times being of a mawkish
quality. The general sewer to carry off the soil and
offal of the gaol runs close to the wells, and it has
lately been discovered that the contents had burst into
some of them, how long it may have been so it is
impossible to guess."
With such defective sanitation and over
crowding, disease, as a matter of course, invaded
the gaol : —
" This prison has often been visited by desolating
typhus fevers, which at one time raged so destructively,
that it was deemed unsafe to take the prisoners to the
assizes for trial, and the magistrates were afraid to
come near the place."
And we are told further : —
"There is no hospital or sick wards in this gaol, and
the surgeon appointed to attend the prisoners lives at a
distance of five miles. There is not unfrequently on
the sick list as many as fifteen or twenty persons ; yet
there is no hospital, or warm comfortable sick ward;
two debtors who have died here within the last few
months were never removed, but died in the midst of
their surrounding companions."
As to the religious services, or any educational
arrangement : —
" There is a small chapel, in which service is
performed once every Sunday. It is not large enough
to accommodate 100 people conveniently ; therefore to
cram upwards of 200, and sometimes nearly 300 into
such a place, where persons are almost all excessively
filthy, occasions in hot weather in the summer a stench
nearly insufferable. The males from the females are
separated by a lattice work partition only, and it is not
to be wondered if indecencies occur. Prisoners
suffering punishment for misconduct and heavily laden
with irons, are in that state brought to chapel and
placed around the Communion Table.
" There are sometimes as many as twenty juvenile
prisoners in this gaol, yet there is no one whose
appointed duty is to teach them to read or write, or
give them any instruction, but they are loosely allowed
to associate by day and sleep by night with felons who
have been convicted of crimes of the deepest dye."
And, again, with regard to the promiscuous
herding together of prisoners and debtors, male
and female, and the results : —
" Boys from seven to fifteen years of age are by day
the associates, and by night the bed fellows, of men
convicted of every variety of wickedness that is on
record in the catalogue of human crime. Men
committed for debt, and men committed for house
breaking, robbery, forgery, and nameless offences
labour together. Female debtors, female felons, and
women notorious street-walkers become companions.
The only pretence here to classifying is in the separation
of the men from the women, and how far that is
attended to, may be best appreciated when it is made
known that some time ago a female convict was
delivered of a child while in the gaol; and another
female convict became in a similar condition long after
she was brought into this place, and her Bastile-bred
boy has been living here for two years, and now lives
here with her at the expense of the county."
He has a good word however for the washing
arrangements : —
" The female prisoners are between 20 and 30, and are
employed chiefly in the laundry, and their labour is
most useful and beneficial."
But this is neutralized by the scantiness of the

92

IVELCHESTER GAOL.

clothing to the prisoners, and their consequently
dirty state : —
" Some of the prisoners are allowed a clean shirt once
a week, or once a fortnight, but many of them have
been here for long terms of imprisonment without
getting a pair of clean stockings or breeches."
Incredibly loathsome in their persons and
clothes, some of these poor wretches are de
scribed as being, without any possible means of
amelioration at their disposal : —
" There are no warm or cold baths in this gaol, and
the persons of the prisoners very filthy."
And their dirty stockings and breeches, worn
without change until they literally fell off their
thin bodies from decay.
As to the regulations of the prison, and
punishments inflicted on disobedient or refractory
prisoners : —
"The rules and regulations of this gaol are very
numerous but not promulgated,— consequently very
few of the prisoners have any opportunity of knowing
them, and are every hour in danger of offending against
a law of which they know nothing but from its
penalties, which few of them escape."
"What some of these punishments were, in
flicted for breaches of prison discipline, is thus
narrated : —
" To particularize all the punishments which have
been inflicted on unhappy prisoners, debtors, criminals,
male and female of every class, would fill a volume.
Among the most recent instances of punishment is that
of a man by name Gardner, who was placed in dark
and solitary confinement, handcuffed and chained to
his bed, his head shaved, and a blister put on the scalp,
by the rude and reluctant hand of a fellow prisoner.
The miserable man contrived to get his head to the
wall and rub off his tormenting cap, but no sooner was
that discovered than a straight waistcoat was put on
him, and the operation repeated on the already raw
skull, no magistrate, no surgeon present !
" Stocks are kept here expressly for the females, and
this punishment is rendered more or less severe in
proportion as the position of the poor woman's limbs
are more or less extended. A poor Irish girl was the
last female on whom this "torture was exercised."
Private flogging also appears to have been
resorted to with great savageness, — and the
following treatment of a prisoner is thus described
in a petition to Parliament presented by him : —
" That your petitioner James Hillyer is confined in
his Majesty's gaol at Ilchester, under a sentence of
eighteen months for stealing from a shop at Bristol ;
that some time in the second week of February last,
he and a fellow prisoner were playing at hustle-cap for
a few pence ; that another prisoner having interfered,
a squabble ensued, whereupon the other prisoner
reported your petitioner to the Governor, for having
played at hustle-cap ; upon which your petitioner was
immediately placed in heavy double irons, twice-
doubled, so that he could not move his legs more than
nine inches apart ; handcuffs were then placed on him,
and a chain passed from the fetters through the hand
cuffs, so that your petitioner chained down neck and
heels together. He was then placed into a cold, damp,
dark dungeon or cell, where he remained until the next
day, when he was led down before the visiting
Magistrates and another gentleman, who after lecturing,
&c, your petitioner, ordered him back again into the
solitary cell, where he remained for the space of nine

days and nights, without being able to put his hands to-
his mouth, to stand upright, or lie straight, unless when
the chain and handcuffs were taken off for about an
hour every night to take his bread and water and other
purposes, the other twenty-three hours he continued in
this painful position, with the exception of having the
handcuffs off once to go to chapel, and once or twice
for a few minutes otherwise ; he never saw a Magistrate
the whole time after, and so lay for nine days and
nights without once being allowed to have his clothes-
off, or any relief whatsoever, with his arms swelled
with the pressure of the handcuffs to such a degree
that the iron rings thereof were almost buried in his
flesh, and when the turnkey took them off toward the
latter part of this time they were obliged to use
considerable force to get them out of his flesh, which
only excited the merriment of the turnkey who laughed
at your petitioner's sufferings."
These statements with further details were
sworn to by the prisoners at the Commissioners'
enquiry, and not shaken to any extent. A boy
called Wheeler at the enquiry deposed that for
a, petty offence,
" I was locked up in a dark cell with my hands hand
cuffed behind me, and kept in this situation twelve days-
and nights successively, the cuffs cut my wrists and
made them raw, the flesh was swollen over the hand
cuffs ; the morning they were taken off I could not lift
my hands to my head, nor at the end of twelve days
could I raise my hands to my work, my fellow prisoners
endeavoured to lift my hands to my head but I could
not bear it; during the whole time I was in the dark cell
Mr. Bridle never came once to visit me. I contrived to-
sleep by night by laying on my side. I was in the same
ward as Kew that was hung the other day. I have been
put in the stocks, I was kept in them about a week by
day, from eight to one, and from two to six I could not
sit down and rest myself the whole time."
Some of the women had their hair cut off,
and one of them
" had a fine head of flaxen hair, she cried, and la
mented the loss of it very much, and for making ado
about it she was put on the horse, that is the stocks."
The debtors, rich and poor, as they are termed,
who were incarcerated in this gaol, had two
wards appropriated to them, and their condition
and treatment much the same as criminal pri
soners ; they were not exposed exactly to the
same cruel punishments but subject to every
kind of indignity, peculation, extortion and
misery of the most atrocious description, espe
cially the poorer debtors, and scenes of the most
revolting kind were of constant occurrence. As-
an instance of the cruelty of the law at this era,
a man had been a defaulter for assessed taxes to
the extent of a balance of thirty-four pounds, —
for this small sum the Commissioners of Taxes
committed him to Ilchester Gaol, in 1806, and
there he remained in confinement until 1821, —
fifteen years, — he had once before unsuccessfully
petitioned for release, and for this attempt was-
punished by the Governor in haying all his
letters and papers taken from him, and in his
second petition in 1821, after detailing the
harsh treatment, to which he had been subject,
states ; —
" that your petitioner is totally bereft of all property,
that he is now over seventy-four years of age. that his.

'¦X-r^--X;''.'->'-:W^^

HENRY HUNT, Esq.

Painted in Ilchester Gaol. September, 1822

IVELCHESTER GAOL.

93

constitution is greatly impaired and broken down, and
his body emaciated by such lengthened imprisonment,
and rigorous treatment, which must hasten him to his
grave unless he obtains relief ;— that such privations
and sufferings could never have been meant to have
been inflicted by the Legislature upon a defenceless
prisoner, whose only crime was getting in debt."
The old exclamation of " rotting in gaol for
debt," was very literally and inhumanly ful
filled here, debt being esteemed a worse and
less forgivable offence than felony,— there being
no limit to the term of imprisonment for the
debtor, — but the felon having " served his time "
as sentenced, recovered his liberty !
Hunt, who had numerous friends in the House
of Commons,— amongst them Sir F. Burdett,
Alderman Wood, Joseph Hume, Esq., and others,
—kept continually petitioning the House, for an
inquiry to be made respecting these charges of
general cruelty in the gaol, and also in regard to
the harsh treatment, accorded himself, and it
ended in a Koyal Commission being appointed to
investigate the charges. There can be no doubt,
a large infusion of political feeling was imported
into the controversy, — although it is equally
apparent there was a considerable amount of truth
in Hunt's allegations, as was borne out in the Com
missioners' report, and much good was done by
the attention of the public being thus called to
the state of the treatment, discipline, and punish
ment adopted towards prisoners here, as also
probably in gaols generally.
The Commission began 26th May, 1821, and
continued its labour for about a month.
Nearly one hundred and thirty witnesses were
examined, Hunt's witnesses being mostly pri
soners and prison officials, — for Bridle a number
of magistrates also gave their testimony gener
ally in his favour, as may be supposed, for of
course he was their servant, although they had
previously dismissed him from his office. Hunt
cross-examined the witnesseswith great acuteness,
and, altogether, fairly established the charges he
had made, and lie afterwards published the
evidence in an octavo volume of 276 pages, closely
printed in double columns of small type. It
was thus entitled : —
"Investigations at Ilchester Gaol, in the County of
Somerset, into the conduct of William Bridle, the Gaoler,
before the Commissioners appointed by the Crown. The
evidence taken by H B. Shillabear. Dedicated with an
address to His Majesty, King George the Fourth, by Henry
Hunt, Esq. London, Thomas Dolby, 299, Strand. 1821."
and the book is " embellished " with etchings
in caricature of Bridle and some of the magis
trates and gaol officials.
The Commissioners report that they found
the insanitary state of the gaol, badness of food,
restricted accommodation, and general harshness
of discipline much as Hunt had represented ;
they further state : —
" That the Governor had been appointed to his office
in 1808 at a salary of five hundred pounds a year, and

that he was at the time of his appointment chief mate
of the Retribution hulk stationed at Woolwich.
" With respect to the complaints made by Mr. Hunt
and other prisoners of the conduct of the Governor, it
does appear to us that he has greatly neglected his
duty in not inspecting the wards, &c.,— that the method
of keeping the Daily Occurrence book forms a subject of
grave reprehension,— that during a considerable period,
there was great neglect in not providing sufficient
county clothing for the prisoners, through which they
were reduced to a state of rags and extreme filth.
" We directed the irons worn by Hillyer to be produced
and put on in our presence. They consisted of a pair
of heavy fetters, doubled, so as to leave the length of
one link only between the legs, a pair of hand-bolts,
and a chain connecting the hand-bolts, with the centre
ring of the fetters. The length of the ctiain when
strained to its extent was barely sufficient to allow the
wearer to stand upright, carrying, by so doing, a weight
of about ten pounds and a half on his wrists. The
rings of the hand-bolts were so small, that it was not
without considerable effort of strength on the part of
the turnkey, and evident pain on the part of the pri
soner that they could be forced on his wrists ; and
although they were on but a very short time, the flesh
of the arms was deeply indented when they were taken
off. And although it has since been discovered that
Hillyer was enabled by means of a piece of wire he had
concealed, to unlock the fetters from his legs at night,
and fasten them on again before the turnkey visited
him in the morning, — yet as he could not remove the
hand-bolts, his sufferings for the nine days and nights,
during which he was ironed, and in solitary confine
ment, must have been very severe.
" We conceive that there can be but one opinion as to
the gross misconduct of the Governor in applying a
blister to the head of Thomas Gardner, by way of
punishment,— and the case of Mary Cuer to have been
one of extraordinary cruelty ; and it appears to us that
instances of immoderately severe and indiscriminate
punishment have occurred for some time in this gaol,
and frequently inflicted without due investigation. It
appears to us hand-cuffing prisoners, with their hands
behind them is unnecessary, and improper, as is the
use of what is called body-irons, consisting of a large
iron girdle fastened round the waist, to each side of
which is affixed a very short chain with rings for the
wrists, thus preventing the wearer of this instrument
from moving his hands more than a few inches from his
sides. The stocks used for the punishment of refrac
tory boys, consists of a box with holes in the lid which
confine the legs ; and if a prisoner was compelled to
stand in them for several successive days, as was prob
ably the case of John Wheeler, a boy thirteen years of
age, it would produce excessive fatigue. The infliction
of this punishment on him continued about a week,
from eight until one o'clock, then released for his
dinner until two, and then replaced there until six, —
with no seat or other means of resting or changing
his position, and his sufferings must have been very
considerable. The stocks in the laundry for the pun
ishment of women, have a chair affixed to them, and
cannot but produce bodily suffering, and this mode of
punishment appears to have been adopted with the
approbation of the visiting Justices. A very objection
able practice seems to have existed of placing fetters
and handcuffs on criminals when taken to execution ;
such precautions cannot be necessary ; escape is nearly
impossible ; and the ordinary confinement of the arms
sufficient to prevent the unhappy object from increasing
his own sufferings by resistance."
These extracts from the lengthy report, relate
mainly to punishments only, but it was other
wise very explicit in condemnation of the state
of the gaol and its management generally, and
added that much had been ameliorated since
the agitation for the enquiry began.

94

IVELCHESTER GAOL.

Early in May, 1822, on a motion in the House
by Alderman Wood to produce the gaol Occur
rence. Book, so severely animadverted on by the
Commission as being full of " interlineations,
interpolations, and additions," made long after
the occurrences, and " calculated and intended
to mislead and delude the research and

William Bridle,
from Hunt's "Investigations."
investigation of abuses and irregularities,"
Mr. Secretary Peel stated that he had given
orders for the prosecution of Bridle. In the
August following Bridle was put on his trial at
Wells, before Mr. Justice Richardson, and there
were two counts in the indictment, one for
locking up Mary Cuer with a young baby at the

breast; solitary, in a damp cell from Thursday
to Sunday, with nothing to eat but bread an'd
some water in a bucket, no vessel being allowed
her beside,— that no one visited her on the
Friday nor brought her any water, and that
although it was November, and cold sleety
weather, no fire was allowed her until the
Saturday. She was in consequence very ill.
Her offence was a quarrel with another woman
in the goal, and she was released on Sunday
after begging the Governor's pardon. The other
count was as to the blister put on the head of
the man Gardner, and other ill treatment,
which the persons duly detailed to the Court. A
large number of magistrates gave evidence in
favour of Bridle, whom they spoke of in the
" highest terms for his humanity, kindness, and
respectability." Of course it must not be
forgotten that themselves were considerably
implicated in the enquiry, for not having used
sufficient supervision over Bridle — and notwith
standing this high character, they had neverthe
less previous to the trial superseded him in his
office, — a curious, contradictory proceeding.
The trial lasted the whole day. The jury
found Bridle guilty on one eharge only, that of
the man Gardner, and strongly recommended
him to mercy on account of his previous
excellent character.
In November, in the Court of King's Bench,
Mr. Justice Bayley pronounced sentence. After
a very careful and impartial review of the cir
cumstances, he imposed a fine of fifty pounds.
Bridle, who appeared much affected during the
address, burst into tears at its conclusion and
sat down. The fine was at once paid. The
special jury that tried the case declined to
receive their usual fees, and Bridle's council also
returned theirs.
Audi alteram partem, — we have given an out
line of Hunt's charges against Bridle, and the
result : our next course is to hear what Bridle has
to say himself, in his defence, and the improve
ments he effected at the gaol, during his time of
office. In February 1822, Bridle published an octavo
volume thus entitled : —
" A narrative of the rise and progress of the improvements
effected in His Majesty's Gaol at Ilchester, in the County
of Somerset, between July 1808, and November 1821, under
the governance, sugggestion and superintendance of
Wn. Bridle, Keeper ; being the first part of his exposition
of, and answer to, the charges lately brought against him by
Henry Hunt; a prisoner confined in the said Gaol. Bath,
Wood d: Co., 1822."
In this book Bridle gives two ground plans of
the gaol, when he came to it in 1808, and when
he left it in 1821, and it can hardly be a matter
of controversy, how much he enlarged and
improved it. It is curious to observe, that
Bridle was not only the Keeper or Governor, but
also the architect and builder of the alterations

IVELCHESTER GAOL.

95

and extensions, a large portion of which was
effected by convict labour, assisted in the more
difficult parts by contracts with builders from
without. When he came to the gaol there were 62
prisoners of all classes, who were divided into
five wards only, and
"from mere want of edifice, there was no power of
classification ; from the absence of regulation and
labour, no power of preventing the prisoners spending
their time as idly and dissolutely as they pleased ; and
as the only place used as a visiting room was appro
priated to the debtors, all other visitants to the
prisoners were permitted to enter their respective
wards, and take with them whatsoever they pleased:
The consequence was, that the prison was either a
scene of drunken frenzy, or gambling association, and
as no religious books were ever distributed among them,
no mode of restricting or adding to their personal
comforts in case of wilful error, nor any other regu
lation by which their lives might be amended, or their
wicked propensities repressed, the daily occurrences of
the gaol, were all that was debauched, profligate and
dreadful. There was only one ward for all female
prisoners, whether felons or debtors, and_ the widow
and one of the daughters of an officer lately governing
the Island of St. Kitts, on being unfortunately com
mitted to gaol for debt, were absolutely obliged to
be placed in the same ward with females of the most-
abandoned description. The very chapel was so
perfectly undivided, that prisoners sat down in a mass ;
and the house of God with such a congregation, became
a house of profligacy. There was no laundry, conse
quently no regular supplies of clean linen, indeed the
whole gaol (there were 62 prisoners in it at the time)
was washed by one woman, and that too in the kitchen,
and by the fire of the ward in which she lived. The
gaol was one common ward,— the court yards were
neither stoned, paved, nor gravelled, and the only
chance of walking with dry feet was, by stepping from
one stone to another. Such was the state of the gaol
in 1808,- -what it has become since is the duty of this
work to point out, however Herculean the task I had to
perform, the AugBean Stable was cleansed, and by the
protection and noble co-operation of Sir John Palmer
Acland, the gaol at Ilchester, and I feel proud in
asserting it, has become one of the first, if not the first
gaol in the whole world."
Thus much for a glimpse at the interior of
the gaol and its management when Bridle
became its Governor in 1808, and his assertion
as to its condition in 1821, with the description
of the reformation and improvements given in
his book, seem fairly to warrant its correctness.
Ilchester being situate a long distance from
the assize towns we are told that : —
" Prisoners were conveyed to and from the Assizes
and Quarter Sessions, the nearest town in which they
are held (Taunton), being eighteen miles distant from
the gaol in open waggons, exposed to all the inclemency
of the weather, and to the public gaze, and travelling
at the rate of three miles an hour. I have had caravans
constructed on springs entirely enclosed, and have
myself travelled on the box of one of them seventy
miles a day."
A great boon to the poor wretches, who had
to go occasionally to Wells, or Bristol, and
when sentences to penal servitude, no infrequent
occurrence, by the same methods of transit, all
the way to the hulks at Portsmouth.
But occasionally the mode of conveyance was

varied by a cruise by water, canal, or river, as
opportunity offered. In 1818 a paragraph in a
local paper narrates : —
" The prisoners from Ilchester Gaol, ninety-five in
number, were brought to Taunton by water (eighteen
miles) in ten hours. As the barge was proceeding from
Ilchester to Taunton on Saturday last, 28 March, one of
the prisoners, whose mirthful disposition was not
subdued by the circumstances of his condition, called
out to a man who was on the river side, and asked him
(pointing at the same time to some sea-gulls that were
hovering about) if he could tell him ' the name of those
birds that had teeth in them ' ; ' yes,' said the coun
tryman, ' I can, they are called Gaol birds.' "
In 1817, typhus fever raged in the gaol, and
no wonder, for it appears to have been frightfully
over-crowded. " In the Spring assizes in 1S17, 1 had to remove from r
the gaol eighty-five persons for trial at Taunton, "
whither I removed them in one day. Eighty of these
— male felons — absolutely occupying a ward having
twenty-six cells, and intended for trie occupation of
twenty-six people only. In 1818 ninety-nine prisoners
were confined for trial in cells, originally intended to
hold no more than twenty-six; and twenty- six men
were confined in a day-room calculated to hold no more
than twenty."
Bridle, in this extraordinary fever-difficulty
and danger, appears to have acted with great
care and intelligence, and to have employed all
the then known sanitary appliances for its
amelioration. A cottage was taken at the neigh
bouring village of Limington, where seventeen
of the patients were removed ; a sufficiently large
number, but great difficulty was experienced
in procuring even it. Speaking of the visitation
of this dreadful scourge, he says : —
" "When it is remembered, that the average number
of deaths in typhus fever is one in fifteen or sixteen, the
fact that we lost but two in upwards of sixty, speaks
volumes in favour of the treatment adopted, the
attention shewn, and the vigilance and activity
displayed by every officer in the gaol. For my own
individual part, I shall briefly say, that such was the
anxiety and fatigue I suffered, an inroad has been made
on my constitution no reward can repair. I have the
conscientious satisfaction, however, that I faithfully,
actively, and diligently performed my duty ; and when
the crowded state of the gaol is considered, it appears
almost a miracle how the contagion was destroyed at
all." We also get a graphic description of the last
dread scene, when the extreme penalty of the
the law was inflicted.
" Hitherto (about 1813) all executions had taken place
a considerable distance from the town on a common by
the road side. It may be deemed invidious in me by
some, and considered incredible by others, should I
enter into a minute detail of the scene Ilchester
presents on the day that unhappy beings are appointed
to pay the last debt to the laws they have outraged ; but
as a brief narrative of facts is my object, I am bound
to describe it. This day, then, at Ilchester is called
'Hang-Fair Day,' the people assemble from the
surrounding parishes, and I myself have witnessed, on
returning from the place of execution, numbers of
them dancing in the ale-houses of the town. Once in
particular I observed it in the tap-house of the princi
pal inn, made complaint of it instantly and caused it

96

IVELCHESTER GAOL.

to be stopped. On another occasion of these dis
graceful proceedings, the town presented the appear
ance of a perfect fair. It is still fresh in my memory,
that one inhabitant, an innkeeper, who was moreover a
member of a troop of Yeomanry, made the following
remark to me on the occasion of some unfortunate
wretches having received the royal mercy. ( So,
Mr. Bridle, there are none of the prisoners to be hung
then. By G  it is a shame of the Judges to reprieve
them all; for d  me, if Ilchester is worth living in
without there are hang-fairs and good elections I '
" Many a time has the riot and disorder of the mob
disturbed the unhappy criminal in his last moments on
his way in a cart to the place of execution ; and to such
a height did it at times arrive, that the poor creatures

and riotous populace ; instead of having their last
moments of devotion disturbed by the sounds of
intoxicated blasphemy, or unfeeling bursts of laughter,
are now removed from the Chapel to the place of
execution without annoyance, and without hindrance,
and without any extraneous addition to that agony
which the sense of their awful situation alone must
sufficiently inflict."
And so we learn these disgraceful scenes were
rife at Ilchester, thirty years after the unfor
tunate Dr. Dodd — who was also subjected to the
dreadful ordeal of being conveyed from Newgate
to Tyburn, through a seething mob — in his

themselves have addressed remark and admonition to
the surrounding revelling multitude. Nothing, indeed,
short of actual observation could have induced me to
credit what I myself have witnessed on these melan
choly occasions ; but there are thousands in the county
who know the truth of this statement, and who more
over would add that the description given of Ilchester
nearly two hundred years ago bears good now ;— ' All
IWiester is Gaol, say prisoners tliere ' ; — which means,
1 They (the inhabitants of Ilchester) are so hard-hearted.'
To remedy this crying evil I most assiduously
laboured, after great difficulty and much opposition, it
was ordered that the walls of the front lodge should be
raised, the roof made flat, a drop erected (the model of
which I had been at great pains to procure), and that
all executions in future should take place thereon.
This was quickly effected ; and the unhappy culprits,
instead of being dragged in a cart through a drunken

Prison Thoughts thus graphically describes them:
" Crowd then, along with yonder revel-rout
To exemplary punishment, and mark
The language of the multitude, obscene,
Wild, blasphemous, and cruel 1 'Tent their looks
Of madding, drunken, thoughtless, ruthless gaze,
Or giddy curiosity and vain I
Their deeds still more emphatic note ; and see
By the sad spectacle unimpress'd, they dare
Even in the eye of death, what to their doom
Brought their expiring fellows."
With the recital of this last * improvement '
made to obviate these miserable exhibitions, we
bring our notes from Bridle's Narrative, as to life
within the gaol, to a close. The glimpse that
we get from its pages of the wretched condition of

IVELCHESTER GAOL.

97

prison existence and discipline, at the beginning
of the century, — and presumably here at its
best, — is an instructive one, compared with the
humane and well-considered regulations of the
present day. No register of events happening
within the gaol appears to have been kept before
the governorship of Bridle ; and he instituted
the Occurrence Book, but it was a document of
such doubtful authenticity that the Commis
sioners severely commented on it as being alto
gether untrustworthy and full of alterations and
interlineations, and calculated to mislead, rather
than give information. A number of extracts
are given in the Narrative, but it is noteworthy
no entry appears as to the punishments awarded
Hillyer, Mary Cuer, or the boy Wheeler. In the
visiting Magistrates' Journal, also kept in the
gaol, this entry, however, is extracted as to
Wheeler : —
" May 18, 1820.— Visited the gaol, ordered a boy of
the name of Wheeler, a convict for two years hard
labour, who had been guilty of a disturbance of fight
ing with another boy, to be confined in a separate
cell, till he amend his behaviour, and approved of
Mr. Bridle's confining the legs of such boys as shall
be disorderly in their workshops."
This entry is apparently written and signed
(or alleged to be) by " John Phelips, Esq." — and
the confinement was to be in the box-stocks before
described. Bridle adds in notes, as to the boy,
evidently to give reasons for the severity : —
" His father capitally convicted and transported for
fourteen years, his grandfather also transported, and
his young brother twice in gaol and once whipped."
A dreadful record, — this lad was only fourteen
— what age would his " young brother " have
been ? Poor boys, — nursed in crime doubtless, —
and no friendly aid to rescue them ! As to
Mr. Phelips,—
" This gentleman was Hunt's first witness, and he
swore he did not know of any stocks in the gaol, until
enquiry, although Mr. Phelips had the stocks brought
into the room for his inspection, before he made the
order." A reference to Mr. Phelips' evidence shows
that the order for the continuation of Wheeler's
punishment was an interlineation, that he did
not remember seeing the stocks at all, and,
if he had, certainly should not have approved
of a boy being kept standing in them for such
a length of time, considering it would be a
severe corporeal punishment ; — and had no
knowledge of his being kept in irons, with his
hands hand-cuffed behind him day and night ;
and had no recollection in this visit to the
laundry of seeing the women's ' stocks,' and if
they were there, were probably covered with
clothes at the time.
Notwithstanding the improved arrangements
introduced by Bridle, the discipline was still
very defective, and the extracts given mostly
relate to punishments awarded for breaches by

this class of offence. The female convicts were
unclean in their habits, slothful and disorderly
in their conduct ; — and the males often gambling,
quarrelling, and fighting in the wards and cells.
In addition to the remodelling, and almost
rebuilding the gaol during Bridle's adminis
tration, chiefly effected by the inmates, he
also initiated and carried out a comprehensive
system of prison labour, otherwise, which must
have taken considerable judgment and method
to organize, and although, as may be expected,
not much profit could be made, yet it was
undoubtedly a step in the right direction, and
kept the convicts suitably employed in such
handicrafts as they were versed in, and imparting
useful knowledge to the others. The accounts
were carefully kept, and the Committee of
Justices appointed to examine, audit, and report
thereon, in 1819, said "they had every reason
to be satisfied with the system of labour carried
on in the gaol."
As soon as Bridle had knowledge of the issue -
of Hunt's pamphlet, he immediately sent a
copy of it to the Under Sheriff, to be placed
before the Magistrates, and praying that an
immediate enquiry might be instituted into the
allegations, and the High Sheriff and a Com
mittee of Magistrates were at once appointed
and a day named to commence the proceeding.
Before, however, the day arrived, in response
to Hunt's agitation, the Commission was issued
under the Great Seal, to enquire into the treat
ment of the prisoners, and state of the gaol.
Notwithstanding their knowledge of this, and
what undoubtedly would then have been the
just course, to leave the investigation to the
Commission, they, nevertheless, decided to
hold theirs just a month previously, and met
at the gaol for that purpose. Hunt, with his
usual facility, had formulated all his charges,
was quite prepared to go on with his case and
produce his witnesses, but Bridle was not so
prepared. He says : —
" On the first day I had no person to interfere on my
behalf, relying that the Magistrates would protect me,
— to my astonishment and grief however, I thought I
discovered amazing partiality shewn to my accuser,
and I instantly imagined they feared implication, on
their own parts, and would, to avoid it, even coalesce
with Hunt, to procure my ruin."
The enquiry lasted fourteen days, when Hunt
closed his case, and then a week was given
Bridle to produce his defence, the Committee
peremptorily " refusing to grant an hour longer."
Bridle at once went to London to get the best
legal advice, and his counsel gave a very strong
opinion on this investigation taking place just
before the Commission held theirs : —
"that it would be a departure from the known
principles of justice to require Mr. Bridle to disclose,
to the party accusing him, the nature and proof of his
defence, before such investigation legally commences.

98

IVELCHESTER GAOL.

It is clear that the proceedings before the Committee
of Magistrates will be no evidence before the Com
missioners." They advised Bridle to decline any defence
before them, and commented adversely on thus
attempting to put Bridle to such unnecessary
expense. The Commissioners then held their
investigation, at which Bridle, in defence, was
suitably represented. In the July following, and
long before the Commissioners' report was issued,
it was notified to Bridle that the Magisterial
Committee (on their ex parte investigation) had
resolved " that he was an unfit person to hold
the situation of Keeper of the prison, and that
he was about to be discharged," yet they did not
wish to part with him until the December
following. Bridle thereon adds this pertinent
commentary : —
"The Committee have placed themselves in a very
awkward predicament. By dismissing me they tacitly
admit the charges of Henry Hunt to be true. If they
be true, the very members of that Committee pass on
themselves their own condemnation, for if such great
cruelties, such glaring irregularities, positively did exist
in Ilchester gaol, every member of that Committee had
been guilty of a gross neglect of duty in not having
discovered them, and of gross mis-statements in their
entries in their own journal.
I have now to ask the Committee why, seeing they
decided I was unfit to hold the situation, they kept me
in it so long ? The same Committee who decided I
was unfit to hold the. situation of Gaoler in July, would
have kept me in that situation until the following
December, and I only know, that it was entirely owing
to my own repeated applications that I got clear of the
gaol as early as the tenth of November. If, therefore,
I was actually unfit, I accuse that Committee of a high
breach of duty towards the county, in continuing me
in a situation they had decided I was unworthy to fill."
The whole circumstances of the investigations
are curious. The report of the Commissioners
told against Bridle as to his harshness and
cruelty towards the prisioners, and other serious
irregularities within the gaol ; but it also
appears equally certain the visiting Magistrates
had performed their functions in a very lax and
imperfect manner, and were kept pretty much
in the dark, when they did visit the gaol, of
what had occurred there. Their hasty dismissal
of Bridle on ex parte evidence only, and before
the report of the Commissioners appeared, looks
very like that they feared their own remissness
to discover these abuses would be duly set
forth ; and so they appear to have made their, —
up to the date of Hunt's allegations — trusted
functionary for the preceding thirteen years
their scape-goat.
There was an enormous amount of political
and social acrimony imported into the proceed
ings, and the prosecution of Bridle became
almost a political necessity ; but it was only a
half-hearted affair, as the termination shewed ;
though apparently surrounded with all the grave
formularies and terrors of the law. As we
have seen, at the trial the jury and counsel

renounced their fees, and immediately after
subscription lists were opened on Bridle's behalf,
in almost all the leading banks, &c, in Somerset,
and also in London, evidently by influential
people who sympathised with him, then, as
it was set forth, — " pressed down to the earth
by his cruel and relentless persecutors."
Bridle was self-made ; early in life he enlisted
as a soldier, " in a Fencible regiment," and
rose by merit to be successively Corporal,
Sergeant, and Quarter-Master. From this he
was appointed mate of the hulk on the Thames
for the reception of convicts, and from that to
be the Keeper of Ilchester gaol. That he was
a very able man, there can be little doubt, as
his Narrative shews, with many good qualities,
and on the whole did his best in the adminis
tration of the gaol. Doubtless, notwithstanding
all the improvements he effected in the gaol,
and its crowded state, there was room for very
much more to be observed and done. This
harshness toward the wretched inmates was
probably as much his misfortune as his fault ;
the age was still saturated with relentless
cruelty toward the unfortunate beings who fell
within the clutches of the law ; only the most
imperfect knowledge of gaol discipline was
understood or practised, and it was left almost
wholly to the keepers of gaols, to use their own
discretion in all matters concerned. To punish
a prisoner was the one thing then deemed
necessary, to reform him was not dreamt of,
and Bridle's training in the army, and subsequent
experience in a convict hulk, did not augur well
for much humanity being shewn at Ilchester.
Almost immediately after the report of the
Commission, the gaol was presented at the
Assizes for its defective and insufficient accom
modation, and insanitary state ; and the Court
of Quarter Sessions ordered a considerable sum
to be laid out on it. It was further determined
to build a new gaol at Shepton-Mallett, and
eventually to suppress the gaol at Ilchester
altogether, not only on account of its unsatis
factory state, but also its situation, so close to
the southern boundary, and consequent distance
and difficulty of access from the other and more
populous parts of the county.
Dismissing our thoughts from the old vanished
gaol and its associations for a time, we propose
to take a glance for a while at the nature of the
punishments that had been in vogue for the two
or three centuries precedent, in this land of
ours, cruel and atrociously severe, the larger
proportion of which survived up to the date of
our little history. * What shocks us more particu
larly was the small value set on human life, past
* Gleaned from old Magazines, and files of Newspapers,
the Newgate Calendar, Roberts' Social History of the
Southei-n Counties, and numerous other sources.

IVELCHESTER GAOL.

99

belief almost, and forfeited often for a few shillings
value 1 Still worse, the opposition set up by
"those who profess and call themselves Christ
ians," against any amelioration of them. And
the relentless barbarity also exercised towards
the young; children of almost tender years
hanged as remorselessly as the most hardened
felon, or sentenced to long periods of imprison
ment, sometimes even for life, and would be
deemed almost equally incredible now, in the
revised code of suitable reformatory punishments
specially awarded them. Even so late as 1838,
no less a ' dignified ' personage than Lord
Denman, Lord Chief Justice of England, at the
Launceston Assizes, sentenced a boy, thirteen
years of age, to penal servitude for life, for
stealing a peck-and-half of potatoes, which he
necessarily must have purloined for the use of
some other person. Let us hope the atrocious
sentence was not carried out in anything
approaching its entirety.
But cruel as this sentence was, it was out
done in 1791, when two boys, aged fourteen years
each, were hung, at Newgate, for robbing another
little boy, aged ten, of a bundle of clothing,
and also ill-using him at the time. The boys,
who were described as " dirty and ill-visaged,"
and, although so young, had often been arraigned
and convicted of similar offences. In sentencing
them to death, the Judge declared, " it was
necessary for the public safety to cut them off,
in order that other boys might learn, that inured
to wickedness, their tender age would not save
themixoxa an ignominious fate," — and it is added
when executed " theywere apparently insensible
of their dreadful situation ;"¦ what else could be
expected ! of course, poor neglected children,
hung like two dogs, and doubtless just as
ignorant. They had been associated with a gang
of thieves, by whom they were supposed to
have been prompted, but the boys absolutely
refused to betray their tutors, and their execution
thus, was the education supplied to deter others,
young and ignorant as themselves, from com
mitting crime, instead of being taught otherwise;
that was' not dreamt of at the time, nor fully
recognized for nearly a century afterward, and
we fear has many an enemy now. As late
as about the year 1834, a lad was hanged at
Dorchester, for arson at Bridport, the last
execution, we believe, for this offence, — great
efforts were made to save his life, but did not
succeed. Unlike the firmness of the boys who
suffered, this youth was convicted on the testi
mony of his companion, who turned ' king's
evidence ' to save his own life," — but the mark
of Cain was stamped on his character and he
fled to America.
It is with a, shudder that we view the inhu
manity — the utter contempt of- the value of life
and callousness to suffering — in the punishments

awarded under the English code, up to within
the last half-century, and which we hope to
further refer to. Passing by the hideous tortures
of the rack, thumb -screws, and boot, and the
agonizing deaths inflicted in mediaeval times,
for offences, so-called — of religious, treasonable,
or social character, — either to extort confession
or as punishments, — we come to the horrible
barbarities awarded in later days to ' traitors '
and rebels,' — that of hanging, drawing and
quartering. This was the sentence : —
" That you and each of you, be taken to the place from
whence you came, and thence be drawn on a hurdle to
a place of execution, where you shall be hanged by the
necks, but not until you are dead ; that you be severally
taken down, while yet alive, and your bowels taken out
and burnt before your faces, that your heads be then
cut off, and your bodies cut into four quarters, to be at
the King's disposal."
A Judge adding on one occasion : —
" And may God in His infinite goodness have mercy
on your souls ! "
It would be impossible for the callous nature
of legal hypocrisy to get further.
It was inflicted wholesale on the unfortunate
followers of Monmouth. A contemporary letter
thus refers to it : —
" Nothing but complaints of ye violence of our
predecessors to ye country in all kinds, both as to
persons as well as goods, such as I have scarce known
practissed at any time in our former civil warrs, and
which I cannot but believe we shall heare more of
when ye Parlem't meetes, and of the execution of so
many of ye traitors heere, 18 at one lump and all
q'rtered, and more every day in other parts of ye
countrey, which will be to ye number of near 300, and
most of they'r q'rters are and will be set up in ye tounes
and highways, so yt ye countrey lookes as one passes,
already like a shambles. You may think what it will
be when all is done, (7. Oct. 1685.)"
And there is a characteristic story told that a
Sheriff of one of the three counties was just at
this period disturbed at his dinner one day, and
doubtless his appetite destroyed for the time,
by the executioner driving up to his door with
a wainload of rebels' quarters, all duly pickled
with salt and tar, for instructions as to where
they were to be set up !
Again, after the Rebellion of 1745, a large
number of ' rebels ' were subjected to this
ferocious treatment, which was carried out to
the letter, and with incredible barbarity, the
-victims were cut down from the preliminary
hanging before they were dead, — and one of
them is said to have fought with the depraved
miscreant, who for the miserable fee of a few
guineas, was then engaged in disembowelling
his fellow-man alive. The mind recoils with
horror from such a scene, and we believe this
was the last time all these revolting details were
carried out.
In 1781, this ghastly sentence was passed and
partially performed on Francis Henry de la

100

IVELCHESTER GAOL.

Motte, a French spy, who sent information as
to the strength of the English fleet, by which
the French inflicted considerable damage on it
and loss of life. He was drawn from Newgate
to Tyburn on a sledge, and
" after hanging fifty-seven minutes the body was cut
down, and laid on a block, when (a fire having been
previously kindled,) the executioner severed the head
from the trunk, and, making an incision in his breast,
ripped out the heart, which after being exposed to the
surrounding spectators was thrown into the flames.
The body was then scorched, together with the head,
and put into a handsome coffin, and delivered to an
undertaker for interment."
In 1794, Robert Watt was convicted at
Edinburgh of * high-treason,' and the same
sentence was passed on him. The procession
to the execution proceeded from the Castle to
the Tolbooth,—
" The prisoner was placed in a hurdle painted black,
and drawn by a white horse, — with his back toward the
horse, and the executioner with a large axe in his hand,
took his seat opposite to him ; and it was placed in the
centre of a large procession of civic authorities,
constables, &c, the city guards lining the streets. The
procession advanced with slow step, and the prisoner
exhibited a most melancholy spectacle. He held the
Bible, and his eyes remained in a fixed position upward.
He was much emaciated and his countenance so pale
he appeared almost lifeless. He was taken into the
Tolbooth where a considerable time was spent in
devotional exercises, then the prisoner came out on the
platform, and some time further was spent in prayer
and singing psalms. These concluded, the prisoner
mounted the drop-board and was soon launched into
eternity. When the body was taken down, it was
stretched on a table, and the executioner, with two
blows of the axe, severed off the head, which was
received into a basket, and then held up to the multi
tude, while the executioner called aloud, ' There is the
head of a traitor, and so perish all traitors ! ' The body
and head were then placed in a coffin and removed."
Very religious and very bloodthirsty rites,
and doubtless esteemed very patriotic also, but
what a frightful mockery! James O'Coigley,
for ' high-treason,' received similar sentence
from Mr. Justice Buller, of Devonshire extraction
and fame, at the Kent Assizes in 1798 :—
" At quarter past eleven, O'Coigley left the gaol. He
was dressed all in black, his hair cropped and powdered,
his shirt-collar open, with no neck-cloth. His elbows
were tied behind with ropes, and over his shoulders was
the rope with which he was executed. He stepped
into the hurdle, and on his sitting down a chain was
put round his waist to fasten him. The executioner
sat opposite him. He had nothing on his head. Two
hundred Maidstone volunteers and the civic authorities,
accompanied the hurdle which was drawn up close to
the gallows on Pennenden Heath, about two miles from
Maidstone. There he was unchained, and after his
devotions he ascended the platform, and on his being
tied up to the gallows made a speech to the officials
asserting his innocence. A white cap was then drawn
over his face, the drop fell, and after remaining
suspended for twelve or thirteen minutes, he was taken
down, and the head taken off by a surgeon, which the
executioner held up to the populace, saying,—' This is
the head of a traitor.' Both head and body were then
placed in a shell, and buried at the foot of the gallows."
What h, picture of studied cruelty — even a
mad-dog could not have received less pity. In

1802 the notorious and resolute Colonel Despard
and his companions experienced a similar fate
at Newgate ; here, that no indignity be omitted,
the ' sledge ' was drawn through the passage,
being part of the prison only. Despard, who
was thus conveyed to the scaffold crying out,
smilingly, "Ha! ha! what nonsensical mum
mery ;" then —
" coffins or shells, which had been previously placed
in a room under the scaffold, were then brought up and
placed on the platform, on which the drop was erected ;
a bag of sawdust, to catch the blood, when the heads were
severed, from the bodies, roas placed betide them. The
block was near the scaffold. There were about a
hundred spectators on the platform, among them were
some characters of distinction. The greatest decorum
was observed."
These frightful accessories to the gallows, with
the ropes swinging, was the premeditated picture
these unfortunate men were introduced to on
mounting the platform, thickly lined all round
with curious distinguished spectators come to
witness the bloody orgies. They were then
placed in line, Col. Despard first, under the
beam, and ( tied up ; ' all, except Despard, being
in a pitiable state of prostration, pale and
ghastly. Despard, however, was entirely un
moved, assisted the executioner to "tie the
rope round his neck," and the pinioning being
completed he advanced as far as he could, and
addressed the multitude. Then the drop fell,
and the whole seven were swinging in the air.
" After hanging about half an hour, till they were
quite dead, Col. Despard was first cut down, his body
placed upon sawdust, and his head upon a block, after
his coat and waistcoat had been taken off, his head was
severed from his body, by persons engaged on purpose
for that ceremony. The' executioner then took the
head by the hair, and carrying it to the edge of the
parapet, held it up to the view of the populace, and
exclaimed, ' This is the head of a traitor, Edward Marcv4
Despard 1 ' "
The other unfortunate men were similarly
dealt with. " Col. Despard's body was afterward
taken away in some state and buried " near
the north door of St. Paul's Cathedral," — a
strange place for a ' traitor,' so ignominously
executed ; the other bodies were delivered to
their friends, and by them buried in one grave.
William Cundell and John Smith, for ' high
treason,' experienced a similar fate and treat
ment in 1808. Jeremiah Brandreth, for the
same kind of ' crime,' was executed and dealt
with in like manner in 1817, — the last victims
subjected to this savage punishment were Arthur
Thistlewood and his four companions, all
implicated in the Cato Street conspiracy, in 1820.
The ' hurdle,' which was esteemed such a
necessary adjunct to the ceremony, for dragging
the victim to the gallows in the most degrading
way possibly, both for high treason and occasion
ally for other capital offences, was a kind of
sledge, a shallow box, about six feet by three,
with a weat at each end, and drawn by one or

IVELCHESTER GAOL.

101

two horses. The criminal was placed with his
back to the horses', pinioned with ropes, heavily
ironed, and with the halter he was to be hung
with, coiled round his shoulders. Opposite sat
the clergyman and an armed jailor ; and so they
were jolted along, sometimes two or three miles
to the gallows ; guarded by constables, and
surrounded by an immense mob of morbid sight
seers. Little need be said of the dreadful barbarities
inflicted for such a lengthened period, on poor
old creatures accused of witchcraft, or but a
passing reference to the diabolical exploits of
the fiend Matthew Hopkins, the " witch-finder,"
— who in one year during the reign of Charles I.,
under " a Commission from Parliament," hung
threescore poor wretches in Suffolk, with the
most shocking cruelty.
But this savagery, although mitigated in kind,
continued on against them as late as 1751, when
a harmless old man and his wife, named Osborne, .
of Tring, were so dreadfully injured by the mob,
by ill-treatment and ducking, at Long-Marston,
that the woman died on the spot. The ring
leader of this barbarity, named Colley, was tried
and convicted at Hertford, and afterward carried
back to Long-Marston,there hanged,and afterward
gibbeted in chains, — a significant retribution.
The country people, however, strongly sympa
thized with the criminal for having got rid of
the wicked old woman, as they termed her,
and a military escort had to be provided at
the execution.
Strange, the hankering belief of mankind,
civilized as well as uncivilized, in occult or
supernatural influence, said to be possessed by
some individuals, and by them exercised for
good or evil purposes. Even now, this belief
in vulgar witchcraft and the malific influence of
the ' evil eye,' is not thoroughly eradicated ; while
in what may be termed a refined or aesthetic
aspect, its fascination is displayed in an unfail
ing succession of visionaries, still flourishing in
our midst, believing in isms of various sorts,
but really mere variations of name surrounding
the central delusion.
It has been asked, —
"Where did the' mania against witches begin?
Among the ignorant or low in station ? The question
may not be important, as nearly all were ignorant.
The language of Bishop Jewell's sermon before Queen
Elizabeth was enough to throw a whole country into
confusion : —
" ' It may please your Grace to understand that witches
and sorcerers, within the last four years, are marvel
lously increased within this, your Grace's realm. Your
Grace's subjects pine away even unto the death; their
colour fadeth, their flesh rotteth, their speech is hum
bled, their senses are bereft! I pray God they may
never practice further than upon the subject.'
"For a woman to be old and ugly was, during many
reigns, to live in positive danger. Anyone might expose
her life to imminent peril upon the idlest imputation.

We know what numbers perished at the gallows up to
1682, when three poor women from Bideford, were
sentenced to death at Exeter assize for ' bewitching
several persons, destroying ships at sea, and cattle by land.'
These women are said to have been the last that
suffered." This coincidence is peculiar. Bishop Jewell
was a native of Berrynarbor, in North Devon,
not a great distance from Bideford, from whence
the three old harmless women were taken to
their doom. Although this tragedy occurred a
century after the Bishop's sermon, the belief in
witchcraft appears to have been as rampant as
ever in that locality. Indeed, Devonshire people
have always been conspicuously smitten with
this delusion, and even now has its votaries
who believe in the power of the ' evil eye ; ' as
also individuals reputed to possess occult power,
called White-witches, able to discover and neutra
lize the ' spells ' cast by the darker fraternity,
and are resorted to by the credulous for that
purpose. The dreadful death of burning at the sta~ke,
for civil offences, appears to have been reserved
by our manly legislators, for women only. Of
these there were two, murdering their husbands,
called ' petty treason,' and for coining. An
appalling ceremony of this sort, but intended to
be as humane as possible, took place at Lincoln
in 1722, when Eleanor Elsom was burnt for
the murder of her husband, —
" She was clothed in a cloth ' made like a shift ' satur
ated with tar, her limbs were also smeared with the
same inflammable substance, while a tarred bonnet
was placed on her head. She was brought out of the
prison bare-foot, and, being put on a hurdle, was drawn
on a sledge to the place of execution, near the gallows.
Upon arrival, some time was passed in prayer, after
which the executioner placed her on a tar-barrel, a
height of three feet against the stake. A rope ran
through a pulley in the stake and was placed around
her neck, she herself fixing it with her hands. Three
irons also held her body to the stake, and the rope
being pulled tight, the tar-barrel was taken aside, and
the fire lighted. It was stated that she was probably
quite dead before the fire reached her, as the execu
tioner pulled upon the rope several times whilst the
irons were being fixed. The body was seen amid the
flames for nearly half-an-hour, though, through the
dryness of the wood, and quantity of tar, the fire was
exceeding fierce."
In 1726, a woman, named Catherine Hayes,
for the murder of her husband, was thus executed
at Tyburn, but as
" she was being strangled in the accustomed manner,
the fire scorching the hands of the executioner, he
relaxed the rope before she became unconscious, and
spite the efforts at once made to hasten combustion,
she suffered for a considerable time the greatest
agonies."
Literally burnt alive. In succeeding years many
other women, for this offence, were thus burnt,
and in 1779, a woman named Condon was
burnt for coining. In one case, —
" a girl of little more than fourteen years of age, had
at her master's command concealed a number of white
washed counters behind her stays, for which she was

102

IVELCHESTER GAOL.

found guilty of treason and sentenced to be executed
by this barbarous method. Her master was already
hanged, and the fagots but awaiting the application of
the match to blaze in fury around her, when Lord
Weymouth who happened to be passing that way,
humanely interfered. And so, he thus, by what has
since been described as ' mere accident,' saved the
nation from this crime, and this national disgrace."
The last execution of a woman by this method
for coining, took place in 1789 ; in June 1790,
a statute was passed enacting that in future,
women were to suffer death by hanging, as in
the case of men.
It is almost a relief to turn from these horrors
to the more simple method of hanging, or
strangling : for too often it was little more than
that, until within a comparatively recent period,
when the more humane ' long drop,' with
dislocation of the vertebra causing instant death,
was introduced. Great bungling by the hang
man, and consequent cruelty occasionally took
place, the' knot slipped and the poor wretch had
to be ' tied up ' the second time. In 1818, at
Edinburgh, a man named Johnston was partially
hanged, his toes touching the ground ; he was
taken down while the ' drop ' was altered half-
dead, — and the surgeons restored him to life by
" letting blood in both arms," and then, being
restored to consciousness, he was carried back
and re-hung, under circumstances of great
indignity and barbarity, the populace shouting
with indignation, and almost rioting at the
ghastly scene.
Hanging is one of the most antient and uni
versally employed methods of all capital punish
ments, and, as we have seen, was liberally awarded
for almost any offence, in the English code, up
to the first quarter of the present century. The
sentence was carried out usually at some
appointed place of execution, a short distance
outside the assize towns, on a gallows there
erected ; in London the well-known Tyburn.
The offender was drawn thither, either in a
cart, with his coffin, or on a hurdle or sledge, —
heavily ironed, with the halter coiled round his
shoulders and accompanied by the gaoler and
a clergyman. At other times, especially if his
crime was more heinous than usual, he was
made ' an example ' of, by being taken to a
spot very near the place of its commission, and
there executed on a specially erected gallows,
escorted by the civic authorities, and occasionally
a military guard, amid thousands of spectators.
The hangman, after duly ' tying up ' his
victim, either cast him off a ladder, which the
doomed wretch had previously to mount ; or he
was placed in a cart, and the cart driven away.
This method continued until about 1810, when
the ' new drop ' was gradually adopted, — a
structure with a gallows and falling trap-door
beneath the criminal's feet, sometimes erected
outside the gateway of the prison, but more

usually over it. But the ' drop ' accorded the
condemned was then often so inconsiderable,
and the noose applied so imperfectly, that
frequently convulsive struggles followed after
suspension, sometimes for many minutes, shew
ing great suffering before life was extinct. Pirates,
and offences on the high-seas for which death
was accorded, were usually tried in London,
and the culprits hanged at Execution Dock, on
the Thames bank. For mutiny, and offences
deemed capital in the Navy, offenders were hang
ed on board ship, "the halter was spliced to a
reeve-rope," by which they were run up through
a block, affixed to the yard-arm, on the signal
of a gun fired from the forecastle. Four
men, named Joachim, Martin, Millington, and
Williams, were so executed in Plymouth Sound
in 1812, for mutiny and murder of their officers
when in charge of a prize. After the Gordon riots
in London, in 1780j thirty-four persons were hang
ed at various places in the streets, — and in 1807,
on the execution of two murderers, Holloway
and Haggerty, at Newgate, an enormous crowd
of forty thousand persons collected, and the
pressure was so great that nearly forty persons
were crushed to death, and about a hundred
altogether, either dead or dreadfully injured,
were lying insensible on the street when the
crowd was cleared away.
Now, at the private executions within gaols,
the Sheriffs often — it is a pity the law does
not make it statutory — very properly exclude
' reporters ' from witnessing the last agonizing
moments of the condemned, and so prevent
their pandering to the public in those wretched
' sensational ' details to satiate the cravings of
morbid minds.
A glance at the number of offences for which
the punishment of death was awarded, up to the
end of the first quarter of the present century,
and before their gradual repeal, is terrible to
contemplate, as shewing the small value set on
human life : —
" The offences made capital by the laws of England
amount to about 223. Of these six were so made in
the 150 years that elapsed from Edward III. to Henry
VII. ;— 30 in the next 150 years to Charles H., and 187 in
the last 150 years, to 1825. Pour offences were made
capital under the Plantagenets, 27 under the Tudors,
36 under the Stuarts, and 156 under the family of
Brunswick. "Between 1819 and 1825,— no less than 7,770 were
sentenced to death, of whom 579 were executed, an
average of 83 annually.
" Even more than this large number would have been
capitally convicted, had not juries (with more humanity
than the law) frequently found offenders guilty of
stealing to the value of thirty-nine shillings only (forty
shillings worth constituted the capital crime), when the
property was proved to be worth ten times that sum or
more, a pious fraud to which they were driven by the
sanguinary character of the criminal code, even to the
violation of their oaths.
"Of these 679—10 were for arson; burglary, 128;
cattle, horse, and sheep stealing, 53 ; coining, 5 • forgery
and uttering forged documents, 62 ; house-breaking in

IVELCHESTER GAOL.

103

the daytime and otherwise stealing, 14 ; larceny in
dwelling houses to the value of forty shillings, 27;
murder, 101 ; attempted murder, 30 ; rape and unnatural
crime, 46 : riot, 1 ; highway robbery and stealing from
the person, 95 ; sacrilege, 2 ; high-treason, 3."
A fearful catalogue ; it was no uncommon
thing for half-a-dozen to be strung up at a time
after the usual assizes, ' drops ' were made
sufficiently large for such a number ; one set up
at Northampton in 1818 "was proudly described
by the Governor as efficient for hanging of twelve
persons ' comfortably.' "
If enquiry be made whether this severity of
punishment had any deterrent effect on the
commission of crimes for which it was inflicted,
the answer is, it had not ; people got so used to
its general frequency, that comparatively little
notice was taken of it, beyond the passing
excitement of its infliction ; and the common
phrase—" if he is caught he will be sure to be
hanged" — was tacitly acquiesced in, even if
the offence— too often the case— was of such
comparatively minor nature, that now, a few
months' imprisonment would be deemed ample
punishment. For ordinary cases of murder, and among
such was classed infanticide, by young women
convicted often on very imperfect and doubtful
medical evidence, the criminal was well aware
on hearing himself ' cast ' by the jury, that the
doctors were waiting to dissect him as soon as
life was extinct,— a piece of finished cruelty he
was then about to be told of, — as we read,
"The Judge then in the most solemn manner
pronounced sentence of death, that the prisoner be
drawn on a hurdle to a place of execution, and there
hanged by the neck until he was dead, on the Monday
following, and his body afterwards delivered over to be
dissected and anatomized,"
passed on men and women alike, women being
usually carried away from the dock, shrieking
and swooning at the frightful words. For
offences other than murder, the body was usually
claimed and handed over to friends, after paying
the hangman a fee.
Even now a trace of this desire to be cruel
after death still lingers in the dreadful sentence :—
" and that your body afterward be buried within the
prison, in which you were last confined."
Of what service thus to needlessly harrow the
doomed wretch, hy telling him that his body
will be ignominiously extinguished also, after the
forfeiture of his lif e ?
But to be ' dissected and anatomized was
not always the whole of the fate reserved for
those under sentence of death. "What has been
properly described as a ' disgusting relic ' was
kept for a considerable period— of all places in
the world— in Exeter Cathedral.
"A woman named Grace Harris, was hanged for
murdering her infant. Instead of the remains of her
body being buried, presumably after the treatment

prescribed by the sentence, her skeleton was articulated
and exhibited as a show in a chapel at the east end of
the south aisle. The right hand with which she cut
her infant's throat was dried and entire. How long
this hideous object was permitted to disgrace the
Cathedral is not known. It was there in 1797."
And probably later, — the writer of this in his
youth heard an old lady say she had seen it, and
it was kept in a kind of tall cupboard, like a
clock-case. Such an exhibition in such a place,
is probably without parallel in the history of
civilization, leaving Christianity out of the
question. But it goes to shew how depraved
and hardened with cruelty the public mind had
become, and also utterly oblivious to decency
and right feeling.
Thus much for what may be termed simple
hanging and dissection afterward, by the
criminal's human brethren ; but if his offence
had been more atrocious than common, another
disposal was ordered for his body, with a different
species of dissection to follow.
This was by the method commonly known
as ' hanging in chains,' after the ordinary
process had been employed for the extinction of
life. ' Hanging in chains ' was also an antient
practice in vogue in different parts of the world,
and resorted to at various times, and in different
parts of this kingdom down to 1834, when it
was finally abolished by statute, — the last
occasion of the order for thus disposing of the
body being that of Cook for the murder of Mr.
Paas, at Leicester, in that year, but the disgrace
ful scenes round the gibbet, ' like a fair,' were
such that the dismal apparatus and suspended
victim had to be speedily removed.
Although termed ' hanging in chains,' — the
arrangement was by an iron cage made to fit
the body, which was placed within it, sometimes
without any preparation for its preservation ;
at others coated with tar and pitch, and occa
sionally a white cap drawn over the head ; hung
at good height from the arm of the gibbet,
the main post being generally banded with
strap-iron, or studded with nails to prevent its
being sawn down, and the body removed, which
was occasionally done. Usually, but not always,
these gibbets with their revolting burthen, — one
and sometimes two bodies, — were erected in a
prominent situation near the scene of the crime ;
and there the ghastly exhibition at times
remained until from rust and decay it dropped
to the earth, and Nature, with hand kinder
than man, gradually gave sanctuary to the
mouldering relics.
And concerning a west-country ' hanging in
chains ' a grim story is related referring to the
execution of two men at Exeter, named William
Smith and John Bichards, for the murder of Mr.
Philip Smith, 21st July, 1787, and who were

104

IVELCHESTER GAOL.

afterward ' hanged in chains,' near the scene of
the murder at Stoke, Devonport, —
" The bodies being suspended, one at each end of the
cross at the top of the gibbet, held up by a large round
wire cage, and hundreds of birds would keep going in
and out between the wires ; the dead malefactors were
brought from Exeter in one of Russell's four-horse
waggons." Another account describes a different method
adopted for the transfer of the remains of these

Hanging in Chains,
from Bewick.
criminals to Stoke, and an extraordinary expe
rience connected therewith : —
" The bodies were brought from Exeter covered over
with straw in the bottom of a cart. A wayfarer asked
the driver for a lift by the way, and was permitted to
mount; he stretched himself at length on the straw and
soon fell asleep. The jolting_ of the cart settled him
down between the two bodies, and on waking and
discovering he had two bed-fellows past waking, he
leaped over the tail-board of the cart, and fled terror-
stricken, much to the amusement of the driver, who
narrated the story, whether true or false."
So late as 4th Oct., 1827, forty years after
the execution of these men, we read : —
" The gibbet on which Richards and Smith, the
murderers of Mr. Smith of the Dock-yard, who were

[ hung in chains in 1788, near the Military Hospital, and
which since that time had stood an object of horror
and disgust to many, was, we are happy to say, blown
down on Tuesday night week, the wood having yielded
to decay."Examples of these ' cages ' have been pre
served, — some nearly complete, and others
fragments only, — in public museums and private
collections of the curious.
For pirates and other capital offences on the
high seas, ' chains ' literally were employed ;
a loop of chain, suspended from the arm of the
gibbet, with a band or bow at the bottom to pass
between the legs, and a ring around the neck,
being all the toilette employed. Several of these
miserable exhibitions ' graced ' the shore of
the Thames for many years.
But the cruel part of this arrangement came
before the victim was dead. When he deemed
it necessary, the Judge, previous to his leaving
the assize town, ordered the body thus to be
disposed of. Thereupon the frightful punish
ment — infinitely worse than the death he was
awaiting- -was inflicted on the prisoner while
he was yet alive, by the blacksmith being
introduced to "measure him for his irons," in
which his dead body was to be suspended, until
decomposition and the crows left his denuded
skeleton to swing in the wind, — a ghastly ordeal
where on more than one occasion it proved
to be beyond the endurance of human suffering,
and Death, with more mercy than man, came and
there and then promptly released the terror-
stricken wretch, relieving Jack Ketch from the
performance of his last dread office, the
exhibition of his ' animated diagram,' to the
assembled thousands, and its suspension in the
' chains ' afterward.*
Even more sad it is to know of the fierce
opposition by those who should have known
better, similar to that exhibited toward the
employment of the ' new drop ' at Ilchester,
which was raised against the repeal of the
swarm of blood-thirsty statutes that disgraced
our penal code, — even the accomplished Jackson
wrote -an essay against it, — shewing the undying
craving for suffering and revenge which dis
tinguishes, unsoftened, vindictive, thoughtless
man, as the most cruel of all animals, until
Sir Samuel Hominy and other philanthropists
nobly, and amid considerable odium and oppo
sition of ' learned Judges ' and others, at first
roused public attention, and subsequently indig
nation to their enormity, and they gradually
disappeared from the statute book.
The common place of execution for the
county of Devon, and usually also for the city
of Exeter, was at Ringswell, in Heavitree, a
*For the loan of the illustration of the two men
hanging on Brandon Heath we are indebted to the
kindness of Mr. Albert Hartshorne, from his most
interesting volume of " Hanging in Chains."

GIBBET WITH TWO MEN HANGING IN CHAINS ON BRANDON HEATH,
SUFFOLK, 1785.

From a sketch by the Revd. Thomas Kerrich.

IVELCHESTER GAOL.

105

triangular unenclosed spot a short distance from
Heavitree Bridge, at the junction where the
road to Clyst St. Mary branches off from the
main road through Clyst-Honiton to Honiton,
and at the boundary between the parishes of
Heavitree and Sowton.
Here at ' Heavitree Gallows ' — apparently
from the year 1532 — were persons conveyed
from the city to be executed. Izacke narrates
that Thomas Tooker, sword-bearer of the city,
was here executed for the murder of his wife,
in 1611. Tradition says it was usual to give
the condemned a drink of water at the Bridge
on their way to execution.
Mention is made and the site also is marked
on old maps, of there having been a former
place of execution by hanging for the city, at
the place called Livery-Dole, while Southernhay
appears to have been used for the severer
sentence of burning ; but the city authorities
would not allow Thomas Benet to be burnt
there for heresy, in 1531, and the Sheriff, Sir
Thomas Dennis, had to carry out the dreadful
proceedings at Livery-Dole. What was supposed
to be a portion of the stake, and the ring and
staple by which Benet was affixed to it, were
dug up on the spot a few years ago, when the
alms-houses were rebuilt, and are preserved at
Bicton. Poor Agnes Priest, however, was for
heresy burnt on Southernhay, in 1557, as also
Agnes Jones for poisoning her husband, in 1571,
and we believe others occurred considerably
later, even beyond the middle of the last century.
The bodies of criminals executed at Heavitree
gallows — other than those craved by their
friends, and carried elsewhere for interment —
were buried in a consecrated enclosure ad
joining the gallows, and there can be little
doubt, from the length of time this spot was
used as a place of execution, that its area
must have been occupied as thickly with their
graves as an ordinary churchyard. A man
called Austin, executed and buried there in 1711,
was immediately afterward taken up by his
friends and conveyed to Colyton for re-interment.*
But, independent of this, direct testimony gives
its assurance of the fact.
In Dr. Oliver's account of Heavitree, in his
Ecclesiastical Antiquities, we get the following : —
" From John Hoker's MSS. we learn that one Thomas
Benet, A.M., a native of Cambridge, but settled at
Great Torrington as schoolmaster, for about seven
years before his death, was arrested for heresy in the
Butcher's-row, Exeter, in 1531, and ' toon after burnt at
Livery-Dole, then the accustomed place of execution.' We
believe that the place of execution was removed the
following year to Ringswell, as we further read in the
same MSS., that ' in 1532, John Waltheman was execu
ted as a traitor at Ringswell, who being given to blindly
prophesying, did interpret and apply them to the King.'
" The burying place at Ringswell was blest by Bishop
Turbeville. Over the entrance gate, until the enclosure
* See page 75.

was allowed in 1827 to be desecrated and let for building,
was legible the following inscription : —
" March 8, 1557. This place was bless'd by Lord James,
Bishop, given by Mr. John Peter, then Mayor, inclosed by
Mrs. Joan Tuckfield, late the wife of Mr. John Tuckfield,
sometime Mayor of Exeter.
"The Norwicli, Tourist, who visited Exeter in the
summer of 1635, transcribed the inscription thus
(Lansdowne MSS. No. 213, 26.) :—
" ' 5to Marcii 1557. This place was blessed by the Lord
Bishop, given by Mr. John Peter, then Mayor, inclosed by
tlie honest matron Joan Tuckfield, wliose soule Lorde
pardon.' " The spot on which the gallows stood was a waste
between the western hedge of the field and the east
wall of the burying ground, at the very extremity of
Heavitree parish. The hedge was thrown down by the
late Lord Graves who extended the field to the wall
itself, and it is now considered within Sowton parish."
The executions at Bingswell finally ceased
probably about the middle of the first quarter of
this century, when the ' improved drop,' with
gallows mounted in front of the county gaols, was
almost everywhere adopted, and the wretched
procession of a vast mob, prison officials, and
hangman, escorting the criminal slowly proceed
ing to his doom, done away with. Almost
immediately after the abrogation of these dread
ful functions at Bingswell, a row of cottages
appear to have been built on the consecrated
spot, and the turnpike trust occupied the
extreme end for the deposit of stones for
mending their roads. These cottages in then-
turn have given place to new ones, and the
whole corner is now enclosed, incorporated with
the adjoining land, and laid out as a nursery.
Human bones, skulls, jaw-bones with teeth
quite perfect in them — shewing that youth had
failed in any claim for mercy — have been
frequently dug up, and doubtless abound below.
Even at some distance above the site, where the
gallows is traditionally supposed to have been
set up, a lot of bones were found, but probably
removed there when the foundations for the
first cottages were taken out.
It is a scandal on public decency to raise
human habitations over such a charnel-house,
and amid the association of centuries of crime
sepulchred below. Surely the world is large
enough for men to find room for their dwellings
elsewhere, in healthier and purer surroundings.
Not that the dust of the long category of
unfortunate beings, who perished prematurely
for their offences, and were buried in this spot,
can now harm anyone ; but the commonest
feelings of pity would suggest that their remains
should have been allowed to rest in peace, the
little area, that had been enclosed and set apart,
protected from desecration, and a simple me
morial erected therein, directing the wayfarer's
attention to its sad associations, and warning
him to avoid all that may lead to such a fate.
Seventy-one persons appear to have suffered
at Bingswell and the county prison since the
beginning of the century, of whom thirty-one

106

IVELCHESTER GAOL.

were executed for murder, and the remainder for
attempt at murder, cattle-stealing, forgery of
various sorts, burglary, highway robbery, arson,
and other crimes, included among the host of
offences then made capital.
Leaving the penalty of death inflicted in
various forms for crimes deemed capital, we
come to another punishment equally savage in
its method, awarded those who ' stood mute '
or refused to plead. This was really of two
kinds, one, which may be termed the milder,
consisted of compressing and twisting the
thumbs with a ligature of whipcord, a torture of
the most painful kind, inflicted on men and
women down to the middle of the last century ;
and if this proved unavailing, which was some
times the case, the Judge ordered the stubborn
unhappy prisoner to suffer the terrible peine
forte et dure — to be pressed to death, or until he
pleaded. He was taken into a dark room and
laid on his back on the floor with nothing under
him, his arms and legs extended by cords to the
four corners of the room, a board placed on his
breast, and weights piled on it — " as much as he
can bear, and more," so the sentence ran, — the
food given him to sustain his life, for the short
time he might exist, to be a few morsels of barley-
bread and some stagnant water ! A highwayman
named Spigot suffered this torture in 1721, and
bore three hundred and fifty pounds on his
breast half-an-hour, fifty pounds more was then
added, and then the poor wretch relented, he
was raised from the floor, and some brandy
poured into his mouth to restore him. The
' Press-Yard ' in Newgate, still perpetuates the
locality in the prison, where this brutal punish
ment was inflicted. The statute was repealed
in 1827, and prisoners refusing to plead were to
be recorded as ' not guilty.'
Felons sentenced to transportation to Botany
Bay were usually sent for a time to convict-
ships, termed ' hulks,' before being shipped off.
Bridle, the governor of Ilchester gaol, had been
chief mate of a vessel of this class called the
Retribution, in the Thames, before his appoint
ment at Ilchester. An unfortunate prisoner
of a superior class, who had been confined in
one of them, thus describes the scenes he
witnessed in a hulk, also called the Retribution,
stationed at Woolwich, probably the same vessel
in which Bridle had been an official, and if so,
it would give bad augury for much humanity
being shewn at Ilchester : —
" Of all the shocking scenes I had ever beheld (and
he had been previously transported) this was the most
distressing. There were confined in this floating
dungeon nearly six hundred men, most of them double
ironed, and the reader may conceive the horrible effects
arising from the continual rattling of chains, the filth
and vermin naturally produced from such a crowd of
miserable inhabitants, the oaths and execrations con
stantly heard among such a depraved set of human
beings. Robbery from each other is as common as

cursing and swearing; I witnessed during the twelve
month I remained there, one deliberate murder, for
which the perpetrator was executed, one suicide, and
unnatural crimes openly committed."
A veritable Pandemonium, that the mind
shrinks from contemplating. Their usual
employment was on shore in gangs, ' ballast-
heaving.' Another inhuman punishment, and its acces
sories, the ' pillory,' — a cross-piece on a post,
with apertures for the incarceration of the head
and hands of the offender, in a cramped and
painful position, — set up in some public place,
where he was exposed to the gaze and mercy of
the populace for several hours. People so
exposed experienced great difference of treat
ment from the mob ; if the offence happened
to be one that elicited popular sympathy, no
violence was shown, but if to the contrary, he
had to helplessly bear the most brutal ill-
treatment, even resulting in death. In 1810,
two men named Boberts and Brown, for
conspiracies to defraud, were sentenced to a
term of imprisonment and to be set in the
pillory : —
" The latter part of the sentence was put in force at
Charing Cross in July 1810, when the enraged populace
severely pelted them with rotten eggs, and all manner
of filth which could be suddenly collected, until they
bore little resemblance to human beings, and were taken
out half suffocated."
Many other similar instances of ill-treatment
are recorded.
The cruel accessories to exposure in the
pillory, by mutilation of the face, ' cropping '
the ears, slitting the nostrils, boring the tongue
with a red-hot iron, and branding, was rife
during the seventeenth century. This fiendish
punishment was inflicted in 1731, as described in
a contemporary account : —
" June 9.— This day about noon Japhet Crook, alias
St. Peter Stranger, was brought to the pillory at Charing
Cross, according to his sentence for forgery. He stood
an hour thereon ; after which a chair was set on the
pillory ; and he being put thereon, the hangman with a
sort of pruning knife cut off both his ears, and immedi
ately a surgeon clapt a styptic thereon. Then the
executioner with a pair of scissors cut his left nostril
twice before it was cut through, and afterwards cut
through the right nostril at once. He bore all this with
great patience, but when in pursuance of his sentence,
his right nostril was seared with a red-hot iron, he was
in such violent pain ; that his left nostril was left alone,
and he went from the pillory bleeding. He was
conveyed from thence to the King's Bench prison,
there to remain for life. He died in confinement about
three years after."
For atrocious ferocity this sentence could
scarcely be exceeded. The pillory was abolished
in 1837.
Compared with the previously described pun
ishments, a simple exposure in the ' stocks '
for the inebriate, and attendant conclave of
jeering villagers, was a mild experience, al
though just as helplessly subject to pelting, as

IVELCHESTER GAOL.

107

in the pillory, if persons were so inclined.
Then there was the degrading ' ducking-stool,'
and ' brank,' for contentious women and
scolds, and the low-lived rabble assembled to
participate in the sport of half drowning, and
otherwise ill-treating them. Items charged
for the " making or amending " these old
engines of rustic torture, often occur in borough
and parochial accounts.
Last, but not least in atrocity, was the
favourite punishment of ' whipping.' "Whip
ping or scourging, like hanging, is one of the
most antient of punishments, and resorted to in
almost all countries, with more or less savage-
ness ; the Bussian knout, the Turkish bastinado,
being frightful variants, and its fearful infliction,
sometimes to the extinction of life, on slaves in
the West Indies by the planters, dreadful
examples of this species of torture. One case
of flogging negroes to the death, fortunately
was properly avenged, — that of a planter named
Hodge, in the island of Tortola, who was said
to have killed five of his slaves by this brutal
method, and for which he was hanged in 1811.
But how many more of these persecuted
unfriended creatures have perished by this
barbarous method, of which the world knows
nothing ?
In England its statutory application for
offences, is a legacy from that master of cruelty,
Henry VIIL, and resorted to with unsparing
alacrity by rural tribunals for trivial offences on
" poor rogues," — such as vagrancy, petty lar
ceny, &o. The 'whipping-post' was usually
attached to the middle or end of the ' stocks,'
— it had iron bows, to secure the wrists, during
its infliction, and was an established institution
in most townships, its ordinary form may be
seen in the etching at the beginning of this
paper. Our local borough records, and municipal
accounts teem with entries of the infliction of
this savage punishment, and a ' whipping '
more or less severe at the local ' post,' or at
" a cart's tail through the town," was a favourite
sentence passed on men, women old and young,
and children of tender age, stripped to the waist
and flogged in the public gaze, for the order was
thus set forth toward these unfortunates in the
words of the hideous old statute : —
"To be pnblickly whipped, naked from her waist
upward, until her body be bloody ; from the prison to a
certain place (named) and back again."
The following is a description of an infliction
of this sort so late as 1825, in one of our local
towns (Barnstaple) recorded by an eye-witness : —
" an old man was tried for stealing lead, and sentenced
to be flogged round the town, which was curiously
carried out. Being stripped to the waist, his hands
were tied to one of the constable's staves then in use.
A man walked on each side of him, holding firmly the
end of the staff, and thus keeping him up and moving.

Behind walked the executioner, wielding a cat-o'-nine
tails. He was disguised in a smock-frock, his legs
enveloped in straw wisps, and wearing a grotesque
mask. Constables preceded and followed, and the
procession started from the prison, and round the
various streets of the town back to the prison, the
whipper laying on all the way, his back then appeared
a raw mass."
A similar scene to this was enacted in Dublin
in 1814, when a man named Quin, for aggravated
assault, was with other punishment, sentenced
to be whipped twice : —
"When Quin underwent the first whipping, it ap
peared the common executioner by no means did his
duty, and for this purpose another was provided for the
second laceration. The figure of this person was
highly grotesque : he appeared to be an able tall man in
a grey coat, with a huge wig_, and a large slouched hat ;
but his face was the most singular part of his appear
ance, it was completely covered with yellow ochre,
strongly tattooed with deep lines of black. He how
ever fully answered the purpose for which, he was
employed, cutting the unfortunate man's back at every
stroke, which he bore with firmness and stoicism Quin
chewed a bullet between his teeth the whole of the
way, and did not suffer a groan to escape him. When
he arrived at the Royal Exchange he smiled on the
crowd, with the air of a martyr ; the people shouted
with hisses and execrations against the Magistrates and
police, but the principal object of their fury was the
executioner." A riot very nearly ensued, and several were
arrested, after the brutal scene. Whipping
women in this cruel degrading way, worse than
savages would have treated them, appears from
town records to have been the usual and fre
quent punishment meted out to unfortunate
creatures, by the ' manly ' petty judicial
authorities in the little boroughs of the west
country, and doubtless elsewhere : —
"In 1595, the Mayor of Lyme-Regis charges 3s. Gd.
for ' canvas to make a coat to whip the rogues in.' The
charge of four pence for whipping a boy continued for
many years the same. The whipping of a woman who
was a stranger was a little more costly ; but the inflic
ting such a punishment on a townswoman was remu
nerated on a higher rate. In 1625, *for whipping Agnes
Abbott, twice, 2s. id.,' and in 1644, lpaid two soldiers to
attend the whipping of a woman, 2s. 6d.,' and ' paid for
whipping four women, 4s. Qd.' The Lyme constables'
accounts for many years about 1662 were principally
made up of charges for whipping and rending on men
and women.
" The female culprits had not only to suffer from the
sentence, but from the most odious vice which is inci
dent to human nature, a delight in misery merely as
misery. This led such as Judge Jeffreys to scare them
into fits by dilating on all the details of what they were
to suffer. Thus, when ordering an unlucky adventuress
to be whipped at the cart's-tail, ' Hangman,' he would
exclaim, writes a great authority (Macaulay), ' I charge
you to pay particular attention to this lady. Scourge
her soundly, man 1 Scourge her until the blood runs
down ; It is Christmas, a cold time for madam to strip
in ! See you warm her shoulders thoroughly I ' To visit
a gaol the morning the women were whipped was the
practice of some men (?) about town; they discussed
the courage of the poor wretches, and it was deemed
highly entertaining."
For execution of the sentence on strangers,
who were described as " wandering rogues,"
" sturdy vagrant rogues," " cut-purse or strange

108

IVELCHESTER GAOL.

women," there was little difficulty in getting an
official, but should the punishment have to be
inflicted on a townsman or woman, a man from
another parish had to be procured, —
" No townsman would be found willing for some four
teen pence to incur the violence and resentment of the
person whipped and his friends, by undertaking the
office." and apparently sometimes the delinquents were
sent to him to receive their punishment. After
the scourging, "wandering rogues," were con
ducted " to the next tithing " by the same con
stable, there to take their chance of similar fare !
" Good old times," these, for the destitute and
homeless, — far worse than
" where the rude Carinthian boor,
Against the houseless stranger shuts the door."
Did the men who thus burnt, sometimes alive,
hanged and afterward dissected, scourged and
otherwise tortured and degraded women, ever
reflect that they had mothers, sisters, wives?
Was the pure and delightful feeling utterly
extinguished in their hearts, that it was from
woman alone, as the other half of their beings,
they could only experience the consummation of
the most tender and exquisite delights that
crown human life with happiness, — that cruelty
had usurped its place, or rendered them totally
oblivious to the claim of its charms, and even
caused the commonest feelings of pity to be
relentlessly cast aside ! Even the wildest and
fiercest animals fight to the death for the pre
servation and possession of their mates, and in
this respect put to shame their human compeers.
But what else could be expected from those
whose very enjoyments and pleasures were
steeped in the practice of cruelty, bull, bear, or
badger baiting, single-stick ' playing,' with a
prize to him who ' first drew blood ' or ' broke
the most heads,' wrestling with its hideous
kicking, broken or dislocated limbs, cock-fighting
and squailing, in the practice of which children
were nursed and taught, and charges appeared
in school-bills to uphold the ' sport,' as between
rival ' mains.' Duelling to the death, to satisfy
the ' honour ' of the combatants, evoked it may
be by the turn-up of a chance card, or the
utterance of a hasty word, a practice now
happily obsolete in England, but still cultivated
unfortunately by infatuated German youths,
¦who glory in the scars and disfigurements they
receive. More brutal and degrading than all,
pugilism, and the horrible excitement of a prize
fight, the luckless loser ' knocked out of time,'
carried out of ' the ring,' with the ' human face
divine,' smothered in blood, battered to an
unrecognizable pulp, and insensible, often never
to recover, and with deep shame be it said, this
species of ' entertainment ' is being revived
again. Here is a scene from one of these orgies
of ' the fancy,' enacted by the ' noble science '

in a ' battle ' fought within living memory : — •
" Hickman generally stood with his back to me ; but
in the scuffle he had changed positions, and Neat just
then made a tremendous lunge at him, and hit him full
in the face. It was doubtful if he would fall backwards
or forwards, he hung suspended for a second or two,
and then fell back, throwing his hands in the air, and
with his face lifted up to the sky. I never saw anything
more terrific than his aspect before he fell. All traces
of life, of natural expression, were gone from him.
His face was like a human skull, a death's-head, spouting
blood! The eyes were filled with blood, the nose
streamed with blood, the mouth gaped with blood 1
He was not like an actual man, but like a preternatural,
spectral appearance, — or like one of the figures in
Dante's Inferno."
Can it be wondered, when people took their
pleasures thus in witnessing and encouraging-
such barbarity, chat ' persons of quality ' ranged
themselves round the gallows to note the dying
throes of the condemned, or ' men of the town '
strolled into the gaol to see their erring sisters
flogged, to speculate and wager possibly, as to
which of them would bear the punishment the
most heroically (it was only a variation of their
enjoyments), that no mercy or consideration
was extended to the poor convict or debtor?
The picture of the darker side of human nature
is indeed a humiliating one, but its contempla
tion is salutary. Eemove, or omit the thin
coating of what we term civilization, nay, even
for the time arrest it, and the selfish and cruel
characteristics of human nature are found
unchanged. But with the knowledge of such a
fact, what a corresponding obligation rests upon
us to educate with unflagging devotion the
young mind in all that is truthful, noble and
merciful, the very first, and beyond all compare
most important care of the head of the family,
and of the State.
Nor need more than allusion be made while
speaking of the lash, to the barbarous manner
in which this punishment was inflicted on our
soldiers and sailors in former years, ' running
the gauntlet ' in the army, and ' flogging round
the fleet ' in the navy, (now and then varied by
brutal ' keel-hauling '), and when the lashes
were administered by the hundred, occasionally
up~to a thousand or more, sometimes given at
two separate times, the second after the man
had recovered sufficiently from the first infliction,
the surgeon standing by to see how much the
victim could bear, in order that the shock of the
torture did not kill him outright, accompanied
by an officer to ensure the punishment being
' properly ' laid on nevertheless, the flogger
usually toward the end, having to draw the ' cat '
through the fingers of his left hand, to separate
its strands from the congealed blood. Here is a
frightful instance of flogging a soldier and his
death from its infliction in 1822. John Furnell,
a private in the second Begiment of Foot, then
stationed at Hull, was found " to be in possession
of a silver spoon or spoons belonging to the

IVELCHESTER GAOL.

109

regimental mess, and offering to dispose of the
same, knowing them to be improperly come by,"
and on this illegal word which may be strained
to mean anything, he was sentenced to receive
three hundred lashes, by this Uttle local court-
martial, the sentence being ' confirmed ' by the
Lieut. Colonel. Furnell had served three years
in the West Indies, and was debilitated in health,
but the whole of the punishment was duly
administered, and the man then taken a mile
from the garrison to the hospital; and The
Times observes : —
" The sentence was executed on the 22nd of the
month (July), on the 24th, as appears in evidence before
¦the Coroner, mortification ensued, and, on the day
following, it increased. On the 27th, the regiment was
marched from Hull to York, where it arrived on the
29th. John Furnell, the unfortunate receiver of the
lashing was in the above condition, jolted on a luggage
waggon, the whole distance of a two days' march.
Being set down in York, he was forced to walk to the
hospital where the wretched man expired I The
Coroner's inquest finding, ' that he had received 300
lashes, and died of the same, and of the fever, mortifica
tion, and debility therefrom arising.' "
One of the witnesses is stated to have
observed that " the bones of the deceased were
as bare of skin and flesh as if a knife had
scraped them," and flayed alive, and for what
offence, and by what legal authority, this dread
ful death for the petty offence of implication in
a presumed larceny at most ! The ' heart-
sickening barbarity ' of this case created consi
derable sensation at the time ; of course the
Commander-in-chief ordered a ' rigid examina
tion,' and there it ended. Yet this unfortunate
man was of those, — all of whom would be
subject at any time for like petty offences, to
such frightful treatment, — who won Trafalgar
and Waterloo ; one of the lurid aspects infesting
the spectre of the ' glory ' of war.
Although it has been strongly argued, that
the degradation of the lash is, in whatever
form applied, an offence against humanity, still
there are cases where personal suffering, and its
fear of being experienced, act as the only
effectual check to the practice of personal out
rage. In a modified and unobjectionable form
it is still used, and with deterrent effect, on
offenders convicted of robbery with violence,
and it appears to be highly desirable that its
infliction should be further extended to those
who abuse or ill-use defenceless children, or
grievously assault and injure women. The same
may be said of capital punishment for wilful
determined premeditated murder. Its retention
is an absolute necessity. Who is to know how
many murders have been prevented, by the
certain knowledge that conviction and the
scaffold are sure to follow commission of the
crime ?
And with regard to prison discipline, in the
reign of Charles I., things were so bad at

Dorchester gaol, that the Judges drew up a code
of regulations. The whole of the inmates, deb
tors as well as convicts, were ordered to be ' set
on work,' and a scale of wages given : —
" The gaol inmates, the starving debtor, and equally
starving felon associated in their Gehenna, were set to
work, so that the place became a great workshop for the
benefit of the Governor, who reaped the profits. The
Master or Governor had power to put fetters or gyves
upon those set to work, and to whip them moderately."
A very similar state of affairs seems to have
existed at Ilchester until Hunt's agitation begun.
In the Sheriff was vested the sole right of
appointing his gaoler : —
" who might be styled the farmer of the gaol, or head
of the working parties, the lettee out of the rooms,
vendor of eatables and drinkables, and extortioner-
general. The Under-Sheriff usually received £ 40 a
year for his opportunities from a gaoler. Are we to
wonder that the renter addressed himself in earnest to
repay himself for his outlay ? "
Alas for poor penniless or infirm felons and
debtors under such regulations, could any aspect
of slavery be more abject or hopeless ? There
was no regular salary paid the Gaoler, he lived
by his fees, — what these may have been it is
easy to guess : —
" Two sailors who were fined Is. each, had £1 15s. Bd.
each to pay for prison fees, which not being able to do
they were detained."
These fees were abolished by statute in 1773.
As to medical attendance : —
"At Exeter fn 1775, there was an infirmary, and a
surgeon, who, hardly, will it be credited, was by contract
excused from attending any patient sick of gaol fever ! "
Left to die of course, together with all others
in the gaol if they caught the malady. At
Ilchester, as we have seen, the surgeon lived
five miles away, though doubtless practitioners
resided in the place; and there was no infir
mary. It was this horrible 'gaol-fever,' pro
bably a species of malignant typhus, engendered
by filth, over-crowding and bad food, that carried
off the Judge, Magistrates, all the Jury save
one, and numerous others that were in the
Court at Exeter, in 1585. There " suddainly
arose such a noisom smell from the bar,"
narrates Prince, " that a great number of the
people there present, were therewith infected,
and went home to die, those that could and had
not long distances to go." Sir Bernard Drake of
Ashe, one of the Justices, reached as far as
Crediton, but could not get further, and there he
died and was buried. His death by this means
was a singular retribution. Among the poor
wretches at the bar were a lot of captured
seamen, and Prince adds: —
" At this time Sir Bernard Drake was very serviceable
to hiB country, and having been at sea, in his return
took a Portugal ship, which had been for a long season
hovering up and down our coast, and brought her
into Dartmouth ; which action, how brave soever it
might be, proved fatal to himself, and many other

110

IVELCHESTER GAOL.

persons of quality. The seamen that were therein,
were sent to the prison adjoining to the Castle of
Exeter."and crowded into a gaol, already too small, and
which occasioned this terrible result.
" Compared with what gaols are in the nineteenth
century, every one of such places was a Pandemonium.
Want of proper and necessary diet, neglect of a proper
supply of water, bad ventilation and drainage occasioned
the dreadful gaol fever, and a tainted atmosphere
in which the small-pox revelled. These destroyed
throughout the realm, so late as 1773, more than all the
public executions.
" The dreadful scenes which followed the last business
of a county assize did not prevent a festive beginning
of the same. On the commission day at each county
town was held an assize ball. The Judges attended in
black silk gowns, with band, and two-curl bob-wig.
They did not dance, but usually played at whist."
The ' odd trick ' being reserved for their leaving,
— that of occasionally ordering some poor
wretch to be hanged in chains.
And a propos of Dorchester, a few years since
the writer of this was walking from the Bailway
Station there, into the town. By the road-side,
on an unenclosed spot, some men were making
an excavation, and had come upon the well-
preserved skeleton of a tall man, minus the
skull. The bones were gathered in a barrow,
and a surgeon passing that way was examining
them. An old inhabitant was looking on, and
he said there was little doubt but that they were
the remains of a large powerful man called
Gollop, executed for horse-stealing, near this
spot, about the beginning of the century. The
head had doubtless been retained for ' anatomi
zation and dissection,' and the mutilated re
mainder of his body buried at the foot of the
gallows. Verily the value of a horse in those
days was much larger than the life of a man.
To resume our little Ilchester annals, and give
further information relative to some of the
unhappy inmates of the old, dread, and now
vanished building, our thoughts take us from
Hunt's Peep, and Bridle's Narrative, to a volume
of very different import, the Register of the
parish Church. There inscribed, literally among
"all sorts and conditions of men," we find a num
ber of the names of those who during the present
century suffered the extreme penalty of the
law, for offences other than murder, and found
sepulture in the churchyard, To these we have
appended particulars of the crimes of some of
them, being extracts gleaned from the columns
of old files of the local papers, quoted verbatim,
together with notes of others not mentioned in
the Register, claimed by their friends and buried
elsewhere, and of murderers presumably interred
at the Gallows Plot, or within the precincts of
the gaol. No record appears in the Register
before 1805, and it is probable the bodies of the
condemned before that year, and not carried
elsewhere, were buried at the Gallows Plot.

Beginning with the century we find : —
9. April. 1800.
Henry London, . . . for murder.
John Trebly, .... for burglary.
Thomas Coles, alias Denton, for burglary.
William Walling, . . for highway robbery.
London was executed for robbing and cruelly
murdering an old woman named Jane Dean with
a hand-brush at Crewkerne. He was an Irish
man and had served as a sailor on board the
Termagant sloop. Trebly was a native of
Martock, and Coles of Berkshire, both executed
for burglary at Mr. B. Viney's, at Langport.
Walling, a native of Somerset, for robbing Sarah
Snelgrove on the highway.
15. April. 1802.
Daniel Carl, . for robbery. Age 24.
James Sparks, . for felony and forgery. Age 31.
Both ordered to be executed at Ilchester Gaol.
Carl for stealing a quantity of silver plate from
his master, J. Band, Esq. No account of the
execution is recorded. 21. April. 1803.
Absalom Hunt, . . . for horse-stealing.
John Pigott, . . .for burglary.
Both executed at ten in the morning. Hunt
for stealing a, dark brown gelding, and a bay
pony, the property of Thomas and George
Palmer. Pigott for a burglary in the house of
Francis Clarke. Pigott behaved with great
penitence, but Hunt appeared much less con
cerned ; however they took an affectionate leave
of each other before being turned off. Though
executed for different offences, they had long
been companions in their nefarious practices.
The record in the Register begins with : —
12. September. 1805.
William Curtis, born at Congresbury, executed for
burglary. Age 36.
Samuel Harding, born at Keynsham, executed for
highway robbery, near Bristol. Age
28.
Curtis was executed for breaking open the
house of William and Mary Durham, and steal
ing sundry goods. Harding, for robbing Joseph
Foot, on the road between Bath and Wells, of
his watch, four one-pound notes, and a pocket
book. 10. September. 1806.
John Docke Romney Rouvellet, born at Grenada, (West
Indies), executed for uttering a forged
note, knowing it to be such. Age 30.
The trial and execution of this man created a
great sensation at the time. He was of gentle
birth, apparently about forty years of age (thirty
in the Register), and had the appearance of a
Creole, He described himself a native of St.
Martins (Martinique) in the West Indies, where
his family were planters, that he was brought
up at Amsterdam at the house of the Hopes, the
bankers there, after which he became a lieu-

IVELCHESTER GAOL.

Ill

tenant in the 87th regiment of the British Army,
and that he lived on the means provided by his
family. Coming to Liverpool he became acquain
ted with a, young woman called Elizabeth
Barnett, the daughter of a Shropshire farmer,
who passed as his wife. They went to London,
and thence to Bath, where he ingratiated him
self with a Madam Simeon, a French woman,
and dealer in laces of the most expensive kind,
and after buying liberally of her as a bait,
induced her to negociate a bill at long date, on
Child & Co., of London, dated from Grenada,
for four hundred and twenty pounds, which she
almost immediately discovered to be a forgery,
but which she appeared to have held for a
twelve-month before final proceedings were
taken, during which interval Bouvellet might
have easily escaped. In the mean time he had
been committed to the Fleet prison for debt,
and Elizabeth Barnett had visited him there.
She had seen him commit the forgery, and
conscious she would be the only witness against
him for that offence, and also for perjury,
another case also pending, he caused her to be
apprehended for a supposed robbery from him
at the Fleet where she visited him, of forty
guineas and a diamond, and an absurd charge
of an alleged debt to an enormous amount.
For this she was apprehended, and tried at the
Old Bailey, and Bouvellet, heavily ironed, was
brought up from Ilchester, where he was then
incarcerated, to appear against her. But the
motive of this unmanly and malicious prose
cution was immediately seen, the object being,
if he could have convicted her, to prevent her as
a felon, appearing against him, the Becorder
stopped the case and ordered the jury to acquit
the prisoner, for whom much sympathy was
expressed. Bouvellet was afterward tried at
Wells, and, as he surmised, his former mistress
gave a detailed account of seeing him forge the
bill, fetching the ink, &c, for the purpose.
Bouvellet denied the forgery, persisted in his
innocence, and said he was the victim of perjury,
but circumstances point to the contrary. At the
gallows he addressed a few words to the specta
tors, and declared he died in peace with all the
world. He described himself as a gentleman,
and the headstone in the church-yard was
probably erected by his' friends in England.
29. April. 1808.
John Hayman, executed for forgery. Age 46.
James Love, executed for sheep-stealing. Age 48.
25. April. 1810.
Samuel Gerrish, born at Westerly, near Bristol, executed
for highway robbery. Age 18.
He robbed a man of thirty-eight guineas.
11. Sep. 1811.
Arthur Baily, for stealing a letter from the Bath Post-
Office.

He was a native of Ashburton, had a public-
house of his own at Bath, and was otherwise
employed as a servant to Mr. Price, postmaster
of Bath, and engaged in the post office. He
stole a letter belonging to Messrs. Slack, linen
drapers, containing bills of exchange, to one of
which he forged an endorsement.
22. April. 1813.
Joseph Bagge, executed at the Gaol. Age 60.
16. September. 1813.
Thomas Chilcot, of East-Quantock, executed at the Gaol
for sheep-stealing. Age 33.
Bagge was executed for setting fire to the
house of his brother-in-law, at East Brent.
20. April. 1814.
George Long, executed at Ilchester Gaol. Age 24.
Sarah Ovens, executed at Ilchester Gaol. Age 28.
Both were executed for stealing in the dwel
ling house of Mr. Le Milliere, at Brislington,
Bristol, jewellery and other goods value nearly
three hundred pounds. They were hanged at
the ' new drop ' in front of the lodge of the
gaol, amidst a great concourse of people.
25. April. 1816.
Thomas Webb, of Shepton-Mallett, executed for break
ing into the Inn at Camards Grave.
Age 22.

12. September. 1816.
James Gardner, executed at the Gaol.

Age 18.

Webb was hanged for breaking into the house
of Mr. E. G. Hill at Camards Grave, between
Shepton-Mallett and Wells, and stealing four
one-pound notes, sundry pieces of silver coin,
&c. The unhappy culprit was executed on the
' new drop,' and died in a truly penitent state,
harangued the spectators a considerable time,
cautioning them to take warning by his sad,
untimely end, and avoid gambling, sabbath-
breaking, &c, he evinced the utmost firmness
and died without a struggle.
Gardner was a farm-servant, and executed for
abusing Eezia Goold, a child six years of age,
and belonged to Diteheat, near Bridgwater.
30. April. 1817.
Joseph Turner, of Bridgwater, executed at the Gaol for
house-breaking. Age 53.
John Pitts, executed at the Gaol for sheep-stealing.
Age 38.
John Bodmin, executed at the Gaol. Age 57.
Tlwmas Langdon, executed at the Gaol for house-break
ing. Age 56.
Bodmin was executed for assaulting James
Watts with a loaded pistol, and attempting to rob
and murder him. 8. September. 1819.
Charles Hibbert, of Walcot, Bath, engraver, executed
for forgery. Age 59.
He was a clever and ingenious engraver,
executed for issuing forged notes on the Devizes
Bank, resided at Walcot, Bath, and on the

112

IVELCHESTER GAOL.

premises were found the plate from which the
Devizes notes were worked off, and several
plates of notes of the banks of Ireland, Scotland,
<fec. Said to have been an accomplished forger,
and lived in a brothel.
' Old Hibbert ' as he was termed, was a one-
legged man, and the scene on the scaffold at his
execution a remarkable one. He was placed on
the drop hand-cuffed, his arms pinioned behind,
and the crutch he used to walk with strapped
to his side to support him, as he could not use
his hands. In this tottering condition, the rope
was put round his neck, and the cap drawn over
his face, when the poor wretch feeling giddy and
faint, called on Bridle doubtless for support,
some hassocks were procured for that purpose,
and he was partially seated on them. For this
last request, and the little extra trouble it
occasioned, Bridle was accused of using some
inhuman words, which Hunt made a special
accusation against him, and at the enquiry it
was both positively affirmed and as strongly
denied. Immediately after the drop fell, and
Hibbert was quivering in mid-air, harnessed in
his crutch, irons and pinions, a gaol official
catching back the hassocks to prevent their
descending after him.

9. May. 1821.
John Kew, . . for burglary, &c.
Duke Flower, . for burglary, &c.

Age 21.

Kew, was executed for robbing Mr. Marchant
at Dunkerton Hill, and burglary in the shop of
Mr. Bendall, near Old Bridge. Flower, for
burglary near Shepton-Mallett ; he had led a
bad life, but protested his innocence of the crime
he was about to suffer for. They were executed
about one o'clock, and addressed the crowd
previously, their bodies were taken away by
their friends and conveyed to Bath, so their
names do not appear in the Church Register.
Both were noted as practised thieves. " We are
shocked in stating that Kew's body has been
publicly exhibited by his friends in Bath to
spectators at two-pence each."
1. May. 1822.
Benjamin Glover, of Bath, executed at the Gaol. Age 16.
George Puddy, of Bristol, „ „ „ Age 21.
William Darch, of Wellington „ „ „ Age 37.
Benjamin Day, „ „ „
Darch was a native of Milverton, and had up
to the period of the offence for which he was
sentenced, — setting fire to a dwelling-house be
longing to T. Bond, — borne a good character, and
of this crime he declared himself innocent
to the last. Glover was only sixteen, and the
child of a notorious thief in the city of Bath,
by whom he had been educated in every species
of crime. At the Spring Assizes for 1821 he
had been sentenced to death for burglary (only
fifteen years old), but had been reprieved and

his punishment commuted to a short period of
imprisonment, this was his second similar
offence, and ' Mr. Justice Park,' who tried the
case, took care there should be no further escape
from the gallows for this poor ignorant lad, who
a few days previous to his death was heard to
say, " He cared not for the execution of his
sentence, only he feared his d — d heart was not
correct." Day for burglary, and Puddy for
house-breaking, and stealing goods and moulds
from J. Bishop, were both bad characters. At
half-past eleven they were conducted to the
platform, preceded by the clergyman reading
the burial service. The absurd custom of
retaining the fetters and handcuffs on the crimi
nals until after their execution, was on this
occasion humanely dispensed with, and they
were merely pinioned. The spectators were
unusually numerous, and consisted (as usual at
such exhibitions) of three females to one man ;
their behaviour .disgraceful in the extreme, their
brutal shouts and mirth even disturbing the
administration of the last Sacrament. A very
severe commentary appeared in a local paper,
on the execution of this boy, Glover, and an
earnest appeal to agitate for the repeal of the
death penalty for many offences, and inflicted on
such young offenders, — the matter then being
under discussion in Parliament, — and it con
tinued : —
" Here is a boy, scarcely beyond the age of childhood,
born in the midst of vice and depravity, and brought
up in utter ignorance of the distinction between right
and wrong. To him the Book of Life had never dis
closed its instructions or its promises, the voice of no
preacher had spoken to him of heaven, or pointed the
path ; his parental admonitions had led him in the way
of destruction — we may grieve, but we cannot wonder
that he obeyed them. Surely this was a case that
called loudly for mercy, the commutation of his former
sentence we cannot look upon as any aggravation of
his present offence ; could it be expected that the
impression of years be effaced in a few weeks ? As yet
he had no adequate knowledge either of the value of
life or the consequences of death, and was possessed of
no other means of preserving the former, than had
already placed him in danger of the latter."
At this Somerset assizes no less than thirty-
four received sentence of death, but only the
four before described were executed.
And concerning this ' Mr. Justice Park,'
and his inhuman proclivities for hanging boys,
in July of this same year we read the following :
" A Hertfordshire juryman complains of the conduct
of Mr. Justice Park toward the jury at the late assizes.
He says, 'the last case of to-day was one of a felony
committed hy a very young boy, which this Judge in
formed us had been clearly made out against the
prisoner, and that we could find no other verdict than
guilty; we, however, thought differently, we did not"
conceive the boy had committed a felony, and we
disbelieved the principal witness against him ; we there
fore acquitted him. On the verdict being announced,
Mr. Justice Park addressed us, telling us that he would
not receive that verdict, that it was contrary to the law
and the evidence, and he desired us to reconsider it.

IVELCHESTER GAOL.

113

We did so, and being unanimously of opinion that our
verdict was a proper one, we a second time pronounced
the prisoner, Not Guilty. Mr. Justice Park imme
diately declared in open Court, that it was an improper
and mischievous verdict, and addressing the lad that
had been acquitted, told him, ' that he had not the
slightest doubt of his guilt, that no one else could
entertain any, that he had been most improperly acquit
ted, but that he would bear his case in mind, and that
if ever he came before him again, he should take care
that the fullest punishment authorized by law was
visited upon him for any offence of which he might be
convicted.' He then again, looking at the jury, said it
was a disgraceful and scandalous verdict, ana that it
was the only wrong verdict they had given during the
assizes ; and then in no very courteous terms, desired
us to be gone."
All honour to the jury for holding firm to
their verdict, — and equal disgrace to this so-called
' Judge ' for thus attempting to over-ride the
jury, and wreak his vengeance on the boy, and
his inhuman and illegal threat afterward, —
conduct savouring of proceedings of brutal
Jefferys. It was of this ' Judge ' that five years
afterward Clase, the horse-stealer, predicted,
when awaiting his trial that if he was again
tried before ' Justice Park,' he would surely be
hanged. It did happen that he was arraigned
before him, and, though he pleaded for mercy
on his knees, he was as surely hanged.
4. September. 1822.
Robert Chilcott, of Wiveliscombe, executed at the Gaol.
Age 70.
Executed for an unnatural offence. At this
assize fourteen received sentence of death, but
only the above person seems to have been
hanged. 23. April. 1823.
George Steelman, of Brent, executed at Ilchester Gaol.
Age 27.
2. August. 1823.
John Taylor, executed at Ilchester Gaol. Age 24.
Taylor was executed for burglary and sacri
lege, — breaking into the tap-room of Mr. Collett,
at the Bed Lion Inn, Woolverton, and into the
parish church of Wanstrow.

20. April. 1825.
Joseph Bennett, executed at the Gaol.
George Maggs, „ „ „
27. April. 1825.
Samuel Banning, executed at the Gaol.
Henry York, „ „ „
John Gill, „ „ „
John Wilmot, „ „ „
Phvneas Radford, „ „ „

Age 22.

Age 21.
Age 23.
Age 23.
Age 25.

Bennett and Maggs were executed for an unna
tural crime, the witnesses, against them being two
females. Both declared themselves innocent, and
hoped God would forgive the two women who
had sworn falsely against them. Banning for
stealing a watch from W. Smith on the high
way. Gill and Wilmot for stealing two geldings
from John Bond. York for assaulting and
robbing J. Bryant on the highway. Badford

for stealing thirty-five ewes, the property of
William Gay, of Combe-Baleigh, near Honiton,
in Devon. The sheep were driven a long way
into Somerset, whither the owner traced and
identified them, and doubtless recovered the
whole without loss, but, notwithstanding,
Radford forfeited his life ! The doomed wretch
tried to cut his throat, but it is added " not
effectually." The five young fellows were hanged
the same day, and it was said that one of them
had property to the value of seven hundred
pounds left him in the interval between his
condemnation and execution.
April 25. 1827.
William Hewlett, executed at the Gaol. Age 25.
James Clase, „ „ „ Age 48.
September 12. 1827.
John Burton, . executed at the Gaol. Age 30.
Thomas Wiltshire „ ,, „ Age 21.
William Latcham, „ „ „ Age 26.
William Kinglake, „ „ „ Age 33.
William Hewlett was executed for stealing
seven ewe sheep and eight lambs, the property
of Thomas Thatcher ; ten lambs, the property
of William Thatcher ; and five hog sheep, the
property of Christopher Lodge. After he was
condemned he seemed to imagine his was a
very hard case. He said that he had never,
previous to the commission of the above offence,
stolen more than four-and-twenty sheep.
James Clase, better known as ' Blue Jimmy,'
was executed for stealing a mare, the- property
of Charles Holcombe. He confessed to having
stolen no less than a hundred horses. As the
Judge pronounced sentence the miserable culprit
fell several times on his knees and earnestly
begged his life might be spared. He had been
tried nineteen times at Dorchester, Exeter, and
Taunton, and when informed he was to be tried
before Mr. Justice Park, conscious that he had
several times been arraigned before him, exclaim
ed, " Then I am sure to be hanged." Early in
life he lived as post-boy at Salisbury, and
afterward joined the gipsies.
Burton, who was a travelling tinker and
probably a member of the gipsy fraternity, was
convicted and executed for assaulting and
robbing a poor man named James Bartlett, at
Priddy fair. He was at the head of an organized
band who were in the habit of infesting fairs and
committing the most atrocious assaults upon
those who happened to fall in their way. No
hope of mercy was held out to him because he
had exercised cruelty toward the prosecutor.
The story is handed down that when Burton
was brought out for execution, his father, who
stood at the foot of the scaffold, called out,
" Jack !" " Yes, father," said the dying criminal.
"Die like a man, Jack, — die like a man " was
the affectionate injunction, and with an " All
right, father," he did so. Many years after a

114

IVELCHESTER GAOL.

person was tried at the assizes at Taunton for
having participated in the robbery for which
Burton was hanged. The accused had attained a
highly respectable position, and was a horse-
dealer in a large way of business, and his
counsel, Mr. Cockburn (afterward Chief-Justice)
in a most eloquent appeal to the jury declared
they must all feel regret that a statute of limit
ation did not apply to criminal as to civil trans
actions, and that long years of honest industry
should not be held to atone for offences com
mitted in early life. The accused was acquitted.
Very recently a son of Burton died, and by his
express wish was brought to Ilchester and
buried in his father's grave.
Kinglake was hanged for burglary at Mr.
Vincent Stuckey's, of Langport ; the property he
took amounted to near three hundred pounds
worth. No hope of mercy was held out to him,
and while the Judge was passing sentence, the
prisoner fell down apparently lifeless in the
box, medical assistance was procured, and after
some time he was so far recovered as to be
held up to hear the remainder of his sentence,
but immediately it was pronounced he dropped
again into a state of insensibility, and in that
state was carried out of Court. He was a native
of Beaminster, the only worthless member of a
large and industrious family, and from his
youth had been addicted to vicious habits. He
had before undergone a sentence of seven years'
transportation. Latcham, for burglary in the dwelling-house
of John Wheeler, of West-Pennard ; and
Wiltshire, for a burglary in the dwelling-house
of Mr. W. Jameson, of Larkhall, Bath.
The four were executed at once, and ten
thousand persons were present to witness the
melancholy spectacle. Latcham and Wills died
almost immediately, but Kinglake (who so
greatly dreaded his death) and Burton (who
died " like a man ") appeared to suffer much.
4 June. 1828.
Richard Gillham, — for murder.
Gillham was executed for the murder of
Maria Bagnall, a lady's-maid, at Bath. The
executioner, after tying him to the fatal beam,
proceeded to put the cap over his eyes, but he
having expressed a wish to have it removed, as
he said he expected to see in the crowd beneath
a person who had been next-door neighbour to
him, but not seeing him there the cap was
replaced, the drop fell, and the world closed on
the wretched culprit for ever.
As he was hanged for murder his name does
not appear in the Register.
31. August. 1829.
Abraliam Reed, — for murder.
Executed for poisoning his wife, having put
an ounce and a half of arsenic in some cream.

He appeared to suffer much. His name is not
in the Register. 8. September. 1830.
William Wall, . for arson.
John Rowley, . „ „
Richard Clarke  , Age 18.
These three were hanged for setting fire to
three wheat mows. Four others appear to have
been implicated in the offence.
In the Sherborne Journal we read that : —
" Contrary to the usual custom of executing crimi
nals in front of the county Gaol, it was deemed expe
dient by the High Sheriff that the above unfortunate
individuals should suffer the extreme sentence near
the spot where the crime was committed.
" Accordingly at four o'clock in the morning they left
Ilchester, accompanied by Mr. Hardy and his assistants,
in the Jail Van. At Axbridge they were met by the
Javelin men, who guarded them to Kenn Moor, where
they arrived at ten o'clock.
" The gallows had been previously erected, and an
immense concourse of from twelve to fourteen thousand
persons had assembled to witness the horrid scene.
" The prisoners being taken from the van appeared
much dejected, but ascended the scaffold with a firm
step. Wall came forward and confessed the crime, but
that his wife who was now in prison, (she was reprieved)
was innocent. Rowley said he was guilty, but Richard
Clark, a youth of about eighteen, offered no observation.
Immediately after this the hangman performed his last
office. " A troop of cavalry and two hundred constables were
in attendance, and the greatest order was kept during
the day."
We do not know who was the ' High Sheriff '
that " deemed it expedient " that such dire
unnecessary cruelty should be carried out ; the
dreary six hours agony of the poor wretches
slowly travelling to their doom, and then, having
to face the enormous multitude, that their fate
might strike terror into the hearts of the assem
bled lookers-on ; and to think, if the statement
be correct, that it was at his instigation only
this dreadful scene was carried out. With more
mercy than he extended to the condemned men
his identification may be left to the oblivion
it deserves. And what a stretch of authority to
put in the power of any single person to
inflict it, — for any crime, — much more for the
loss perhaps of a couple of hundred pounds'
worth of property. April 22. 1831.
Richard Hewlett, executed at the Prison. Age 37.
He was executed for maliciously shooting and
stabbing Charles Capel Hardwicke on the
King's highway, with intent to rob and murder
him. The rope having been attached to the
gallows, after the expiration of a few seconds,
he resolutely threw the handkerchief from him.
His struggles could scarcely be observed, but to
those nearer him they appeared to continue five
minutes. May 4. 1832.
Natlianiel Watts, executed in the Prison. Age 22.
David Gulliford, „ „ „ Age 42.
Benjamin Bartlett, „ „ „ Age 16.

IVELCHESTER GAOL.

115

Gulliford and Bartlett were executed for
assaulting Hannah Eichards, putting her in
bodily fear, and taking from her a pelisse,
and nine shillings and five pence.
In the Sherborne Journal it is said death was
only recorded against them, but they appear to
have been hanged nevertheless, as their names
appear in the Register. 1. May. 1833.
George Hann, executed in the Prison. Age 53.
No particulars are recorded of his crime.
1. April. 1835.
John Hoare, executed in the Prison, for murder.
William Howe, „ „ „ „
These two youths were executed for the
murder of Mr. Harvey, at a place called Sandpits,
between Langport and Curry-Bivel. Mr. Harvey
was returning home in a cart and was way-laid ;
one of his murderers got up into the vehicle and
struck him on the head with a soldering-iron,
and, with great barbarity, killing him afterward
with the same weapon. Ten thousand persons
witnessed the execution, and Howe appeared to
struggle violently. 20. August. 1835.
John Plumley, — for murder. Age 25.
Executed for the murder of Joseph Dunford,
at Brockley Hall, Bristol, — they were fellow-
gamekeepers, and Plumley shot his companion.
4. April. 1836.
Sophia Edney, for murder.
Executed for the murder of her husband,
John Edney, at Cross, Somerset, by administer
ing poison to him in fried potatoes. A large
concourse, including a great number of females,
were witnesses of the execution. The preceding
four persons, being murderers, are not given in
the Register. September 1. 1836.
Daniel Case, executed in the Prison, for arson. Age 18.
Executed for incendiarism at Templecombe.
All the unfortunate persons mentioned in the
Register were buried in the north-west corner of
the church-yard. At present only two memorials
are found that can be identified, some others
visible a few years ago have become decayed
or destroyed. Of those remaining, one records :
J. D. E. R.
Obiit 3 Septr., 1806. Aged 30.
"He is not here, but is risen: remember how lie spake
unto you when he was yet in Galilee." — Luke 24, v. 6.
Eouvellet's crime and death have been already
described. The other tells us : —
To the memory of John Bukton,
who died the 12 September, 1827,
Aged 30 years.

The particulars of his offence and execution
have also been referred to.
The original place of execution before 1813,
when the first entry occurs in the Register,
" executed at the Gaol," was at a spot a little
way out of Ilchester on the Yeovil road, called
' Gallows-plot.' The condemned prisoners were
conveyed thither in an ordinary ' putt ' or
' butt,' — a heavy farmer's cart without springs,
and from it duly ' turned off,' by the cart
being drawn away from under the gallows, and
the victims allowed slowly to strangle. After
wards the executions were carried out over the
porch or main entrance to the building of the
gaol, on a gallows there erected, with an
' improved drop,' much as in use now, which
Bridle relates, after " much opposition " he was
allowed to construct. Thus the poor doomed
wretches were spared the additional agony of
being slowly carted through the town, and
subject to the savage ribaldry and imprecations
of the multitude in their last moments.
But when the executions were thus transferred
to the gaol, Hang-Fair Day, and the desire
to witness the dread ceremonial lost little of their
morbid attraction, large crowds filling the little
town on the dismal occasions. A coal yard on
the opposite bank of the river was a favourite
situation to view the final scene, a shilling a
person being charged for admission. Farmers
and others possessed of horses rode into and
thronged the bed of the river below for a
similar purpose.
Numerous anecdotes anent these mournful
scenes might have been collected some years
since, but now the majority have lapsed into
an oblivion the memory of the ' oldest inhabit
ant ' fails to recall them from, and perhaps,
it were best so. On one of these dread
occasions a man was hanged for arson ; a woman,
presumably his accomplice, and who was said
to have "made the matches for him," had the
callousness to come to Ilchester to see him
executed. The mob recognized her, she was
chased, pelted, beaten, and ducked in the river,
and would probably have shared the same fate
as the man, had not some friendly individuals
rescued her, and got her to a place of safety in
the neighbouring village of Limington. Another
of these ' felons,' who suffered for so-called
highway robbery, is said to have been a youth,
who stopped a little girl and took from her
eighteen-pence and her father's dinner, near
Bristol, for which ' crime ' he forfeited his life.
It is traditionally related at Ilchester that
the detestable Jefferys held one of his blood
thirsty courts for the trial of the insurgents in
the little town-hall of that place : but we believe
this could not have been the case, the special
assizes were only held as usual in the county
towns, and the condemned ' rebels ' sent to the

116

IVELCHESTER GAOL.

various smaller towns for local execution, their
quarters being still further distributed afterward.
Numbers of the ' rebels,' however, appear to
have been incarcerated in the gaol after the
Duke of Monmouth's defeat at Sedgemoor, which
¦was not far off. In the Western Martyrology,
or Bloody Assizes, we read : —
" There was by good report, several scores died in
Ilchester by infectious diseases, and in their irons, and
hand-bolts ; for if they were not hard-hearted, and used
to the extreamest rigour imaginable, the keepers were
not counted good subjects. One of Wellinton that was
to be hanged then, was saved, supposed by order of
Sir —  , and one of Crookorn hanged in his stead ;
this is true, and so it was in other places ; but 'twere
endless to record all the cruelties exercised by Kirk and
Jeffreys after Monmouth's defeat."
Doubtless the poor wretches were crowded
together, half-starved and ill-used until gaol-
fever put an end to their misery, and forestalled
the gallows. In a list at the end of the
Martyrology , twelve men, whose names are
given, were executed at Ilchester for being
concerned in the insurrection.
The presence of the gaol, the frequency of
executions, and good fees obtainable for the
performance of the office of hangman, seems
to have suggested to some residents near, the
desirability of becoming this last repulsive
functionary of the law. Accordingly we find
during the last days of the prison's existence,
that the executioners were of local extraction,
named Mitchell, and were natives of, or resided
at Long-Load, a parish about five miles distant
from Ilchester. There appears to have been
two of them, George and William, who officiated
elsewhere also, ' following the Judges ' at
assize times in the anticipation of employment.
George was appointed hangman for Cornwall in
1828, in succession to William Lee, of Devonport,
who had held the office for the preceding twelve
years, and finally executed himself by cutting
his throat, in 1827. George Mitchell died in
1847, and was succeeded in the office by Willi am,
who was followed by Calcraft, in 1854. The
Mitchells thus continued to exercise their
wretched vocation for some years after the
demolition of Ilchester Gaol. As executions
became less frequent, owing to the repeal of the
sanguinary acts, they had for some time a
retainer of ten pounds a year in Cornwall, and
from twenty-one to twenty-five pounds as a
fee when an execution took place.
The old bell of the gaol, — and which, mid
other uses, was also presumably sounded to toll
the condemned to their doom, — was said to
have been after employed to ring the navvies to

their meals, when the Somerset and Dorset
railway was being made at Cole, near Bruton ;
a much more salutary one.
Here we draw the veil over this little gruesome
narrative, our slender stock of information is
exhausted ; and the words of David — himself
no stranger to crime and suffering, — " the dark
places of the earth are full of the habitations of
cruelty,"— cross the thoughts and seem to have
found abundant fulfilment at Ilchester. Pre
sumably every ' felon ' or ' debtor ' that may
have been incarcerated within the vanished
gaol, is now at peace in the sanctuary of the
grave, and his offence forgotten.
" Existence may be borne, and the deep root
Of life and sufferance make its firm abode
In bare and desolated bosoms — mute
The camel labours with its heaviest load,
And the wolf dies in silence — not bestowed
In vain should such example be ; if they
Endure and shrink not, we of nobler clay
May temper it to bear,— it is but for a day."
The forbidding structure itself was about a
half-century since completely demolished, and on
its site — now a tradition only — some ordinary
buildings of every-day life, similar to those at
Ringswell — as if with purpose designed to hide
and baffle identification — occupy its place. But
could the earth, whereon it was situate, speak,
what a dire record of crime would be revealed,
and to the eye of imagination what a spectacle
would pass before it. Bed-handed murderers
would rise in ghastly throng from its precincts,
and an almost countless multitude of both
sexes, and of all ages, pass out from beneath
its erstwhile gloomy portals, all branded as
felons for offences numberless. Some to suffer
an ignominious death for transgressions, now
justly deemed altogether too trivial to be
atoned for by such remorseless punishment;
many more doomed to eke out for long periods,
or it might be the remainder of their days, in a
slavery worse than the extinction of their lives
at the gallows ; some to again find their way
back to its dreadful thraldom, never more to
come forth, except for one brief hour to be
carted along through a jeering mob to the
Gallows-plot, there to get release for ever by
the kindly hand of death ; but very many, —
the great majority, let us hope, — to reformation
of character and newness of life. Here Pride,
with downcast eyes, sits in the dust, and Pity,
with her boundless heart, appeals to heaven.
Verily, no spot more mournful, wot we, is to be
found in the fair county of Somerset than that
whereon once stood Ivelchestek Gaol !

"flat firm i« forrritrettesa hritlj ®Iiee."

JOHN WOLCOT, M.D.

MDCCLXXXIX.

THE SWEETER SIDE OF 'PETER PINDAR.

" Who would not live in songs of distant days ? '

GENIUS, like personal form, is the sole gift of
Nature. This truth has been recognized
from all time. Its spring of inspiration can
not be acquired by education, nor can the apt
delineation of its endeavour be created by
learning, however comprehensive.
What is termed Art, is one of the expressions
by which its presence is known, for Genius is
the parent of Art. Its manifestation is the
creation of the beautiful, whose display culture
may enhance and perfect, but cannot inspire.
This because its inspiration is beyond the reach
of human longing to procure ; and, when mani
fested, too powerful for human repression either
to decry or disguise.
Unconsciously self-assertive in its own su
preme domain, Genius is neither susceptible of,
nor subject to, rivalry ; for in whatever form it
displays its presence, its reign is unique. Hence
the delusion — if indulged in — that any course of
training may acquire the mysterious gift ; no
teacher can impart originality, its distinctive
feature. Poetry, — understood in its broadest light as
illuminating language, form, or sound,— has
ever been the medium of some of its greatest
manifestations. Here the influence of Genius
is paramount, alone gives true significance to
its expressions, and clothes with incomparable
charm its descriptive productions. To realize
this property, he who beholds must be endowed
with a spirit of interpretation in harmony with
him who creates, and its recognition is enjoyed
in relative degree.
Here there exists a common ground of affinity.
He who contemplates the efforts of Genius,
may pass from stage to stage in the education
of appreciation, in itself a delightful possession ;
but unless some hidden, undeveloped chord in
unison be struck, will never cross the threshold
of production. The key to that palace of
enchantment is in other hands.
And well that it is so, or the priceless value
of Genius would be lost. This rarity carries no
danger, as to re-appearance. Its succession in
the human race will never cease, nor the glory
of its triumphs end. Deep in the mind the
consciousness exists, that above all now revealed

to us as the apparent highest, is the higher, —
beyond the seeming greatest, the greater, —
within the present vast unknown, the knowable,
— the endless heritage of the future.
Truisms, such as the foregoing, common to all
that reflect, are not in general sufficiently
recognized. Specially so in these days of rapid
motion, the abject worship of, and belief in the
power of money, things of all sorts made to
order, and intellects supposed to be perfected
by ' cramming ' and examinations.
Genius, no respecter of persons, sits calm
and immutable as ever, and as chary of send
ing her wondrous shafts of light through the
out-goings of human life, and crowning its
productions with the attributes of her unique
gifts. And when there is allied with it, — usually
but not always the case, — the kindred quality
of industry, its effects are irresistible, the
pleasure afforded by its possession beyond
compare, and beside which the commonplace
acquisition of riches or worldly station, poverty
itself. Further, if anything visibly human
contains the elements of immortality, herein is
it found. The march of ages adds lustre to,
rather than dims the glory of its revelations ;
and like a phoenix it rises from the ashes of
change, whose destructive agencies are powerless
to annihilate its triumphs.
" Shalt thou not last ? Time's scythe and tyrants' rods
Shiver upon thee."
Among those favoured beings on whom — we
think beyond dispute — this coy spirit be
stowed one of her choicest gifts, was John
Wolcot, the subject of our slender notice, — a
Devonshire poet of rare and distinct power, and
it would be safe to affirm that any supple
mentary addition to the Damnonii Orientales
Illustres, whose lives and exploits the chatty
easy-going Prince delighted to chronicle could
not be in anywise complete without the inclusion
of his name ; for certain it is, the piquant
peculiarities of his poetic effusions, and the
celebrity they have obtained, undoubtedly assign
him an unique niche among the poets of his
native county, if not also a corresponding
position amid the larger fraternity gifted with
the lyric art, belonging to the kingdom at large.

118

'PETER PINDAR.'

Wolcot was an easy and facile versifier,
endowed with great originality and perceptive
power, an imagination fertile in imagery ever
apt and a propos to his subject, linked to a
ready command of language exactly suitable to
express it. Satire, keen and uncompromising,
ridicule, unsparing and relentless,— lit up with
broad flashes of humour, often coarse and
occasionally descending within the forbidden
limit of vulgarity, but redeemed, notwith
standing, by a fearless independent spirit that
apparently did not flinch at anything he in
clined to say. Of remarkable courage also, aud a
course strangely daring at the era of their pub
lication, when by innumerable keys the prison
door was easily opened on the offending or
disagreeable scribe. This was the literary
atmosphere he delighted in, and it was of little
import to him what was the quality of the
person who passed under the review of his
scathing pen, whether king, courtier, statesman,
poet, painter, litterateur, or traveller, as the case
might be ; each was impartially subjected to the
same outspoken criticism and ridicule. As a
consequence the poetical diatribes of this
self-constituted laureat, " ode upon ode," or
" address," and " dedicated without permission,"
were greatly decried and dreaded, (so much so,
that the hand of bribery was interposed to stay
their further appearance), for, as a matter of
course, from their undisguised personal allusions,
they were largely read at the time, exerci
sing great influence, and his works passed
through several editions.
The age in which Wolcot lived was a remark
able one. In the religious world the great twin
revivalists Whitfield and Wesley had sown
fresh fire broadcast on the dulled altar of the
heart ; in civil matters the brilliant invectives
of Junius, unapproached for power of diction
and loftiness of purpose, together with the
more plebeian, but earnest contentions of
Wilkes and other writers, stirred the social
mind, as they created the dawn of a new liberty
in the turgid political atmosphere ; — while the
eye was amused with the grotesque caricatures
of Bowlandson and Gilray. Art, science, and
literature also were experiencing an equally
powerful revival, especially painting, then
struggling into new aspects of existence, at the
hands of those great masters, and founders of
the modern English school, Reynolds, Gains
borough, Romney, and others of lesser note,
one of the earliest pioneers of which was Opie,
the proti.gi of Wolcot, whom he describes as
" The Cornish boy, in tin-mines bred."
and, as he said, was by him " caught wild upon
a down in the parish of St. Agnes," and who,
afterward, the kindly-hearted intuitive satirist
helped to complete his studies, and introduce
his merits to the public.

These and other kindred activities, the
inanities of the Court, and reported puerilities
of its ruler, the frivolities and scandals of the
world of beaudom and dandyism, then in the
full flower of their prosperity, afforded a
broad field, peopled with a variety of subjects,
exactly congenial to the poet's satirical pro
clivities, which he was not slow to recognize.
In a certain and limited sense, Wolcot's works
may be termed the Hudibras of the eighteenth
century, and, like the oft-quoted snatchings
from the composition of the immortal Butler, —
a poet he evidently greatly admired, as he
desired to be laid beside him in death, — many of
his homely sallies, droll illustrations, and
humorous distiches, have also passed into the
region of proverbs, and been incorporated as
household words in his mother tongue.
Wolcot was born at Dodbrooke, a suburb of
Kingsbridge, " in a smart little mansion, with a
white front, on a gentle verdant declivity,
extending to the water's edge at the flow of the
tide," but the house has now given place to
another and larger premises. He received his
earlier education at the Kingsbridge Grammar
School, then under the direction of John Morris,
an excellent scholar, and after completing it at
Liskeard and Bodmin, was articled to his uncle,
a surgeon of Fowey. He obtained his degree of
M.D. at the university of Aberdeen, and in 1769
when his friend Sir William Trelawny was made
Governor of Jamaica, accompanied him thither
as a physician. Returning to England at the
death of his patron, he settled in practice at
Truro, with considerable success, and it was
while he was resident there that he met with
Opie. Afterward he moved further west to
Helston, but finally fixed his abode in London.
He was afflicted with almost total blindness
toward the end of his life, together with consi
derable deafness, and died 14 January, 1819, in
his eighty-first year, was buried in St. Paul's,
Covent- Garden, "his coffin, at his special re
quest being placed touching that of Butler, the
author of Hudibras " ; a striking instance of
" the ruling passion, strong in death."
He was however greatly attached to a country
life, and " an inherent love of his native spot,"
so much so, that he seriously intended building
a residence at Kingsbridge, probably intending
to end his days within it, but circumstances
appear to have altered his intentions, and the
project was abandoned.
Spending thus, — at a short distance from the
edge of the great promontory that thrusts
itself into the broad Atlantic, and surround
ed otherwise by rural associations remote
from the great highways of the west, — the
earlier and more impressionable years of his
life, amid the seclusion of Nature ; it is evi
dent the sweet influence of her blandish-

PETER PINDAR.

119

ments, sunk deeply within him, which no after
circumstances could cloud or efface. This is
continuously apparent in the numerous sym
pathetic references to, and scenes and circum
stances descriptive of her charms, that crop up
amid the fierce strictures of his satire, although,
in consonance with the prevailing habit of his
mind, often abruptly ending with some un
expectedly humorous turn. He was also a
master of the vernacular of his native county,
with all its racy uncouthness, and subleties
of idiom, thus becoming in every respect a
thorough Devonian.
The persons and circumstances of whom
Wolcot wrote have all long since passed away,
and consequently to the reader of the present
day, his satirical poems become to a very large
extent a matter of history, the usual fate
following compositions that treat of current
events only, where the interest dies with the
departed incidents ; but the pungency of satire
and quaintness of illustration that sparkle
through his compositions, still attract a
commensurate meed of readers, who value
these qualities for their own sake.
To many others, however, the majority of
persons, perhaps, who have merely heard his
name, and reeeiyed the reputation of Wolcot at
second-hand, or by supposition or inference,
apart from direct study of his works, they
would probably hear them described as being
the production of an unscrupulous and vulgar
satirist only, and, beyond these not very desir
able qualifications, possessing few, if any, re
deeming graces.
As an example of this superficial acquain
tanceship with his works, and consequent failure
of true appreciation of Wolcot's merits and
power, the following confused and contradictory
criticism comes from the pen of Leigh Hunt : —
" He was a coarse and virulent satirist, and content
to write so many commonplaces, that they will stifle
his works with posterity, with the exception of a few
pieces. His humour, however, was genuine of its
kind. His caricatures are striking likenesses, and the
innocent simplicity he is fond of affecting makes a
hideous contrast with his impudence. Dr. Wolcot's
largest poems are worth little, and his serious worth
nothing. Dr. Wolcot was a man of taste in the fine
arts, and produced some landscapes which we believe
do credit to his pencil. We have never seen them.
His critical good taste is not to be disputed, though the
Academicians, at one time, would have given a great
deal to find it wanting. He was latterly blind, but
maintained his spirits to the last. He had a fine skull,
which he was not displeased to be called upon to
exhibit, taking his wig off, and saying, "There," with
a lusty voice, which formed a singular contrast with
the pathos attached to the look of blind eyes."
It would scarcely be possible, perhaps, to
imagine a greater contrast than between the
grim old Doctor, and the " gentle " Leigh Hunt ;
 and to easily picture the disdain with which
the poet would view his unappreciative, slip
shod critic.

But to pass such derogatory judgment on his
works, would be far from being just or correct,
even if viewed in the widest and most literal
aspect they were intended to convey, untempered
by a recognition of the other side of the picture.
To all beings, however stern and seemingly
uncompromising their character, there is invari
ably given the sweeter or softer side, in lesser or
larger degree, and it would be indeed strange
if the vocation of the poet as the highest human
interpreter, should of all others be deprived of
it. Certainly ' Peter Pindar' was not so bereft,
as the following quotations from his poems will,
we trust sufficiently attest.
In common with the poets of all time, Love,
the master-passion of the heart — without whose
longings, and inextinguishable desire to possess
the other half of its being, no life can be com
plete — receives due homage from his muse.
Numerous songs inspired by the tender passion
flowed from his pen, and among them the
following, where as a rustic Petrarch (although
he won her not) he dedicates this chivalric
address : — To LAUBA.
" How happy was my morn of love,
When first thy beauty won my heart, —
How guiltless of a wish to rove. —
I deemed it more than death to part 1
Whene'er from thee I chanced to stray,
How fancy dwelt upon thy mien,
That spread with flowers my distant way,
And showered delight on every scene I
But Fortune, envious of my joys,
Hath robbed a lover of thy charms,
From me thy sweetest smile decoys
And gives thee to another's arms.
Yet, though my tears are doomed to flow,
May tears be never Laura's lot I
Let Love protect thy heart from woe ;
His wound to mine shall be forgot."
and then in after years he records the pleasant
remembrance of an apparently happier love-
making, that seems to have been reciprocated by
the gentle Cynthia, to whom he also addressed
some songs : —
" This brings those days to memory, when my tongue
To Cynthia's beauty poured my soul in song ;
When on the margin of the murmuring stream,
My fancy frequent formed the golden dream
Of Cynthia's grace,— of Cynthia's smiles divine,
And made those smiles and peerless beauty mine."
but whether the errant boy continued to the end
to be gracious in this attachment is not so clear,
as in continuation we get a glance at the other
side of the old, old story : —
" It brings to memory, too, those dismal times,
When nought my sighs availed, and nought my rhymes ;
When at the silent, solemn close of day,
My pensive steps would court the darkling grove,
To hear, in Philomela's lonely lay,
The fainting echoes of my luckless love ;
Till night's increasing shades around me stole,
And mingled with the gloom that wrapped my soul."

120

'PETER PINDAR/

But if the poet were gifted with the talismanic
power of conferring perpetual youth, and ac
companying heritage of unfading charms on the
fair ; how delightful would be his reward, and,
doubtless how eager would he be to bestow it : —
" Ah ! could I snatch Time's ploughshare from his hand,
Who, with that ease a farmer skirts his land,
Furrows so cruelly the fairest face, —
Relentless as a Mohawk, on he goes,
Cuts up the lily and the rose,
Roots up each wavy curl, and bends the neck of grace, —
Ah I could I simply do but this,
The sweetest lips would give me many a kiss."
The simile in second line of the stanza shews
how thoroughly Wolcot understood the tillage
operations of the farmer's vocation. In the
preparation of fallow land for some crops, three
ploughings are often resorted to ; the first as
usual, the second directly across the previous
furrows, called * thirting ' — literally * athwar-
ting,' — the third takes a somewhat angular line
across both, and is called- * skirting,' a word
of obvious meaning, and which usually produces
a fine tilth. Of course ' skirting' is the easiest
operation of the three, hence the aptness of the
poet's allusion.
From the enthralment of Love, to the calm
purity of the endearments of her half-sister
Nature, is but a step ; and Wolcot was an
equally observant and ardent admirer of her
charms. The truth of this attachment had
found a befitting shrine in his heart, and spon
taneous tribute to her praise was ever ready to
find record from his pen. Little episodes,
wherein he delighted to clothe the varying
aspects of her mien in the reflected imagery of
words : —
" Thus, when amidst the trembling world of waves,
The cloud -wrapped genius of the tempest raves,
And, 'midst the hurrying mass of spectred gloom,
Fate, mounted on the wild wing of the blast,
Shouts desolation through the twilight waste,
And, thundering, threats a system's doom ; —
Lo I with light wing a gull the billow sweeps,
Sports on the storm, and mocks the bellowing deeps."
inspired from the grand spectacle of a sea-storm,
viewed it may be, from some vantage point near
the Start, overlooking the wide expanse. Then
by way of contrast to this powerful picture, is
the description of a wandering in a quiet shady
Devonshire lane, at dusk, on a summer evening,
with only the gnat, the beetle, and the airy,
wheeling, noiseless -winged bat for company : —
" Thus at the solemn, still, and sunless hour,
When to their sports the insect nations pour;
In airy tumult blest, the light-winged throng,
Thoughtless of enemies in ambuscade,
Hums to Night's listening ear the choral song,
And wantons through the boundless fields of shade;
Then lo 1 the mouse-faced dtemon of the gloom,
Espying, hungry meditates their doom I"

for tender inspiration the fifth line of this quo
tation is very beautiful ; and still descriptive of
the charms of the evening hour : —
" Then to his western bed the Sun retires,
Obeys the curfew, and puts out his fires,
And Evening, blushful harbinger of Night,
Gems with the dews of health the drooping flower,
With cooling zephyr fans the sober hour,
And wakes the songstress to the fading light."
With a further delightful picture from the
same source of inspiration, the memory of a
scene he witnessed in the isle of Madeira : —
" Beneath its vines, with common clusters crowned,
At eve my wandering steps a passage found,
Where rose the hut, and, neither rich nor poor,
The wife and husband, seated at the door,
Touched, when the labours of the day were done,
The wire of music to the Betting sun :
Where, blest, a tender offspring, ranged around,
Joined their small voices to the silver sound."
or emphasizing a moral reflection, by allusion
to her wonderful transformations, coupled with
a touch of homely rustic simile, most apposite : — ¦
" To shapeless clouds, that waggon-like, along
More cumbrous, scowling on the twilight heaven,
At times behold the purest snows belong 1
To such, of rain the lucid drops are given :
Nay, 'mid the mass so murky and forlorn,
Behold the lightning's vivid beam is born I
and in true kinship with Nature and the poet's
mood, this apostrophe to Solitude, ever the
companion with whom the muse delights to
commune : —
" Thou art my goddess, Solitude— to thee
Parent of dove-eyed Peace, I bend the knee ; —
O, with what joy I roam thy calm retreat,
Whence soars the lark amid the radiant hour,
Where many a varied chaste and fragrant flower,
Turns coyly from rogue Zephyr's whisper sweet;
Where Health so wild and gay, with bosom bare,
And rosy cheek, keen eye, and flowing hair,
Trips with a smile the breezy scenes along,
And pours the spirit of content in song."
Redolent of country air, and its simple de
lights, is this quotation from his Ode to Innocence,
" Now see thee, in the humming golden hour,
Observant of the bee, from flower to flower,
That loads with varied balm his little thighs,
To guard against chill Winter's famished day,
When rains descend and clouds obscure the ray,
And tempests pour their thunder through the skies.
Now see thee, playful chase the child of Spring,
The winnowing butterfly with painted wing,
That busy flickers on from bloom to bloom :
Pursuing wildly now a favourite fair,
Circling amid the golden realm of air,
And leaving, all for love, the pea's perfume.
Now see thee, peeping on the secret nest,
Where sits the parent wren in patient rest ;
While at her side her feathered partner sings ;
Chaunts his short note, to charm her nursing day ;
Now for hiB loves pursues his airy way,
And now with food returns on cheerful wings."

'PETER PINDAR.'

121

rural every-day events, charmingly described,
without trace of commonplace. But no refer
ence to Wolcot's close observation of Nature,
and corresponding tribute to her praise, would
be complete without giving his
ODE TO THE GLOW-WORM.
" Bright stranger, welcome to my field,
Here feed in safety, here thy radiance yield ;
To me, oh, nightly be thy splendour given !
Oh I could a wish of mine the skies command,
How would I gem thy leaf with liberal hand,
With every sweetest dew of heaven 1
Say, dost thou kindly light the fairy train,
Amidst their gambols on the stilly jjlain,
Hanging thy lamp upon the moistened blade ;
What lamp so fit, so pure as thine,
Amidst the elfin band to shine,
And chase the horrors of the midnight shade I
Oh I may no feathered foe disturb thy bower,
And with barbarian beak thy life devour I
Oh ! may no ruthless torrent of the sky,
O'erwhelming, force thee from thy dewy seat;
Nor tempests tear thee from thy green retreat,
And bid thee 'midst the humming myriads die 1
Queen of the insect world, what leaves delight ?
Of such these willing hands a bower shall form,
To guard thee from the rushing rains of night,
Aiid hide thee from the wild wing of the storm.
Sweet child of stillness, 'midst the awful calm
Of pausing Nature, thou art pleased to dwell ;
In happy silence to enjoy thy balm,
And shed through life a lustre round thy cell.
How different man, the imp of noise and strife,
Who courts the storm that tears and darkens life;
Blest when the passions wild the soul invade I
How nobler far to bid those whirlwinds cease;
To taste, like thee, the luxury of peace,
And, silent, shine in solitude and shade 1"
But not alone with inanimate and the smaller
animate denizens of Nature was his sympathetic
soul in unison, he had, as may have been anti
cipated, an equally kind affection for animals,
specially his ass Peter, the friend and companion
of his youthful days, whose cognomen he placed
as a prefix to the name of the great Greek bard
he adopted.
" O thou, my solemn friend, of man despised,
But not by me despised, respected long !
To prove how much thy qualities I prized,
Accept, old fellow-traveller, a song.
O Peter, little didst thou think, I ween,
When I a school-boy on thy back was seen,
Riding thee oft, in attitude uncouth ;
For bridle an old garter in thy mouth ;
Jogging and whistling wild o'er hill and dale,
On sloes, or nuts, or strawberries to regale, —
I say, O Peter, little did'st thou think,
That I, thy namesake, in immortal ink
Should dip my pen, and rise a wondrous bard,
To gain such praise, sublimity's reward.
Tet shalt thou flourish in immortal song,
To me, if immortality belong ;
For stranger things than this have come to pass-
Posterity thine history shall devour,
And read with pleasure, how when vernal shower,
In gay profusion raised the dewy grass,
I led thee forth thine appetite to please,
And 'mid the verdure saw thee up to knees I

How oft I plucked the tender blade ;
And, happy how thou cam'st at my command,
And wantoning around as though afraid,
With poking neck did'st pull it from my hand.
And how, when Winter bade the herbage die,
And Nature mourned beneath the stormy sky;
When waving trees, surcharged with chilling rain,
Dropped seeming tears upon the harassed plain,
I gave thee a good stable, warm as wool,
With oats to grind and hay to pull ;
Thus whilst abroad December ruled the day,
How plenty shewed within the blooming May."
and subsequently, this feeling address to his
humble companion, when in extremis: —
" Friend of my youthful days, for ever past,
When whim and harmless folly ruled the hour ;
Ah ! art thou stretched amid the straw at last !
These eyes with tears thy dying looks devour.
Blest, would I soften thy hard bed of death,
And with new floods the fount of life supply ;
Yes, Peter, blest would I prolong thy breath,
Renew each nerve, and cheer thybeamless eye, —
But wherefore wish ? Thy lot is that of all :
Thy friend who mourns, must yield to Nature's law,
Like thee must sink, and, o'er each darkening ball,
Will death's cold hand the eternal curtain draw.
Piteous thou liftest up thy feeble head,
And mark'st me dimly with a dumb adieu ;
And thus amid thy hopeless looks I read,
' Faint is thy servant, and his moments few.'
O when these languid lids are shut by Fate,
O let in peace these aged limbs be laid
'Mid that loved field which saw us oft of late
Beneath our favourite willow's ample shade.'

Oft to the field as health my footstep draws,
Thy turf shall surely catch thy master's eye,
There on thy sleep of death shall friendship pause,
Dwell on past days, and leave thee with a sigh.
Pleased will I tell how oft we used to roam ;
How oft we wandered at the peep of morn ;
Till night had wrapped the world in spectred gloom,
And silence listened to the beetle's horn."
Turning to another congenial source of in
spiration, we get musings and reflections, which
form rare interludes to his satirical poems,
treating of wisdom and worldly observation, that
give evidence of the poet's intuitive insight of
human life, and the nature of its aspirations,
hopes, pretensions, failures, and rewards ; de
scribed and commented on with incisively
instructive purpose.
" Amid'st the passions' roar, a clamorous host,
Oft is the gentle voice of Reason lost, —
Whene'er it beams through Ignorance's night
I mark the stranger with as keen delight
As looks the pilgrim on Bassora's towers,
Her streams, ambrosial blooms, and myrtle bowers ;
Who, long-denied of Hope's sweet cup to taste,
Has sighed amidst the solitary waste."
the simile of the pilgrim to Bassora is very
happy, and recalls Longfellow's subsequent
allusion to the same subject.
As an antithesis to his usual commentary of
satire and ridicule, we get a glimpse of the poet's

122

PETER PINDAR/

view as to the nature and gracious attributes of
praise : —
" Praise is a modest unassuming maid,
And simply as a Quaker beauty drest ;
No ostentation hers, no vain parade,— ,
Sweet nymph 1 and of few words possest ;
Yet, heard with reverence when the silence breaks,
And dignifies the man of whom she speaks.
Praise— like the balm which evening's dewy star
Sheds on the drooping herb and fainting flower, —
Lifts modest pining Merit from despair,
And gives her clouded eye a golden hour."
but audi alteram -partem, — hear the denunciation
if undeserved, the evanescent life of flattery,
and its ineffectual struggle with truth : —
" Short are the hours that smuggled Praise can last,
An echo, a poor meretricious blast ;
A sudden gust that bids old ruins stare,
And, howling, whirls a feather in the air ; —
Flattery,— a little sly deceiving lass.
With smile resistless, and a front of brass,
Shall reign perchance the idol of a day ;
Then, like a battered harridan, decay ;
While Truth unfading, lifts the head sublime,
And dares the formidable rage of Time."
Of fortune's fickle mirage, illustrated with
comparison, exceedingly fine and subtle : —
" Full oft by Fortune, man is played a trick ;
Too often ruined by her glittering toys,
Just like the candle's luckless wiek,
Surrounded by the lustre that destroys."
and in playful irony a description of his ac
quaintanceship with one of the rarest virtues,
especially among those who affect to bask in the
public gaze : —
" Yes, Modesty (by very few carest),
Oft condescends to be my guest ;
From time to time tbe maid my rhyme reviews,
And dictates sweet instructions to the Muse;
Yes, frequent deigns my cottage to adorn,
Just like that blushing damsel called Miss Morn,
Who, smiling from the dreary caves of night,
Moves from her east with silent pace and slow,
O'er yonder shadowy mount's gigantic brow,
And to my window steals with dewy light,
Then peeping through the panes with cherub mien,
Seems to ask liberty to enter in : —
Now venturing on the sables of my room,
She sweeps the darkness with her star-clad broom."
This humorous paraphrase of an old proverb : —
" The sages say, Dame Truth delights to dwell,
Strange mansion ! in the bottom of a well ; —
Questions are then the windlass and the rope
That pull the grave old gentlewoman up."
While of questions, and their value, with fine
climax : —
" Such were the questions, with a thousand more ; —
Sure keys for opening Mother Wisdom's locks,
Rare keys that ope the twilight vaults of Time."
and the dignity of the poet's mission in days of
old:— "Poets (so unimpeached tradition says),
Tbe sole historians were of ancient days,
Who helped their heroes Fame's high hill to clamber,
Penning their glorious acts in language strong,
And thus preserving, by immortal song,
Their precious names amidst their tuneful amber."

An unsparing censor himself, he treats with
philosophic composure, ever the happiest course,
what fate Time may have in store for his own
productions, as he commits his book to the
tender mercies of his scythe-sceptred majesty: —
" Child of my love, go forth and try thy fate :
Few are thy friends and manifold thy foes; —
Whether or long or short will be thy date,
Futurity's dark volume only knows."
and this wholesome, common-sense view of
happiness and enjoyment, being the dower exclu
sively assigned by .Nature to the human family,
man being the only animal that can laugh : —
" Care to our coffin adds a nail, no doubt ;
And every grin, so merry, drives one out :
I own I like to laugh, and hate to sigh,
And think that risibility was given,
For human happiness by gracious Heaven,
And that we came not into life to cry."
Another beautiful address claims admission
here, — TO MY CANDLE.
" Thou lone companion of the speetred night,
I wake amid thy friendly watchful light,
To steal a precious hour from lifeless sleep;—
Hark, the wild uproar of the winds I and hark,
Hell's genius roams the regions of the dark,
And swells the thundering horrors of the deep.
From cloud to cloud the pale moon hurrying flies ;
Now blackened, and now flashing through the skies.
But all is silence here — beneath thy beam,
I own I labour for the voice of praise—
For who would sink in dull oblivion's stream ?
Who .would not live in songs of distant days ?
Thus while I wondering pause o'er Shakspeare's page,
I mark in visions of delight, the Sage,
High o'er the wrecks of man, who stands sublime,
A column in the melancholy waste,
(Its cities humbled and its glories past,)
Majestic, mid the solitude of Time.
Yet now to sadness let me yield the hour, —
Yes, let the tears of purest friendship shower.

Art thou departing too, my trembling friend ?
Ah I draws thy little lustre to its end ?
Yes, on thy frame, fate, too, shall fix her seal—
O let me pensive, watch thy pale decay ;
How fast that frame, so tender wears away !
How fast thy life the restless minutes steal I
How slender now, alas ! thy thread of fire I
Ah, falling, falling, ready to expire I
In vain thy struggles— all will soon be o'er, —
At life thou snatchest with an eager leap :
Now round I see thy flame so feeble creep,
Faint, lessening, quivering, glimmering — now no morel
Thus shall the suns of science sink away,
And thus of beauty fade the fairest flower —
For where's the giant who to Time shall say,
' Destructive tyrant, I arrest thy power ? ' "
To this, the poet's description of himself,
which for grandeur it would be difficult to
parallel in the whole range of English poetry : —
" Like some lone insulated rock am I,
Where, 'midst the Atlantic vast, old iEol raves ;
Shook by the thunders of the angry sky,
And rolled on hy the rushing world of waves I "

PETER PINDAR.

123

Wolcot was a well-read man, and a good
classic, and his poetic instinct would naturally
revert to, and be occasionally inspired or coloured
by the spirit of the olden giants of the lyric
art, and find expression either by translation
or imitation of their sentiments. Among these,
as may be inferred from his exuberant turn of
mind, was the " gay Anacreon," who he further
describes as "a bard beloved by me," and
therefore we get numerous inspirations from
this source. One '* Inscribed to a Lady," is
ANACREON TO HIS LYRE.
" Fain would I strike the harp to kings,
And give to war the sounding strings,
But, To I the chords rebellious prove,
And tremble with the notes of love.
In vain I quarrel with my lyre,
In vain I change the rebel wire ;
Boldly I strike to war again,
But love prevails through all the strain.
Oh ! since not masters of the shell,
Ye kings and sons of war, farewell ;
And since the loves the song require
To Venus I resign the lyre."
and with wealth of sensuous imagery this
transcription : — FROM ANACREON.
" Haste, let the roses bind our hair,
Ajad merry jest and laugh prepare ;
Behold a blooming maid advance I
She waves the spear with ivy bound,
And to the lute's enchanting sound,
With tempting foot, begins the dance.

And breathing balmy odours, lo !
A youth whose locks luxuriant flow ;
The lyre he sweeps, and sweetly sings,
Accordant to the tuneful strings.
And see, to mingle with our joy,
With golden locks, the Paphian boy :
And Bacchus too, with beauteous mien ;
And her of all the loves, the Queen:—
They come, in pleasures to engage,
And gild with smiles the gloom of Age."
in the spirit of the great bard, this
ANACREONTIC.
" O far from me those lightnings dart ;
On others bid thy beauty shine
Beyond the hopes of this sad heart,
I view that peerless form, to pine.
Whilst every shepherd sings her praise,
'Tis mine of Sylvia to complain ;
Made a poor prisoner while I gaze,
I feel in every smile a chain."
But, perhaps, no quotation from his works
would better display the pleasant aspect of the
poet's sweeter side, than the following homely
effusion, that claims to be bracketed with the
Rev. J. Marriott's well-known " Marriage is like
a Devonshire Lane," to which in sentiment and
metre it forms an appropriate sequel, and was
doubtless, like that poetic dissertation, ' inspired '
in his native county. It is called " Cor in'' s
Profession," or,

THE SONG OF CONSTANCY.

Now, Joan, we are married, — and now let me say,
Though both are in youth, yet that youth will decay :
In our journey through life, my dear Joan, I suppose
We shall oft meet a bramble, and sometimes a rose.
When a cloud on this forehead shall darken my day,
Thy sunshine of sweetness must smile it away;
And when the dull vapour shall dwell upon thine,
To chase it, the labour and triumph be mine.
Let us wish not for wealth, to devour and consume ;
For luxury 's but a short road to the tomb :
Let us sigh not for grandeur, for trust me, my Joan,
The keenest of care owes its birth to a throne.
Thou shalt milk our one cow ; and if fortune pursue,
In good time, with her blessing, my Joan may milk two ;
I will till our small field, whilst thy prattle and song
Shall charm as I drive the bright ploughshare along.
When finished the day, by the fire we'll regale,
And treat a good neighbour at eve with our ale ;
For Joan, who would wish for self only to live?
One blessing of life, my dear girl, is to give.
E'en the redbreast and wren shall not seek us in vain,
While thou hast a crumb, or thy Corin a grain ;
Not only their songs will they pour from the grove,
But yield, by example, sweet lessons of love.
Though thy beauty must fade, yet thy youth I'll remember ;
That thy May was my own, when thou shewest December ;
And when age to my head shall her winter impart,
The summer of love shall reside in my heart.

124

PETER PINDAR.

Enough, you will probably say, gentle reader
of quotation. Be it so. Although our selection
is far from exhausted, yet we trust that enough
has been set forth to give assurance that John
Wolcot, notwithstanding the general harshness
and severity of his productions, had unques
tionably his sweeter or softer side in no stinted
degree, and possessed both the instinct and
inspiration of a true poet.
Devonshire produced just at this era, three
remarkable men, famed alike in painting, poetry
and music — Reynolds, Wolcot, and Jackson,
and there is no doubt they were happily inti
mate with each other, and their friendship was
cemented by a mutual recognition of each
other's gift.
Wolcot had not one word of dispraise for
Beynolds, —

" O muse I Sir Joshua's master-hand,
Shall first our lyric laud command."
and for Jackson he wrote songs which that
gifted composer set to music ; nor can this, brief
commentary on the sweeter side of the poet be
more appropriately concluded than by appen
ding this tribute to his friend,
WILLIAM JACKSON.
" Enchanting harmonist I the art is thine,
Unmatched, to pour the soul-dissolving air,
That seems poor weeping Virtue's hymn divine,
Soothing the wounded bosom of Despair 1
O say, what minstrel of the sky hath given
To swell the dirge, so musically lorn ?
Declare, hath dove-eyed Pity left her heaven,
And lent thy happy hand her lyre to mourn ?
So sad, thy sounds of hopeless hearts complain,
Love, from his Cyprian isle, prepares to fly ;
He hastes to listen to thy tender strain,
And learn from thee to breathe a sweeter sigh."

Sift?

' ^M^MMp'<0x$M

' PETER PlNDAE.'

JOHN ANSTIS, Esq.
Gaktek King or Arms, and Genealogist of the Bath.

A CORNISH BISHOP, & TWO KIKGS OF ARMS.

DULOE AND ITS ASSOCIATIONS.

" What were they but a pageant scene."

LARGE is the heritage of historic fact and
tradition that belongs to this antient land
of ours. Go wherever we may, old memories
sleep around us, waiting only the touch of
human sympathy to waken and recount all
their olden story.
Great is the charm to the student of the
past, who, when he is in possession of this
talisman, can therewith ' recall the memory of
those that in the long yesterday have been
"lighted the way to dusky death," and bring
forth again, if for but brief duration, the
evidence of their former existence from the
dust-strewn lore, garnered in the storehouse of
time. Descending from the age-gloomed vista of the
pre-historic cave-man and his successors, who
in the dawn of advancing civilization have left
in the unwritten records of stone, bronze and
iron, so many tokens to be clothed into life by
inference and surmise ; passing by those eras
that followed, when the sandal-footed Roman,
the marauding Dane, and the invading Norman,
sought to put the heel of subjugation on the
neck of our home-loving ancestors, — all subjects
of surpassing and almost limitless investigation —
and coming on to what is termed mediaeval
times, when the creation of the architect, the
imagery of the sculptor, the brush of the
illuminator, and the pen of the scribe, have
bequeathed such abundant witness of the days
they lived in, — what a vast field here opens to
the explorer, and which embraces not only the
larger and more important historical localities,
but clothes also, with equally undying interest,
every nook and corner of the land.
How pleasant therefore to steal away from
the petty selfish ambitions, and so-called
pleasures of the hour, and commune for a while
with those who appeared, and passed their brief
hour upon life's stage before us, that have had
" their exits and their entrances," and realize,
with cheerful acceptance, that the call — who
knows how far or near — will assuredly bid us
follow by and by.
There are certain places where these occasion
ally unchronicled memories muster in fuller

proportion than in others. The crumbling but
well-nigh indestructible walls of some old
castle, — mere fragments perhaps, recalling large
histories, but now deserted by gay pennon and
flashing armour, and silent of the martial
tramp keeping step to the flare of trumpet or
beat of drum. The mouldering arches that
mark the site of a dismantled abbey, which still
stand with uncomplaining grace, and keep watch
over the deserted precincts of its erstwhile
possessors who sleep below, where weeds and
briars choke the record of devotion to the Cross,
and the destructive proclivities of man complete
the desecration. Or, it may be, the decaying
estate of some old manor house, with all the
inextinguishable characteristics of the gentle
station of its antient possessors still clinging to
it, a crumbling coat of arms amid the ivy,
the remnant of a tattered pane in the " best
chamber," still telling, in colours sparkling and
bright, the story of its olden owners, — now
committed to the tender care of the antiquary
only, and valued by none but him.
These and similar better-known localities
furnish the usual staple of subjects to the old-
time student ; but there are legions of others
of lesser note, in some certain sense, perhaps,
but equally interesting, uninvestigated and un
chronicled. Specially, it may be said inexhaus
tibly rich in these keystones to local history and
tradition, are our parish churches, where, " life's
fitful fe'Ver " over, our forefathers, who have had
the making of things as handed down to us, are
laid at rest, " in Domino placide obdormivit."
Very precious indeed, apart from the solemn
trust of the preservation of their dust, and
beyond the passing religious service of the hour,
are the memories of these old denizens of the
past, preserved on their memorials within its
walls, in every form, however slight, the only
remaining evidence often of a past life.
Although many such memorials still fortu
nately remain, and in some bright instances
have been jealously protected, in many others,
with sorrow and the strongest reprobation be it-
said, a large number have disappeared, under
the callous indifference, or cruel neglect of those

126

DULOE.

who should have been the guardians of their
preservation, an irreparable destruction no after-
effort can restore. This, often under the
shallow, unfeeling, and it may be said super
stitious pretext, that these memorials are unholy
intrusions, that churches are not meant to
be ' museums ' of monumental memories, and
all such should be either ruthlessly removed, or
relegated to some dark or inaccessible corner.
But if this view be correct, how comes it, that
from all time, ever since churches have been built,
these memorials have been placed within them ?
Are we wiser than those who first erected and
handed down these hallowed structures to us ?
And can it be said that those who thus outrage
the memory of the dead, really care for the
living ? It is doubtful.
Our pilgrimage to-day takes us to one of
these local historic sources, an out-of-the-way
parish church on one of the Cornish hills, rich
in old-time traditions, and, fortunately, although
greatly despoiled of much of its antient glory,
still retaining sufficient remains thereof to
connect and illustrate our little story.
The walk from Liskeard to Duloe is a pleasant
one. Steep descent and ascent follow each other
in rapid succession, as the road leads across
the narrow picturesque valleys, whose sides are
occasionally well clothed with wood, and which
follow with sinuous course down, a few miles
below, to the fisher-towns of Looe. About mid
way, on an acclivity, we pass the church of the
tiny parish of St. Keyne, so widely celebrated
for its famous Well, the virtues of whose flow,
says the old historian, Carew, —
" The quality that man or wife
Whose chance or choice attains
First of this sacred stream to drink,
Thereby the mastery gains."
The Well is situated about half-a-mile below
our path, which, following on, we note on the
plateau of the hill immediately before us a clump
of trees with just the apex of a spire peering
up among them, — there is Duloe.
It is a beautiful sunny summer day, and that
"far from the madding crowd's" solitude and
peace., so characteristic of the English village,
and happily still found in many localities, per
vades the hamlet, and reigns supreme within
the precincts of the grave-yard that surrounds
the church ; on a green slope of which we seat
ourselves, and survey the curiously arranged
edifice, with its short massive tower and low
spire placed on the south side of the nave, and
forming a sort of transept. It is dedicated
to St. Keby, one pf the Cornish saints, whose
names are legion.
What can there be here, the uninitiated
would ask, so distant from the haunts of
the busy man of the present, to attract the
stranger many a mile to visit it ; surely some

history or tradition of more than common im
port, whose circumstances are woven into the
past, though not immediately apparent. That
is so. Enter yon open door, and look within.
A glance at the east end of the north aisle at
once solves the mystery of the attraction, for
there is the despoiled, but still striking remnant
of the once richly garnished Colshull Chantry,
whose associations form the chief historic tradi
tion of the parish, and subject of our narrative.
Within it death has garnered sundry genera
tions of the knightly family of its Founder,
— the Colshulls, — who were also " Lords of
Tremethert " a considerable manorial possession
close by, as well as " Patrons of this Church ; "
and, by wedding the last distaff of their race
and so obtaining the inheritance, their suc
cessors, a stirpe of the ' Great Arundells of the
West,' from whom sprang a bishop of the
diocese, who, in his early years — probably it was
his first preferment — was Rector of this church.
Two branches of the Arundells, derived from
the main descents of Lanherne and Trerice,
followed each other in its possession, and
became extinct, the last representative of the
second descent disposing of the heritage to a
remarkable Cornishman, who with his son
were learned historians as well as prominent
Court functionaries, during the reigns of " good"
Queen Anne, and the early Georges, kings of
England — John Anstis, and his son John,
successively Garter Kings-of-Arms, — both sepul
chred below. An unique record it would be
difficult to parallel within the precincts of an
ordinary country church.
A description of the Chantry demands our
first care. It is comprised within the two
easternmost arches of the north aisle. These are
much more ornamented than the others of the
arcade, being studded around the inner mould
ing from base to keystone with bosses, displaying
regal emblems significant of the date of its
erection, and armorial insignia relevant to the
descent of its Founder. The arch nearest the
altar that once had its place under the east
window of the Chantry, being further enriched
with deeply under-cut vine tracery down the
sides of the pillars. The capitals of the arcade
are alike, and somewhat unique in design, having
a modification of the Tudor flower carried round
them. Beneath these arches, and originally across
the aisle from the second, are enclosing oak
skreens, filled with perpendicular tracery, and
with rich cornices, containing shields illustra
tive of the Founder's descent.
The skreen that filled the easternmost arch has -
apparently been removed and is now placed
across the north transept, and the armorial
story that once had its place on the cornices
is now ranged around the end skreen that

DULOE.

127

separates the Chantry from the aisle, and
fortunately has been preserved. The whole of
the wood-work is much injured, and shorn of
its antient beauty.
Within the Chantry, on a high tomb, lies the
effigy of the Founder, greatly mutilated and
defaced. Clad in the plate armour of the
period, he appears bare-headed, with long
flowing hair, and the collar of S.S. around his
neck. His head rests on a large tilting helm,
his feet on the remains of some animal, and
beside it are the fragments of three kneeling
figures, weepers or priests, with their faces
turned toward the altar, that once had its place
in the Chantry. The hands, a large portion of
the arms, and the sword have disappeared.
The figure is composed of white stone, the
sculpture of moderate merit, — of course it has
been whitewashed, — but originally the collar of
S. S., the edges of the armour, and probably
also the belt and armed appointments, were
gilded, and exhibited a chastely rich appear
ance. The effigy is laid on a large slab of slate
that forms the table of the tomb, and around it
in large, deeply-cut, and beautifully ornamented
letters is this inscription : —
Ijtr Haret Joii'ea (ffolabnll miles q'otra'
ii'its tie QFremethert et patrons jjUjs %tdz'
rrui obtjt £°iraf Me nte'a m'rcti %na tsa't
mill0 <&%%%a liiiiij" €u\* a'ie pp'riet'
Hen* |l'
which tells us,
Here lies Sir John Golshull, Knight, who was
Lord of Tremethert, and Patron of this Church,
¦who died on the 18th day of the month of
March in the year of our Lord 1483 : on whose
soul God have mercy. Amen.
Below, on three sides of the tomb, are plain
quatrefoils with shields in their centres ; the
charges are gone, having probably been only
painted on them. On the west end in a panel
is sculptured the Crucifixion with St. Mary and
St. John attendant.
The tomb has doubtless been moved from its
original position, as it is now too near the altar
that was in the Chantry; probably to make
room for the organ now placed within it, and
filling up (as at Uminster, and many other
places) with tasteless deformity and unnecessary
size, the most beautiful historical and architec
tural feature of the edifice. As often seen in
chantries, the splay of the window immediately
north of the altar extends to the floor, appa
rently for some ecclesiastical purpose.
The following royal emblems and family
heraldry are found on the arches and skreen : —
1. A single rose, ensigned with a royal

crown, probably white, and for Edward IV.
2. The feather of the Prince of Wales, crowned,
and with label. 3. Chequy, u, chief guttee
(Colshull). 4. Colshull, impaling, Fretty
(Hiwis ?) 5. Colshull imp : On four fusils in
fess, as many escallops (Cheney). 6. Cheney
alone. 7. Cheney imp : a chevron (Stafford).
8. A chevron within a bordure engrailed
(Staffokd of Suthwyke). 9. Fretty (Hiwis?):
10. Hiwis ? imp : Courtenay. 11. A rudder,
(badge of Cheney). 12. A Catherine wheel.
13. A cross. 14. A mitre. IS. A tun.
The shields as now found have no heraldic
order, but have here been brought into sequence.
Pole gives the arms of Colshull, as, Chequy
or and sable, a chief argent, guttee gules, and
Hiwis, Gules, fretty and a canton argent, there
is no canton on the shields at Duloe, the canton
may be for difference, fretty being the parent
coat. It is difficult to account for the alliance
of Hiwis with Courtenay. " Theire is not any
left of that famylye," says the Antiquary.
Outside the structure of the Chantry is
well marked, and similar in appearance to
the Stafford (of Suthwyke) chantry at North
Bradley, with which family the Founder was
allied by marriage. Battlemented, with string
course below, studded with bosses, the windows
being deeply splayed, and divided from each
other by buttresses, pinnacled at their termi
nations ; the east window is enriched with a
rose-shaped flower sculptured on the points of
the cusps, and a large turret with stairway
inside, rises at the north west angle.
Some other later monuments are found
within the Chantry, one to an Arundell, others
to Killiow and Coffyn. These will be duly
referred to. Our next care is to trace the
history of the owners of Tremethert, and
descent of the builders of the Chantry, and
their successors, together with other collateral
subjects anent.
The early possessors of the Manor of
Tremoderet, Tremethert, but now known as
Tremodart, were the antient family of Hiwis,
Hewis, or Huish, all variants of the same name,
who were originally located in the parish of that
name in north Devon, with descents in Cornwall
and Somerset, and their name still appears both
as prefix and affix to parishes both in Devon
and Somerset.
To Philip de Hiwis, who lived in the reign of
Henry II., (1154-89,) there were three successive
Sir Williams, the last marrying Jone, daughter
and heir of Sir Richard Bauceyn. To them
four Sir Richards followed successively. The
first who died in 1297, married Matilda, daughter
of Sir Alan Bloyou the elder, knt., an old
Cornish family, whose name appears as holding
lands in the Domesday survey, and bore for
their arms, Sable, a saltier engrailed argent.

128

DULOE.

On 23 April, 1310, Dame Matilda de Hiwis as
relict of Sir Richard, presented doubtless her
relative, John Bloyou, D.C.L., Advocate in the
Court of Canterbury, and subsequently Canon of
Exeter Cathedral, to the rectory of Lansallos.
On 2 August in the same year, she obtained
from Walter Stapledon, Bishop of Exeter, licence
for an oratory : —
" Optinuit Licentiam ut in Capella sua de Trcmetherecke
(Tremodart) infra limites Parochie de Duelo (Duloe)
situata, per Capellam ydoneum suis sumptibus singulis
diebus feriatis, et eciam quociens ad Mati-icem Eeclesiam
ipsa, vel aliquis sen aliqua de filiis seu filkibus suis,
commode aceedere non poterit seu non poterint, Diebus
Dominicis et Festivis, possit facere Divina celebrari et
audiri ; dum, tamen Rectoris et Vicarii ejusdem Ecclesie
consensus accedat ; et quod presbiter ibidem celebrans,
secundum Statuta Synodalia, de indempnitate dictorum
Ecclesie Rectoris et Vicarii, et fidelitate ejusdem et eorum
cuilibet facienda, coiporale primitus prebeat juramentum;
proviso quod alii Parochiani illius Ecclesie quam illi
de libera sua familia, cum in dicta Capella in forma
premissa vel alia celebrari feeerit, vel alias ad audiendum
Divina, Diebus Dominicis et Festivis, ibidem, nullatemus
admittandur. Presentibus pro bene placito Domini dura-
turis tic. (g. Aug. 1310.) "
On 18 July, 1320, she presented Richard de
Tremur, clerk, to the rectory of Lansallos, on
the death of William Bauceyn, Professor of
Laws, and Canon of Glasney, a relation probably
of her husband's mother.
Sir Richard their son married Margaret,
daughter of Sir Adam Crete, and died in 1340 ;
and their son Sir Richard, who predeceased
his father, dying in 1330, married Emmeline
daughter of Sir William Botreaux.
Sir Richard de Hiwis, their son, and the
last male heir of this branch of the family,
married Alice, daughter and heir of Sir Ralph
Blanchminster, or de Albo-Monasterio, of Binamy
Castle in Stratton, in which church is the effigy
of a crusader, supposed to represent him, or his
grandson Sir John. The last of the Blanch-
minsters was Guy de Blanchminster, rector of
Lansallos, who died in 1404. Their arms were
Argent, three bendlets sable, over all a chevron
ermine. Sir Richard de Hiwis, who died in 1360, by
his wife Alice Blanchminster, had a son William,
who died without issue, and one daughter
Emmeline or Emma, heiress to the extensive
Cornish estates of Hiwis, and of Blanchminster,
who included among their possessions the Scilly
Isles. She married first Sir Robert Tresilian, prob
ably of the family of Tresilian of Tresilian, in
Newlyn, who bore for their arms, Gules, a pelican
in her nest with wings displayed, feeding her
young ones, or.
He was Chief Justice of the King's Bench,
and in the reign of Richard II. having given an
opinion hostile to the king's uncle, the Duke of
Gloucester and his party, " advising arbitrary

measures which his misguided sovereign had
not the power to enforce," was, when the Duke
and his supporters gained the supremacy,
attainted by the Parliament, found guilty of
high treason, sentenced to be executed and his
estates confiscated ; and he was hanged at
Tyburn, together with Sir Nicholas Brember,
Lord Mayor of London, early in the year-1388.
By Sir Robert Tresilian she had one daughter
married to John Hauley, the rich Dartmouth
merchant, who died 30 Dec, 1408, and of whom
it was said Blow the wind high — blow the wind low
It bloweth good to Hauleys Hoe !
The fine brass, with the effigies of this
merchant and his two wives, lies in the chancel
of St. Saviour's. Pole says she was called
Emmeline, — the inscription records their names
respectively as Johanna, ob. 12 July, 1394, and
Alice, ob. 7 Jany., 1403.
Secondly, she married Sir John Colshull, " of
a family," says Lysons, " of much note, and of
equestrian rank in Cornwall for five or six
generations, originally from Essex." In Bishop
Bronescombe's Register, a John de Coleshulle,
subdeacon, was instituted to the rectory of North
Bovey, 24 December, 1279, patron Sir Thomas
Pipard, knt.
In the year 1391, Sir John Colshull, procured
a grant to himself, his wife, and their heirs, of
Tremoderet, and several other manors, which
had been forfeited by her father, the Chief
Justice's attainder. On the 27 April, 1415, John
Colshull did homage to Edmund Stafford, Bishop
of Exeter, at Clyst, for lands at Canalissey, in
St. Issey, near Padstow.
He also presented at various times to the
livings in their patronage ; in 1398, as " domi-
eellus," a young esquire, in conjunction with
the rector, to Duloe ; and again as " Lord of
Tremethert " in 1400, to the same benefice ; in
1404-5 as " domicellus " to the rectory of
Lansallos on the death of Guy de Blanchminster ;
in 1409 to Stowford, as "John Colshull, esquire,"
and subsequently in 1415, as " Sir John Colshull,
knt." Emmeline, wife of Sir John Colshull, died in
1415. They left two sons, John, their heir, and
Roger. Sir John Colshull, their eldest son, married
Anne, daughter of Sir John Challons, an old
Devonshire family whose arms were, Gules, two
bars, and eight martlets, 3, 2, 3, argent.
On 10 Dec, 1414, licenses were obtained for
oratories from Bishop Stafford,
" by John Colshulle, domicellus, and Anna his wife, and
their family within their mansions of Tremethert and
Dename in Cornwall." *
* Hingeston-Randolph.

EFFIGY OF SIR JOHN COLSHULL, KNT.— A.D. 14X3.

DULOE.

129

Sir John Colshull was slain at the battle of
Agincourt, 25 Oct., 1415, aged about twenty-
three years ; and left issue a son John and a
daughter Johanna.
From Bishop Stafford's Register we get this
further curious entry having reference to their
son's early death, his parents being apparently
then alive : —
"John Colshull and Emma his wife are mentioned
(Breve Regium) to administer to Anna, widow of Sir
John Colshull, knt., the oath " de non maritando sine
licencia," 3 Dec, 1418 ; the said oath was administered
at Clyst, 10 Jany., 1418-19."
Sir John Colshull, his father, was married to
Emma his mother, widow of Sir R. Tresilian in
the parish of St. John the Evangelist, Friday-
street, 30 Nov., 1388. He was then styled as
"citizen and vintner of London," — and subse
quently " also of Tremoderet " on the procuring
a grant of that manor in 1391, forfeited by the
attainder of his wife's father. But as we have
seen, Colshull was a west-country name a
century antecedent to this date. She died
14 Oct., 1413. In addition to her daughter by
her first husband, Emmeline, married to John
Hauley, she also appears to have had a son
and heir John, "indicted in Parliament" 23
Richard II. ; of whom nothing further is known.
Sir John Colshull, their son, who was of age
in 1437, married before November, 1438,
Elizabeth, eldest daughter and coheir of Sir
Edmund Cheney, of Broke, Wilts (born 4 Dec.
1401,— died 30 May, 1430), by his wife Alice
Stafford, died 1469, daughter of Sir Humphrey
Stafford, " of the Silver Hand," of Suthwyke,
Wilts, (ob : 1441) by his wife Elizabeth, daugh
ter and coheir of Sir John Mautravers, of Hoke,
Dorset, (ob : 1386).*
Lady Elizabeth Colshull was aunt to Sir
Robert Willoughby, Lord Broke, who was buried
and whose monument with his effigy is found in
Callington church. Lord Broke's mother was
Anne Cheney, (Lady Colshull's younger sister,)
and with her husband Sir John Willoughby,
(who was slain at Tewkesbury, 3 May, 1471,)
inherited, and lived at Broke, in Wilts.
Sir John Colshull, according to the inscription
on his tomb, died 30 March, 1483, and his wife
Elizabeth about 1492. They left no issue, and
at their deaths the name of Colshull at Duloe
became extinct.
" Thou wert the last of all thy race 1
With thee an ancient name expires,
And vanishes from the earth's face
Even the memory of thy sires."
Sir John's sister Johanna now became sole
heir to the large accumulated properties, among
* See "Strife of the Roses" for further account of
Cheney and Willoughby.

which were the Scilly Isles derived through
Blanchminster. Lysons says : —
" In the year 1314 Ralph de Blanchminster had the
King's licence for embattling his castle of Inor, in the
Isles of Scilly. In the year 1345 Ralph de Blanchminster
held the Isles of Scilly, under the Duchy of Cornwall,
as of the honor of Launceston, by the annual render
of three hundred puffins, at Michaelmas. In the reign
of Henry VI. the rent was only fifty puffins, or six
shillings and eight pence; the islands were then the
property of Sir John Colshull, representative of the
Blanchminsters ; their annual value in 1484 was esti
mated at forty shillings in time of peace, in time of
war, nothing."
So rich a presumptive heiress as Johanna
Colshull was not likely to remain long without
a husband, — and altogether she had three.
The first was a scion of the " Great Arundell
of the West," Renfrey, a younger son of Sir John
Arundell, K.B., of Lanherne, (ob: 1435,) by his
wife Eleanor, daughter of Sir William Lambrun,
knt., ob : 1400.
Renfrey, who is styled first " of Treloy in
St. Columb," and subsequently" of Tremoderet,"
was Steward of the lands of the Earl of
Warwick in Cornwall, and Sheriff of the County
in the reign of Henry VI. Her marriage settle
ment is dated 9 Sep., 1421 ; and she died
20 Dec, 1497. The date of Sir Renfrey's death
does not appear to be known.
By Johanna Colshull, his wife, he had two sons,
Renfrey and John, and two daughters, Eliza
beth and Dorothy.
Renfrey, the eldest, married Anne, daughter of
Sir Andrew Ogard, of Buckenham Castle, Nor
folk. She married, secondly, Robert Crane of
Stonham-parva, and Chilton, Suffolk ; died
about 1521, and was buried beside her second
husband at Chilton.
He was Sheriff of Cornwall, 1462, died 6 June,
1468, was buried in the Lady Chapel of the
Friars-Minors' Church, London ; and so pre
deceased his uncle Sir John Colshull fifteen
years. He left three sons, Edmund his successor,
Ralph, ob : 1473, and Renfrey, who both died
without issue ; and a daughter Anne.
Sir Edmund, his heir, appears to have taken
the King's — Henry VII. — side against his Cor
nish neighbours at their rising in insurrection
and march to London in 1497, and as " Sir
Edmund Arundell of the West " was among the
" Knightes made at Blackheath feilde Anno 12 of the
Kinge on Seint Botolphe's Day, the 17 of June Anno
D'ni 1497, against the Comons of Cornwall."
• He married Jane, daughter of Sir Thomas
Walgrave, of Essex, who was knighted 20
March, 1461, married Elizabeth, eldest daughter
of Sir John Fray, Chief Baron of the Exche
quer, and died 1472. Edward Walgrave, her
brother, married Elizabeth one of the four

130

DULOE.

daughters and coheiresses of Sir John Cheney of
Pinhoe, who was cousin to Elizabeth Cheney
who married Sir John Colshull, — another link of
family relationship. He was settled at Borley
in Essex, died 1501, and bore for his arms, Per
pale, argent and gules.
Sir Edmund Arundell died without issue, 27
November, 1503 ; which ended the descent of
Arundell of Duloe in the male line.
Anne, the only daughter of Renfrey Arundell,
and sister to Sir Edmund, married, as his first
wife, John Crocker, ob. 1520, of Lyneham,
Devon, and also died without issue, — 25 Aug.,
1507. We think there is little doubt that she was
the first wife of John Crocker (or Crokker) of
Lyneham in Yealmpton, South Devon, who was
the son of Sir John Crocker, of the same place,
(ob : 1508,) Cup and Standard Bearer to King
Edward iV., and that monarch is said to have
granted him an unique crest : A drinking cup or,
with three fleurs de lys issuing therefrom and
charged with a rose. His brass is in Yealmpton
Church, a figure in plate armour, bare-headed,
his head on a helmet from which the crest has
unfortunately been removed, with this inscrip
tion : —
"Sir IFaret Snb'ea Otrohkcr miles
rpion&a' riptjorariua ar aignifer
illuatrissimi regia (EMnanji quart'
qui obift a-itif die mareif ^Vnno
i'nt mill'io qui'rje'teaimo ©rtauo."
four shields were in the corners of the stone,
one only remaining with the arms of Crokker,
argent, a chevron engrailed gules, between three
crows (croakers) proper.
We now reach the first of the historical
personages connected with these rural surround
ings. In the person of her second son, Johanna
Colshull, wife of the first Renfrey Arundell of
Tremoderet, was the mother of a distinguished
ecclesiastic, John Arundell, Bishop of Lichfield
and Coventry, and afterward of Exeter.
It is not probable that he was born at Duloe,
but resided there perhaps during the short time
he was rector of the parish and before his
great family influence removed him elsewhere
to fill the dignified offices in the church that
successively were offered him.
He received his education at Exeter College,
Oxford, and, says Dr. Oliver, in his " Lives of
the Bishops of Exeter," —
"We find him instituted on 22 March 1473-4 to the
rectory of Duloe in his native county.
" Shortly afterwards he was appointed a Canon of
Windsor, Rector of Sutton-Courtenay. and Prebendary
of York and Sarum.

"He was elected Dean of Exeter late in 1483; con
secrated Bishop of Lichfield and Coventry 6 November
1496, and translated to the government of the See of
Exeter 29 June 1502.
" The important office of Registrar he committed to a
polite scholar John Sixtinus, a Doctor of Laws of the
University of Sienna ; who in the prologue to the
1 Acts' of his episcopacy commends his patron for
' reflecting honour on his antient and illustrious
pedigree by his excellent learning and distinguished
virtues. Every day his numerous household assembled
together in St. Mary's Chapel within Exeter Palace,
when the service was conducted with vocal and instru
mental music. The most cordial hospitality was
maintained ; a daily distribution of alms took place at
the Palace gate. The Bishop was anxious to reward
merit ; and all his Chaplains were ready to witness
how ready he was to provide in the Church for their
future comfort.'
" The tenor of his life was distinctly modelled on the
doctrine of St. Jerome to Nepotian, ' that it is the
glory of a bishop to provide for the wants of the poor,
and that it is a disgrace to God's priests to be studious
of accumulating riches.'
" In the Conventual Church of St. Germans, Cornwall,
he held an ordination on 23 Sep. 1503, as also in his
Manorial Chapel at Clist, the 23 Dec. following.
" Unfortunately for his diocese this exemplary prelate
was prematurely cut off by a short illness at Exeter
House, London, 15 March, 1504 (1503-4), according to
his Register, and was buried on the south side of the
altar of St. Clement's Church adjoining.
" He had purchased two messuages in St. Sidwell's,
which, with the license of King Henry VII., he appro
priated to his Dean and Chapter to keep up his obit
here. One was called ' The Sign of the Ape,' the
other was immediately contiguous.
" At Wardour Castle is a good portrait of the prelate,
whilst Bishop of Lichfield and Coventry, in 1501."
Weever thus refers to the inscription on his
gravestone in St. Clement's Church: —
"Hie iacet. .. .Johannes Arundell ... .Episcopus Exon
qui ob. . . .die mens Ma'ij 15. . . .1503.
" This maymed inscription would tell us thus much,
that John Arundell (descended of the antient and most
worshipfull house of the Arundells of Lanherne in
Cornwall) Bishop of Exeter, lieth here under interred,
who died March 15, 1503."
The tomb is said to have been " of marble
inlaid with brass," — probably his effigies, with
ledger inscription.
The Bishop made his will 14 March, 1503,
and names with others, Peter Colshull, and
Thomas Whityndon " his cousin," — probably
relatives of his mother, and sister's husband.
Owing to his short presidency over the
diocese of Exeter very few material traces of
his episcopate exist. The only one we are
acquainted with is found in the south transept
window of East-Coker church, Somerset, — two
shields, on the one Arundell quartering Carminow,
on the other the arms of the See of Exeter.
The portrait of the Prelate at Wardour Castle
is very pleasing and well painted, by C. Millar,
but the accessories of costume point to a date
at least a century later than the era of the
Bishop ; and it was probably copied, as to the
likeness, from an older and contemporary picture.
There is a similar portrait by the same artist of

DULOE.

131

Cardinal Howard, about which date they were
apparently both painted.
Of her two daughters, sisters of the Bishop, —
Elizabeth, married first William Whittington
of Pauntley, Gloucester, and Upton-Haselow,
Warwick, by whom she had a son John. He
died 3 Nov., 1470, and was buried in the Grey
Friars' Church, London. Secondly, she married
Nicholas Brome of Baddesley-Clinton, Warwick,
who died 10 Oct., 1516. By him she had two
daughters, Constantia and Isabel.
A Guy Whittyngton was instituted rector of
Duloe, 26 Oct., 1513.
Secondly, Johanna Colshull, as widow of
Renfrey Arundell, — who as also their son
Renfrey, probably predeceased Sir John Colshull
— married Sir John Nanfan, by whom (accord
ing to some authorities) she had a son, Richard,
who died without surviving heirs, and a daughter,
Isabel,— married to Bolle, and eventually a
coheiress. This Richard Nanfan was Esquire to the
Body, and knighted by Henry VII., being
" dubbed by the Kinge before Christmas who sent him
in ambassade into Spayne : he was dubbed in the way
towards Kingston, anno quarto, (1489.) His arms : —
Quarterly, 1 & 4, Sable, a chevron ermine, between three
wings displayed argent ; 2 & 3, Argent, three wolves passant
azure; "quaere quod genus animalis — puto Lupi."
Crest : — A spaniel dog passant argent." — (Metcalfe.)
Sir Richard Nanfan was Sheriff of Cornwall
12 Henry VII., 1497, and married Margaret,
whose name is not given ; they appear to have
had a daughter married to Trenowth, who died
sine prole, — as did also her father Sir Richard
in 1506, and her mother, who deceased 6 April,
2 Henry VIIL, 1511. Sir Richard was of the
county of Worcester, and both were buried in
St. Bartholomew's Church, Smithfield, London.
A Sir Richard Nanfan was Lord Deputy of
Calais in 1503, whose second daughter, Jocosa,
was married to John Flamank (brother to
Thomas, executed in 1497), by whom he had
several children. Some confusion is apparent
here. The Nanfans were an old Cornish family
located at Trethewell, in St. Eval. Isabel,
her daughter by Sir John Nanfan, married
Richard Bolle of Haugh, Lincoln, Sheriff of
that county 16 and 17 Edward IV., and left
descendants. Thirdly, she married Sir William Houghton,
by whom she had no issue. He died 28 Feb.
1508. On the death of Sir Edmund Arundell, grand
son of Johanna Colshull, this branch of the
Arundells became extinct, and the succession
to the Tremethert estate passed to various
collateral descendants. Lysons concisely de
scribes this division : —
" On the death of Sir Edmund Arundell, Tremoderet
and several other estates in Cornwall devolved to the
two sisters of Sir Renfrey the younger (married to

Stradling and Whittington), and their half-sister (the
daughter of the heiress of Colshull, by her second
husband Sir John Nanfan) married to Bolle, or their
representatives. "A descendant of Whittington (a Gloucestershire
family) left six daughters coheiresses, married to Poole,
Berkeley, Bodenham, Throgmorton, St. Aubyn, Nanfan.
The latter having no issue her share of the inheritance
was divided among her sisters.
" John Arundell, Esq., of Trerice, having purchased
Bodenham's share, left it to his second son Thomas,
younger brother of John Arundell, the brave defender
of Pendennis Castle.
" This Thomas Arundell settled at Tremoderet, and
purchased, not only the smaller shares which had
belonged to the Pooles and the Berkeleys, but the two-
thirds of the estate which had been purchased of the
family of Danvers (heirs of Stradling) and Bolle by
the Bevilles, and had descended to the Grevilles.
"Thomas Arundell died in 1648, being possessed of
the whole estate, except St. Aubyn's inheritance and
that of Throgmorton, which had been purchased by
the St. Aubyns.
"In 1708, John Arundell, Esq., (the last of this
branch of the family) bought what belonged to the
St. Aubyns, and in 1711 sold the whole to John Anstis,
Garter King-of-Arms, from whom the present proprietor,
Thomas Bewes, Esq., of Tothill, near Plymouth, is
descended in the female line."
With regard to this second descent of
Arundell, as lords of Tremoderet, we find that
John Arundell of Trerice, Sheriff of Cornwall
1574, and who died 15 Sep. 1580, married
secondly, Gertrude daughter of Sir Robert
Dennis, of Holcombe-Burnell, Devon, (ob : 1592,)
— by his first wife Mary, daughter of William
Blount, Lord Montjoy, by Dorothy his wife,
daughter of Thomas Grey, Marquis of Dorset,
and widow of Robert, second Lord Willoughby
de Broke. In his will he gives to his eldest son
John, " his chain of gold, and all his arras and
tapestry hangings."
Of this son, Collins relates : —
" On the breaking out of the rebellion he took arms
for the King, together with four of his sons, whereof
two of them John and William, lost their lives. He
most valiantly held out the Castle of Pendennis, which
was long besieged both by sea and land, till the very
end of those unhappy wars ; being then, as Lord
Clarendon relates, near fourscore years of age, and one
of the best estates in Cornwall. Whitlock gives an
account that on 31 Aug. 1646, letters came to the
Parliament of the surrender of Pendennis Castle, and
in it were Colonel Arundell the governor, four knights,
five colonels, and divers others of quality. They had
store of arms but little provision."
He married Mary, daughter of George Cary, of
Clovelly, by whom he had Richard and two
other sons, and two daughters Agnes and Mary,
and died in 1654. For these great services in the
cause of Charles I. his son Richard was by
Charles II., on 23 March, 1664, raised to the
peerage by the title of Loud Akundell of
Tbebice. Thomas Arundell, second son of John
Arundell, ob. 1580, and brother of the foregoing,
was "of Duloe," his father having settled his
interest in Tremoderet on him, which he appears

132

DULOE.

subsequently to have increased by purchasing
all the other moieties in the estate, except two.
He served in the army of the Netherlands, and
died 3 Nov., 1648.
He married Mary, daughter of Sir Gamaliel
Capell, by his wife Jane, daughter of Wistan
Browne, of Rookwood Hall, Abbess-Roding,
Essex. Sir Gamaliel appears to have been
knighted at Theobalds by James I., 7 May,
1603,— and died 1613.
In Abbess-Roding Church is his monument,
a large classic erection, on it nine small
effigies of children, together with kneeling
figures of himself and his wife, and this
inscription: —

H"

M..

M M
pVNERA ~ VLTA,

LOE HONOVRES EMBLEME, VERTVES DARLING,
LEARNINGES FAVORITE,
NOBLE BY BIRTH, BY LIFE A SAINTE, BY DEATH
A BLISSFVL WIGHTE,
HIS NAME IMPORTETH GODES REWARD, THEN
FOR HIS LAST FAREWELL,
LET Y'S SUFFICE, HE LIVED & DIED A TRVE
GAMALIEL.
HERE LYETH SR. GAMALIEL CAPELL, SONNE
OF MR. HENRY CAPELL & YE LADYE CATHERINE
DAVGHTER OF YE EARL OF RUTLAND, HE
MARRYED JANE ONE OF YE DAVGHTERS &
HEIRES OF MR. WESTAN BROWNE, ESgR., by
WHOM HE HAD SIX SONES, VIZ.; GAMALIEL,
KNT. ; THOMAS, ANTHONY, HENRY, THEODOSIVS,
& FRANCIS ; AND THREE DAVGHTERS MARY,
ANNE, & MILDRED ; OBIIT ANNO D'NI 1613, &
jETATIS SV7E 50 DECIMVQ' DIE NOVEMBRIS.
Arms:— Gules, a lion rampant between three cross-
croslets fitcliy or, (Capell) quartering five other
coats ; and Gules, a chevron between three lions'
gambs erect and crazed, within a bordure argent,
on a chief of the last an eagle displayed sable,
(Browne) quartering eight other coats.*
Thomas Arundell and Mary his wife are
named as having three children, John, son
and heir, Francis, ob : 1686, and Gertrude. But
apparently there must have been a fourth, for
on a large slate slab fixed against the north wall
of the Colshull chantry, two figures of ladies,
one smaller than the other, in the costume of
the period, are incised, and, on a ledger-line
around, this inscription : —
Here lyeth the Body of Marye Arundell
the daughter of Thomas Arundell, Esquire
who was buried the 8th day of June,
anno 1629.
* Chancellor's "Sepulchral Effigies of Essex."

In a panel this anagram and verse : —
Maria Arundell.
Man a dry laurel.
Man to the Marigold compar'd may bee,
Man may be likened to the laurel tree,
Both feede the eye, both please the optick sense
Both soone decay, both suddenly fleet hence,
What then inferre you from her name but this
Man fades away, man a dry laurel is.
In another panel below : —
Jairus yong daughter found as faire a path,
To her long home, as old Methusalah,
Not beautye, youth, nor sex, nor higth of state,
Can plead precedence in the court of fate,
But yong and old that with his golden head
Salutes the sunne, may with the sunne fall dead.
I once did Hue, but ere I liu'd in light
I tooke my leave, and bid the world good night.
Arms: — Arundell, impaling, On a bend, three
roses (Cary). These arms are singular, the im
palement being that of the deceased's aunt
Mary Cary, instead of her mother Mary Capell.
Thomas Arundell made his will 3 Nov., and
it was proved 17 Nov., 1648, — to be buried in
Duloe Church, gives benefactions to the poor of
Duloe, &c, — to his son and heir apparent John,
his part of the manor of Tremodart and lands
at Looe, to his younger son Francis, his manor
of Stumbury, in Morwinstowe ; names his daugh
ter Gertrude Meech, then a widow.
John Arundell, the son of Thomas, having
reduced in 1 708 the whole estate into possession,
sold it in 1711 to John Anstis.
Here ends the chronicle as far as relates to
Colshull and the two successive descents of
Arundell. The history now passes on to the
two Kings -of -Arms, father and son, its next
possessors. The Anstis family — originally from St. Neot
— appear to have been connected with Duloe for
three generations before the first King-of-Arms.
John Anstis, married Dorothy, daughter and
heir of Edward Sowdon of Whiteland in Duloe,
and held the estate in right of his wife.
John, his son, succeeded him, and married
Elizabeth, daughter of James Clements. He
died in 1692, and was buried at Duloe.
John Anstis their son, married first Mary,
daughter and coheir of George Smith of Lantewy
and Luna in St. Neot, (ob : 1652,) by Alice his
wife, ob : 1660, daughter and coheir of Jacob
Parker of Blisland. By her he had one son
John, and one daughter Hannah married to
Thomas Bewes. She died in 16C9, and was

DULOE,

133

/

huried at St. Neot. Secondly, he married Mary
Laundry, by whom he appears to have had four
children, two sons Edward and Roger, and two
daughters Wilmot and Mary who died young.
She died in 1706, and was buried at St. Neot ;
her husband at Duloe 26 Jan., 1713.
Before we proceed further with the descent of
Anstis,. it will be necessary to allude to an
important property they acquired in Duloe, before
that of Tremodart. This was West-North, a con
siderable estate with a mansion house, which, it
is stated by Lysons, was sold in 1671 by William
Bastard, Esq. to John Anstis (Garter). But
this must be a mistake either of date or name,
as John Anstis would then have been only two
years old. With more probability it was his
father who purchased it.
West-North appears to have come to the
Killiows, — an antient Cornish family located
at Lansallos, — by marriage with a daughter of
Kendall. They appear also to have used the Colshull
Chantry for their burial place, within which
there is a large slate altar-tomb, which stands
in the recess of the window, on the left of the
east window of the Chantry. On a ledger-line :
John Killiow of Westnarth, son of John
Killiow of La'salles 'risquier died ye ixth of
Aprill 1610. Dorothy his wife daughter of
John Treuillion of Netelco'be Esquier died ye
vith February e 160...
Arms : — on the panel over the tomb, — A chevron
between three cinquefoils, a' crescent for difference,
(Killiow) impaling Teevelyan. Crest : — A
demi-unicorn rampant. These arms are also
repeated singly on the front of the tomb. On
the west end is a winged hour-glass, and this
¦verse : — As time with swiftest wing
Doth haste and make no staye
So life of man is shorte
And hasteth soon awaye.
Dorothy, wife of John Killiow, was daughter
of John Trevelyan of Nettlecombe, (ob : 1563,)
by Maud, daughter of Giles Hill. She was
born 1541, and died 1600. Their daughter
Anne married Joseph Bastard, and on them
West-North appears to have been settled.
On a large blue stone in the pavement behind
the font, on a ledger-line : —
Here lyeth the body of (Joseph)
Bastard of Westnarth, Esqvier, who
married Anne the only davghter and
heire of John Killiowe, gent, died
the last day of 
mors mihi lucrum.

The remainder of the inscription is oblitera
ted, as also a large shield of arms in the
centre. There is another large stone with
obliterated inscription adjoining it.
Joseph Bastard was the son of John Bastard
(of South Devon) by his wife Thomasine,
daughter of Geffery Gilbert of Bovey. By his
wife, Anne Killiow, he had Joh;» his heir,
William, Joseph, ob : 1690, and five daughters.
West-North appears to have been apportioned
to the second son William, who, according to
Lysons, sold it to Anstis in 1671-
Before we quit the Chantry two other monu
ments claim notice, as indirectly connected with
our little history.
On a slab of slate fixed against the north wall
is the large figure of a lady in Elizbethan
costume, in ruff, small hat, and brocaded dress,
holding in her right hand gloves, in her left a
book. On a ledger-line is the following inscrip
tion, (given as nearly as possible ; it is very
difficult to read.) —
Jbnta filia Jtirbariii ffinffgn ar. bitma
Kogeri ©remenne ar. ra:pit in birum
Soannem J^mntb gen. efuarrne uior
obiit primo trie |Hartii %.ma §0mint
jUilleaimo^n'mgenteaaimononogeaaimo aernnito.
Jftementrj ittori.
Arms : — 1. Three dexter arms flexed in triangle,
sleeved, the hands clenched, (Tremayne) impaling
A chevron between three mullets, pierced. (Ceely?)
2. A saltier between four martlets, (S^iyth)
impaling as before.
She was daughter of Richard Coffyn of
Portledge, North Devon, by his wife Wilmot,
daughter of Richard Chudleigh : and widow of
Roger Tremayne, son of Thomas Tremayne of
Collacombe, by Phiiippa eldest daughter of
Roger Grenville of Stowe. She left four
daughters, Wilmot, — Dionisia and Mary who
both died unmarried, — and Phiiippa, ob : 1612,
wife of Hannibal Vivian of Trelowarren.
Wilmot married as his first wife Thomas Smyth
of Tregoniek in St. Germans, by whom she had
a son, John Smyth, ob : 1656.
There is a further large monumental slate slab
fixed immediately under the east window of the
Chantry, and thereon is sculptured two ladies in
Elizabethan costume kneeling before a prayer-
desk and facing each other. Behind the dexter
are two boys and three girls kneeling ; over the
heads of the girls are skulls, intimating that
they were deceased. Behind the sinister, two
girls kneeling, over the hinder one a skull.

134

DULOE.

The slab is ornamented with winged cherubs,
flowers, and an enriched border, with several
small shields not charged. There is no inscrip
tion, but it is evidently intended to be a memorial
to two wives and their children. It is probable
this formed the reredos of one of two high
tombs that have been destroyed, of which the
two carved slabs to Arundell and Coffyn formed
the tables, but are now fixed upright against the
Chantry wall.
To continue our notes of Anstis. John
Anstis, son of John and Mary Smith, — the first
Garter King -of -Arms, — was born in 1669, and
married, 23 June 1695, Elizabeth daughter and
heir of Mr. Richard Cudlipp of Tavistock. By
her he had a very numerous family, apparently
fourteen children, eight sons and six daughters.
Five of these sons died young, John, ob : 1703,
— a second John, — Richard, ob : 1711, — William,
ob : 1714,— and Philip, ob : 1719 ; and three
of the daughters, Mary, ob : 1698,— Rachel, ob :
1701, — and a second Rachel, ob : 1725. These
children, as also the six survivors, appear to
have been all born in or near London, (where
Mr. Anstis resided for a time in the College,
and afterward at Fulham) were baptized in the
city churches, and at their deaths, — with the
exception of one buried at Fulham — brought
down to Duloe for burial. Rachel who died
in 1701, was first buried in St. Mary's, Bermond-
sey, being afterward exhumed and taken to
Duloe in 1706.
The six surviving children were John, — second
Garter King -of- Arms, — George, and Harry, sons ;
and Anne, Mary, and Catherine, daughters.
The career of the first of these Kings-of-Arms
was a singularly chequered and eventful one.
It is given at some length in the " History of the
College of Arms," by the Rev. Mark Noble, and it
is from this source chiefly, supplemented with
other collateral information, we are enabled to
give some particulars of his life.
Born on 28-29 Sep. 1669, he was—
" admitted to Exeter College, Oxford, in 1685 ; and three
years afterwards entered in the Middle Temple. As a
gentleman of good fortune, he became well known in
his county. The borough of St. Germans returned him
one of their members in the first Parliament called by
Queen Anne. Opposing what was called the Whig
interest he distinguished himself by voting against the
bill for Occasional Conformity; for which .his name
appeared among the ' Tackers ' in the prints of that
time. "He was appointed in 1703, Deputy-general to the
Auditors of Imprest, but he never executed this office,
and one of the principal Commissioners of Prizes."
He also appears to have been elected for
Launceston at the general election of 1713, (and
he is described as " John Anstis, son of a late
Registrar of the Archdeaconry of Cornwall,")
and again in 1715 on the death of Queen Anne.
Anstis, said to be a Tory, did not vote in 1716
on the Septennial Bill, but against a bill for

"strengthening the Protestant interest,'' and a
measure designed "to restrict the creation of
peers." " Upon these votes it would be difficult to assert that
Anstis was a Tory, but his arrest and imprisonment in
the first year of the new reign on suspicion of a design
to restore the Stuarts, in addition to his receiving in the
last days of Anne the reversion of the post of Garter
King-of-Arms, is sufficient evidence of his leaning in
politics. There is not much doubt that his views were
shared by many of his Launceston constituents as well
as by others connected with the town." *
The defeated candidates in the election of
1715 petitioned against the return of Anstis and
his brother member, which after eleven months'
delay by the usual ' committee ' in customary
fashion, was withdrawn. On his appointment
of Garter, a new writ was moved for, which was
opposed for the production of the patent, the
making out of which, to serve some party
purpose by parliamentary strategy, was delayed
until late the next year, but Anstis was imme
diately re-elected.
Politics however were not his forte, and it is
probable all the influence they gave him was
made subservient to his attainment of the heral
dic office he desired, and which the bent of his
mind, and his innate love of, and diligent
cultivation of the science eminently qualified
him to discharge.
Queen Anne died 1 Aug. 1714 ; and it appears
only a few months before this event, —
" This love of, and great knowledge of the science of
arms so strongly recommended him, that 2 April, 1714,
the Queen gave him a reversionary patent for the place
of Garter.
" Probably this passage in a MSS. letter to the Lord
Treasurer dated 14 March 1711-12, relates to his having
the grant. He says : — ' I have certain information
it would be ended forthwith, if the Lord Treasurer
would honour me by speaking to her Majesty at this
time, which in behalf of the Duke of Norfolk, I most
earnestly desire, and humbly beg your Lordship's assis
tance therein. If it be delayed some days, I shall then
be back as far as the delivery of my petition. I am
obliged to attend this morning at the Exchequer, about
the tin affair, and thereby prevented from waiting on
your Lordship.'
"If it does not relate to the reversionary patent, it
is evident that he long wished, and with difficulty
obtained it."
The coronation of George I. took place 20 Oct.
1714, and in describing the ceremony Noble
Bays : —
" The Sovereign was crowned with the usual solem
nities, the heralds attended, except Garter, the office
was executed by a deputy, Mr. Anstis' claim not having
been recognized."
A Garter King-of-Arms was then alive, Sir
Henry St. George, but he was evidently too old
and infirm to take part in the ceremony, as he
died in August, the year following, aged ninety-
one. * Robbins' " History of Launceston."

JOHN ANSTIS, Esq., Senr.
Garter King - of - Arms.

From his presumed portrait in the Bodleian Library.

DULUB.

135

The " claim " by Mr. Anstis was doubtless to
represent him as the reversioner to the office,
but it was not admitted.
There was apparently sufficient reason for this
as Mr. Anstis was suspected of being a Jacobite,
and consequently an obnoxious individual to the
atmosphere of the Court. And so we learn,
although he was member for Launceston at the
time : —
"He fell under the suspicion of the Government, as
being one of the several gentlemen in the House of
Commons, who were thought to have design of restor
ing the Stuarts. He was imprisoned; and Edward
Harvey, Esq., another suspected member, unable to
bear the jealousy of the Court, stabbed himself.
" At this critical time Garter's place became vacant,
by the death of the venerable Sir Henry St. George.
Undismayed he claimed the office. This grant was
disregarded and 16 October, 1715, Sir John Vanbrugh,
Clarencieux, had the appointment."
Sir John Vanbrugh — grandson of a Dutch
man, Giles Vanbrugh, who had settled in
England — was the well-known architect, who
appears to have carried the heavy characteristics
of his race, into the structural features of the
edifices he erected, and which provoked the
epitaph : — " Lie heavy on him earth, for he
Laid many a heavy load on thee."
He was also a play-wright, and is described other
wise as a "fine, elegant, and manly person," of
" pleasant wit and unaffected good humour," and
"no person ever lived or died with so few ene
mies," — a very desirable character, in many re
spects — but all this did not constitute him fit for
the office of herald in chief. He was architect of
Blenheim, the nation's gift to Marlborough, as
also of Castle Howard — said to be his best work —
for the Earl of Carlisle, then deputy to the
Earl-Marshal, who was so pleased with the
mansion Vanbrugh had erected for him, that he
gave him the appointment of Clarencieux, over
the heads of the other heralds, much to their
scandal and disgust, as Vanbrugh was "totally
ignorant of the profession of heraldry and
genealogy, which he took every occasion to
ridicule." Yet, notwithstanding this, he was
now further preferred to be Garter, — a strong
side-light on the character of the times.
Anstis,- -energetic, determined, and feeling
probably that he had been unjustly accused of
complicity with the Jacobite faction, which may
not have been more than suspicion, incapable of
proof, — did not rest easily under this rebuff, and
so, continues his biographer : —
" Unawed by power, fearless of danger, and confident
in innocence, he first freed himself of all criminality in
having conspired against the succession of the illustri
ous House of Brunswick, and then prosecuted his claim
to the office of Garter, pleading the right of the late
Queen to give him the place.
" It was argued, that in a contest about the right of
nomination in the reign of Charles II, the Sovereign

gave it up, only retaining the right of confirmation of
the Earl Marshal's choice. Mr. Anstis urged that
Charles only waived claim.
" The matter came to a hearing 4 April, 1717. The
competitors claimed under their different grants. The
controversy was not ended until 20 April, 1718, when
the right being acknowledged to be in Mr. Anstis, he
was created Garter.
" He had, for some time previous to this decision in
his favour, resided in the College, (as he held the
appointment of Norfolk Herald extraordinary;) and
disputing the prejudice which had been against him
he gained the good opinion and favour of the Govern
ment." A victory well deserved, for he surely had a
better claim on it than Sir John Vanbrugh, and
which subsequently was further enhanced.
Garter Kings - of - Arms appear to have u,
patent for longevity, in addition to their other
privileges. Sir Isaac Heard lived to be ninety-
two, and Anstis' three predecessors nearly arrived
at the same great age. Commenting on this,
and their late appointment, he says : —
" It was a very hard fate for the succession in this
office, that these three last Garters should be promoted
in the dregs of their age : the first whereof (Sir William
Dugdale, aged 80) residing in the country left the man
agement to his son, who was unequal to the weight of
the office; the second (Sir Thos. St. George, aged 87)
imposed on by the intrigues of a crafty officer ; and the
last (Sir Henry St. George aged 91) a timorous animal,
governed by every creature, minding only his iron chest,
and the contents of it."
Not a very complimentary, although it may
be truthful commentary. Noble continues : —
" It might with equal truth have been added, that it
was quite as unfortunate, and still more mortifying to
the members (of the College) to have the two following
ones, himself and his son, placed over their heads, when
they had never been in any previous employment
(this was scarcely so) in the profession of arms. They
were however, skilful, and every other way deserving
their promotion."
Doubtless they had both well qualified them
selves for the office, as the elder Anstis had
previously been created Norfolk Herald extra
ordinary, and the younger, Blanc - Coursier
herald. But nepotism was the order of the day ;
promotion step by step, through claim of length
of service, and consequent fitness for the post,
was passed over unheeded, and became the
chance, rather than the right.
It has been seen that Anstis, only a few
months before the death of Queen Anne, secured
the reversion of the office of Garter, which was
disallowed by the advisers of George I. on its
vacancy, but that subsequently, after making his
peace with the Government he got it confirmed.
A still more strange circumstance of a similar
kind was to follow. On 8 June, 1727, —
" It was remarkable that John Anstis, Esq., Garter,
one so obnoxious to the King (George I.) had a patent
of the above date under the Great Seal with remainder
to his son, John Anstis, junr., Esq., and to the survivor
of them. His Majesty died the 11th following, only
three days after that date."
Here we. take leave of these Court intrigues,
to get an estimate of the man as manifested by

136

DULOE.

the opinion of his contemporaries, and the
extent of his literary works, whereof we are
told that
"He was a most indefatigable and able officer at
arms : and though he lived to the age of seventy six,
yet we wonder at the greatness of his productions,
especially as he was a person of great consequence,
and busied with many avocations out of College."
Anstis was not only a herald and genealogist,
but an enthusiastic and industrious historian,
both national and local. He is chiefly remem
bered by the publication in 1724, two volumes
folio, of " The Register of the Most Noble Order
of the Garter, usually called the Black-Book, with
specimens of the lives of the Knights-Companions."
Beside this he published sundry other heraldic
and genealogical works, and at his death left
behind an immense mass of valuable MSS. on
various archaeological subjects, the enumeration
of which is given in Noble's History, that
were not published, and unfortunately dispersed
in 1768, by sale, after his son's death, and
became the property of various owners.
Prior, the poet, thus speaks of him: —
" But coronets we owe to crowns,
And favour to a Court's affection ;
By nature we are Adam's sons,
But sons of Anstis by election."
As Garter King-of-Arms, Mr. Anstis took his
distinguished position at the coronation of King
George II., which was denied him at the corres
ponding ceremony of that monarch's father, —
and among other state ' functions ' was the
principal director of the public funeral awarded
the ' great ' Duke of Marlborough, in West
minster Abbey, in 1722. He " followed the
chariot in which lay the body " — and finally
threw the broken staves of the Duke's officers in
upon his coffin. He also ' assisted ' at the
" Court of Honour, or High Court of Chivalry,"
held in the Painted Chamber of Westminster in
1732, "the last that has been held for these
affairs," wherein certain persons were arraigned
for " using arms, and other distinctions of
honour, not belonging to their families." Of
the result it is recorded, — "the whole business
was imprudently begun, and unskilfully con
ducted. The lawyers laughed at it." He also
proclaimed with great state, in various parts
of London in 1739 " Our declaration of war
against Spain." The " spectators were incredi
bly numerous ; " and it is probable in 1743 he
heard the first strains of Handel's famous Te
Deum, after the battle of Dettingen, the last
time an English King commanded personally on
the battle-field, where he acquitted himself with
conspicuous valour and military skill.
Four years before his death, by patent dated
31 Jany., 1740, on the petition of his son, John
Anstis the younger, the following arms were
granted him : — Argent, u, cross raguly gules,

between four doves beaked and membered of the
second, — and in 1743 his right to quarter the
following arms was recognized by the Heralds'
College: — Per f ess gules and or, a pale and three
gryphons' heads crazed and counterchanged, the
two in chief respecting each other, (Smith)
and Argent, a chevron engrailed between three
boars passant azure, tusked and unguled or
(Sowdon ?)
Mr. Anstis died at his residence in Mortlake,
near London, 4 March, and was buried at
Duloe, 23 March, 1744-5. Noble says, his
portrait is in the Picture Gallery at Oxford
and another in the Hall of the College of
Arms. The first named portrait is ascertained to have
been in the Bodleian Library, Oxford, — where
there is now a picture, unfortunately not named,
but the only one referable to this era, and is
presumed to represent him. It is a very dark
picture, and he appears to wear an university
gown, with flowing wig, and embroidered neck
erchief. A short description of his properties, inherited
and acquired, West-North and Tremodart in
Duloe, may be introduced here.
West-North, — the antient seat of the Killiows
and Bastards, — where, says Lysons, Mr. Anstis
occasionally resided, lies in a valley a short
distance south of the church. The house i3
somewhat large and of irregular contour, but all
its old features are obliterated. There is, how
ever, a good sized dining room, with bedroom
over, nicely panelled with pillasters and carved
cornice, and a newelled staircase with twisted
balusters, referable to the early part of the last
century, probably so fitted by Anstis for his
occasional residence.
Tremodart is found in a corresponding
position, and at a similar distance north of the
church, from which a lane and causeway lead
down to it. The house is about the size of
West-North, all its antient characteristics are
gone, except a fine Jacobean staircase, with
carved open-work finials on the newel posts, — a
relic probably of the days of the later Arundells.
Outside are some traces of gardens, and a few
fine trees.
John Anstis, LL.D. and F.S.A., — eldest son
and heir, — on his father's death succeeded him
as Garter King-of-Arms, by virtue of the grant
passed in 1727. He had been educated as a
gentleman commoner, at Corpus Christi College,
Oxford. In 1725 on the revival of the Order of the
Bath, he was created Blanc-Coursier Herald, and
Genealogist to that Order : —
" The name is taken from the White Horse in the
Brunswick Arms. The grant of creation of this office
gives the herald all the rights, privileges and immunities,
&c, of any other herald.

Edward the Fourth.

Colshull.

C«ENEV.

Prince of "Wales.

mm mm

8#
\ A A A i

WVW J/
Colshull - Hiwis. Colshull * Cheney. Cheney - Stafford.
Stafford of Suthwyke. Hiwis -Courtenay. St. Catherine.
COLSHULL CHANTBY.
DULOE.

13?

"The office was inseparably annexed, united and
perpetually consolidated with the office of Genealogist
of the Order of the Bath. The person enjoying this
office is empowered to bear on one side of an escutcheon
the impression of a White horse, richly enamelled. As
Genealogist he wears the Badge of the order round his
neck, suspended by a rich scarlet riband, and to use a
seal bearing the same impression, being a double cypher
of the letter G, and three regal Crowns, 1 and 2, inscribed
by the motto Tkia juncta in uno, the whole crowned."
At the coronation of George II., in company
with his father, then Garter King-of-Arms,
Mr. Anstis appeared as Blanc-Coursier Herald
to Prince William, " in his coat with his collar of
S.S., gold chain, and badge." He also was a
prominent official on the mournful occasion,
" at the solemn trial of the three rebel lords,
the Earls of Cromartie, and Kilmarnock, and
Lord Balmerino, in Westminster Hall in June,
1746. As Garter, and with the Gentleman Usher
of the Black Bod, he delivered the staff to the
Lord High Steward," — his authority for presiding
over the tribunal.
As to his general character : —
"He was undoubtedly a man of abilities, which he
disgraced by his violent vindictiveness, especially to the
members of the College."
His intellectual ability seems vouched for by
the fact that, —
"on 22 April, 1749, he was presented by Dr. Brookes,
Regius Professor of Civil Law in Oxford, with the
degree of LL.D. ; and on 21 July, 1736, had been elected
a Fellow of the Society of Antiquaries."
In one of his official missions abroad to in
vest a prince with the Order, we learn, —
" The Margrave of Anspach, when invested with the
Order of the Garter, presented him with three hundred
ducats, the gold-hilted sword his Highness then wore,
and gave him one hundred ducats in lieu of his upper
robe, which Garter claimed as belonging to him by
virtue of his office."
This last "claim" being rather a selfish
proceeding, after the other splendid gifts. As
to his "vindictive" attitude toward his fellow
heralds it is questionable whether he was master
of himself at all times, if the circumstances of
his death, as related by his biographer, be
correct. " He spent most of his time at Mortlake. where
indulging too freely with wine it shortened his life,
dying there S December, 1753, aged only forty-six."
A Bacchanalian end, much in consonance,
probably, with the habits of the fraternity of
' choice spirits ' living in the luxury and
dissipation rife at that era, society which his
official position would constantly associate him
with, joined to the unrestraint and ease of a
bachelor's life.
He was buried at Duloe on 30 December
following. After his death—
" The Manuscripts and well chosen selection of
books, which had been possessed by his father, were
disposed of. Edward Score, of Exeter, sold the
libraries of both Garters, those of his two reverend

brothers, (George and Harry) and that of Mr. Andrew
Brice of Exeter, compiler of the Topographical Dic
tionary." Noble gives his portrait in his History, (which
we reproduce,) from a painting by T. Maynard.
He was succeeded in his office of Garter by
Mr. Stephen Martin Leake, who, although a
native of London, "descended from a family of
the Martins in the county of Devon."
Mr. Anstis, dying unmarried and without is
sue, was succeeded by his next brother George, in
holy orders and LL.B. He appears first to have
held the rectory of Bradwell in Essex, after
wards admitted to the vicarage of Colyton, 30
Sep., 1737, and re-admitted 10 Oct., 1738. He
also held the vicarage of Axmouth to which he
was admitted 5 Feb., 1747-8.
He married, 16 July, 1749, Elizabeth only
daughter of Sir William Pole, Bart., of Shute,
(ob: 1714) Master of the Household to Queen
Anne, by Elizabeth his wife ; by her he had no
issue, and died 14 Oct., 1758.
Harry, the other surviving brother, also in
holy orders and LL.D., died 3 Nov., 1766,
without issue.
Of the three sisters, Anne died in 1749, Mary,
coheir to her brothers, married Henry Bennett,
she died in 1766, issue extinct.
Catherine, ob : 1779, the other sister, married
her cousin Thomas Bewes. He was the son of
Thomas Bewes, ob : 1709, who married Hannah,
ob : 1706, sister of the first Garter.
Mrs. Catherine Bewes thus became the sole
heir to the estate. Her husband Thomas Bewes,
appears to have adopted the family profession of
arms, and held the office of Arundell Herald
extraordinary. He died at Mortlake, and was
buried at Duloe, 1768. The property is still
held by his descendants, to many of whom
in the Colshull Chantry are monuments to their
memory. The inscriptions on these memorials
are given in full in " The Parochial History of
Cornwall, 1867," several of them mournfully
record the early deaths of young and promising
officers, cut off by disease in foreign climes,
while engaged in the service of their native
land. And we are told further, — but we think
on questionable authority, — that " the chancel
has a good transverse arch, and it is separated
from the north aisle (the Colshull Chantry)
by a tasteful arrangement of the old screen."
And concerning Bishop Arundell, in his notice
of St. Columb Major, Lysons says : —
" In the reign of Henry VI., Sir John Arundell
founded a Chantry of five priests, in a chapel called the
Arundell Chapel, who probably formed the College of
Black Monks, spoken of by Hals, who had their
residence in the adjoining churchyard."

138

DULOE.

In relation thereto Hals continues : —
" In this college, temp. Henry VI., was bred up John
Arundell, a younger son of Renfry Arundell of Lan-
herne, Esq., Sheriff of Cornwall 3 Edward IV. (1463),
where he had the first taste of the liberal arts and
sciences, and was afterwards placed at Exon College in
Oxford, where he stayed until he took his degree of
M.A. ; and then was presented hy his father to John
Booth, Bishop of Exeter, to be consecrated priest, and
to have collation, institution, and induction into his
rectory of St. Columb. Which being accordingly per
formed, and he resided upon this rectory glebe lands
for some time, which gave opportunity to build the old
parsonage house still extant thereon, and moat the
same round with rivers and fish-ponds, as Sir John
Arundell, Knight, informed me himself."
Bishop Arundell thus appears to have held
the rectories both of St. Columb Major and
Duloe, either together or in succession. And of
West-North the old historian relates, " that
Sir Wm. Bastard, knt., sold it to John Anstis,
gent., Begister of the Archdeaconry of Corn
wall, now in his possession," and that in the old
house " the Bastards' arms are painted in several
windows, together with their matches and quar-
terings, whose arms were, Or, u chevron azure."
The painted glass has all disappeared.
It is singular that Bishop Booth, from whose
hands Bishop Arundell received consecration as
priest, and who preceded him in the government
of the diocese, is said also, according to the
inscription given by Weever, to have found his
last earthly resting-place in St. Clement-Danes.
But his brass effigies and accompanying inscrip
tion (both legends are much alike) occur
in East-Horsley Church, Surrey, — where, ac
cording to Dr. Oliver, " he repaired to his
favourite residence there, a manor given by
King Henry I. to the See of Exeter three hun
dred and fifty years before. Dying there (5
April, 1478) he was buried in the parochial
church of St. Martin."
It is with much regret that, while reviewing
these by-gone incidents, we have the mourn
ful duty to include another historic association,
of great, almost unrivalled interest, not merely
locally, but generally connected with this little
sanctuary. This is the death of Mrs. Avarilla Oliveria
Cromwell Bush, wife of the Bev. Paul Bush, the
present Bector of Duloe and Hon. Canon of
Truro ; which occurred Nov. 1893.
She was the only child of Mr. Cromwell
Bussell, of Cheshunt Park, and as such the only
surviving descendant of the greatest Buler
England ever had, Oliver Cromwell ; from whom
she was able to trace her descent without a break.
Who would not envy such a descent ? What
has the infinitessimal infusion of " royal" blood,
some of our pedigree compilers pride themselves
on, in comparison with such ? But not only
was she the inheritor of the famous Lord

Protector's name and blood, but what is infinitely
more precious, the possession also of his manly
virtues and kindness of heart, as we learn, " that
the intelligence of her death was received with
wide-spread regret, and general sympathy with
her husband and family. The kindness at all
times shewn to the poor and suffering by the
deceased, won for her the regard and esteem of
all who knew her."
Fitting tribute to the memory of the last direct
descendant of the great Protector, to whom
England owes so much, as having lifted her
people from the fear and glamour of arbitrary,
irresponsible kingship, into the atmosphere of
freedom and self-government. A glorious asso
ciation to link with this little grave-yard, and
difficult to parallel.
But to return to the subject of investigation
with which we set out.
Our little history of the Chantry, from its
Founder, his descendants, and their successors, .
who claimed control over it, until one by one
they were gathered in death beneath it, is con
cluded. The summer glory of the day is over,
the sun is slowly sinking behind the western
Cornish hills, and sober evening,
" Thou nurse of thought, and holy peace,"
is closing around, as we find ourselves again in
the quiet graveyard, and in reverie rapidly
retrace the lives of the three prominent charac
ters associated with this rural sanctuary.
Imagination shews us the form of a young
presbyter, then rector of the parish, accompanied
by his uncle, the knight of the armed effigy in
the Chantry — and his sister, the young priest's
mother, — all as when in the flesh —passing
silently along the path from Tremodart, and
vanishing through the doorway of the massive
tower to morning service. Again it pictures him,
after long interval, in one of his visits to Corn
wall, coming to his old home, and taking his
place beside the altar, arrayed in his episcopal
vestments, as Bishop of the Diocese. Then his
death in the great Metropolis, and solemn burial
in a church in one of its busiest localities.
Then just a century afterward, the painstaking
old Weever, note-book in hand, poring over and
recording what was then left unobliterated of
the inscription on his gravestone, and a few
years later, the church itself vanishing in the
tempest of fire, that laid half the city in ruins ;
and finally the further fact, that within the
re-built edifice no word is inscribed to point the
spot where his dust was laid, then doubtless
carelessly scattered.
And of those Court functionaries, the Kings-
of-Arms ? To-day there is great rejoicing in the
land", and our fellow-countrymen are feasting,
* 6 July, 1893.

DULOE.

139

BrasB of BiBhop Booth, East Horaley.
holiday-making, and pouring costly gifts into
the lap of Hymen, in celebration of an ordmary
domestic event happening within the circle of
the reigning family. A ripple of the well-fanned
wave of loyalty has reached this sequestered
village, which is also en fete for the occasion.
Within the precincts of the Court a grand
ceremony has been performed, where, amid the
crowd of royal and noble personages assembled,
the Garter King-of-Arms has had his accustomed
distinguished official position.
But what are our thoughts ? Just a hundred
and sixty years ago, there was another royal
wedding, attended with similar state ceremonial,
such as there had not been " for a daughter of
England since the reign of Henry VII."
This was the marriage of Anne, the Princess
Boyal, eldest daughter of King George II., with
Charles Henry, Prince of Orange, Stadtholder of
the United Provinces. The "splendid nuptials"

were celebrated in the evening in the " French
Chapel, at St. James." In the procession, John
Anstis, the elder, —
" As Garter King-of-Arms, came between the Arch
bishop of York and the Lord Chancellor who walked
together, and the Earl of Effingham, deputy Earl
Marshal ; after whom came the Sword of State borne
by the Duke of Montagu, supported by the Lord, and
Vice-Chamberlain. Then followed the Sovereign
(George II.) in his great collar of the Order of St.
George, &c, &c."
Ah! where is that King-of-Arms now, — and
his son, successor in the office, each in life
constant in attendance on these Court pageants,
joyful or mournful ? What has become of their
tabards blazing with embroidery, and their
golden crowns ? Long ago exchanged for the
shroud. Both are at rest in the long sleep of
death within the little church, brought down
here, and laid beside the peasants of the hamlet,
and with the like simple exequies. Both are
almost entirely forgotten, and, — as with
the Bishop — not a line exists to mark their
graves. The faint strain of the music at the village
rejoicing is wafted up the valley, and mingles
with the rustle of the leaves in the trees that
surround the churchyard; blending with it a
ghostly whisper flits across the mental ear, even
some lines by another well-nigh forgotten man,
and Devonshire poet, John Ford : —
" Crowns may flourish and decay,
Beauties shine, but fade away.
Youth may revel, but it must
Lie down in a bed of dust.
Earthly honours flow and waste,
Time alone doth change and last."
Yet not without its valuable lesson to the
living, was the career of the first King-of-Arms.
The bent of his genius constrained him to follow
the pursuit of armorie and genealogy as the
prevailing predilection of his mind. He wisely
followed its promptings, and diligently perfected
himself therein by unwearied industry and
study. Great energy of disposition, and fearless
ness of conduct, — the only qualities that give
the requisite strength for success, — also distin
guished him. Objection may be taken as to the
means whereby he procured his elevation to the
office, but in this he only followed the prece
dents of the age he lived in ; the position he
had set his heart on he obtained, the highest in
the profession he adopted, notwithstanding all
attempted hindrance by prejudice or favouritism,
After he was installed in the office, he justified
his ambition thereto by shewing that he had
perfectly educated himself to perform its duties ;
and no higher character need be necessary in
assurance thereof than what was afterward
remarked of his qualifications — " In him were
joined the learning of Camden, and the industry,
without the inaccuracy, of Sir William Dugdale."

THE MACHINE, 1750.
bv w. habvev ; from " The Land we Line in.'

GLIMPSES OF PAST DAYS.

PART II.— A.D. 1742-68.

" The fashion of this world passeth away."

THE preceding illustrations of this subject
brought us to the reign of Queen Ann.
These we now propose to supplement with some
further examples occurring during the sway of
the second King George, and the earlier years
of his grandson, George III.
There is perhaps no better source from which
the general habits and requirements, social aud
domestic arrangements, style of amusements,
methods of travelling, and transport of mer
chandise, pertinent to, and in vogue during the
daily life of our immediate forefathers of a
century and a half since, and onwards, than
may be observed in turning over an old file of a
contemporary local newspaper. Specially from
the advertisement columns where their wants
and necessities were displayed, and then, by way
of contrast, compare them with similar produc
tions appearing in the ephemeral broad-sheets
of the present day.
Many can now remember, at little more than
the retrospection of a half-century, a ride to
London in a four-horse coach among its little
company of passengers, consuming a whole day
nearly in transit ; and have survived to make
the same journey with scores of fellow-travellers
by an express train, and in about one-sixth of
the time. Who have had their merchandise
brought by Russell's and other heavy road-
waggons, drawn by long teams of horses, lum
bering along the turnpike road, at little faster
than snail's pace, afterward setting down their
limited freight from door to door ; and sub
sequently witnessed their supersedence by goods-
trains (rushing along) of almost endless length —
and carrying fabulous burthen — in both instan
ces the result of the revolution effected by
the railway.
And as to postal arrangements, then of the
most primitive kind and expensive nature ;
delivered in the larger towns on the main roads
by the guard of the ' Quicksilver Mail,' in his
red coat with announcing horn, dexterously
swinging off the hind-step of the handsome
vehicle with the post-bags on his shoulder
while the horses were in full trot, and vanish
ing through the doorway of the expectant

postmaster ; thence further distributed by horse
and saddle-bags to the adjacent districts.
Cowper gives a good picture of the rural
postman of his day : —
" Hark I 'tis the twanging horn o'er yonder bridge ;
He comes, the herald of a noisy world,
With spatter'd boots, strapp'd waist, and frozen locks ;
News from all nations lumb'ring at his back.
True to his charge, the close pack'd load behind,
Yet careless what he brings, his one concern
Is to conduct it to the destined inn ;
And, having dropp'd th' expected bag, pass on.
But O th' important budget 1 usher'd in
With such heart-shaking music, who can say
What are its tidings ? "
What would the gentle poet, thus dozing and
moralizing in front of the ' hissing urn,' say to
the present infliction of half a dozen or more
deliveries during the day, — or to the heart-
scaring telegraphic message flashed to him, it may
be from hundreds of miles away, ere he had fin
ished "the cup that cheers, but not inebriates."
So electricity and steam have extended and
perfected human intercourse, making the world
sociably one family, and commercially one
market. Much more might be added as to the develop
ment and difference of things present from
those of the past, with regard to matters touched
on in the selection that follows. We must not
however continue to dwell on this inviting
subject,— by the time and space devouring pro
clivities of to-day dubbed 'progress,' — but turn
instead to an old volume of " The Western
Flying Post, or Sherborne and Yeovil Mercury,
and General Advertizer," and see how our great
grandfathers, and those immediately precedent
to them, got on a hundred and fifty years ago,
in their day and generation.
This will be read with interest by those who
deem the present sixty-miles-an-hour express
too slow for their modern requirements : —
" Aug., 1747. — This is to give Notice to all Gentlemen,
Traders, and Others:— That there will be a constant
Flying Waggon set out from the Bell Inn in Wood-Street,
London, every Monday Morning at Seven o'clock, and
will be at Chard every Friday. And likewise a Waggon
will be sent out from the Choughs in Chard, every
Tuesday Morning, and be at London every Saturday, and
carry Goods and Passengers, &c, &c. Performed (if
God permit) by Joseph Andrews."

142

GLIMPSES OF PAST DAYS.

A firm of spirit merchants in London tells us
that : —
"1747.— They have the largest and most curious
Parcel of best Old Brandy, Rum, and Arrack, that ever
was before exposed to Sale, all warranted entirely neat
— as also Orange Shrub, made at Seville, and is the best
that ever was sold in England, also real Seville Orange
Juice squeezed upon the spot, and preserved to Per
fection." The regular faculty did not disdain to adver
tize and set forth their qualifications at full
length. A member of an antient Dorsetshire
family gives notice : —
"1747.— That Doctor jEneas Anketill, is come to
live at Wimborne. He cures all Distempers incident to
Human Bodies, as far as Art and Remedies can do.
He reduces Fractures simple and compounded, com
monly called broken bones : Also, he sets all Dislocated
Bones out of Joint. He offers fair -No PurcJtase, No
Pay. Likewise he performs all Operations in Surgery;
He keeps and prepares all his own Remedies, both
Galenical as well as Chymical."
That dreadful scourge having, for the time
being, left Sherborne, it is announced : —
" Dec, 1748.— "We have the Pleasure of assuring our
Readers, that this place is now entirely free from the
Small-Pox, and that no person has had it for more than
a Month ; so we hope for the Favour of seeing our
Friends here as usual."
Two poor French prisoners of war, on parole
at Launceston, having deserted from that place,
two guineas reward are offered for their appre
hension, and they are thus described : —
" 1756.— One, Mons. Barbier, a short Man, somewhat
pock-marked and has a very dejected look, and wore a
snuff-coloured coat— the other, Mons. Beth, a middle-
sized man, very strong set, wore his own hair, and a
blue Coat. The former speaks no English, but the
latter, very well. They were both last seen near Exeter,
riding to that City."
A purveyor for an old business, in full swing
at that period, but now among the things that
were, announces : —
"1756.— This is to acquaint Peruke Makers— That
Simon Puetor, Grocer, near the Conduit in Sherborne,
hath just received from London, a fresh Parcel of
prepared Hairs, Human, Goat and Horse. Likewise
choice of fine Scratch Hair, mixed or unmixed, suited
to the present Taste and Fashion. Likewise Blocks,
Cards and Brushes, and Cauls, Ribbons, Silk and
Thread, &c, &c."
An apparently long-suffering and forgiving
husband gives notice : —
" 1756.— That whereas Ann the wife of John Stocker
of Wambrooh in the County of Dorset has eloped several
Times from her said husband, this is to fore-warn all
Persons not to trust her, &c, &c."
Forestallers and regraters beware ! "What
would our modern cattle-dealers think if they
saw the following announcement stuck upon a
farmer's barn-door ?
" 1757.— Whereas a vile and pernicious Practice for
many Years has been, and still is, carried on by many
Persons in buying, selling and Forestalling Cattle,
contrary to the several Acts of Parliament now in force
whereby {among other Things) it is enacted that if any
Person shall buy any Ox, Runt, Steer, kine, Heifer, &c,

living, and shall sell the same again alive, unless he
keeps and feeds the same on his own Ground, he shall
lose double the value of the Cattle, or Things so bought
and sold again, half to the King, and half to the In
former, &c— in order to prevent the like practice for
the future, the several Gentlemen, Farmers, Graziers,
and others (of Devon and Dorset) have agreed to
prosecute with the utmost severity all such persons,
and as an Encouragement to Persons to make Informa
tion of such Offenders, do hereby promise to advance
and give the sum of Five Guineas as a Reward to such
Informer, &c."
Improvements in locomotion having taken
place, we are told that the
"1758.— London and Exeter. Stage-Coaches, begin
flying on Monday, 10 Nov., in three days, setting out
from the Oxford Inn Exon, and the Saracen's Head,
Friday Street, at four o'clock in the Morning, each
passenger to pay 45.9. and allowing 161bs. luggage.
Performed (with God's Permission) by Thomas Lyley &
Comp. A private family advertize for
" 1760.— A Man-Servant that understands and loves to
work in a Garden, which will be his principal Business.
He must be handy, able to lay a Cloth, and wait at Table,
and understand Brewing. N.B.— have had the Small-
Pox, be perfectly sober, well recommended, and able to
write and cast Accounts."
It is to be hoped they got him. No one in
his senses would advertize for such a treasure

Here is a characteristic literary announce
ment : —
" 1760.— This day is published— Price sewed in Blew
Paper, Two Shillings, Kitty F . . . .r's Merry-Thought;
or No Joke like a True Joke. Containing a Collection
of Waggish Sayings, arch Stories, smart Repartees, and
funny double Entendres; now just published from
genuine Conversations : And several original Love-
Letters from some Persons of Distinction. To which
is prefixed Real Memories of her Life and Intrigues
written by herself, and adorned with her Effigies at full
Length, &c, &c. Published by Permission, under the
Inspection of a True Blood."
Here was a chance for young clerics : — ¦
" 1766.— Wanted Immediately a Curate for the Parish
of East-Anstey in Devon. Salary £25 per annum, with
Perquisites." What were the perquisites ? The surplice-fees
of the little village ? Nothing beyond probably,
except perhaps to dine with the Vicar on Sunday.
Here is another affair, the * manly ' sport of
cock fighting, in high request all through the
century. Enough money was ' planked ' on the
occasion to keep half a dozen poor curates.
" 1766.— A Main of Cocks, to be fought at Honiton in
the County of Devon, between Gentlemen of the East
and Gentlemen of the West of the said County. To
shew 31 Cocks of each Side, for Four Guineas a Battle,
and Forty Guineas the odd Battle. To weigh the first
Monday in May next, and to fight the two following
Days. Francis Baker, and John Burt, Junr. Feeders."
Here comes a chance to get a " fine boy or
girl " for a domestic slave. It is to be hoped
the clerk, Moses, had not at that period, initia
ted the poor children into the horrors of modern
sweating : —

GLIMPSES OF PAST DAYS.

143

" This is to give Notice— That there are now in the
Workhouse at Plymouth, in the County of Devon, A
number of fine Boys and Girls, to be bound out Appren
tice. Whoever may want such, may apply to Moses
Williams, the Clerk of the said House. The usual
Premium will be given with them. N.B.-A11 the Girls
are taught to knit and read.— 18 Jany., 1768."
A farther advertisement as to flying machines
— from places where the modern expresses whizz
by at sixty miles an hour, being about a day and
night's journey for these flyers : —
"London and Taunton Flying Machines, in Two
Days— Thro' Ihninster, Crewkerne, Yeovil, Sherborne,
and Shaftesbury. Sets out from the Saracen's Head
Inn in Friday Street, London, and from the Fountain
Inn in Taunton, every Monday, Wednesday and Friday
Mornings ; meets at the Antelope Inn in Salisbury the
same night, and returns to the above Inns every Tuesday,
Thursday and Saturday. Each Inside Passenger to pay
from Taunton to London £1 Ids. Any Part of the Road
in Proportion as usual. Outside Passengers and Chil
dren in Lap, half Fare. Performed by John Whitmarsh,
Thomas Liley. N.B. -Money, Plate, Jewels, Writings,
or any other things of Value, will not be accounted for
if lost, unless entered as such, and paid for accordingly.
The Machines call at the Black Bear Inn in Piccadilly
going in and out. - 8 Feb., 1768."
Another announcement of the departure of
the small-pox from rural Beaminster. If the
modern idiots who are organizing a crusade
against vaccination get their way (which God
forbid) we may expect to see these notices again
in our local papers : —
" Beaminster, 4 Feb., 1769.— This is to inform the
Public — That the Small-Pox, which raged here some
Time past, has now entirely ceased, not a Person having
had that Disorder for a Month passed. (Signed by,
Curate, Churchwardens, Overseers and Surgeons.) "
Here comes notice of a hospital for inocula
tion, to modify the effects of the fearful disease
if possible. Query — is there not a modern
Yeatman hospital somewhere in those parts ?
" Inoculation. Mr. Yeatman, acquaints the Public—
That he has fitted up proper Apartments for the
Purpose of Inoculation, at Eastham's Farm, one Mile
"from Crewkerne ; where regular Attendance will be
given, and Patients conducted through the Disease in
"the most safe and expeditious Manner, on reasonable
Terms. Crewkerne-20 Feb., 1768."
A runaway apprentice from Launceston ! only
fifteen, and afflicted, wearing a ' charm ' to
ward off the distemper. Poor boy — plenty of
good food would have been the best charm.
"Ban away from his Master, Richard Doidge of
Launceston in the County of Devon, Philip Pincombe,
a stout fresh-looking Lad, about fifteen years of Age.
Had on when he went away, a dark-colour cloth Coat
.and Waistcoat, with White Metal Buttons, Leather
Breeches, and dark Brown curled Hair, and wears on
his breast a filed Sixpence on account of the king's-
Evil, which he has on the upper Part of his right Thigh.
If the said Apprentice will immediately return to his
Duty, he shall be favourably received : otherwise he, or
whoever shall harbour or employ him, shall be prose
cuted as the Law directs. — 18 Apl., 1768."
Hear this ye freemasons — pro. and con. ; both
books impartially sold by the same bookseller.
Who would not belong to the craft according to
this author ?

"This Day is pnblished —Masonry— The Turnpike
Road to Happiness in this Life, and eternal Happiness
hereafter. Printed for S. Bladon in Pater-noster Row,
and sold by R. Goadby in Sherborne, &c— 18 Ap. 1768."
But who would dare to be such according to
this one ?
"This Day is published— The Second Edition of
Masonry— the Way To Hell.
" A Sermon. Wherein is clearly proved, both from
reason and Scripture, that all who profess these mys
teries are in a state of damnation. Printed for Robin
son and Roberts, 25, Pater-noster Row, and sold by
R. Goadby in Sherborne, &o.— 2 May, 1768."
Here are some of the manly pastimes of our
great-grandfathers — single stick or quarter staff
— who cracks the first crown ? Not a whit more
dangerous or brutal than modern football : —
" Sword and Dagger and Back-Sword. Ou Thurs
day, 16th June next, will be played for at Sword and
Dagger, at the White Horse in Langport, in the County
of Somerset, a Purse of Two Guineas ; and on Friday
the 17th in the Morning, will be Back-Sword Playing for
One Guinea ; and in the Afternoon playing with Sword
and Dagger for one Guinea more. The Players to
comply with the Articles then to be proposed, and to
begin Play each Morning precisely at Ten o'Clock.
Suitable Encouragement will be given to Compleat
Gamesters. Dinner on Table One o'Clock each day —
28 May, 1768."
A most circumstantial description of this
runaway — and note the trade of his master : — -
" Run away the 13th Instant, from his Master, Mr.
Samuel Banton of the City of Exeter, Plush-Maker,
— Roger Mare, his Apprentice. He is in the 19th Year
of his Age, about five Feet three Inches high, light Hair,
full favour'd, swelled Eye-brows, hangs his under Lip,
and goes stooping forward. He wore away a Drab Cloth
Coat, with yellow Metal Buttons, with a German
serge Waistcoat and white Buttons, with Shammoy
Breeches. Whoever harbours or employs him after
this public Notice, shall be prosecuted as the Law
directs, by me S. Banton, Exon— 14th March, 1768."
This advertisement was before Board Schools
were established. Probably the poet Goldsmith
had such a learned subject in the purview of
his poetic vision : —
" Broadhembury, near Honiton, Devon, 25 March,
1768. — Wanted in this Parish, a Clerk.— He must be a
Person who understands Arithmetic well, writes a good
Hand, and must be capable of managing a School.
Salary about Seventeen Pounds a Year. A middle-aged
married Man, with a small, or no Family, will he the
most eligible. N.B.— It will be in vain for any Person
to offer, who has not the above Qualifications ; and an
indisputable Character, as to his Honesty, Sobriety, and
Regularity." This announcement was just at the advent of
the poet Toplady's incumbency at Broadhem
bury, and may have proceeded from his pen.
Eight guineas a battle, and eighty the odd
one 1 Something like stakes by the Gentlemen
cockers : —
" A Cock-Match. — To be Fought at the Golden Lion,
in Barnstaple in the County of Devon, between the
Gentlemen of the North and South : Each side to shew
thirty-one Cocks in the Main. To fight for Eight
Guineas a Battle, and Eighty the Odd. To weigh the
first Monday in May, 1761, and fight the two following
days. Baker for the North, Woodling for the South,
Feeders."

144

GLIMPSES OF PAST DAYS.

Here again for a manservant — Small Pox and
— who offers ?

" Wanted— A Man-Servant, who has had the Sraall-
Pox, about Thirty years of Age, &c, 4c— April, 1768."
"Wanted, in the Western Part of Devonshire, A
Steady Footman, Who is well qualified to do the Duty
of a Butler, who can Shave and dress Wigs well, and
who can bring a good Character, &c, &c."
Here is the announcement of something spicy
for the young gallants and damsels — all " with
the greatest decorum " : —
" At the Town-Hall in Crewkerne on Tuesday 28th
June, 1768, will be A Grand Ridotto Ball. After the
Venetian Taste. The Hall will be formed into a grand
Garden, and illuminated after the Manner of Vaux-
Hall, with Grotto's, Temples,, Caskades of Water, &c.
The Doors will be open at Seven o'Clock; The Ball
begin at Eight ; Tea at Nine ; and a Grand Collation
and Dessert at Twelve. A good Band of Music will be
provided ; and Care will he taken to conduct the whole
with the greatest Decorum. Tickets to be had of
Mr. Budden at the George at 5s. each.
Single Stick to the front again, and Wrestling
to follow ; take care of your polls and your
shins : —
" On Tuesday 19th of July next, 1768, being the first
Day of Exeter Races, A Gold Lace Hat will be play'd
for at Single Stick at the Castle of Exon, and on the
Day following a Purse of Guineas will be play'd for at
Wrestling at the same Place. To begin each day at
Three o'Clock in the Afternoon when the Particulars
will be produced."
And here a glorious chance as to who shall
break the most heads : —
" Sword and Dagger. Sherborne, Dorset, on
Wednesday and Thursday the 10th and 11th of August
Instant, 1768, will be played for at Sword and Dagger at
the Half Moon in this Town, one Guinea each day for
him who breaks most Heads, and Half a Guinea for the
second best Gamester. Good Encouragement will be
given to the other players. To mount the Stage pre
cisely at Three in the Afternoon."
Occasionally the charms of cock-fighting were
varied by their owners having a set-to at single
stick, with " great encouragement " : —
"1766.— This is to give Notice to all Gentlemen Game
sters and Others, that are well skilled in those noble
and manly Exercises of Sword and Dagger, and Back-
Sword— That on Monday 22nd September will be played
for at Sword and Dagger, at Bruton in the County of
Somerset, a Lac'd Hat and Knot, valued one Guinea and
Half. He that breaks the first Head to have the Knot,
and he that Breaks the most Heads to have the Hat.
And on Tuesday will be play'd for at Sword and Dagger
one Guinea and Half. The first best Man to have a
Guinea, the second best Man Half a Guinea. And on
Wednesday will be played for at Back-Sword, one
Guinea and Half, &c. The Play to begin each day at
Ten o'Clock. N.B. — There will be greater Encourage
ment than usual to all Gamesters."
Here is an account of the rejoicing at Honiton
on the abolition of the odious Cider Tax : —
"We hear from Honiton, that they had great rejoic
ing there last Thursday (17 Apl.) on account of the
Repeal of that unequal and burthensome Excise Tax on
Cyder. The day was usher'd in with ringing of bells ;

joy and satisfaction appear'd in the countenances of
every male wishing of freedom, and liberty of his
country. Sir George Yonge, our worthy member, (who
had shewn so great concern for the relief of the subject
from the oppression of Excise laws) displayed his usual
generosity on this occasion, by ordering a sheep to be
roasted, and seven hogbeads of Cyder to be given to the
populace, to drink his Majesty's health, the Royal
Family, success to the present Ministry, and all the
noble patriots who have so eminently distinguished
themselves in supporting the liberty, honour, and
prosperity of the nation. A fine large ox was led thro*
the town, attended by drums and fifes, decorated by
garlands of flowers, apple-branches, with apples gilt
and crowned with laurels. A label was painted and
fixed between his horns, with this motto, ' The Cyder Act
repealed, Freedom restored ' ; a grand green flag was
displayed : the motto, ' Yonge and Liberty, no Cyder Tax.*
The ox was afterwards killed, and with a great quantity
of other beef distributed the next day amongst the poor
housekeepers. The evening concluded with a bon-fire,
illuminations, and other indications of joy, on this
glorious and important event." (Monday, April 21,1766).
This is a curiosity as a minute description of
person and costume: — "red hair, shocked," and
a pair of " everlasting breeches." Probably
somebody is still wearing them. And what is
"Brin"? " Run away 1 June, 1768. — John Prosper, a Parish
Apprentice to Thomas Pring of Awliscombe, nigh
Honiton, Devon, Farmer. He is in the 20th Year of his
Age, about 5 feet high, Straight Red Hair, shock'd ; thin
foye Face, gray Eyes, hath had the Small-Pox; Wore
or carried off a light drab old Cloth Coat, made larger
with other Cloth, and a dark grey nibb'd Whitney Coat,
faced with the same, the Collar and Sleeves trimm'd
with Scarlet Broad Cloth, plain white flat Metal Buttons,
the Button-holes at Breast concealed, Olive Colour
Waistcoat, Everlasting Breeches faced with Brin, and a
large pair of Yellow Buckles, &c."
Another one, also with " everlasting " toggery,
and " murphled " visage. Has this anything to do
with his name ? And note the condition of his
poor feet.
" Richard Murphles from his Master at Blackauton,
is described as " about 21 years of Age, and five Feet
nine or ten Inches high, is pretty-strong made, bow-
legged, his hair straight and of a reddish brown Colour,
his complexion pretty much murphled, and the great-
Joints of his Great Toes, remarkably large (which is
visible by his Shoes) ; He wore or carried away a whitish
Everlasting Waistcoat and Breeches, Sheep-grey Yarn
or Worsted Stockings, &c, &c."
From Bristol to Exeter in a day and a half —
now covered by a fast express on the Great
Western Eailway in an hour and a half .- —
" The Bristol and Exeter Machine.— In one Day
and Half with Six able Horses. Will set out on Monday
4 Apl., 1768 at Five o'clock in the Morning, from the
George Inn, Temple Gate, Bristol, &c. Inside Passen
gers to Exon, £1 Is., &c."
We began with locomotion, here we end with
it ; one thing however travels no faster now
than it did then — Time. With the flight of
Time comes Change — as the reader will observe,
— but whether for the better or not, must be
determined by himself.

SUNDIAL SCULPTURE, SHEEPSTOR CHURCH.

A SERMON IK STOKE.

WEST-COUNTEY SUN-DIALS.

'Post tenebrce lux.'

THE earliest sun-dial the world ever witnessed
was supplied by man himself acting as
the gnomon, with the earth at his feet for a dial.
This appears to be evidenced by a reference to
the book of Job, written fifteen centuries before
the Christian era, where we read, " as a servant
that earnestly desireth the shadow,"* — the
meaning of the simile being, that of the slave
at his work anxiously watching the slow traverse
of his shadow, until it reached the position that
told him his period of toil for that day was
concluded. This is probably the most antient recorded
method of observing and marking the flight
of Time.
The sun-dial, perfected as an instrument, is
described as being invented by Anaximander,
a Milesian philosopher, companion and friend
of Thrales, B.C. 550 ; about a thousand years
after Job's allusion to the more primitive method,
which however contained the germ of the adapta
tion, that Anaximander more exactly disposed.
The first sun-dial was put up at Rome by
Papirus Cursor, at the temple of Quirinus
B.C. 293, when time was divided into hours ;
and it is probable the instrument now in use
is but little altered in construction. They were
first affixed to churches about A.D. 613.
The buildings on which modern sun-dials
chiefly abound still continue to be our parish
churches, where, — when the sun shines on
them, — they indicate the hour of the day to the
passing wayfarer. Their situation is usually
on the south porch, sometimes on the transept,
and occasionally on the aisle wall ; and it is
pleasing to note, that notwithstanding their use
has been for a long period superseded by the
introduction of a good clock and accompanying
dial in the tower, these olden time-keepers
have nevertheless, been preserved and cared for.
Sun-dials are also often found on the walls of
old buildings used for public purposes ; and on
the fronts of antient manor-houses, — while
sometimes they are set on a pillar in the centre
of the primly disposed plesaunce garden attached
to the edifice. Not infrequent, also, is their
* Job vii. v. 2 (R.V.).

appearance on old farm - houses (often the
deserted homes of the lesser and extinct squire
archy) of late Tudor or Jacobean era. Here
they generally occur on the southern face of the
great towering chimney, that rises by successive
stages in one of the main walls of the house,
adding such picturesqueness to its structural
outline. These are fabricated in the simplest
way, a light bar of iron bent angular for the
gnomon, and a set of lines and figures incised
on a broad stone to form the dial.
"Dialling" was esteemed an art, and treatises
shewing the proper method for the construction
of sun-dials were not infrequent during the
seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.
The flight of time, as evidenced by the
creeping shadow, and its resemblance to the
passing life of man, has ever been a favourite
simile of moralists, philosophers, and poets.
Immediately following Job's reference to the
servant, man is described as a being " whose
days upon earth are a shadow," and who
himself " fleeth also as a shadow ; " David speaks
of his " days being like a shadow that declineth ; "
and this sentiment has found a continuous echo
in all the ages that have bridged over the wide
expanse of time from their days to ours.
Pertaining to this fact, there would appear to
be no more appropriate place to inscribe a
reminder of this great truth — time's silent
march, and its inevitable sap of life — than on
the face of the sun-dial itself, as the passer-by
halts for a moment to note the tale of the
fleeting hours. Such a custom has been largely
exercised, and short pithy sentences embodying
the various aspects of its momentous conse
quences have found their places on them.
In addition to the mottoes thus inscribed,
sun-dials were also sometimes ornamented with
allusive sculpture ; but usually the decoration
was limited to an edging of simple conventional
pattern, supplemented occasionally by a coat of
arms, and accompanied by the date of the year,
and the initials or full names of the church
wardens, or donors otherwise, who set them up,
restored or repaired them. There is a curious
gnomon (the dial seems to have disappeared) at

146

A SERMON IN STONE.

Lelant, where a grotesque figure, intended for
Time or Death, with scythe in one hand and a
dart in the other, supports the bar.
An imagery of most remarkable and unique
kind, — that forms the text of this little disser
tation — which we think without doubt was
originally part of a sun-dial, the recording
portion having disappeared, — is found on the
south porch of Sheepstor church, a moorland
sanctuary situate within the south-western fringe
of Dartmoor.
A glance at the illustration will fully reveal
the abundance of the old moralist's sculptured
allegory which he apparently intended should
be interpreted from the base upward.
It commences with the declaration, —
MORS JANUA TLTM.
Death is the Gate of Life.
Then the sculpture of an hour-glass flanked
by extended wings, and the aphorism,
UT HORA, SIC VITA.
As the hour, so is life.
On the hour-glass rests a skull and cross-
bones, and from tbe eye sockets, and behind
are issuant stalks of corn (wheat) in full ear.
This has reference evidently to St. Paul's simile
" thou sowest not that body that shall be, but
bare grain, it may chance of wheat, or some
other grain." *
Above the skull is a symbol unfortunately
much denuded, but having the appearance of
a candlestick and candle, or a lamp, — with
accompanying label inscribed, —
ANIMA BEVERTET.
The soul shall return, — allusive to the Preacher's
declaration, — ' ' tbe spirit shall return unto God
who gave it." t
The material of which the sculpture is
composed, is apparently white marble or ala
baster ; it appears to have been re-set, it may be
when the church was restored ; in its original
setting there were rivet holes J along the edging
stones by which the numerals, engraved probably
on metal strips, and the gnomon of the same
material were attached. The present rector has
thoughtfully protected this interesting relic from
further denudation by covering it with a pane of
glass. In addition to the inscriptions are these
initials and date : — J. E.— 1640.
Evidently those of the setter up of the sculpture,
and by this clue we think his identity may be
traced. * 1 Corinthians xv. v. 37.
t Ecclesiastes xii. v. 7.
j Western Antiquary, vol. vi. page 217.

The olden lords of Shittstor, or Shettistore,
hodie Sheepstor, were the Elfords, successors in
its possession, by marriage with a daughter of
Scudamore, its more antient owners.
John Scudamore of Shettistore, had two
daughters coheiresses, Joan, and Dionisia who
married Cole.
Joan married John Elford, and their son
John died 6 Feb., 1517, and was buried in
Shettistore Church. Eoger his son married a
daughter of Adams, and their eldest son John,
Margery daughter of Bichard Langford. They
had three sons, the eldest John of Shettistore,
married Elizabeth, daughter of Gregory of
Plympton. This John is commemorated on a large
monument, under the east window of the south
aisle of Sheepstor Church. The first portion of
the inscription reads thus : —

finrc Igeijj tta bobies of foljrc (Klforta
of Bliitt&tor, dentlttnau, foljo bieb % ssbiii^
bage of ^ugust, in % gtare of oar Iforbt
(Hob, orct tjjofrrsanb, fibe Jjunbub, four store
aub form.
glatb also tta bobge of (Sl^ata^ Jlrata,
first f{jt foife of % saib |oIjtt (Morta, anb
last fyt foife of Stomas grata of §acklaitb-
brata, fsqttier, §iroi!j£r anb take fo J5ir
Jtamuis grata, Jbighi,, tota< bgtb Parcjj
ge 1 8, ge geare of our JTorbe (Sob ant
Ita-fosanb tax tambreb, 1631.
gittb also % bobge of Salter ©Iforb,
<§.entltman, tta soniu airb tain of ge forsagta
lojra anb (ffli^abet^, fob^o bieb in % gra of
our |Torb (fob, Pag ge g'fe, one tjjofasanb
si* Ironbrtb, 48. gigeb 72.
Str-mjjora tie tulpas ram sis tibi rartsa
boloris."
and then there is added, —
" WHO MARRIED BARBARA, THE DAVGHTER OF
JOHN CROCKER OF LYNAM, ESQ., AND HAD
ISSVE BY HER FOVRE SONNS, JOHN, HVGH,
WALTER, WILL'M, AND FIVE DAVGHTERS, FRANCES,
ANNE, JOANE, ELIZABETH AND MARY. SHE
DIED 1656. AGED 83."
Arms : Quarterly 1 and 4 Per pale wavy, a
lion rampant (Elford), 2 and 3 Three stirrups,
leathered and buckled (Scudamore ?) and six
other shields, Elford impaling the following, —
1. A bull passant (Cole). 2. A lion rampant
between four cross-croslets flory jitchy. 3. Paly of

A SERMON IN STONE.

147

six, in a chief a lion passant regardant (Lang-
fobd). 4. A chevron between three birds. 5.
Three mullets enclosed by crescents increscent
(Gregory?) 6. A chevron engrailed between
three ravens (Crocker). In the base, Drake of
Buckland, impaling No. 5.
We think there can be little doubt that this
John Elford who died in 1687, was the setter-up
of the sun-dial sculpture. It is quite probable
also he erected the memorial to his grandfather
and father, indicated by the singular Latin line
concluding the first part of the inscription to
his father, which teDs us, — "Blame not the times
when thou mayest be to thyself the cause of
sorrow," and the emblem of the phoenix rising,
on the monument to one of his wives, which he
doubtless placed to her memory.
From Col. Vivian's Visitations of Devon we
glean, that the eldest of these three sons John,
born about 1603, buried at Buckland-Mona-
chorum, 3 Aug., 1678, had four wives. Firstly,
Elizabeth daughter of Amias Copleston, married
about 1631, — secondly, Anna daughter of John
Northcote of Hayne, ob. Aug., 1640, — thirdly,
Mary daughter of Gale, ob. Feb., 1642-3,— and
fourthly, Sarah daughter of John Woolcombe of
Combe. It is probable that the portion of
another monument remaining in the church,
which represents a woman and her infant
enveloped in winding sheets, and apparently
lying on a bed (indicating the cause of death) is
placed to one of them. Three small figures,
children, kneel in front. There is no inscription
remaining, the arms are much denuded, but
there is the emblem of the phcenix rising.
By his wives he left sundry children, whose
last male descendant Sir William Elford, of
Bickham, F.B.S., M.P., and Becorder of Ply
mouth, was created a Baronet 26 Nov., 1800.
He died 30 Nov., 1837, when both name and
title became extinct.
Thus much for the description of the old
Sheepstor sun-dial sculpture, and monuments ;
and the history of their probable erector, for all
appear to be in affinity, and reflect the quality
of his mind, thoughtful, philosophic, devout.
There are minds utterly impervious to senti
ment, whose influence properly exercised, is the
refining and generous power, that lifts human
endeavour out of the sordid ambition that
tempts it to live for itself alone, and prompts it
instead, to the exercise of generous thoughts and
deeds. Without it life degenerates to a selfish
dream, and at death drops forgotten into the
gulf of time.
Not so the witness of a life animated by
instructive ennobling sentiment that has left its
traces to posterity however slender : —
" The light he leaves behind him, lies
Upon the paths of men."

A truth realized to-day. Although three centu
ries and a half have passed since the old sculpture
was erected in this moorland solitude, and only
two letters are left to identify him, yet the man,
or the impress of his immortal part, his mind,
stands before us, and with the eternal touch of
sympathy, we grasp the " vanished hand."
The age in which he lived was rich in wealth of
allegoric imagery and cautionary ' conceits,'
bearing on the vicissitudes and brief duration of
human life, and its hopes beyond. In those
days men were neither afraid nor ashamed to
leave record of their belief in these truths, and
verily their works do follow them, and say to us
of the present, — non mortua est, sed dormit.
The collection of mottoes found on sun-dials,
in common with sundry other minor subjects
occurring on the now well-trodden by-paths of
archaeology, has been a favourite pursuit of
many pens, some for the love of their quaint
wisdom, some otherwise. These usually gathered
anywhere and at any available opportunity, —
beyond the general interest their recital awakens,
— have, locally, no special claim on the atten
tion. In subjoining a few of these inscriptions
found in the west-country, chiefly in Devon and
Cornwall, nothing approaching to completeness
is offered, only such as have been noted in
pilgrimages and collected from other sources
available. It should be observed that, except described
otherwise, they are found on sun-dials attached
to parish churches.
The sentiments embodied mainly consist of
two obvious reflections, both closely representing
the office of the sun-dial, and its allegorical
similitude to the conditions of human life, — its
passage as a shadow, — and the ceaseless flight
of Time. Others occur, but all are more or less
in direct alliance with these principal subjects.
To take the first, the similitude of the shadow,
we find : —
At Parkham, and Frithelstock, —
UMBRA SUMUS.
We are a shadow.
At Saltash, on the back of the Town-hall, —
1727 — ME LUMEN VOS UMBRA REGIT.
The light rules me, the shadow you.
At the adjoining parish of St. Stephens, —
1783 — a slightly different reading, —
SOL ME VOS UMBRA REGIT.
The sun rules me, tlie shadow you.
At Maker, —
SICUT UMBRA, SICUT TEMPUS.
As the shadow (passes) so time.

148

A SERMON IN STONE.

At Bideford, — about 1758,— on an old building
near the bridge, —
SOL TIBI SIGNA DABIT.
The sun will give its sign to you.
At Winkleigh, —
LIFE'S BUT A SHADOW,
man's BUT dust ;
THIS DYAL SATES
DY ALL WE MUST.
At Morwinstow, —
LIFE IS LIKE A SHADOW.
At Marston-Magna on the Church farm-house,
1613 — AS SHADOWS SO MAN SPEEDETH.
At Chew-Magna on the Manor House, —
I AM A SHADE, A SHADOW TOO ART THOU,
I MARK THE TIME, SAY GOSSIP, DOST THOU SOE ?
At Sutton-Montis, in the rectory garden,
placed there by the Bev. Edmund Barton in
1607, in Greek, Hebrew, and Latin, reading: —
All things are but a shadow,
Our days pass as a shadow,
Time passes, so do'st thou.
The reminder of the flight of time.
At Sidbury, — UT HORA SIC VITA.
As the hour, so is life.
At Crediton and Seaton, —
TEMPUS FUGIT.
Time flies.
At Kenton, Tavistock, and Battery, —
HORA PARS VITiE.
The hour is part of life.
At Welcombe and Little Torrington, —
FUGIT TRREPARABILE TEMPUS.
Time flies irretrievably.
At St. Budeaux, —
EX HOC MOMENTO PENDET ^TERNITAS.
On this moment hangs eternity.
At Buishton, — CONCITU GRADU.
With hastened step.
At Cookbury, —
REDEEM THE TIME.
At Tavistock,— 1757,—
WATCH AND PRAY,
TIME STEALS AWAY.
At Weston Mill farm house, near Plymouth, —
1670 — REDE THE TIME.

At Liskeard,— 1779,—
SO SOON PASSETH IT AWAY.
At Botus-Fleming,— 1787 —
TIME 'S ON THE WING,
DEATH 'S APPROACHING,
THE HOUR 'S UNCERTAIN.
At North-Huish, — and slightly varied at
Diptford, 1694 ; and South-Brent, 1685 —
AS TIME AND HOURS PAS AWAY,
SO DOUTH THE LIFE OF MAN DECAY.
At Newlyn, —
TIME FLYS, DEATH HASTES, A MOMENT MAY BE WISHED
WHEN WORLDS WANT WEALTH TO BUY.
At Ermington, with the arms of Prideaux, —
1766 — CITO PEDE PRiETERIT jETAS.
Quickly, with a step, an age is gone.
At Tytherton-Kellways, — a dial with three
faces, set on a pillar, — 1698, —
LIFE STEALS AWAY, 0 MAN THIS HOUR IS LENT THEE,
PATIENTLY WORK THE WORK OF HLM THAT SENT THEE.
HASTE TRAVELLER, THE SUN IS SINKING NOW,
HE SHALL RETURN AGAIN, BUT NEVER THOU.
The approach of old age and death : —
At Bridestowe — from Juvenal, — 1714, —
OBREPIT NON INTELLECTA SENECTUS.
Old age creeps on unperceived.
At St. Ive— 1695 —
QUOTIDIE MORIOR.
I die daily.
Of miscellaneous character : —
At Horton, — a much-to-be-laid- at-heart truth,
quaintly expressed, —
POST EST OCCASIO CALVA.
Opportunity is bald behind.
At Axmouth, — on a broad stone in the south
face of a tall Tudor chimney, are the lines and
numerals of a sun-dial nearly obliterated. On
its companion stone facing west, are the initials
of its original owner, the date 1570, and
GOD GTVETH ALL.
At Dodbrooke, — a noble sentiment that may
appropriately conclude this selection, —
LEX DEI, LUX DIEI.
The law of God is the light of day.
The foregoing collection might be considerably
extended, but sufficient we think are given
to shew the general tenor of the sentiments
expressed. There are a large number of other

A SERMON IN STONE.

149

sun-dials that have no inscriptions beyond
initials, names, or dates.
On clocks also it was customary at times to
inscribe a motto. There is a well-known quota
tion on Bishop Peter Courtenay's clock (A.D.1487)
in the north tower of Exeter Cathedral, —
PEEEUNT ET IMPUTANTER.
The hours pass, and are reckoned against us.
On an old clock at Salisbury may be seen, —
CARPE DIEM.
Gather up the days.
Church-bells also, — apart from donors, church
wardens, founders, and other names and dates,
and some not altogether desirable rhyming and
punning inscriptions — have often placed on
them interesting mottoes allusive to their func
tions, — an ' echo ' of those found on the sun-dials
below. Those in Devon may be found in Mr.
Ellacombe's ' Bells ' of the county.
Sun-dials, clocks and bells, each according
to their office, reminding and enforcing with
unceasing stress to eye and ear, the same story
of the stealthy march of time, and the brevity
and uncertainty of human life.
And there is another thought suggested to us
of the present, by the intermittent shadow on
the sun-dial. Doubtless it has occurred to
others, and, perhaps, may be inscribed on one

somewhere,— which we venture to paraphraze: —
Type of inconstant friends,
Shews the shadow on the dial,
There— when life sunshine sends,
Gone — when come clouds of trial.
But little further need be added as to the
history and office of the sun-dial.
Year after year these silent monitors, with
their warning aphorism, greet the momentary
living glance, and keep unwearied watch over
the dead at rest beneath them.
Day after day, when the sky's bright king
smiles upon them, the constant shadow slowly
traverses the circuit of their mute immobile
countenance, marking tbe tale of the vanished
hours. Patient they wait through the dark and quiet
night, until the early sunbeam with roseate hue,
wakens them to again record the birth and
growing youth of another day.
As the splendour increases, so does the
shadowing line grow thinner and deeper in
colour, until day rejoices in its manhood, and
noon's meridian hour is passed.
Then the recording shadow slowly broadens,
as the glory gets fainter, and old age, typified
by evening's enshrouding gloom that gradually
closes the day's existence, and all lapses into
night, — its shadow of death.
Where amid the world's symbolism, can man
find an emblem so meet, so perfectly depicting
the phases of his life, as on a sun-dial?

" ' LIFE IS A PASSING SHADOW,' SAY THE SCRIPTURES. THE SHADOW
OF A TOWER OR TREE, THE SHADOW THAT PREVAILS FOR A TIME ? NO ;
EVEN AS THE SHADOW OF A BIRD IN ITS FLIGHT, IT PASSETH FROM
OUR SIGHT, AND NEITHER BIRD NOR SHADOW REMAINS."  The Talmud.

A TUDOR MERCHAKT AKD HIS WIFE.

" Their works do follow them."

THE period of peace that followed the
decisive battle of Bosworth field is one of
the turning points of English history, being
practically the commencement of the social
regeneration of the English people.
For many years previously England had been
hopelessly distracted, her civilization retarded,
her commerce paralyzed, and her people decima
ted, by the cruel, desolating faction-wars of the
Boses, where the ignorance of the common
people was played on by " all those set in
authority over them," and they were partly
incited and partly coerced to take sides in the
deadly conflicts, and shed their blood like water,
for one of the most degrading of all human
sentiments, the personal choice as to which of
the two contending rulers should exercise des
potic control over them, and as
" Slaves fight for what were better cast away, —
The chain that binds them and the tyrant's sway."
The victor of Bosworth, intruder and usurper
as he was, had the most cogent reasons, as soon
as he was seated on the throne, to preserve peace
at home, by every method, and at all cost. This
he carefully and continuously effected, whenever
circumstances arose to disturb it. He united
the rival claims of York and Lancaster by his
marriage ; impostors who set up their foolish
claims were promptly disposed of ; plebeian
insurrections energetically suppressed'; the man
who had placed the crown on his head, and
subsequently became suspected of hostility to
his rule, was relentlessly sent to the block ; the
last descendants of the other royal house, who
might probably, if opportunity afforded, dispute
the possession of his crown, were disposed of
by the same summary method.
But it was well for the English people this
stern, and it may be cruel rule, was vigorously
enforced, — although their welfare was perhaps
only a secondary consideration, — because it
freed them from the unspeakable miseries of
internecine war.
Beleased from this dreadful evil, they had
leisure and opportunity to amplify and improve
their home surroundings, and to prosecute suc
cessfully the peaceful avocations of manufactures
and commerce that had begun to grow, but
were almost extinguished by the fierce conflicts

of previous reigns ; and so to this era, we think,
may be safely assigned the original settled rise
of our commercial enterprise, that, with a few
immaterial checks, has never ceased to be
developed. Chief among these, the clothing
trade — the staple of the West, was at once
largely increased, — staplers, clothiers, fullers,
and tuckers, soon abounded in the provincial
towns ; the local streams were utilized to turn
the numberless fulling and tucking mills (whose
names only unfortunately survive to the present)
and a weaver's loom was the most necessary
piece of furniture in the cottager's kitchen, as
the provider of bread for his family.
In addition to the comparatively larger
"marehants" of the staple, that took their rise
from this enlarged home industry, there came
into existence also another, and perhaps lesser
class of " marehants," who owed their creation
mainly to the activity of the woollen trade, the
surplus products of which being largely exported
"beyond seas," the vessels were freighted in
return with divers commodities from these
foreign lands, either in exchange for what they
brought or by purchase.
These imported goods on arrival had in their
turn to be disposed of, and distributed at places
easy of access to the community. To supply
this need arose the first English shop-keeper,
that kept and displayed for sale on his premises,
not only the home manufactures of kersey,
serge, yarn, and other woollen products, but also
linen, mercery, grocery, and spicery, procured
from abroad, in fact a sort of mediaeval dry-
goods store, which afterwards got separated into
various avocations, only in time to be again
united by the ' exigencies ' of civilization,
into what we now term co-operative societies, —
institutions of very doubtful ultimate good to
the common weal.
Among this latter class of " marehants " we
think may be included the subject of our little
dissertation, John Takell, of the good town of
Honiton, living at this time, who also joined
with it, the not unusual congenial occupation of
farming his own lands, the which with others
he occupied, appear to have been of consider
able extent.
Much wealth was occasionally acquired by

A TUDOR MERCHANT.

151

these old " marehants " of the staple, or as
general dealers, and as this was an eminently
religious as well as a revived commercial era,
the church had an eye on their prosperity, and
was not slow to urge on her sons her claim to a
due proportion of it, to be dedicated to religious
purposes ; constituting an age of money-making
with one hand, and a liberal expenditure of it
"for the souls' health" by the other, as the
order of the day. These benefactions were
either bestowed actively during the lifetime of
the donor, — or given at death by innumerable
testamentary bequests, — sometimes by both, as
we shall presently see.
In such proceedings, wealthy ' ' marehants "
had the highest example in the predilections of
the reigning sovereign. In himself, eminently
money-exacting from his subjects under any
colourable pretence, and carefully hoarding it,
but withal penurious and mean in his worldly
policy as to its dispersal, Henry VII. was also
a devout and munificent son of the church.
This, the splendid building erected and endowed
by him at Westminster, in which his bones
repose, gives ample assurance ; but for which
with his usual caution, himself and wife, or
their departed souls, were to get value received
in the supplicatory services to be therein after
ward rendered. His rich subjects, prompted by
the same spirit, occasionally emulated their
king's zeal, as the beautiful chapels of Green-
way at Tiverton, and Lane at Cullompton, afford
conspicuous evidence ; while with curious fidelity
they reflect also the characteristics of the minds
of their builders, being encrusted over with the
sculptured symbolism of the Cross, and prayers
for their eternal destiny, alternate with devices
allusive to commerce, emblems of their worldly
occupations, together with their monograms,
and merchants' marks. It is probable also the
growing wealth of the west country, caused such
a large number of churches to be re-built just at
this era, with their windows filled with stained
glass, and interiors ornamented with richly
carved rood-skreens and bench-ends. The splen
did Somersetshire churches — the glory of the
perpendicular style in the " western lond," —
were also almost all built toward the close of the
fifteenth century, or early in the sixteenth.
To re-build our Devonshire sanctuaries, doubt
less the church urged her richer members to
contribute of their means as generously as
possible. It was probably not given to many to
erect beautiful adjuncts to their parish churches,
as did Greenway and Lane, but all who could,
might afford help at the re-building in larger or
lesser degree. Of such benefactors, and fully
proportionate to their worldly condition, we may
conclude were John and Joan Takell, — and its
witness remains to this day in the parish
church of Honiton, to which we shall duly refer.

But to return to John Takell the " marchant,"
whose avocations we have sketched out, and
before we proceed further, it is curious to note a
strange mistake concerning him made by no less
a personage than Sir William Pole, the anti
quary, usually so correct, and who wrote his
Collections about a century later. Under his
description of Honiton, he says : —
" John Tacle a man well learned in the lawe, dwelled
heere in Henry 7. tyme, whose only daught'r was the
first wief of Baldwin Mallet, Sollicitor unto King Henry
8., and had issue by her Michael th' ancestor of St.
Adries, lord of his land at this tyme."
This is the only printed reference we have of
him, and it has been followed by Bisdon, and all
succeeding Devonshire historians. Apparently
the Antiquary has confused the father with the
son-in-law, — but from the collateral evidence
educed by reference to the legacies named in the
wills of himself and his widow, John Takell
was without doubt of the avocations before
described, — a " marchant " who kept a " shop,"
and also farmed extensively, as the large be
quests of cattle fully attest.
John Takell's name, except in connection
with Mallet, does not appear in the Visitations
of the county, nor are any arms recorded to
him. He was probably of local extraction, and
the factor of his fortune, — if he used any device
it would simply be a merchant's mark, to stamp
his bales of goods.
Who he married, we learn from the will of his
widow. Her maiden name was Joan Stonard,
the daughter of John and Alice Stonard, but of
what place does not appear. She was a widow
when John Takell married her, her first hus
band's name being John Hede. By her he had
one daughter only, Joan married to Baldwin
Mallet, no mention is made of any issue by the
first husband.
Of his landed possessions, Sir William Pole
says : —
" Streat, (taking his name from ye great highway w'ch
leadeth from th' Bast unto the West) Mallet of St.
Awdries, in Somersetshire, hath a mannor lying in this
parish of Giddisham, descended from Baldwin Mallet,
Sollicitor unto King Henry 8, by the marriage of the
daughter and heire of John Tacle, whose formerly it
was." Beside Streat or Strete, in Gittisham, he also
appears to have held a portion of the manor of
Ivedon in Awliscombe, which afterward des
cended to Mallet. Also some land " at the
back of the Dolphin Inn, on the north side of
the road leading from Stoney bridge to North-
cote lane, now known as Cowley, this remained
in the Mallet family until purchased by Sir
William Courtenay in the last century." He
also held other lands apparently on lease at
Widworthy, Offwell (?), and elsewhere, and
probably resided in a house of commensurate

152

A TUDOR MERCHANT.

size, with several bed-chambers, and a " shop "
under, somewhere in the centre of the town, on
the east side of the street, which his widow
occupied after his decease, and continued the
business. Also other house property, held
probably on lease, spoken of by his widow in her
will, " as the term of years that I have in the
new house over the way, with the shambles
under the said house."
John Takell died between tbe 14 August, when
he made his will, and 9 Sep., when it was proved,
in 1506. He was doubtless buried in the north
aisle of the chancel, — the "newe chappell of
our Blessed Lady," as mentioned in his wife's
will, and where she was afterward laid, — but no
gravestone appears to his memory.
His will is in abbreviated Latin, of which we
subjoin a translation : —
" In the name of God, Amen. The fourteenth day of
the month of August, in the year of our Lord,— 1506.
I John Takell, in full health of mind and memory, make
my Will in the following manner; — First I leave my bouI
to the omnipotent God, and my body to be buried in the
parish church of St. Michael the Archangel, at Honiton ;
— I leave to the same church my best cup ; I leave to
the Rector of the said parish church to pray for my
soul 20/-;— I leave to the Aqueebajulo of the parish afore
said 3/4 ;— I leave to the High Light of the aforesaid
church 3/4 ; I leave to the Light of the Blessed Mary of
the same 3/4 ; — I leave to the Chapel of All Saints in the
town of Honiton 6/8;— I leave to the Chapel of St.
Thomas in the same 3/4 ; I leave to the Chapel of St.
Margaret 3/4 ;— I give and bequeath to my wife Joan,
two hundred marks in money;— I bequeath to my wife
Joan fifty marks in cups, spoons, salts (plate) and other
my goods to her use for ever; — I will that fifty marks in
cups and other goods outside (otherwise) remain with
the same Joan till the end of her life ; and for the safe
and secure custody and disposition after her death,
according to the discretion of my executors for the
salvation of my soul.— I will that my wife Joan have all
my houses, and dwelling house, my beds, pots, pans,
dishes, and all other my goods and chattels for the term
of her life;— And after her death, I will that the said
Joan ray wife, shall dispose of one part of all my afore
said residence and houses according to her will;— And
the second part to my daughter Joan ; — And the third
part of all my houses to the poor, to pray for our souls,
and those of our fathers and mothers, our relations and
friends, and all the faithful dead ;— I leave to Joan my
wife all the goods in my shop, (om'ia bona shope) and I
will that three pieces of black cloth be divided among
the poor ;— I leave to Joan my wife all my animals (live
stock) except my horses, now being in Cobbyford: —
I give and bequeath to Baldwin Malet, Edmund
Moyne, and Henry Moyne, three hundred sheep, being
near Wytlieworth (Widioorthy ?) :— To be equally divided
among cottagers  :— I leave to my daughter
Joan three silver cups pounced, being in my chest;— I
leave to Isabella Moyne daughter of Richard Moyne, a
hundred shillings in money :— I give to each of my filior'
meor' (god-children ?) 12d., and I wish that every man in
this parish that is an householder have 4d., to pray for
my soul ; — I give to thirty parishes next adjoining this
one, for Vestments 10/- :— I give and bequeath to the
parish church of Bradnynche 40/ — on condition that my
name, and the names of my parents are put on the
Brotherhood of St. John of the same ;— I leave to
Thomas Moyne, my best horse j— I leave to Richard
Moyne, one horse; — I leave to Baldwin Malet, one
horse ; — I will that Joan my wife have all my grain and
fuel at Wavfynes ;— I will that Edmund Moyne have,
after my death, all annual grounds (term of years)

which I have in Cobbysford ;— I will that Richard Moyne
have all the ground which I have in lands and tene
ments from Thoma Marcus 'Berk' in Ossowill (Offwell?)
and in Honiton ;— The residue of my goods not above
bequeathed, I give ami bequeath to Baldwin Malet and
Richard Moyne, that they may dispose of them for the
saving of my soul; — and I make and constitute the
same Baldwin Malet and Richard Moyne, my executors ;
— I will that Thomas Mountjoye supervises this my will ;
— I leave to each of my executors £"6—13 — 4, for the
expenses necessary for the execution of this my testa
ment. John Staford; Sir John Moyne, Chaplain; Matthew
Montjoye, and others, witnesses.
Proved at Rye, 9 Sep. 1506, before John Long, pro
curator in this part, by the before named executors."
The Aqucebajulo or Aquccbajulus, — " the bearer
of holy-water, — was the priests' clerk or assis
tant, who lived on the alms of the people,
certain fees on Sundays and festivals, and certain
sheaves of corn in harvest." The Fraternity of
St. John in Bradninch Church was founded by
divers persons to find a priest to pray for the
souls of the donors of lands, and the brethren
and benefactors, in the parish church. It was
a chapel in the north aisle, and belonged,
according to Dr. Oliver, to the Guild or Fraternity
of the Cordwainers. Valued at £9 9s. 5d. at
the Reformation, its last incumbent was John
Rowe, living in 1553 and in receipt of a pension
of £4.
After the death of her husband, Mrs. Joan
Takell appears to have carried on the business,
— and survived him twenty-two years. She made
her will 26 Aug. 1528, — and according to the
inscription on her gravestone was buried 13 July
1529. She orders herself to be sepulchred in
the " newe chappell of our Blessed Lady " — and
there she was interred, in the centre of the
chapel, immediately in front of its altar, but the
stone has now been moved from its original
position, (to make way for some plain red and
black tiles), and placed cross-ways in front of
the aisle door. It is a large blue stone, the
inscription on a ledger-line, much worn, reads
thus : —
||u pert lolj'nn: f akcll inhrxn rpii obiit *irja
bie |«Iii mzztzzxxix0 nti's a'iY pr'ittet' b*us
nmzn.
Her will is in English, which we transcribe : —
" IN the name of God, amen ;— the yeare of our Lord
God 1528, the 26th daye of August, -I Joane Takell,
widowe, with a hole mind make my testament in this
manner ;— Firste, I bequeath my soule to Almighty God.
my bodye to be buried in the newe chappell of our
Blessed Lady of Honyton ;— and to the parson of Hony-
ton 20/-;— Also I bequeath to the mother church of
Exeter 20/-;— Also to the store of the light of Saint
Mychell of Honyton 10/-;— Also to the store of the
High Cross in the church there 6/8 ;— Also to the making
of the Rodeloft there £3-6-8 ; - Also to the store of
Saint George there 3/4;— Also to the store of Saint
James there 3/4;— Also to the store of Allhallowes in
the chappell of the towne of Honyton aforesaid a
brazen pott, the weight of ten pounds, the which I have

In Honiton Church.

Roscoe Gibbs, del.

A TUDOR MERCHANT.

153

delivered by myne owne hands. Also to the store of
St. Thomas of Honyton 3/4;— Also to the store of St.
Margaret there 3/4 ; — Also to every of my Godchildren
12d., if they come and ask it of my executors ;— Also to
every householder within the towne of Honyton 4d., to
pray for my soule ; — And to the image of Our Lady in
the chapell of Allhallows, my two great latyn candell
sticks, to stand upon the principall altar of Allhallows
there, to the honor of God, and our Blessed Lady, and
Allhallows!— Also to the image of Allhallows, and Our
Lady in the chappell of Allhallows, aforesaid, a crosse
of silver, there to remain for ever ;— Also to the church
of Saint Michell of Honyton, a silken cloth called a
pall, and to the altar of Our Lady in the new Isle, my
best table cloth of Dyaper ; —Also to eight parish chur
ches, that is to say Lovepitt, Coteleigh, Farway,
Comberaleigh, Awliscombe, Feniton, Monkton, and
Lympston, to each of them 6/8, to have my knell rong
in each of those churches, immediately after my de
cease ;— And to Our Lady in the aforesaid new Isle, my
best girdle of blew colour, harnessed with silver and
gilt ; — And to Edythe Palmer, my red girdle, harnessed
with silver and gilt, and a goblet of silver, and my best
bed of feathers in the hynde bed chamber complete,
and my best gown, and my best kirtell, and a great
brazen mortar and stamper of iron, being in my shop,
and my best beads of coral and silver and gilt, and six
silver spoons ;— And to Christian wife of Thomas Swayn,
a red girdle harnessed with silver and gilt, and my best
hood, and a chettel (kettle) of brass ; — And to Aylanor
wife of Richard Palmer, a girdle harnessed with silver
and gilt ; — Also to Thomas Palmer, 6 spoons of silver;—
Also to John Swayn, six spoons of silver, and all the
term of years that I have in the new house over the
way, with the best bed complete in the same, with the
shambles under the said house ;— Also to Edythe Palmer,
all my termes that I have in two houses, the which
Andrew Agon, and the wife of Thomas Tue, now dwell
in;— Also to the daughters of John of Gaunt 40/-;—
Also to Lotto Bramston, Vicar of Yarcomb a feather
bed ;— Also to Osmund Willing, clerk, a feather bed, and
a goblet;— Also to Edmond Loman, a goblet;— Also to
William Brouncy, a feather bed in the east chamber ;—
Also to his daughter, a yearling heifer ;— Also to
Margaret Potter, a gown coloured murrey, and a girdle
coloured green, harnessed with silver, and a bed of
flock;— Also to Jone Wardell, a bed complete in the
east chamber, aforesaid ;— Also to the image of Our
Lady of Awliscombe, a red girdle, harnessed and parcel
gilt;— Also to Michael Malet, my best cup of silver and
gilt with a cover, and my best salt cellar with a cover,
and a cup called a nutte, six spoons of silver, a basin
and ewer of silver, my best feather bed and bolster, a
great brass pot, and a great brazen pann, £6—13—4 in
money, — upon conditions following, — that if it happen
the said Michael to die before he shall marry, or if it
happen Baldwin Mallet, father of the said Michael, do
vex, impede, or in any other manner do lett, or grieve
my executors, or make any claim to any goods which I
have, to be his by colour, strength, or by the last will of
John Takell, my sometime husband, — Then I will that
all the aforesaid Jewells, goods, and other the premises
to the aforesaid Michael above bequeathed, be sold and
disposed of by my executors, for the helth of my soul,
John Stonard and Alice his wife, my father and mother,
and for the soules of John Takell, and William Hede,
sometime my husbands, and their fathers and mothers
and my friends soules; — Also I will that an honest priest
secular, shall sing for my soul and for the soules of the
aforesaid John Stonard and Alice his wife, John Takell,
William Hede, Richard Moine and Isabell his wife, and
Edmond son of the same Richard and Isabell, and for
our friends soules, by the space of twenty years, for
whose salary and wages, I have delivered to Thomas,
now Abbot of Forde, £120 in ryalls of gold, for which
sum the aforesaid Abbot with his Convent, have granted
by their deed indented, made and sealed with the
Convent seal, for the salary and wages of the aforesaid
priest, by the space of twenty years aforesaid, £6
sterling by the year, to be paid at the four termes usual ;

— Also to Sir John Cocks, clerk, 3/4 ; — Also I will that
four of my kine, shall remain in the hands of John
Olde and William Browncy, and to their assigns, and to
the assigns of them for evermore, paying and yielding
for the hire of the said four kine, 6/- by the year, to the
Wardens of the parish church of Saint Michael of
Honyton, to kepe an anniversary in the parish church
of Honyton aforesaid, yearly to endure ;— The residue
of such termes of such lands as I have in Honyton, I
will that my executors with the profits of the same,
yearly keep a dirge and a mass ; and all these premises
to be done at the discretion of my executors.
The residue of my goods not bequeathed, I give and
bequeath to Richard Palmer, and Thomas Moine, whom
I make my executors, that they dispose them for the
health of my soul, by their discretion ; — And I bequeath
to every of my executors aforesaid for their labours
about the premises to be had, besides their costs and
charges had and done, or to be had and done, £Q— 8— 4 ;
— Also I ordain Osmund Willing, clerk, and Edmond
Loman, to see my priest to do his duty according to my
will. JOANE TAKELL.
Witnesses :— John Cocks, clerk,— John Turberfieldt
constable there,— and others.
Joan TakelTs will is a characteristic docu
ment, — she appears to have been a strong-
minded, business-like person, well endowed with
goods and raiment, which she therein carefully
distributed. Yet she was evidently dubious of
the legal proclivities and possible hostile action
of her son-in-law Baldwin Mallet, — her daughter
Jone being dead, — as the 'condition' in the
bequest to her grandson Michael Mallet testifies.
We do not now allude to the remarkable number
of religious bequests contained both in her own
and husband's wills, these will be further noticed.
By her second husband John Takell — there
does not appear to have been any issue by the
first — she had one daughter only, Jone, who was
married to Baldwin Mallet, Solicitor- General to
Henry VIII. In social position, he would appear
to have been superior to Jone, but then she was
the only daughter and heiress of an assumedly
rich man. He was the second son of Thomas
Mallet of Enmore, Somerset, by his wife Joan
daughter of William Wadham of Merifield.
Joan Takell was his first wife by whom he had
one son Michael Mallet of St. Audries, who
married a daughter of Stowell, and had a son
Richard Mallet of the same place. Secondly,
Baldwin Mallet married Anne only daughter
and heir of Thomas Hatch, of Wollegh, by his
wife Alice daughter of Sir John Bassett, and
had by her John Mallet, of Wollegh, and other
issue. He died 5 Aug., 1533. His widow
married secondly, Sir Hugh Trevanion. Arms
of Mallet, — Azure, three escallops or.
We now come to the circumstance by which
the godly old merchant and his wife are chiefly
remembered. The parish church of St. Michael the Arch
angel, — the " old church " as it is now known,
— was, like a large number of the Devonshire

154

A TUDOR MERCHANT.

churches almost wholly rebuilt toward the close
of the fifteenth century. Dr. Oliver thought
it was re-edified in the early part of the same
century when Richard Courtenay, afterward
Bishop of Norwich, was patron of the benefice,
and his nominee Robert Fynor, the Rector at his
death, " left the chancel of his Church, as well
as the premises of the Parsonage, in a dilapidated
condition." The re-building may have begun
then, perhaps, as to the tower and western part
of the fabric, but the chancel, if then re-edified,
was again re-built and enlarged, together prob
ably with the transepts, during the rule of his
descendant Peter Courtenay, Bishop of Exeter,
and who was translated to Winchester, 29 Jany.
1487, — although not completed for some time
afterward. There is little doubt the Bishop
and his family largely promoted the re-building,
— they were patrons of the benefice, held pro
perty in the parish, and had a mansion house in
the town, known as "Le Place," which Dr.
Oliver queries as having been where the fine
but much later in date old building, afterward
known as the Golden Lion Hotel, and still in
good preservation, has its place, — but with more
probability it was where the Dolphin (badge of
Courtenay) Hotel, now stands, with their antient
coat of arms and supporters, carved in wood,
still preserved over the back gateway. They
doubtless erected the transepts, as their arms are
found on each of the respond capitals of the
entrance arches of the chancel aisles nearest
the transepts, and the remains of a shield of
their arms in painted glass, — the impalement
unfortunately destroyed — still exists in the south
transept window.
This was Hungerford, — for Elizabeth Hunger
ford, Bishop Peter Courtenay's mother. On
5 Jany., 1579, Mr. Joseph Holland visited the
church, and recorded these shields of arms in
stained glass he found there; — Argent, two bars
gules, Martyn imp. Beaumont (probably of
Gittisham). Gules, a cross milrine argent,
Glastonbury Abbey (?) Argent, crusilly Jitchy
and three fleurs-de-lys sable, on a canton a rose
gules, Hillary. Sable, two bars argent, in chief
three cross-croslets of the second. Sable, two
bars argent, in chief three plates, HuNGERFORn
imp. Courtenay, (impalement reversed in error)
Paly wavy of six, gules and or, Molins, —
(brought in by Hungerford). Azure, a harpy
argent. In 1588, Sir George Carew also visited
the church, and noted most of the foregoing.
(Harl: MSS. No. 2129.)
But other benefactors were needed to complete
the erection of the chancel proper, and its en
largement, and for the erection of the glorious
rood-skreen and parcloses, with doubtless accom
panying benches in the nave, equally well carved,
and stained glass in the windows, both long since
superseded and destroyed.

In this good work there should be little doubt
that John and Joan TakeJl were amongst the
most generous, attested by the fact of the invoca
tion carved on labels entwined around both the
capitals of the central pillars, supporting the
arches that divide the chancel from the side
aisles, which bids us
^rag for lie aoul nf Htofj'n SCakell
aitir Unite Ijrjs inrrffe.
and at the angles of the capitals are shields with
their monograms. The history and era of the
side aisles is also well indicated by the sculpture
on the other capitals. The north chancel aisle
is the " newe chappell of our Blessed Lady " as
mentioned in Joan's will ; here the eastern
capital has a grotesque mask, indicating its late
date, and the corresponding western one, a rose.
The south aisle, and we believe adjoining tran
sept (indicated by a piscina west of the skreen)
was the chapel, or chapels of St. George and
St. James, — here the west capital has two shields,
that on the chancel side, the sacred monogram,
on the other the cross of St. George.
The religious bequests in the wills of John
and Joan Takell, form characteristic examples,
usually found with more or less prodigality in
these mediteval documents, and faithfully reflect
the influence the English branch of the Roman
Church had on her people, and their implicit
belief in her mediatory services, as affecting the
welfare of the departed soul. They also afford
an instructive view of the ecclesiastical arrange
ments of the era.
John Takell leaves his best cup, and donations
to the Rector, aquabajulo, the high light, and
light of the Blessed Mary in the parish church ;
also others to the chapels of All- Saints, St.
Thomas, and St. Margaret, within the town.
Further bequests to the brotherhood at Brad-
ninch, — a third part of all his houses, and three
pieces of black cloth, divided among the poor, —
four pence to every housekeeper in Honiton, —
vestments to thirty adjoining parishes, — and all
the undisposed residue of his estate ; the
same to be distributed among the various re
cipients, to pray for his soul, and that of his
wife, their parents, friends, and all Christian
souls. Joan Takell's will is even more generous and
explicit. To the " lights " for the altars, and
" stores " of the chapels in the parish church, —
to the " stores " and altars of other chapels in
the town, — and at Awliscombe, where they had
lands ; — donations in money — with sundry
special gifts, — a silver crosse, — two great latyn
candell sticks, — a silken pall, — a dyaper table
cloth, — two of her best girdles harnessed with
silver and gilt, — and a brazen pott, — " delyvered

A TUDOR MERCHANT.

155

by myne own hands." One special gift claims
notice — the considerable donation toward " the
making of the Rode-loft," in St. Michael's.
This to some extent gives clue to the time of the
probable erection of this glorious skreen,— Joan
died in 1529, — on the back of the Bradninch
skreen, similarly beautiful, is the date 1528.
Then a bequest " to have my knell rong," in
eight adjoining parishes, and very comprehen
sive legacies to pray for her soul and those of
her husbands, their parents, and friends. Like
her husband, four pence to every housekeeper
in Honiton, — the large bequest to her grandson
Michael Mallet if his father should " vex or
impede " her executors, — a special arrangement
with Abbot Thomas Chard of Ford, (a native of
Awliscombe) for a "honest priest secular" to
sing for her soul for twenty years, for which she
had delivered to him £120, in " ryalls of gold,"
— six pounds by the year, — the rent of " four
kine " to be paid " for evermore " to the war
dens of St. Michael to keep an anniversary, —
the profits of the residue of the terms of her
lands in Honiton, to keep a dirge and a mass ;
and finally the residue of her goods unbe-
queathed, also to be disposed of for the health of
her soul.
What shall be said of these things, and the
belief in human intercession after the spirit,
freed from the bonds of clay, is in the presence
of its Maker ? The answer is simple, — so were
they taught to believe, and they did their best
according to the light that was within them.
To us, their works do follow them, and are the
cause of our recalling their memories from the
domain of the Past.
Mistress Joan Takell, who survived her hus
band twenty-two years, suggests an interesting
personality. Shrewd, well-off, devout, — she was
probably not the least influential inhabitant in
her day, of the town of Honiton. Imagination
easily pictures her, it may be of imposing

presence, — clad in her best hood and kirtle,
gown of murrey, (blood-red), green girdle har
nessed with silver-gilt buckle and filigree (she
had five such of divers colours) to which was
attached her beads (rosary) of coral and silver-
gilt dependant, — kneeling at her devotions in
the " newe chappell of our Blessed Lady " that
her husband's and her own offerings had helped
to raise, where he was laid to rest, and herself
at the appointed time, when the busy days of
this life were over, was to find repose beside him.
Three hundred and fifty years have passed,
and their names linked together, still remain
and implore the prayer of the passing wayfarer.
Who is there of to-day looking thereon that
does not silently respond to the invocation ?
And yet what otherwise do we find ? Where
she once knelt when in the flesh, immediately
before the altar of the " newe chappell," toas
her gravestone, which doubtless covered the
dust of both man and wife. What has become
of it ? Ruthless hands have of late ousted this
memorial of the fabric's benefactor, and relegated
it to a position in front of an adjacent doorway,
where the constantly passing foot is rapidly
obliterating the inscription.
To all such thoughtless, and it may be added
ungrateful "restorers," we commend a perusal
of the words of John Ruskin: —
" The dead have still their right in them.
That which they laboured for, the praise of
achievement, or the expression of religious
feeling, or whatsoever else it might be, which
they intended to be permanent, we have no
right to obliterate. What we have ourselves
built we are at liberty to throw down, but what
other men gave their strength and wealth and
life to accomplish, their right over does not pass
away with their death, still less is the right to
the use of what they have left, vested in us only.
It belongs to all their successors."

PURITANISM AND OLD NONCONFORMITY
IN EAST DEVON.

"For why is my liberty judged by another conscience?" — St. Paul.

THE rise of Puritanism in England, its
important and permanent influence on the
national mind after its more active administra
tion had subsided, is one of the most interesting
studies of the historian.
The reason is not far to seek. Primarily, it
was only a special manifestation of the instinct
for liberty found in the breast of every living
creature. Pre-eminently among them in man,
as their highest representative, equally dear to
him from the time
" When wild in woods the noble savage ran,"
through all ages and conditions of existence to
the present, and cherished among his most
' civilized ' descendants, as the vital clause in
his charter of existence, therefore its attempted
curtailment, from whatever cause, an evil ever
to be resented, opposed, and defeated at all
hazard and cost.
A somewhat protracted infringement of this
important factor in man's well-being, — from one
cause succeeding another in this land of ours, —
gave birth to what was termed Puritanism, — a
suggestive word, conveying its own meaning —
and its vigorous growth terminated at last in an
open revolt against the restraint. The thral
dom of the priest was succeeded by the tyranny
of the king. Not only was personal liberty
restricted, but what was of far greater im
portance, spiritual freedom was coerced, and
this at a period when a great religious enquiry
was abroad, with much searching of heart. The
printing press had made itself felt, an open
Bible in the vulgar tongue was in every one's
hands who could read. Men, no longer limited
to a knowledge of it doled out to them with the
gloss of a priesthood, were busily investigating
its pages for themselves, to ascertain what
warrant they gave to earthly priest or king to
rule their consciences, or their lives. The
answer they found was, there was none. There
was only one Priest and one King combined, to
whom they owed allegiance in their hearts and
conduct. But He was not of this world.
This was the secret they discovered, and its

effect was irresistible. The latent fire of this
conviction had been smouldering in a myriad
hearts. It waited only a touch to burst into
open flame. At last the signal came from the
hand of liberty, and with it came, also, the
unquestioned belief that the Greatest of all
Hands was directing and aiding them. Unless
actuated by a similar faith all opposition was
destined to be overthrown.
The wave gathered strength as it advanced ;
and in due time, as in all great movements, the
strong thinker, the born leader came to the
front. Arrived there, he was confronted by a
crowned ruler, flanked by the formidable phalanx
that always surrounds a throne, and by all the
powerful prestige of an antient land, sapped it
may be just at that juncture by the over
confident straining of a foolish figment, a
distorted view of the principle of the movement
opposed to it ; but still powerful to combat and
subdue. The conflict had begun in earnest, and there
was nothing for it but war for victory, or to the
death, on one side or the other. Had ' divine
right ' put its foot on the neck of those who
sought to be liberated from it, a revengeful
page of English history would have been the
result, without doubt, equal to if not exceeding in
savageness any inscribed on it. This was well
reckoned on, it was the stern, relentless character
of the times. The protestors had staked their
lives for liberty of conscience and freedom of
government, this they well knew ; and they
well knew also the consequence if they failed.
What, therefore, was to be expected if the
crowned ruler fell into his opponents' hands ?
Exactly what happened, if the liberty for which
his antagonists jeopardized their lives was to
be consolidated and remain undisturbed. The
king was adjudged the traitor, and sent to the
block. It was a new thing in English history,
for an outraged and determined people to take
the power into their hands thus, and a shout
of indignation, as a matter of course, was raised
by his partisans ; and its echo systematically

JOHN PERYAM. — A.D. 1616.
From the Painting in the Guildhall, Exeter,

PURITANISM IN EAST DEVON.

157

kept alive among certain historians of differing
degree, to the present day, who affect to speak of
the Commonwealth then instituted as the "great
rebellion " — its famous Protector and his collea
gues as "regicides," — and sneer at the illustrious
Hampden as the " so-called patriot."
Reverse the picture. Was it to be admitted
that kings only, reigning by "right" of here
ditary descent, or sovereignty acquired by
conquest, were privileged at their will to brand
as traitors, and hold the axe over the necks of
their fellow men, when subjected to a rule they
dared to protest against, and to be equally
privileged from all reprisal in return ? Look at
the long array of names from the highest to the
lowest in the preceding reigns, and in those
that immediately followed, their owners sent
remorselessly to the scaffold, often on mere
pretence of hostility to the rule of the " reigning
sovereign." How many years had elapsed since that
same king's grandmother, the Queen of two
Kingdoms, perished by similar means, when a
caged prisoner in the custody of a grand-daughter
of the Tudor usurper, who hacked off the
luckless Countess of Salisbury's head, each
alike for the same construed offence ? But the
Scot's queen's death-warrant was signed by the
then hereditary sovereign of England, and not
by the delegated authority of the majority of
the English people, which presumably made all
the difference as to the justness of the fate
awarded the two monarchs. But no cry of
indignation was raised, nor serious effort made
to avert the barbarous punishment, and rescue
this hapless and friendless woman from the
clutches of her adversary, but instead, a bevy of
Court minions, with the attendant executioner,
went down in " solemn state " to Fotheringay,
to see the ghastly sentence duly executed. And
while the " Royal Martyr " has been canonized,
and continuously belauded by official chroniclers,
until these later days no national historian
has had the chivalry to attempt to retrieve the
memory of this poor Queen from the distorted
story, that doubtless was purposely magnified to
becloud and vilify her life and actions, and give
colour of traitorism to the unfortunate circum
stances that led to her cruel death.
The same may be said also of the Ruler
of the Commonwealth, it has been left to
the emancipated experience of the nineteenth
century to make a true estimate of his great
character, and vindicate, if necessary, the
strength of his government ; of which, not
withstanding whatever may be said as to its
apparently uncongenial severity, — it nevertheless
laid the foundation of self-government by the
English people, and gave back-bone to the
national character, — dispersed the despotic pre
tensions of the callous, merciless Tudors, — as

also the kindred feeble assumptions of the
Stuarts ; who, mistaking the inevitable reaction
that followed their re-entrance to power, sought
once more to renew the infallibility and irre
sponsibility of kingship. But the spirit of
resistance to this delusion, sown by the Common
wealth a half-century previously, was only
dormant, and reviving in essence, if not in
similar action, speedily culminated in their
flight, and final expulsion from the throne.
Bnt for some years previous to the tragedy of
King Charles' death, and before the struggle for
freedom of government in life and conscience
had developed into open warfare, and men's
purpose was ripened for the conflict, a large
number of persons, who felt themselves so
oppressed, socially and spiritually, but, perhaps,
were not desirous of taking part in the coming
struggle, — sacrificing all that made their home
land dear, and heedless of the countless
privations that awaited them,— sought liberty in
that recently discovered country of boundless
extent across the sea, there to found a New
England, and live undisturbed in peace and
freedom. Thus it was that Puritanism led the way, and
gave the first great impetus to English coloniza
tion, and its legacy of energy and determination
has been the main factor of the success that
then, and has since, founded republics out
stripping empires for size, and peopled continents,
where no king has found place for the sole of
his foot, nor priest a "nursing mother;" but
instead, the liberty-loving principle of equal
citizenship has been the foundation of their
governments, the pride and safeguard of their
peoples. And it had another important and beneficent
mission entwined with its progress, all-worthy
of the peaceful spirit of its pioneers. It was
Puritanism, practically, which purged and des
troyed the buccaneering spirit that had preceded
it, an enterprise of pillage and rapine, eventually
extinguishing the armed throng of soldiers and
sailors of fortune, with their blood-stained
romance, and instituted the gracious and nobler
energies of industry and commerce instead. The
empty glamour of the circumnavigation effected
by the much-belauded Drake, with the auxilio
divino of his imperious mistress, — the voyages
of Raleigh in search of the el Dorado, and the
cruel Nemesis that ended his golden dream, —
the fillibustering Sir Bernard Drake of Ashe,
and his miserable retributive death, together
with a host of similar exploits by west-country
sea-rovers and adventurers, who left no permanent
influence for good in their wake, beyond the
sinister reputation of the courage of the free
booter. Not so what has followed the despised and
persecuted exodus of the Puritans, the influence

158

PURITANISM IN EAST DEVON.

they have left has its witness to-day in a continent
of nations. Englishmen little think what they
owe to Puritanism in this particular, when they
boast of their descendants in that Greater
Britain who are apparently destined to be the
dominant race among the peoples of the world,
and form a nation on which the sun never
sets. Of these pioneers, — the founders of the Great
Commonwealth on the opposite coast of the
Atlantic, — no small contingent went out from
our south-east Devon shores, and its immediate
neighbourhood, and who played a most im
portant part in its original establishment,
transplanting the very names of tbe towns they
had left on the new soil; and now scarcely a
week passes but some of the descendants of
these exiles, holding high and honourable stations
in the government of their adopted land, are
returning and busily searching back the genera
tions for their forefathers, linking and identifying
themselves in descent with the first emigrants
from the old home, and carrying back any relics
however humble in confirmation. Not the least
delightful trait in the legacy of fact and tradition
that continues to embalm and consecrate the
memory of Puritanism.
No such change as was established by Naseby
and tbe advent of the Commonwealth, had
occurred in England since the battle of Bos
worth and its sequel the Reformation, both of
which events were its preparation. Bosworth
brought social peace, albeit under cruel and
mercenary rule, but still peace. Freed from
internecine dissension, the middle classes, — the
" common people," — gradually recovered strength
and prosperity by the prosecution of trade,
commerce, and the peaceful arts. Thus they
grew in power socially. Then came the great
religious upheaval, that destroyed the ecclesi
astical bondage they had been subject to, and
gave them in large measure a spiritual freedom ;
at any rate it opened the hitherto closed Bible to
their eyes, and the result was left to higher
than man's direction. With this also arose the
growing influence of the printing-press, by
which not only intellectual culture was fostered,
but men were able to interchange their thoughts
and opinions with other men. Gradually, but
surely, these great changes were increasing,
and conferring an influence on the " grosser
sort," that probably neither themselves nor their
rulers suspected. The Tudors, and their suc
cessors the Stuarts, unmindful or contemptuous
of this menacing growth, still relied on the
divinely conferred irresponsibility and arbitrary
power of kingship. With the more vigorous
Tudors this assumption held together by wakeful
severity, lasted to the end of their dynasty ; but
when this claim became filtered down through
the feebler pretensions of the Stuarts, — the time

for its challenge by the people had arrived, —
and after much patient and determined turmoil,
through a blood-stained path, the extravagant
and arbitrary pretensions of kingship that claimed
the disposal of the bodies, minds, and pockets
of their subjects, were dissipated by the most sum
mary example, shewing that in its people alone the
real power of a nation is vested. And although
the Commonwealth only existed for a time, as
men were not then fully prepared for its con
tinuance under ameliorated conditions, and a
powerful and selfish section of the community
were industriously plotting its overthrow, — still,
in the few years it lasted, it gave the people a
practical experience of liberty conferred by self-
government, and laid in their return to the
rule of kingship, the foundation of that "limited
monarchy," which time has nurtured and ex
panded to almost a Commonwealth, in fact if
not in name.
In the new world the influence of Puritanism
remained with quite as marked result as in the
old country where it originated. By singular
parallelism of cause, the introduction of an
undesirable monetary impost brought Washing
ton to the front, — the only name appropriate to
be bracketed with Cromwell, and the decision of
his fellow-countrymen for independence and
consequent release from tbe mother country.
Boston inherited from the same source the
foundation of its intellectual activity, which
gave to the world the common sense, intelligence,
and energy of Franklin, — illumines and sanctifies
the delightful home-lyrics of Longfellow, of
whom the heart never tires, — and inspires the
almost unapproached purity of the disquisitions
of Channing, with their soul-elevating senti
ments, and matchless diction. So also it nerved
the strong hand of the North to prevent the
disruption of the nation's unity, and finally
struck the shackles off the limbs of the slave.
But we must close our wings from this
inviting stretch into the almost boundless regions
of the effect of Puritanism on the English race,
at home and abroad, and take flight backward
to a period not long after its origin, and to the
comparatively out-of-the-world precincts of the
extreme corner of south-east Devon, and educe
from such sources as are available, a picture of
its effect on the social aspect of things then and
there existing.
Toward the close of the sixteenth, and during
the first half of the seventeenth centuries, there
resided in close neighbourhood to each other
three families of considerable local importance,
— the Yonges of Great House, Colyton ; the
Poles of Shute, and Colcombe in Colyton ; and
the Erles of Bindon in Axmouth.
Of these Erie and Yonge were, assumedly, of
Puritan leanings, Pole identified with the Royal
cause ; and a very singular web of relationship

uKi-j« o

'^ £
C B,

C

• \\\\\ \\\\\\\HK\\^.^WX-\^-

PURITANISM IN EAST DEVON.

159

— not uncommon among such near neighbours —
existed between them.
The representative of the Poles at that era
was Sir William Pole, the well-known antiquary,
and he probably resided occasionally at Shute,
the antient inheritance of the Bonvilles, pur
chased by his father of Secretary Petre, by
whom it was acquired from Queen Elizabeth
on the attainder of the Duke of Suffolk, — and at
Colcombe in Colyton, one of the oldest seats of
the Courtenays, bought by him of the four
co-heiresses of the last unfortunate Earl, of the
first descent, to whom it belonged.
The Erles became the possessors of Bindon
by the marriage of Walter Erie, with Mary the
daughter and co-heir of Roger Weeke of Bindon.
The wedding took place at Colyton, in 1549,
he being described "as of Colcombe, gentleman,"
the reason was he had purchased the Chantry
lands of the free Chapel there, at the dissolution,
and probably resided at the mansion for a time,
as three of his children were born there, and
baptised at Colyton. This would be before he
succeeded to the Bindon property, and also the
purchase of Colcombe by Sir W. Pole.
But there is little doubt that this association
of ownership at Colcombe led to what followed.
The antiquary had an only sister called Dorothy,
and in 1581, Thomas Erie, the son of Walter
and Mary Weeke, married her at Shute. With
other children, they had a, son, Walter, after
ward the redoubtable Parliamentary commander.
The Yonges were an opulent family who
settled in Colyton toward the close of the
sixteenth century, and the head of the house at
this time was Walter Yonge, fourth in descent
from the first of that name resident in Devon
shire. He was a man of good social position,
and kept the Diary, from 1604 to 1628, published
by the Camden Society.
An interesting link of relationship now comes in
between the families of Pole and Yonge, effected
by the alliance of these gentlemen with daughters
of the influential civic race of Peryam of Exeter.
The first of these was William Peryam, Mayor
1532 ; he married a daughter of John Blackaller,
also Mayor of Exeter in 1530. His son John
was Mayor in 1563, and again in 1571, in which
year on 5 Sep. he died. He married Elizabeth
daughter and co-heir of Robert Hone of Ottery
St. Mary; by whom he had two sons, William
and John, and four daughters, Margery, Grace,
Mary and Thomasine.
An interesting fact may be mentioned here.
Joan, a younger daughter of Robert Hone, sister
to Mrs. Elizabeth Peryam, married John Bodley
of Exeter, father of the celebrated Sir Thomas
Bodley, the founder of the Bodleian Library
in Oxford. The allusive arms of Hone were,
Argent, two bars toavy, between three billets
(hone-stones), azure.

William Peryam, the eldest son adopting the law
as his profession, became successively Sergeant-
at-Law, Justice of the Common Pleas, and Lord
Chief Baron of the Exchequer in 1592, with the
honour of Knighthood. He married three wives.
1. Margery daughter and heiress of John Holcot,
Esq., of Berks, and widow of Ralph Hutchinson
of Yorkshire, Esq., at Islington, London, 6 Ap.,
1562. 2. Anne "daughter of John Parker of
North-Molton, Esq. 3. Elizabeth youngest
daughter of Sir Nicholas Bacon, Knt., Lord
Keeper of the Great Seal. He had issue by
the second wife only, four daughters, Mary,
Elizabeth, Jane, and Anne. He died 9 October,
1604, and was buried on the north side of
the altar of Crediton church, where there is
his handsome monument of alabaster, with
effigy of himself in bis judicial robes, and
collar of S.S., and in the centre compartment
below the efligy are the figures of his second
wife and four daughters, and in the side com
partments those of his first and third wives, in
black dresses, all kneeling. In modern spelling
the inscription records : —
Here lieth the body of Sir William Peryam, Knight, who
in A.D. 1579, was made one of the Justices of tlie Court of
Common Pleas, and from thence in A.D. 1592, was called to
be Lord Chief Baron of the Excliequer.
He man-ied, first, Margery daughter and heir of John
Holcott of Berks, Esqr., ividow of Roger Hutchinson of
Yorkshire, Esq. ; secondly, Anne daughter of John Parker
of Devon, Esq. ; lastly, Elizabeth, daughter of Sir Nicholas
Bacon, Knight, Lord Keeper of the Great Seal. He liad
only issue by his second wife, four daughters and lieirs, —
namely, — Mary the eldest man-ied to Sir William Pole, of
Devon, Knight; — Elizabeth, the second, man-ied to Sin-
Robert Bassett, of Devon, Knight; — Jane, the third, first
man-ied to Thomas Poyntz, Esqr., son and lieir of Sir
Gabriel Poyntz, of Essex, Knight; — afterward to Thomas
Docwra of Hertfwd, Esqr; — Anne, the youngest, married
to William Williams, Esqr., son and heir to Sir John
Williams- of Dorset, Knight ; — all which his daughters and
heirs, have issue now living, by their several husbands.
He died 9 October, A.D. 1605, in the 70th year of his age,
much andworthily reverenced for hisreligious zeal, integrity,
and profound knowledge in the laws of this realm.
Dormit non est mortuus.
Elizabeth Bacon, Sir William's third ' venter,'
appears to have been also her third marriage,
she having previously been the wife first of
Sir Richard Doyley, or D'Oyley, and secondly of
Sir Henry Nevill. Lysons, in his History of
Buckinghamshire, says —
" In this parish (Hambledon, Bucks) is Parmoor, the
seat of John Doyley, Esq., a descendant of the Doyleys
of Greenland House. Lady Periam, relict of Sir Robert
Doyley, and afterwards wife of Sir William Periam,
who died in 1621, bequeathed an estate in this parish to
Archbishop Laud, to be disposed of at his discretion for
the benefit of some scholars in Oxford ; the Archbishop
founded with it a fellowship, and two scholarships in
Balliol College."
By this legacy to the Archbishop it would
seem that Sir William's last spouse must have
been, at least at the time of her decease, of a

160

PURITANISM IN EAST DEVON.

different school of religious thought from our
" Lord Puritan Periam." She appears to have
survived him seventeen years. Lady Peryam' s
will was nuncupative, made soon after 12 Nov.,
1618, and sentence for the will, which had been
disputed, was not given until 21 Jan., 1625-6.
Mary, his eldest daughter on 30 July, 1583,
was at Shobrooke church married to William
Pole, Esq., of Shute, since so well known as
Sir William Pole, Knt., the Antiquary. She
was only fifteen years and three months old
when married, brought her husband in all six
sons (three at one birth) and five daughters, and
" perished by an unfortunate fall " in her thirty-
ninth year, 2 May, 1605, and is buried at
Colyton, according to the inscription on her
monument there, and where also her husband
was afterward interred.
Her monument in Colyton church is a tall
one, and in a recess are the figures of Mrs. Pole,
in black gown and white head-dress, kneeling
between her nine children, in the same attitude.
Extended in modern phraseology the inscription
reads : —
Here lieth the body of Mary, late the wife of Sir William
Pole, of Shute, Knight, being the eldest daughter and one of
the four licirs of Sir William Periham of Fulford, Knight ;
Lord Chief Baron of the King's Majesties Exchequer. She
left behind her four sons and five daughters, unto her said
husband ; viz. — John, Periham, William, Francis, sons ;
Mary, Katherine, Elizabeth, Anne, and Elioner, daughters.
She brought unto him also two other sons, viz., — William,
her first child, and Arthur, being one of the three sons she
brought at one birth, and perished by an unfortunate fall.
She died the 2 of May, in the year of our Lord 1605, being
then of the age of thirty-eight and one month, and married
unto her husband, twenty-two years, ten months.
John Peryam, brother of Sir William, was
Mayor of Exeter 1587, and again in 1598. He
also married three wives. 1. Elizabeth, daughter
of Roger Prideaux of Soldon. 2. Margaret,
daughter of Peck of Buckerell, and widow of
Woodroffe of Lyme. 3. The widow of Hayes
of Lyme. A John Hayes was Mayor of Lyme
in 1592, and the Yonges appear to have had
considerable commercial relations with the
borough, and were owners of vessels hailing
from the little port. By his first wife he had
three daughters, Mary, Elizabeth, and Jane ; by
his second one daughter, Margaret. There is a
good portrait of him in the Council Chamber of
the Guildhall, Exeter, where it occupies the
place of honour, being hung over the mantel
piece. He wears a black hat with broad brim,
small ruff, a Mayor's red gown, guarded with
brown fur, black coat under, small ruffles
round . the wrists, ring on the forefinger of
the left hand, which rests against his robe. The
countenance wears a, severe expression, con
sonant with his presumed religious views. In
the right-hand corner are the arms of Peryam,
Gules, a chevron engrailed between three leopards'
faces ay' 'route or. Over is a helmet with mantling

and crest, a leopard's head affronts or. The
crest here is different from those found on the
monuments at Crediton and Colyton, which
display Two arms embowed, vested gules, hands
proper, holding a leopard's head affronte or.
The inscription on the frame of the picture
records, John Periam a.d. 1616.
Another portrait of him exists in the hall of
Exeter College, Oxford.
With the exception that he wears a skull-cap
instead of a hat, in costume, attitude, and
likeness of features, it is almost an exact
replica of the picture in the Guildhall at
Exeter. He added eight sets of rooms to Exeter
College in 1618. There are no monuments to
the Peryams other than the Lord Chief Baron,
nor are we aware where any of them are buried.
Jane, his youngest daughter by his first wife,
was married to Walter Yonge, Esq., of the Great
House, Colyton.
Thus Mrs. Mary Pole of Shute and Mrs. Jane
Yonge of Colyton were first cousins, and Mrs.
Dorothy Erie of Axmouth, was the antiquary's
sister, and mother of the afterward redoubtable
Parliamentarian Sir Walter. A curious inter
weaving of relationship among near neighbours,
and calculated to exert its influence in those
times of sharp division of opinion.
From collateral circumstances it may be also
assumed that the Peryams were of Puritan
views, but not ' separatists ' from the Established
Church, as were also the Yonges and the Erles.
Thus we read in his son-in-law's Diary : —
" 22 Ap., 1606. About this time there came into
England eight Jesuits or seminaries from Prance,
whereof three were taken in the Lord Montague his
house in Southwark, as it was reported by letter from
London to Mr. Peryam, 25 April."
And apparently of the same turn of mind
within sober limits, was his brother the Lord
Chief Baron. The inscription on his monument
speaks of his "religious zeal," — and in a char
acteristic letter dated Aug. 1596, from Sir Walter
Raleigh to Lord Cobham, Lord Warden of the
Cinque Ports, he is especially so designated, by
that unfortunate man ; —
" My L. Vicomt (Bindon) hath so exalted more sutes
agaynst mee in my absence as neather Mr. Sergent
Henlie nor any else could be heard for me to stay trialls
while I was out of the land in her Majesties service, a
right and curtesy afforded to every Beggers. I never
busied my sealf w'th the Vicont neather of his extortions
or poysonings of his wife as it is here avowed (I) have
spoken. I have forborne herein in respect of my L.
Thomas and cheifly because Mr. Secritary who in his
love to my L. Thomas hath wisht mee to it, butt I will
not endure wrong at so pevishe a fooles hands any
longer, and will rather loose my life. I think yt the
L: Puritan Periam douth thinck yt the Quean shall
have more use of roggs and villayns then of me, or else
she would not at Byndons instance have yeilded to any
actions agaynst mee being out of ye lande."

PURITANISM IN EAST DEVON.

161

Both noted Devonshire men, but presumably
of very different turn of mind. *
Although John Peryam had been Mayor of
Exeter in 1587 and 1598, he stood so high in
the estimation of his fellow citizens, that among
the Corporation muniments there is a letter
from him dated 20 Sep., 1613, — " praying that
he ¦ may not be elected Mayor at the ensuing
election on account of his great age, and many
infirmities ; he is willing to pay a reasonable
fine, but the office he will by no means take
upon him." And another letter dated 17 Aug.,
1616, — "prayinge that his name be not thruste
into the election for the Maioralite," on account
of his infirmities.
There is also a deed preserved conveying a
munificent gift from him to the Mayor and
Civic authorities, for special charitable purposes,
dated 20 Oct., 1616, setting forth,—
That the said John Peryam, Merchant and Alderman
of Exeter, in thankfulness to Almighty God for the
great and unspeakable benefits both Spiritual and
Temporal which heartily he acknowledged to have
received at his Hands, and in some measure to further
the public weal and good government of the said Gity,
in which he had been born, bred, and lived, on 30 Nov.
next would cause a thousand pounds, and also one
Bason and Ewer of Silver, weighing Three score and
Thirteen Ounces, the same to be kept with the plate
belonging to the Chamber; and of the money, one
hundred pounds to go toward the Chambers' expenses,
" without any reckoning to be demanded," and one
hundred pounds heretofore given by his father, to be
added to the nine hundred remaining, which every
lihird year on St. Andrew's day, was to be disbursed by
loan to Five Merchants Adventurers, trafficking beyond
the Seas, &c, ample security to be given for its
repayment, interest to be paid on the loans to the
Warden of Maudlin to be disbursed by him for the
relief of sick and poor people, or who may have been
disabled by accident, or painful disease, in three of the
city parishes. The whole management of the fund being
set out in a comprehensive schedule of rules and
observances. And he humbly intreats the Mayor to
cause the same to be observed, " whereunto I heartily
pray our Almighty God (of his great mercy and grace)
to enable them. To which God Almighty, Father, Son,
and Holy Ghost, Three persons in Trinity, but one God
in Unity, be rendered and given all Praise, Thanks, and
Glory, now and for evermore. Amen."
The devout character of the document goes
largely to confirm the Puritan turn of mind we
have conjectured to belong to this estimable
man. The gift was made the same year as the
painting of his portrait, 1616, — he being then
seventy-five years of age.
Mrs. Mary Pole having been so suddenly
removed from her large family of children,
several of whom must have been still young,
there is little doubt their aunt Dorothy Erie,
and their mother's cousin Jane Yonge, who had
been married and residing at Colyton some few
years before Mrs. Pole's untimely death, would
* See an interesting monograph of Lord Chief Baron
Peryam, by Mr. Winslow Jones in Notes and Gleanings
for Devon, vol. iii., page 113, for much further concerning
him.

naturally take a kindly interest in the motherless
children, until and probably long after their
father had married the widow Howe as his
second wife. They would thus, more or less, be
brought directly under Puritan influence and
teaching, as also the companionship of their
pronounced cousin at Axmouth ; and we think
this may be fairly assumed as the reason why
two of the children, — a brother and sister, —
William and Elizabeth Pole, —of the staunch
Royalist family of Colcombe, eventually left the
home circle and emigrated to America.
The date of their departure is not known, but
it was before their father's death in 1635. They
were of mature age, and it was probably about
the same time, if not in the company of William
Hook, the Puritan vicar of Axmouth, with
sundry others from the sea-coast between the
Axe and the Exe, who emigrated to the new
world. Hook had been presented to Axmouth
by Sir Walter Erie, the Poles' cousin, in 1632,—
but he gave up the living a very few years after,
and would doubtless have considerable influence
over their decision, to accompany him, when he
left England.
Walter Yonge, although a, Puritan, was not
what was termed ' a separatist ' — and, says
Roberts, the editor of his Diary : —
" He was not one who rejected church government,
and emigrated to the Low Countries, or America. He
remained within the pale of the Church of England;
as a mariner may stand by his ship, exhaust his
energies to save her, shape her course upon the most
approved chart, and outwardly appear full of hope,
though inwardly despairing of effecting any esoape from
destruction; so he staid J^W the church, though he
concluded that the king, thfi^supreme head, — bishops,
doctors, nearly the whole were settling down to sheer
Popery. His earnest vow, shared by his party was the
putting the penal laws in force against Jesuits, seminary
priests, and recusants of the Romanist persuasion.
He never fails to note remarkable instances of the
expression by lecturers in their discourses, or in pub
lished treatises, of doctrines that the Puritans viewed
as ' points of Popery.' "
He died in 1649, — and his wife Jane Peryam,
who survived him six years, was equally rigid in
her religious views. John, their eldest son, was
knighted by Charles I., 15 Sep., 1625, " when
lying at Sir Richard Reynell's at Ford " in
Wolborough, and by Charles II., created a
Baronet in 1661. He seems to have favoured
the other side, " was one of the hundred
members secluded by Cromwell, who denied
them entrance to the House of Commons, on
which they had the courage to publish a
remonstrance asserting the legality of their
right to sit in Parliament," — but nevertheless he
appears to have had strong religious views
and scruples of observance, as his request, and
acceptance of a licence to eat flesh during Lent,
from John Wilkins the Puritan vicar and friend
of his mother, sufficiently attest.

162

PURITANISM IN EAST DEVON.

Walter Erie of Bindon, nephew of the Anti
quary, was probably in religious matters of much
the same way of thinking as his namesake and
distant relative Walter Yonge, and originally
not altogether disaffected toward the reigning
sovereign, as he was knighted by James I. in
1616. But in 162.3, when "subsidies" and
"benevolences" followed each other in rapid
succession, the Diarist records, —
" The country for the most part did refuse to con
tribute toward setting forth these ships ; as being
unable by reason of many taxes and burthens upon
them."and further, —
" Many are daily imprisoned for refusing to lend the
king, so that the prisons in London are full ; and it's
thought they shall be sent and imprisoned in divers
gaols in the country remote from their own dwellings."
Then sundry notes of commitments of persons
for this refusal, and among them this entry : —
" Ter. Mich. Anno. 3 Caroli, 1627. Sir Walter Erie and
divers others imprisoned for refusing the loan, brought
their habeas corpus into the King's Bench, and upon
solemn argument and debating the cause of their
imprisonment, it was found for the King against them ;
and they remitted to prison.
" Sir Walter Erie, and the rest which were imprisoned
for not lending, were of the king's grace delivered in
January, 1627-8, having been imprisoned about a year
for refusing to lend."
Sir Walter Erie did not forget this indignity,
and fourteen years afterward, in company with
Sir Thomas Trenchard in 1642, took possession
of Lyme, which he represented in Parliament,
and fortified it against the King. The remarkable
siege this little borough successfully sustained,
had marked effect on the issue of the conflict,
then raging in the west of England. His
warlike exploits here, and afterward at Corfe
Castle, not far from his other house at Char-
borough, with his cognomen of " old Sir Watt,"
constituted him one of the most determined of
the military commanders in the service of the
Parliament in these parts. His (first?) wife
Anne Dymmock, of Erdington, Warwick, died
in 1653, — his only son Thomas in 1650, and both
are buried at Axmouth. Roberts adds, " he is
said to have married a daughter of Sir William
Waller, the Parliamentarian general, as well as
the heiress of Dymock." He died at Charborough
and was buried at East-Morden in 1665.
Colyton appears to have been a sort of battle
ground between the Parliamentary forces at
Lyme, and the temporary ' garrison ' of the
Royalists at Colcombe. Stedcombe, in Axmouth,
at that time belonged to the Yonges, and was
also ' garrisoned ' as an outpost of Lyme. In
1644 Prince Maurice, being in force at Colcombe,
made an attack on Stedcombe, and after a strong
fight captured all the ' garrison,' men, arms and
ammunition, and burnt the house down. Soon
after another Royalist force under Lord Henry

Percy ' alarmed ' Lyme, and retired back to
Colyton. The besieged lost no time in repaying
the visit, and probably when their adversaries
least expected it. That same night a strong
force set out from Lyme under the command of
Captains Erie, Pyne, and Bragge, and did some
thing more than ' alarm ' the Royalist camp
at Colcombe, — whom they ' surprised,' and so
effectually that all the men, arms, ammunition,
and ' good pillage ' fell into their hands, the
Royalist regiment was dispersed, and Colcombe
house shared the same fiery fate as Stedcombe.*
So much for the amenities of civil war inter
changed by these cousins in blood, Sir Walter
Erie of Bindon, and Sir John Pole of Colcombe.
Skirmishes and ' routs ' often took place in the
town, and the soldiers on both sides appear to
have impartially pillaged the inhabitants, as
opportunity offered, afterward. Walter Yonge
of the Great House, Colyton, was still alive,
but he does not seem to have openly identified
himself with either of the contending sides.
Thus far the military aspect of Puritanism
in this corner of the county, our next care must
be a glance at its more characteristic religious-
aspect. On 31 Aug., 1636, Prebendary Collins was
admitted vicar of Colyton, a " persecuted clergy
man," according to Dr. Oliver. We are further
told,— "About the year 1640, the celebrated Dr. Man ton,
afterwards one of the chaplains to Oliver Cromwell,
entered upon his ministerial labours in this parish." +
No provincial record of this exists that we are
aware of. And then Dr. Oliver characteristically
informs us, —
" One John Wilkins was intruded on the parishioners
19 Sep., 1647, — excluded at the Restoration, or else on
24 Aug., 1662."
Wilkins signs the Register for the first time in
1647, and his last signature is in 1653, but this
attestation occurs irregularly. In 1648 is this
entry in the Register : — " There weare none
married in this yeare in regard that we had no
minister." Wilkins was there then, but he
attests the Baptisms only. On 28 Sep., 1653,
Wilkins notes : — " Ye day before Michalmas,
wherein the Act for marrying before Justices of
the Peace, came in force." In 1656, Elizabeth,
the daughter of Sir John Yonge, was thus
married to Thos. Hodges, Esq., by John Drake,
Esq., of Ashe, uncle of the bride. J In 1660, he
gives Sir John Yonge the well-known license to
eat flesh during Lent. § He appears to have
remained as vicar until 1662, and there is great
* See page 70.
t Life of Manton,—V. D. Mag., Vol. III., Page 241.
J Refer to pages 71, 72.
§ See Memorials of the West, page 85.

PURITANISM IN EAST DEVON.

163

probability that he was at Colyton for some
time before 1647, although not officially ap
pointed until that year.
Mrs. Jane Yonge, widow of the Diarist, and
daughter of John Peryam, died during Wilkins*
ministry. The following is an abstract of her
will:—f ,*'In the name of God, Amen;— I, Jane Yonge of
Colyton, in the County of Devon, widow, being through
the mercy of God, sound of mind and memory, and of
competent health of body, do this 15th day of November,
in the year of Our Lord God, by the computation of the
Church of England 1654, revoke all former will and
wills by me made, and do make this my last will and tes
tament following:— Imprimis, I commit my soul to God
that gave it, in sure hope of resurrection to everlasting
life, through Jesus Christ my Bedeemer; — Item, I
commit my body to the earth wherever I am, in
Christian burial in the vault where my dear husband
lyeth buried in Colyton Church, and I do forbid my
executors hereinafter named, to wear any mourning
apparel for my decease, or to give any to any of my
kindred or friends, or to keep any solemn feasting,
except a dinner only for my nearest kindred.
Item, I give unto Mr. John Wilkins, the now vicar of
Colyton, if he continue vicar there during my life, the
sum of three pounds."
By this it will be seen Mrs. Yonge fully
recognised Wilkins as vicar of the parish, and
was on terms of friendship with him. It is
interesting to read the rigid instructions in this.
lady's will, contrasted with those found in Mrs.
Joan Takell's, of a century previously.
Wilkins made his will 5 Oct., 1667, — therein
he says, —
"I commit my soul into the hands of God my Creator,
through the mediation of Jesus Christ my Redeemer,
and my body to a decent yet private burial without any.
funeral pomp or ostentation." He gives subject to the
life of his wife Mary, and remainders ; to his daughter
Elizabeth, a close of land called Seawards Long-down
in Shute,— to his daughter Mary, the close of land
called Petherton near Nunford in Colyton; — to his
daughter Ann, the meadow called Nunford, Tuckers,
and Burgages-mead, Colyton ; — to his daughter Patience,
two closes of land near Nunford, called. Lady-Downes,
in Colyton,— to his son Edward, all my estate at Castle,
Haychurch (Hawkchurch) Dorset, and five pounds when
he is disposed to some honest calling, — to his son John,
all the houses and lands that were his mother's; my
brother-in-law "William Wright, vicar of Axmouth, and
my brother Richard, overseers, &c. Probate granted to
Mary Wilkins 6 Jany., 1667-8.
Here we learn that the Puritan vicars of
Colyton and Axmouth, were brothers-in-law.
Nathaniel Dyke, succeeded Hook (who had
resigned and emigrated) at Axmouth 23 July,
1639, — but when William Wright succeeded
Dyke does not appear. Dr. Oliver (who queries
if he was of St. John's, Oxford) says he died
Dec. 8, 1669, and was buried nine days later.
After Wilkins* surrender of the benefice, he
appears to have lived privately at Colyton,
holding religious meetings in his house, and was
probably the founder of Nonconformity in that
town.. By his will he seems to have been fairly
well off ; and dying, it is said of consumption

in 1667, was buried in what may be termed
Brerewode's Chantry, in the south transept of
the church.'" The plaintive inscription on his
gravestone records : —
Here lyes Mr. John Wilkins, Minister of this place, from
Sep. 19, 1647, vntil 24 Aug., 1667.
Svch pillars layde aside
How can the chvrch abid
Hee left his pvlpit hee
In Patmos God to see
This shining light can have
No place to preach bvts grave.
Lefts wife 2 sons and 4 dafters
Mary's layd here 8 weeks after.
About the time of the retirement of Wilkins
to private life, Puritanism, active, as such, may
be said to have subsided, although its spirit was
strongly alive, and afterward became perma
nently fixed, in another shape among the
institutions of the country, since known as
English Nonconformity.
But while this new movement was shaping
itself, and before it had gathered strength and
settled down, came the ill-considered, and con
sequently ill-fated insurrection of Monmouth.
It is strange that Lyme should have been
selected for his landing-place, although it may
have been only a matter of convenience, and
had nothing to do with the stand the burgesses
made aforetime for the Parliament. His ad
herents were largely recruited from the then
nonconforming element, many of whom however,
seeing the weakness and consequent danger of
the movement returned to then- homes, but
many others remained only to perish on Sedge
moor, or at the hands of the executioner.
" The village of Weston Zoyland stands in the very
heart of Somerset, and its grey tower looks down on a
long stretch of level landscape. In all England there
are few churches, probably, with such a history as this.
Hard by it, along the base of a low rising, lies the last
English battlefield. Across the meadows near can still
be traced the winding course, long since run dry, of
 ¦ that fatal dyke
Where Monmouth's boors, with hearts of proof,
Still kept the foaming horse aloof ;
And scorned to fly, nor deigned to yield,
While, ere he fled the hopeless field,
Plashed their stout leader's pike.
A row of pollard willows, deep in the grey distance,
mark the ' Grave Ground ' where, under the now level
turf, lie the mouldering bones of the three hundred
simple-hearted heroes who gave their lives ' for Faith
and Freedom.' We call them rebels, since they failed;
while the time-serving soldier who helped their over
throw, and three years later left the losing side, is
regarded merely as one of the actors in a successful
revolution. The carved bench-ends and massive timbers
of the noble roof were already dark with age when, on
the day after the fight, five hundred of the Duke's
unfortunate followers were ' brought into our Church :
'of which their was 79 wounded and 5 of them died of
' their wounds in our Church.' Somewhere in the "
* In Memorials of the West will be found much further
information relating to Yonge, Erie, Pole and Wilkins.

164

PURITANISM IN EAST DEVON.

shadow of the old walls lies the dust of the few of King
James's troops who were killed by the rebel fire. No
monument stands over their place of burial; their
rank, their very names unknown. Their sole memorial
is in the brief sketch of the battle written on the
fly-leaf of a tattered volume of old accounts, preserved
in the parish chest : ' Their was kiled upon the spott
' of the King's souldiers sixteen ; ffive of them was
'buried in the Church. The rest in the churchyard;
' and they had all Christian Buriall.' In the belfry
overhead are the very bells that, through the long
summer day, the trembling ringers rung in honour, not
so much of the cause as of the winning side. Many a
wife and maid, no doubt, whose heart was with the
rebels, climbed the worn stones of the dark stairway in
the tower, and from the belfry window looked out in
vain over the scene of action. But the ' thick fogg
covering the Moore,* mentioned in his journal by one
of the King's artillerymen, must have hidden every
detail of the fighting, save, perhaps, the smoke of
battle, hanging like a fate over the darkened field. But
the roar of artillery, the rattle of the rebel musketry,
the whistle of stray balls, perhaps at times the rush of
a round-shot overhead, mingling with the shouts of the
combatants, muBt have been awesome sounds to those
who waited in the village. And when the rebel line at
length was broken, when, after a pause to rest his men,
Feversham gave orders for the pursuit,
In all the trembling township
No burgher passed his door ;
While clattering horse hoofs thundered by,
And wounded men sank down to die,
In the race from dark Sedgemoor." *
Over the frightful vengeance inflicted after
ward on the poor prisoners by the detestable
Jeffreys, with the sanction, if not instructions,
of James II., — the traditional remembrance of
which even now, two centuries afterward, makes
the flesh creep with horror, — we draw the veil ;
but it affords a vivid picture of the scenes that
would have happened, probably ten-fold in
extent, had the movement that led to the
Commonwealth failed, t One significant in
cident occurred which shewed the Yonges were
still suspected of Puritan, or what would then
be the more appropriate term, strong Protestant
leanings ; and Monmouth was known to have
been their guest at Great House a few years
before. They were then engaged building their
new house at Escot, and some masons were said
to have left their work and joined the Duke.
After Sedgemoor, Jeffreys is traditionally related
to have hung some of the ' rebels ' at a cross-
way not far from Escot : a savage hint as to the
fate that might have been awarded their master,
had opportunity offered.
The early history of Nonconformity, — the
natural offspring of Puritanism, — the penal
enactments levelled against it, and consequent
persecution inflicted, the obloquy cast upon
their meetings being characterized as the semi
naries only of seditious and traitorous schemes,
— is not a very agreeable subject for reflec
tion to the free-born Briton, in this his boasted
land of liberty. Nor do we propose to enlarge
* From the Daily News, Jany., 1892.
t See page 99.

on this its permanent settlement, that still
continues to assert, even in these days, amid
considerable opposition and contempt, the un
questioned right in a free land, to civil and
religious liberty, with equal privileges.
But there are just two survivals of old
Nonconformity dating from this troublous period
in the neighbourhood of our little sketch, of
which a short notice may be appropriately
included. One situate in the parish of Membury, — used
by the followers of George Pox, — a meeting
house of the Society of Friends.
Pounded originally about 1670, and for upwards
of a century used as a meeting-house for the
Friends in the district, the old building still
remains. Of very moderate size, built of the
rudest materials " cob and thatch " — with
windows and doors of the plainest nature, yet
apparently once sufficiently frequented to need a
gallery at the end, to which stone steps lead
up from the outside, — the fabric of this, now
long-deserted little road-side Bethel, — still exists
in this rural village, a mute witness of the
ostracism once awarded freedom of conscience
in by-gone days.
It is now used as a farmer's store-house, with
the usual complement of implements, hay, and
straw, but that is no defilement, because we
remember One who was born in a manger. No
person passing the little building in this country
lane, would dream it could have been a place of
worship, where for a century, sabbath after
sabbath, it was regularly frequented by Friends
assembling from long distances around.
This humble building was the Friends' meet
ing place during life, — there was another not far
off, where they were afterward gathered together
in death.
Pursuing the lane for about half a mile up the
hill, and passing an old picturesque farm-house
called Lee Hill, a short distance beyond we
come to their burial ground, — the little corner
of a field, enclosed by a low hedge now almost
levelled. Within are the traces of about forty
grave-mounds, — and in the centre a solitary
head-stone, inscribed on both sides to the
memory of the family of Smith, 1719-55, — of
Cloakham, Axminster, influential members of
the society ; and their daughter Ann, the wife
of Joseph Gillett of Chard, of whom we are
told,— " Site was during her marriage State a prudent wife, and
m her whole Life a most dutiful Child, who died much
lamented by her disconsolate Parents."
The meeting-house and grave-yard are both
on Lee Hill farm, which belonged to the Smiths,
probably from the middle of the seventeenth
century ; and so accounts for their being situated
there. This family of Smith became extinct
about 1763, their last representative being the

OLD FURNITURE AND ORDINANCE VESSELS AT LOUGHWOOD.

From a Photograph by tlie Author.

166

PURITANISM IN EAST DEVON.

Ann Gillett commemorated on the tombstone.
Both meeting-house and grave-yard form part of
the freehold of the present owner, and it is to
be hoped the Society of Friends may take
interest in the future preservation of the little
cemetery from further desecration.
A relic, said to have had its place in the old
meeting-house, was preserved at the farm-house,
¦ — an old oak arm chair, — having on its back an
elegant interlaced pattern carved within a panel
of lozenge form, containing the letters T.S. —
and date, " Mat 19.— Anno 1618." This chair
was purchased and presented to the Friends'
meeting-house in Exeter, where it is now
preserved.* Of the plain old building, and its isolation, as
if by its very humbleness it shrunk from the
gaze of the passer by, thus speaks its historian, —
"Such is now the place where seeking souls found
refreshment in the burning words of the early pioneers
of Quakerism, and where it is said that the voice of
George Fox himself was heard. There is nothing in
the simple, common-place aspect of the rustic edifice to
arrest the notice of the casual wayfarer; but he who
regards it with some knowledge of those who once
congregated therein, will be prompted as he turns away
to adopt the words of the gentle Elia, — ' I have witnessed
that which brought before my eyes your heroic tran
quility, inflexible to the rude jests and serious violences
of the insolent soldiery, republican or royalist, sent to
molest you, for ye sat betwixt the fires of two persecu
tions, the out-cast and off-scouring of church and
presbytery.'" Perhaps no religious community suffered such
grievous persecution on all sides as the Quakers,
both in England and America, — but the power
of gentleness prevailed eventually. ' They, too,
have left enduring witness in the new world, in
the State originally colonized by Friends in
1682, led by one of their most honoured disciples,
whose name it bears.
The other old evidence of proscribed Non
conformity occupies a position almost central
between the villages of Shute, Kilmington, and
Dalwood, and about four miles from the Quaker
meeting-bouse. It is called Loughwood, and
situate at the back of Shute Hill, in a lonely
situation away from a main road, a lane leading
down to it. The early history of this chapel
before 1690 cannot be recovered, owing to the
Church Book, which doubtless contained a
record of events from the beginning, having
been entrusted to some " authorities "at a
distance, about sixty years ago, and was either
lost, or never recovered.
* By the late Robert Dymond, F.S.A., who has thus
made provision for its preservation. Mr. Dymond has
also written a history of the place, entitled, " A Deserted
Meeting-house, and Burial Ground;" — published in the
Fi lends' Quarterly Examiner, tor April, 1886, which con
tains much further interesting detail, and accounts
of the trials and persecutions suffered by the early
worshippers there ; a view of the building and plan of
the grave-yard.

Originally it was part of a dwelling-house in
which the congregation assembled, and tradition
affirms that it was one of the ' Five-Mile-Act '
meeting-houses, — " An oppressive statute passed
17 Charles II., Oct., 1665, which obliged Non-
Conformist teachers who refused to take the
Non-Besistance oath, not to come within five
miles of any Corporation where they had preached
since the Act of Oblivion (unless they were
travelling), under a penalty of fifty pounds.
They were relieved by William III. in 1689."
A description of the little chapel is soon given.
It is a small building, about the size of the
other at Membury, some thirty-five feet long,
perhaps, by fifteen to twenty wide. The side
walls are thick, well shored outside by massive
buttresses, it has been extensively repaired of
late, and a new slated roof put on. Originally
it was also thatched, as then usual with all
country buildings in these parts.
Within there is a, double vestry at one end,
with gallery over, surmounted by an antique
clock, the other fittings, though old, are still
hale and neat, and consist of high seats and a
tall pulpit, and table below in front, all of
which appear to date about the earlier part of
the last century, and of a class so well recognized
in Hogarth's engravings.
There is only one monument thus inscribed : —
In Memory of tlie Revd. Isaac Hann, An old Disciple,
And a truly able, eminent, and faithful Minister of Jesus
Christ, He was for many years the worthy Pastor of this Church ;
and universally respected by all ye Churches in the Circle
of his extensive acquaintance, to whom, his frequent Visits
and Ministerial Services, on public as well as private
Occasions were highly acceptable.
He died in Peace tlie 17th day of March 1778, Aged
88 years. Wit sparkled in his pleasing Face,
With Zeal his heart was fir'd,
Few Ministers so humble were,
Yet few so much admir'd ;
Ripen'dfor Heaven by Grace divine ;
Like Autumn Fruit he fell ;
Reader, think not to li/ve so long,
But seek to live as well.
This -Grave-Stone and Inscription were plac'd here by the
desire, and at the expense of the Baptist Western Associa
tion, as a Token of sincere respect to the Memory of their
Antient and honoured Brother, whom God had so eminently
distinguished by the endowments of Nature, and the Gifts
of Grace. The Memory of tlie Just is blessed. Prov. x. 7.
Mr. Hann was for a long period in the ministry,
and probably of Dorsetshire extraction. The
first reference made to him was in 1747 ; from
1753 to 1762 he was minister of the Baptist
Chapel at Luppit, — another antient station not
far off, — and after that to the period of his
death in 1778, pastor of Loughwood, and he is,
we believe, buried beneath the memorial tablet.

PURITANISM IN EAST DEVON.

167

His portrait shews him as a venerable individual,
with shrewd homely countenance.
Some interesting relics are found within,
notably (as at Membury) a fine old carved oak
chair, probably for the deacon, and had its
jilace at the table under the pulpit, in the panel
at its back is an unicorn rampant collared and
with cordon, and on the top rail the letters
JJ. H., but to whom they refer is not known.

Revd. Isaac Hann.
'There is also an old carved stool, probably one
-of a pair used for funeral purposes, and two
very elegant pewter chalices for the ordinance,
with accompanying pair of patens. The frag
ment of an old stone is also preserved which
•exhibits the date 166 — . There is the usual
place fitted for baptism by immersion, beneath
the floor ; the congregation assembling there
being of the Baptist persuasion.
Outside is the little grave-yard, stretching
^pleasantly up the acclivity, and in it is a con
siderable array of graves. A broken memorial
dating about the period of Mr. Hann's ministry,
and headed with the monition, " Semper Paratus,"
still bids us remember who sleeps below, the
wife of an exciseman then stationed at the
neighbouring village of Dalwood (for at that
date these officials were thickly strewn over the
land) ; it tells us she was not a native of these
parts, but doubtless one of the faithful who
worshipped here. Another tombstone informs
us of an antient voyager on this sea of life,
here interred, aged ninety-one years, and who

had been deacon of the little sanctuary over
sixty of them. An adjoining memorial speaks
of his son, who also died at a good old age,
and he, as the inscription sets forth, was also
like his father for over forty years deacon, thus
in their successive terms of office covering
a century of its history. Like the Friends'
meeting-house at Membury, the early history of
this woodland sanctuary teems with stories of
the persecution and contumely its frequenters
were subjected to, but that faith which neither
time nor trouble can extinguish has survived it
all, and a well-frequented service is conducted
regularly within its humble walls every re
turning sabbath day. A characteristic feature
allusive to the olden scattered congregation still
remains in the corner of the grave-yard, — a
shed with old iron-studded door, within which
worshippers from a distance stabled their horses
during the service.
Here we conclude the descriptive portion of
our little dissertation. If it be asked what the
spirit and aim of Puritanism was, the answer
is, however crude the endeavour, it sought
primarily the spiritual and social freedom of
the individual, as the first principles, the true
foundation on which all the superstructure of
human progress is raised, whether to sanctify
the mind, control and purify the heart, stimulate
and encourage the intellect and the hand ; and
thus infuse into life in national shape, the
incentive pictured in the Parable of the Talents,
the ' one made ten,' the unbounded improvable
quality of human nature, whose free, unfettered
pursuit alone can give nobleness of character,
strength of purpose, influence, stability, and
prosperity to a State.
"It is to this improvable quality that the Prophet of
old addressed himself ; ' Turn ye, turn ye, why will ye
die, saith the Lord ? ' It was this that called forth
twelve poor men out of Judea who ' turned the world
upside down.' It was this that brought good even out
of Nazareth. It was this that awoke the shrill cry of
the old Hermit when he 'pressed all Europe' on the
Holy Land, to redeem the sepulchre of the gentle Jesus.
It was this that cheered the poor Martyr consuming at
the stake, and crying ' courage, brother i we shall light
a candle this day that Bhall never more be put out.'
It was this that tuned the psalm of the stem Covenanter
on the hill-side, when he whet his broad-sword on the
back of his Bible, and swore to stand fast by the Liberty
wherewith Christ had made him free. It was this that
inspired the song of the Harper of Paradise, who sang
of freedom, — freedom from king and priest— 'till 'all
Europe rang from side to side,' and himself grew blind
that the world might repose in its light. It was this
that cheered the poor old pilgrim, John Bunyan, on his
way, and made the dungeons of George Fox brighter
than ' pearled palaces.' It was this that awoke the
voice of John Wesley, when he leaned over the fallen
masses of his countrymen, breathing life into the
' valley of dry bones,' that leaped into a spiritual
existence, a million in a century. It was this that led
the Puritans to the wilds of the western world, where
they erected temples to the Everlasting, before which
the war-whoop of the red Indian, and the lowing of the
buffalo, have faded for ever, and having done its work

168

PURITANISM IN EAST DEVON.

there in establishing the type of all government, its
spirit has returned to Europe. It is now examining the
antient thrones and worn-out institutions of the old
world, and dissipating the fallacies of past ages." *
Puritanism has had but scant justice done to
its claims, and, consequently, received little
sympathy from those who have shrunk from
having its somewhat straight-laced conditions,
and rugged enthusiasm brought " between the
wind and their nobility," — redolent it may be
of Court perfume, or the incense of ecclesiasti-
cism. " From all false doctrine, heresy, and
schism " — we are taught to pray, yet where is
that infallible earthly authority to be found
that can define it outside the reach of con
troversy? To enforce their own views thereon,
and having the power over those who differed,
men have persecuted, tortured, and put to the
most agonizing deaths their fellow men, ostensi
bly for the honour and love of God, — and yet
withal, would repudiate the character of being
a sounding brass, or tinkling cymbal. Pilate
asked his meek prisoner, " What is truth ? "
The scribe, who heard the two great command
ments pronounced, gave the answer, — " Master,
Thou hast said the truth." From this standard
by which all our lives are measured, there is no
appeal. When ' devoted Royalists ' purged Westminster
Abbey of Puritanism, and dragged the dead
body of Cromwell to Tyburn, there subjecting it
to atrocious indignity — " to England's eternal
disgrace," as a powerful writer connected with
that ecclesiastical establishment has of late
fittingly described it — probably by accident, or
from want of knowledge, the remains of his
daughter Elizabeth Claypole were left undis
turbed. Concerning this his child, in a letter
carefully preserved among the treasures of our
national museum, Cromwell once wrote, " Tell
Betty our daughter to keep close to God." A
very few years since, the writer of this, visiting
a large southern town, his steps were led, without
intention, one sabbath morning into a well-
attended Friends' meeting-house. An elderly
sister was moved to address the assembly. In
accents glowing with inspiration, in the opening
sentence she said, " Beloved friends, — I have a
message for you this morning, — keep close to
God ! " It is safe to say, she was quite un
conscious of who, two centuries and a half
before, had given the same delightsome counsel.
The coincidence was unique, and the shade of
the Great Protector passed before the mental
vision as she pronounced the words.
A well-known philosopher of modern date has
termed Puritanism as the last of the heroisms
that had its rise on English soil. Possibly in its
comprehensive sense the designation is a correct
* From a speech by Mr. Joseph Dare, at the Hinckley
Mechanics Institute April, 1850.

one. Heroism is of two kinds, active and
passive, each equally distinguished. Puritanism
was the parent of both. To know the right and
dare to do it, amid contempt, misrepresentation
and persecution that, fearless of danger, may
culminate in the loss of life itself, — either con
tending for it on the battle-field, or suffering at
the block or the stake — the consummate act of
human self-sacrifice, — is heroism in its grandest-
aspect. Of such it has been said : —
" They never fail who die
In a great cause : the block may soak their gore ;
Their heads may sodden in the sun ; their limbs
Be strung to city gates and castle walls —
But still their spirit walks abroad. Though years
Elapse, and others share as dark a doom,
They but augment the dark and sweeping thoughts
"Which overpower all others, and conduct
The world at last to freedom."
But there are also the numberless others, — the
passive, humble, unknown heroes, — " of whom
the world was not worthy," — who lived and
suffered in silence and obscurity, or went into
voluntary exile, and have left no sign or name
behind them, of whom nothing but the record
of their existence can be recovered from the
past, only that
" Such as these have lived and died."
Their spirit also walks abroad, albeit name
less, and forms "the great cloud of witnesses"
known only to the Infinite Mind.
Of such were the poor ' rebels ' who perished
for Faith and Freedom, and whose decaying
quarters were displayed in the market places of
our rural towns, and suspended at the cross
roads of our country lanes. Do not their pale
martyred faces, haunt the eye of imagination,
and still make ghostly the precincts of their
sufferings ?
Of such also were those who for ' Liberty of
Conscience ' were driven by persecution from
their fellow men, and congregated by stealth
to seek access to the Good Shepherd, in the
isolation of moorland and forest, and afterward
left their bones in the solitude of the hill-top,
and keeping of God. Whose faith follow !
BETH-EL.
Not where the vaulted gloom, and tinted pane,
With sweet-voiced music lull the soul to prayer,
Nor when at gorgeous rite crowds fill the fane,
Alone, does He vouchsafe His presence there ;
But here in forest glade, 'neath lowliest roof,
Meets outcast hearts, and spreads His sheltering wing,
Where, though by earthly ruler kept aloof,
No exile parts them from their heavenly King
Found in their midst— those gathered two or three; —
Lo 1 straightway then, these hnmble walls expand,
Heighten and grow in strength and dignity,
Beyond the fairest dream of minster grand,
And form a temple for His glorious state,
In very deed His house, and heaven's gate.

THE WEST-BONVILLE CHANTEY.
BOXGHOVE PRIOEV CHURCH, SUSSEX.

THE LAST BONVILLES.

'As u tale tliat is told.

IN the search for traces of the last descendants
of the once influential, — subsequently most
unfortunate, and ultimately extinct Devonshire
family of Bonville, — the investigator, leaving the
sylvan surroundings of their antient homes of
Wiscombe and Shute, in the eastern corner of
that county, must first find his way to the
shores of the Tamar, and across that fine river
into Cornwall.
From thence he has to betake himself by a
long stretch across the southern coast, to the
pleasant little city of Chichester, with its tall
cathedral spire and old-world traditions. His
pilgrimage then extends some four miles further
eastward to the village of Boxgrove.
The path traversed and its accompanying
scenery are in striking contrast to the continuous
succession of green hills and leafy combes, the
red soil and redder cattle, that surround the
original dwelling places of Bonville in their
native county. It takes him, instead, along an
almost level road, that leads over one of the
broad Sussex chalk plains, bordered with exten
sive enclosures, in which are assembled large
flocks of those famous down-sheep, for whose
well-being the county is so naturally adapted,
while here and there a group of an equally
distinctive breed of cattle, with their shaggy
coats, black as the faces of the sheep, peer at
him through a gateway.
The near approach to Boxgrove at once
assures us we are close to some important
locality. On the right, amid considerable foliage,
the Priory Church, with its low tower, forms a
pleasing combination. Pursuing our steps a
short distance further on the left, the still fine
park of Halnaker opens to the sigl\t, with its
groups of splendid trees. In the immediate
foreground, around one of their immense boles,
an assemblage of black cattle are clustered, on
the rising ground in the mid-distance are the
ruins of the mansion, beyond, fringes of trees
recede into the background, the whole forming a
delightful picture.
To premise our little history, and for the
purpose of this enquiry, it will be necessary to
begin with Sir William Bonville of Shute, a
man who largely advanced the social status of
the family. He married first Margaret, daughter

and heir of Sir William d'Aumarle of Woodbury,
who died 13 May, 1399. By her he had four
sons and two daughters. . Secondly, he married
a widow called Alice (whose surname is unknown),
who had been previously married three times,
her first husband being John Fitz-Eoger of
Chewton, by whom she had her only child, a
daughter named Elizabeth. Sir William died
14 Feb., 1407-8, and in his will ordered himself
to be buried before the high cross of Newenham
Abbey church. This would be in the nave,
immediately in the front of the rood-loft.
Lady Alice, his wife, survived him nearly
twenty years, and four years before her death,
which occurred on 27 March, 1426, she entered
into an agreement with Nicholas Wysebeche, the
then Abbot of Newenham (1413-31) for her inter
ment in the Abbey church beside her husband.
This curious document is in existence, and,
as we believe it has never been published,
we append a copy, and the translation. The
original is in abbreviated Latin, which has been
extended. Haec indentura facta inter Nicholaum abbatem
monasterii beatae Mariae de Newenham et ejusdem
loci conventum ex una parte et dominam Aliciam
Bonevile dominam de Shete ex altera testatur quod
praedicti Nicholaus Abbas et conventus pro se et
successoribus suis concesserunt quod praefata domina
Alicia habeat imperpetuum quotidie unam missam
quum permittitur ordini Cistercientui celebrari prout
alias per dominum Leonardum Abbatem ejusdem
monasterii dicti Nicholai Abbatis praedecessorem et
ejusdem loci tunc conventus est concessum, sicut in
quodam scripto inde confecto plenius continetur.
Insuper praecedentes Nicholaus Abbas et conventus
concesserunt praefatae Aliciae post quam diem clauserit
extremum sepultura in ecclesia ejusdem monasterii
juxta corpus domini Willielmi Bonevile militis mariti
sui sicuti in praesenti in quadam tumba in medio navis
ejusdem ecclesia situata est decenter ordinata. Praefata
vero domina Alicia praemissis pie et devote per ipsam
considerata die confectionis praesentium dedit et
contulit in manibus praedictis Nicholas Abbati et
conventui et eorum successoribus viginti libras sterlingos
et unam pretiosam sectam vestimentorum cum duabus
capis et ornatu altaris decento de panno aureo cum
orferariis de vita et passione sancti Johannis Baptistae.
In cujus rei testimonium hiis scriptis indentatis tarn
sigillum conjuncte praedictos Nicholai Abbatis et
conventus quam sigillum ejusdem dominae Aliciae
alternatim sunt appensa. His testibus domino Willielmo
Bonevile militi, Thoma Bonevile, Edmundo Pyne,
Thoma Stretche, Willielmo Pennell et aliis.
Dat apud Newenham domo capitulari ibidem in festo
omnium Sanctorum Anno Domini miUesimo ccccma
xxiido.

170

THE LAST BONVILLES.

This indenture made between Nicholas Abbot of the
Monastery of the blessed Mary of Newenham, and the
convent of the same place, of the one part, and Dame
Alice Bonevile, lady of Shete, of the other [part].
Witnesseth, that the aforesaid Nicholas, Abbot, and the
convent, for themselves and their successors, have
granted that the aforesaid Dame Alice, shall have
for ever, daily, one mass when it is permitted to be
celebrated by the Cistercian order, just as it was granted
on other occasions by Lord Leonard, Abbot of the same
Monastery, predecessor of the Baid Nicholas Abbot,
then of the same place and convent, as is more fully
contained in a certain writing then made. Moreover
the foregoing Nicholas, Abbot, and the convent, hace
granted to the aforesaid Dame Alice after her death,
burial in the church of the same Monastery, next the
body of Sir William Bonevile, knight, as at present it is
decently ordered in a certain tomb, situated in the
midst of the nave of the same church. But the
aforesaid Dame Alice, the premisses being piously and
devoutly considered by her, on the day of making
[these] presents, gave and committed into the hands of
the aforesaid Nicholas, Abbot, and the convent, and
their successors, twenty pounds sterling, and one
costly set of vestments, with two copes and a decent
adornment of the altar, of cloth of gold, with orphreys
of the life and passion of Saint John Baptist.
In testimony of which thing to these written in
dentures, both the joint seal of the aforesaid Nicholas,
Abbot, and the convent, and the seal of the same
Dame Alice, in turn have been affixed. With these as
witnesses, Sir William Bonevile, knight, Thomas
Bonevile, Edmund Pyne, Thomas Stretche, William
Pennell, and others.
Given at Newenham in the Chapter House there on
the feast of All Saints, 1422.
John Bonville, the eldest of the four sons of
Sir William (the other three deceased without
leaving male issue) married Elizabeth Fitz-
Boger, the only daughter of his father's second
wife. He died in the lifetime of his father,
21 Oct., 1396. By his wife he had two sons,
William and Thomas, and one daughter, Isabel.
William, the eldest son, afterward created
Lord Bonville, and E.G., — his espousal of the
Yorkist cause, and the tragic deaths of himself,
his son, and grandson, which ended the elder
descent in the male line, is a mournful story
well known to Devonshire archaeologists.
" Victims of that vain strife,
That makes men mad, the tug for wealth and power,
The passions and the cares that wither life,
And waste its little hour."
It is a remarkable circumstance that the name
of Lord Bonville's first wife has never been
recovered. Yet she must have been known to
Elizabeth Courtenay, widow of William, fourth
Baron Harington, who Lord Bonville married as
his second wife, for that lady was a godmother
to his eldest son William, by his first wife.
Concerning this a curious question arose on his
marriage with Lady Harington, for the relation
of which we are indebted to Mr. Winslow Jones.
In v. ii., 495, Bishop Lacy's Register, is the copy of a
document with a marginal note of " Litera testimonialis
super dispensacione Willelmi Bonville miliiis et Flizabete
uxoi-is eius," and it proved to bear date 25 July, 1455.
and to contain a copy of a Bull of Pope Martin V.,

dated 6 Ides of October, in the 13th year of his
pontificate (9 Oct., 1427), in which it was stated that
William Boneville, "domicellus" (a young esquire not
then knighted, presumably, although so 80 Aug., 1393),
and Elizabeth, " relict of John Arindone, layman, had
contracted a marriage, "pro verba de presenti nee tamen
in facia ecclesie," but that it was void by reason that
Elizabeth " de sacro fonte levavarent " (had been the
sponsor of William Boneville by his first wife, and so
created a spiritual affinity), and it appears that the
Pope, at their petition had legalized the marriage,
which the Bishop on his part made the Papal authority
by his " Litera testimonialis " declared the marriage to
be legitimate. Sir John Arindone being clearly a mistake
for Sir William Harington, 4th Baron Harington.
Our little history leads us to investigate the
descent of his younger brother Thomas, and his
son John, at whose decease the name of Bonville,
in legitimate descent was virtually extinguished.
The first notice we get of him is rather
an ominous one, being a pardon from King
Henry VI., dated 20 March, twenty-fifth of his
reign, 1447. The document in Latin is addressed
to " Thomas Bonevile of Northleigh, in the
County of Cornwall, Esquire," — a mistake in
geography by the scribe, as Northleigh is in
Devon, and an adjoining parish to Southleigh,
wherein is Wiscombe, the original home of
Bonville in that connty. They had property in
Northleigh ; Pole says : —
" Northleigh was also (as Southleigh) at ye first in ye
name of Legh, and in Kinge Henry III. tyme given by
Sir Will'm de Legh unto Will'm his younger Sonne,
who leavinge daughters this land was devided amongst
them, of which twoe parts came unto Bonvill."
The pardon is of the usual form, and of
rather more lengthy character than usual,
absolving the recipient from all the numerous
offences therein set forth, without particularly
specifying any. At the end, however, there is
a clause, which may give clue to the offence,
although it is difficult to see in what way
Bonville could have been implicated in it,
which happened six years precedent. Probably
this reservation was included in all the pardons
of that period.
" Provided always that no pardon of this kind shall
extend in any way to Eleanor Cobeham, daughter of
Reginald Cobeham, knight ; John Bolton of Bolton, in
the county of Lancaster, bladysmyth (sword-smith) ;
William Wyghale, lately warden of our gaol at Notting
ham ; nor to any one of them, nor to the persons
guilty of the death of Lord Christopher Talbot."
Eleanor Cobham was the daughter of Reginald
de Cobham, Lord Cobham of Sterborough. Her
history is well known. She had been mistress
to Humphrey, the ' good ' Duke of Gloucester,
before she became his wife : —
"Her enemies represented her as an avaricious,
grasping, ambitious, dissolute woman,— but whatever
she might be, she was dear to the Duke, although he
was not the most faithful of husbands. The Duke was
much devoted to all the learning then in vogue and
exceedingly fond of the society of learned men. Among
other doctors and clerks whom he entertained was one
Roger Bolingbroke, whom he kept constantly in his

Seals of Sir William Bonville, Knt. (Loud Bonville, E.G. — ob. 1460-1) and Sir Philip Courtenay, Knt. op Powderham (ob. 1463.)
From the Exeter City Muniments, (Wynard's Charity,) 14 Henry VI. — A.D. 1435-6,

172

THE LAST B0NV1LLES.

house as chaplain. Bolingbroke was much given to the
sciences, especially astronomy, and astronomy in those
days was generally made to include astrology. Glou
cester's wife, aware that Henry was sickly, and that her
husband stood next in succession, was probably anxious
to know whether the stars would tell when the King
would die ; and she had frequent consultations with the
chaplain and others. On a sudden, soon after her hus
band's last violent quarrel with Cardinal Beaufort, she
was accused of treason, — ' for that she, by sorcery and
enchantment, intended to destroy the King, to the
intent to advance and to promote her husband to the
crown.' The Duchess and Bolingbroke were arrested,
together with Southwell, priest and canon of St.
Stephen's, Westminster ; John Hum, priest ; and
Margery Jourdain, commonly called the Witch of Eye.
The Duchess was examined before the Archbishop of
Canterbury and others, in St. Stephen's Chapel; she
was condemned to do public penance in three places in
the city of London, and afterwards pass her life a
prisoner in the Isle of Man (Chester and Kenilworth),
under the charge of Sir John Stanley. Bolingbroke
protesting his innocence, was drawn and quartered at
Tyburn ; Margery Jourdain was burned at Smithfield ;
Southwell died in imson before execution ; Hum was
pardoned. " The worst thing proved against the Duchess was
that she had sought for love-philters to secure the
constancy of her husband. The worst thing attempted
to be proved against her was that she kept by her a
wax figure, made by the ' cunning necromancers,' and
endowed with this remarkable quality, that in propor
tion as it was sweated and melted before a fire, it would
by magical sympathy, cause the flesh and substance of
the King to wither and melt away, and his marrow to be
dried up in his bones." *
Who Bolton the 'bladysmyth,' and William
Wyghale, formerly warden of Nottingham Gaol,
were, does not appear.
He was appointed Sheriff of Cornwall, in
which county the Bonvilles had considerable
property. Lysons says : —
" The manor of Otterham, in north-east Cornwall,
appears to have belonged temp. Edward III., to the
Champernownes. In 1457 it was settled on Thomas
Bonville, and Lena his wife, for life, with remainder to
Philip Copleston, and Ann his wife, and the heirs of the
said Anne, remainder to John Wybbery, Esq., in fee.
" The manor of Trelawne in Pelynt, belonged at an
early period to the Bodrugans ; Sir Henry Bodrugan
gave it as a marriage portion, with his daughter, to
Henry Champernowne. The heiress of this branch of
Champernowne married Polglass, and the heiress of
Polglass, Herle. Sir John Herle the younger, who
died without issue, settled its reversion on Sir William,
afterward Lord Bonville. Lord Bonville built a castel
lated mansion at Trelawne, a part of which with two
towers, remains on the eastern side of the present
house. In IGOO it was purchased by Sir Jonathan
Trelawny, who rebuilt the house. It has since remained
in that family. The manor of Hall, and church of
Pelynt, belonged to the Abbot and Convent of Newen
ham. " Martin Ferrers held the manors of Shillingham and
Hornacot in Saltash, and was succeeded by his great
grandson, John Bonville, descended from his daughter
Joan. Lord Bonville sold Shillingham to Jasper Horsey,
clerk." The descent of these estates through Cham
pernowne to Bonville is apparently accounted
for by the marriage of Nicholas Bonville of
Wiscombe and Shute, born about 1293, to Joan
daughter of Henry de Champernowne, by his
* Compreliensive History of England." Vol. I., page 605.

wife Joan daughter of Henry Bodrugan, and the
interesting agreement for this marriage, dated
25 Nov., 2 Edward III., 1328, is still in existence
and preserved among the muniments at Hac
combe. It was made between Stephen de
Haccombe and Otho de Bodrugan, to the effect
that Nicholas Bonville should marry Joan
Champernowne, who was probably Bodrugan's
niece, and he agreed to pay Bonville 222 marks
and a half of silver, if the intended bridegroom
on his part would make over his manor of Sock
(near Ilchester), and assure the manors of Shute
and Wiscombe to their heirs male ; the marriage
to take place before Candlemas day then next
ensuing. The deed bears the seal of Otho de
Bodrugan (argent) three bendlets (gules). * The
Bodrugans were an antient and important Cornish
family of Bodrugan, in St. Gorrans, and accord
ing to Lysons became extinct at the death of
an Otes or Otho de Bodrugan, about 1331. Sir
Henry Bodrugan, afterward of this place, was
attainted temp. Henry VII., 1485, and lost all
his possessions, a large portion of which were
granted to Sir Bichard Edgcumbe. He is said
to have changed his name from Trenowth,
probably on acquiring the estate.
The descent of the other estates through Lena
Gorges, and Martyn Ferrers, sufficiently explain
themselves. Jasper Horsey was of the Clifton-
Maubank family.
Thomas Bonville married first about 1394,
Joan, eldest daughter of Hugh de Poynings, of
Poynings, and also of Halnaker in Boxgrove,
Sussex. He was the son of Sir Thomas de Poynings,
the last Lord St. John of Basing, who died
7 March, 1429, and was buried in Boxgrove
Priory church, by his first wife Joan, daughter
of Boger, Lord Strange, who died 1392.
Sir Thomas was the son of Sir Lucas de
Poynings, who married Isabel, — born 1333, died
1394, — widow of Henry de Burghersh, and
daughter and coheir of Edmund de St. John,
Lord St. John of Basing, who died without
issue 1347. Sir Lucas was summoned to Parlia
ment as a baron, presumably jure uxoris, from
1368 to 1376. He died about 1385.
Isabel de St. John was the grand-daughter of
John de St. John, Lord St. John of Basing,
who died 1329, having married Isabel, daughter
of Hugh de Courtenay, Baron of Okehampton,
ob. 1328, by his wife Eleanor, daughter of Hugh
de Spencer, Earl of Winchester. Hugh de
Courtenay his son, ob. 1340, married Agnes,
sister of this Lord St. John, who was the
descendant of Boger de St. John, of Stanton-
St. John, Oxfordshire (the parent stem of the
St. Johns ), who married Cecilia, daughter and
* Tlie Porlock Monuments, by Mr. Winslow Jones.
Notes and Gleanings for 1892, page 123.

THE LAST BONVILLES.

heiress of Bobert de la Haia, Lord of Halnaker.
This Bobert de la Haia, or de la Haye, — " of a
family that came in with the Conqueror, and
became widely dispersed throughout Britain," —
was the Founder of the Benedictine Priory of
Boxgrove, between 1117 and 1135 ; and in the
Begister of the Priory he is described as " the
king's cousin, — consanguineus ejusdem Regis," —
and by other authority as "uncle to the Con
queror, King of England." Arms of Poynings : —
Barry of six or and vert, a bend gules, — crest, a
dragon's head between tivo wings, ermine, — badge,
a key argent, crowned or, — Motto, Loyaute n'a
peub. Of St. John : — Argent, on a chief gules,
two mullets pierced, or.
Hugh de Poynings, son of Sir Thomas, pre
deceased his father, dying Oct., 1426. He
married Elizabeth, daughter and coheir of
Martin Ferrers of Beer-Ferrers, south Devon,
described by Pole " as the last of that name of
Ferrers, Lord of Beere-Ferrers, a person of great
honour and integrity." Arms of Ferrers : — Or,
on a bend sable, three horse-shoes argent.
Thomas Bonville, by his first wife Joan,
daughter of Hugh de Poynings, had one son
John, who succeeded him.
Secondly, he married Lena, daughter and
coheir of John Gorges of Warleigh, Tamerton-
Foliot, a branch of that antient family there
settled, by marriage of his ancestor Sir Balph
Gorges, with Ellen, daughter and heiress of
Bobert Foliot, of Tamerton, temp. Henry III.
Their presumed effigies, the knight with the
arms of Gorges on his surcoat, are in Tamerton
church. She was then the widow of John
Wibbery of Chagford. By her he had no issue,
but his wife had a daughter Joan, by her first
husband. She died 14 Dec, 1460. Thomas
Bonville died 11 Feb., 1467. Arms of Foliot:—
Gules, a bend argent.
Thus by each of his wives he was identified
with south Devon, the families of Ferrers and
Gorges residing very near each other in adjoining
parishes on the eastern bank of the river Tamar.
Arms of Gorges : — Argent, tliree gorges (or whirl
pools) one within the other, azure.
John Bonville, son and heir of Thomas
Bonville and Joan Poynings, was born on 4 April,
1413, at Basing, in Hants, the seat of his
maternal great-grandfather, who together with
his grandfather was alive at the time, and
lived many years afterward.
Proof of age of "John Bonevyle, son of Joan,
daughter of Hugh Ponynges, knight, son of
Thomas Ponynges de St. John , Chivaler, deceased,
and Joan his late wife, kinsman and one of the
heirs of the said Thomas," was taken at
Basingstoke on the 16 July, 12 Henry VI. (1434).
Roger Kent (60) deposes that the said John Bonevyle
was born at Basing, in the county of Southampton, on
the 4 Ap 1 Hen. V. (1413) and baptised on the same day,

in the parish church. He remembers it well, because
he saw the said John lifted out of the holy font.
William Austyn (59) because he .held a lighted wax
candle in the said church, at the baptism.
John Cook (57) because on that day he was in the said
church, and was chosen one of the Wardens of the
goods of the said church.
William Chamberlayne (56) because he carried the
water to the holy font of the said church in which the
said John was baptized.
William Bygge (56) because Alice his daughter married
John Gay, in the said church on the same day.
Thos. Newman (53) because John his brother was
buried in the said church on the same day.
John Coudray (50) because Isabella his daughter died
suddenly in the said church on that day.
John Hoo (57) because on that day he fell and broke
his right leg at Basing, and then saw the said John
Bonvyle carried to the church to be baptised.
William Whitle (56) because Agnes, his wife, was on
that day purified in the said church, after the birth of
John, son of the said William and Agnes.
Thomas Wliitc (58) because on that day he was chosen
King's bailiff in the county aforesaid, and saw the said
John Bonvyle in the said church.
John Attehoke (50) because on that day there was a
great and strong wind, and many houses in Basing fell
down, and he saw the said John Bonvyle in the church,
in the hands of Alice Come, his nurse.
William Browne (60) because by a deed dated that day
he purchased a tenement in Basing, of one John
Gerard, and he saw the said John Bonvyle in the
Church-yard. *
Altogether from the various striking incidents
occurring, a well-to-be-remembered day at Basing.
John Bonville married first Joan, daughter of
his father's second wife Leva Gorges, by her
first husband John Wibbery. She was born
2 Dec, 1424, and must have died before 1472.
Arms of Wibbery: — Gules, semee of fleurs- de-lys,
three lions rampant, a bordure engrailed or (Pole).
By her he had two daughters Anne and Joan.
Anne, who became heir to her grandmother
Leva Gorges, married Philip Copleston, Sheriff
of Devon, 12 Edward IV., 1473. He was the
eldest son of John Copleston of Copleston, in
Colebrooke, ob. 1455, by his wife Elizabeth,
daughter and heir of John Hawley, of Dart
mouth. On a flat stone in the north aisle of
Colebrooke church is this inscription : —
Uic facet JoIj'eb dkrplesto' arntin/
qui oliiit . . . tima . . . att'o Jt'tti
miU'o acdb . . . ni: Et's qui
obiit iterinto nonn bin luiuf art'o
ir'nt ntill'o cmllrif.
Arms of Copleston : — Argent, a chevron engrailed
gules, between three leopards' faces azure. Crest,
a demi-leopard gules, tufted and maned or.
In the east end of the north aisle of Tamerton-
Foliot church is a large monument to John
Copleston, fourth in descent from Philip Cople
ston and Anne Bonville, Sheriff of Devon, 39
Elizabeth, 1597.
* Sussex Archaeological Transactions, vol. 15, page 58.

174

THE LAST BONVILLES.

On it are two figures kneeling facing each
other at a desk, with books open before them.
The man is clad in a gown with a row of guards
on the dependant sleeves, the lady in ruff and
contemporary costume. Behind each is a dimi
nutive child in a cradle. Underneath are two
smaller figures also kneeling, as those above,
before a desk, the man in armour, the lady as
the larger figure. Behind the male three sons,
behind the female three daughters, one holding
a skull. The inscription, which was merely gilded on,
is much obliterated, and is given as nearly as
could be made out.
JOHANNI COPLESTONO ARMIGERO HVIUS
MANERII DOMINO, VIRO CUM GENERIS
ANTIQVI TVM VER.E VIRTVTIS LAVDE
NOBILITATO: QVI, POSTQVAM yETATIS
SV.E ANNUM LIX ATTIGISSET (APUD)
WARLEY SUAVITER IN CHRISTO OBDOR-
MIVIT NOVEMBRIS 9.— 1608.
SUSANNA UXOR AMANTISSIMA, QU^E EI
(QUATUOR) FILIOS ET TOTIDEM FILIAS
PEPERIT, IN SPE. RESVRRECTIONIS BENE
MERENTI PIE POSUIT: SEP. 4. — 1617.
Which may be thus translated : —
" To John Copleston, Esquire, this Manor's lord, a man
rendered illustrious, as well by fame of his antient race as
of his true virtue ; who, after he had attained tlie fifty-
ninth year of his age, peacefully fell asleep in Christ, at
Warley, Nov. 9, 1608."
" Susannah his most affectionate wife, who bore to him
four sons and as many daughters, in liope of resurrection, to
her well-deserving husband piously placed this monument
Sep. 4, 1617. "
Arms : — Copleston, with helmet and crest,
impaling, argent, a chevron sable, between three
mullets gules (Pollard). There are two large
shields, apparently exactly alike, each with
nineteen quarterings, but the bearings being
only painted on them are greatly obliterated.
The charges are given nearly as possible.
1. Copleston. 2. Gules, a bend vaire (Raleigh).
3. Ermine, a fess between three cinquefoils gules
(Gbaas). 4. Brewer. 5. (effaced). 6. Argent, a
chevron gules. 7. Gules, fretty , a canton argent
(Hiwis). 8. Bonville. 9. Gorges. 10. Foliot.
11. St. John, with a label of three of the field.
12. Wibbery. 13. Mules. 14. Argent, a fret
gules. 15. Vaire (Beauchamp ?) . 16. (effaced).
17. Argent, a chevron sable, between three buckles
gules, within a bordure sable bezantie (Fleming).
18. Vaire, a chief chequy gules and or, a bordure
sable bezantie. 19. Argent, a trivet sable (Teivet).
John Copleston married Susanna, daughter of
Lewis Pollard of King's-Nymet, by his wife
Joan, daughter and heir of Hugh Prust of
Thorvey, in Hartland. She afterward married
Sir Anthony Rouse of Halton, Cornwall. Her
gravestone is near the monument.
Joan, the other daughter of John Bonville

and Joanna Wibbery, married John Eliot of
Coteland, and died without issue before 1494.
John Bonville married, secondly, Katherine,
daughter of Sir Bobert Wingfield of Lethering-
ham, Suffolk (ob. 1431), -"who received the
honour of knighthood, with several others, from
King Henry VI., on Whitsunday, 1426, at a
solemn feast held at Hereford," by his wife
Elizabeth, daughter of Sir Bobert GoushiU of
Hoveringham, Notts, by his wife Elizabeth, ob.
1425, daughter of Bichard Fitz-Alan, tenth Earl
of Arundell, E.G. (married 2 Henry IV., 1401),
she having been previously widow of William
de Montacute, Earl of Salisbury ; Thomas de
Mowbray, Dnke of Norfolk, K.G. ; and Sir
Gerard Ufflete. Arms of GoushiU : — Barry of six
or and gules, a canton ermine. Of Wingfield : —
Argent, on a bend gules, cotised sable, three
pair of wings of the first. Camden says, " the
Wingfields were a family famous for their
knighthood and antient nobility." They were a
numerous race, and another old author observes,
" in the reign of King Henry VIIL there was
at the same time eight or nine knights, all
brothers, and two knights of the Garter, of this
family." A baronetcy was conferred on one of
their descendants 17 May, 1627, which became
extinct temp. George II. Their crest is given as
a cap per pale ermines and argent, charged with
a fess gules, between two wings displayed, counter-
changed of the cap. Motto : — Posse nolle nobile.
John Bonville by his second wife Katherine
Wingfield had two daughters and coheirs,
Florence and Elizabeth.
Florence married Sir Humphrey Fulford,
knight, son of Sir Thomas Fulford, of Fulford
in Dunsford, Devon (ob. 20 Feb., 1489),— knighted
" at the battell of Wakefield, 31 Dec, 39 Henry
VI., 1460, by the handes of the Erie of Devon
shire," — by his wife Phiiippa, daughter of Sir
Philip Courtenay of Powderham. Sir Humphrey
was created knight of the Bath, "at the
creation of Henry, Duke of Yorke, on the Eve
of All Sayntes," 10 Henry VII., 1494. There
was no issue by this marriage. Florence
Fulford was living in 1497, being mentioned in
her mother's will.
A curious circumstance may be noted here.
William Fulford, ob. 23 Aug., 1517, next brother
and heir of Sir Humphrey, married Joan,
daughter of John Bonville, ob. 1491, by his wife
Alice, daughter and heir of William Dennys
of Combraleigh. This John Bonville was the
natural son of William, Lord Bonville, E.G.,
by Elizabeth Kirkeby. John Bonville's illegiti
macy does not appear to have been any bar to
the marriage of his seven children, who were all
allied to old county families. This side issue
also became extinct in the fourth generation
a century later, at the death of Humphrey
Bonville, ob. 1593.

THE LAST BOXVILLES.

175

Elizabeth, the second daughter, married,
between 1494 and 1497, Thomas West, Lord de
la Warr, K.G., son of Thomas West, Lord de la
Warr, K.G., ob. 1524-5, by his first wife Elizabeth,
daughter of Hugh, and sister and heir of Sir
John Mortimer, of Mortimer's Hall, Hants.
He made his will 8 Oct., 1524, ordered his body
to be buried in a tomb of freestone in the
chancel of Broadwater church, and gave to his
son and heir Thomas, —
" all his hangings and beddings within his great chamber
at Offington, and the chapel chamber there, as also the
chapel as it was then adorned, with altar-cloth of white
satin, embroidered with the Garter, and a bed of tinsel
satin and crimson damask, embroidered with his arms
and the Garter; also his crimson velvet gown furred
with black."
Thomas West, his son, and husband of Elizabeth
Bonville, is thus described by Collins : —
" He was 5 Henry VIIL, 1514, with his father at the
sieges of Terouenne and Tournay, and the battle that
ensued, when for his valonr he was Knighted 14 Oct.,
at Lisle. After succeeding to the title, he with other
peers, in Parliament 22 Henry VIIL, 1531, subscribed to
the declaration to Pope Clement VII., intimating that
his supremacy would not be regarded if he did not
comply with Queen Katherine's divorce.
"He was a Knight Banneret, and being elected
Knight of the Garter, 1 Dec, 1547, 3 Edward VI., was
installed the thirteenth of that month at Windsor. In
the first year of Queen Mary, in consideration of his
service against the Duke of Northumberland, he had a
grant of two hundred pounds per annum for life. He
departed this life 25 Sep., 1554, at Offington, leaving no
issue by his wife, and was buried near his father in
Broadwater church, with standards, banners of arms,
&c, and many mourners as recited in the account of
his funeral ; and that he was the best housekeeper in
Sussex." Like his father, he died possessed of great
estates in Dorset, Devon, Somerset, Wilts,
Lincolnshire, Gloucestershire, Lancashire, Sus
sex, and London ; —
"All these messuages and lands, &c, were by act of
Parliament, 4 Nov., 3 Edward VI., 1550, settled upon the
said Thomas, Lord de la Warr in tail, remainder to his
half-brother Sir Owen in tail ; remainder to the use of
his own will and deed, during the life of William West,
remainder to the said William, and the heirs male of
his body."
" After his death," Collins continues, quoting
from Legh's Accidence of Armory, " the Lord
Morley his friend (Henry Parker, Baron Morley,
ob. 1555) " made the following epitaph on him : —
Virtue, honesty, liberalitie, and grace,
And true religion, this sely grave doth holde :
I do wishe, that all our great men woulde
In good follow this noble Baron's trace,
That from his wise hart did always chase
Envy and malice ; and sought of young and olde
Love and favour, that passeth stone and golde ;
Unto a worthy man a r.ch purchase.
These waies he used, and obtained thereby
Good fame of all men, as well farre of as nye ;
And now is joyful in that celestial sphere,
Where, with sainctes, he sings incessantly,
Holy, honour, praise, and glory,
Give to God, that gave him such might,
To live so nobly, and come to that delight.

The same author recites, "his badge, a crampet
or, was given to his ancestors for taking the
French king in the field, 30 Edward III., 1357."
It is not recorded where Elizabeth Bonville,
Lady de la Warr, was buried, but probably with
her husband in Broadwater church.
To return to John Bonville, and Katherine
Wingfield his wife. Although in 1458, when the
Poyning's estates were divided between the
three heiresses, of whom his mother was one
(to be further referred to), by which he became
lord of Halnaker, together with much other
property in Sussex, he seems, nevertheless, to
have made Shute, the old ancestral home of the
Bonvilles, the proper place to describe himself
of in his last testament, and notwithstanding
this important part of the property, inclusive of
the bulk of the family possessions, would
descend and belong to his cousin Cicely Bonville,
Marchioness of Dorset, between whose husband
and himself litigation had evidently been going
on for some time as to the recovery of a portion
of it, and was not concluded at his wife's death,
three years afterward.
On the 30th day of May, 1494, at the age of
eighty-one, he made his will, and therein orders
his body to be buried in the chapel of the
Blessed Mary in Shute church (probably the
chancel aisle now used as the burial place of the
Poles), to which he gives sundry legacies, as
also to " my curatt " there, together with other
bequests to churches in the neighbourhood.
There is no direct testimony that he died at
Halnaker, but the internal evidence of the will
implies it, and his body carried to Shute for
interment. That he was buried there is certain,
from the request in his wife's will, and he is the
only member of the Bonville family we have
evidence of having been interred in that church,
their usual place of sepulture being in Newen
ham Abbey church, about three miles distant from
Shute, in the valley of the Axe, close to Axminster.
The first portion of the will is in Latin, and
the continuation in English.
In Dei nomine. Amen. Penultimo die mensis Maij,
anno domini millesimo quadragentisimo nonagesimo
quarto, et anno regni regis Henrici septimo nono.
Ego Johannes Bonvyle de Shute, armiger, Exon
dioecesis compos mentis, saneque memoriae, ac laudes
omnium Creatori sanitati corporis sufficienter imbutus ;
nemo tamen quod modo confectus diemque extremum
ignorans in hunc modum testamentum meum condo.
In primis lego animam meam Deo omnipotenti et
beatae Mariae Virgini ejus genetrici, ac omnibus Sanctis ;
corpusque meum sepelienlum in capella beatae Mariae
in ecclesia sancti Michaelis Archangeli de Shute dicta,
Exon. dioecesis. Item lego eidem unum missale, unum
calicem cum coopertorio pertinente eidem calici, unum
librum vocatum portuos et unum librum vocatum
processionale, quatuor paria vestimentorum et unum
par organorum cum omnibus alijs ornamentis ibidem
permansura in custodia custodis ecclesiae sancti
Michaelis Archangeli praedicti per indenturam inde
inter Capellanum Capellae praedictae, qui pro tempore
fore contigerit, et custodes ecclesiae sancti Michaelis
Archangeli ecclesiae praedictae pro tempore existente.

176

THE LAST BONVILLES.

In the name of GOD. Amen. On the last day but one of
the month of May in the year of the Lord, 1494, and in tlie
ninth year of the reign of king Henry VII., I John
Bonvyle, Esquvre, of Shute [in] the Diocese of Exeter,
[being'} thoroughly sound in mind and memory, and —
praise to the Creator of all things — sulficiently imbued with
health of body, yet, as no one knows how or wlien he must
die, in this manner I make my will. In tlie first [place} I
bequeath my soul to Almighty GOD and to the blessed
Virgin Mary, his mother, and to all the saints, and my body
to be buried in the chapel of the blessed Mary in the church
of Saint Michael the Arcliangel of the said Shute in the
diocese of Exeter. Item I bequeath to the same one missal,
one chalice with the cover belonging to the same clialice, one
book ealled aportasse, and one book called a processionale,
four pairs of vestments and one pair of organs with all
other ornaments, there to remain in charge of the warden of
the church of Saint Michael the Arcliangel aforesaid by an
indenture [made'] tlien between the chaplain of the eltapel
aforesaid, who shall happen to be for the time, and the
wardens of the church of Saint Miciiael the Arcliangel, the
church aforesaid, for tlie time being.
Also I bequeith to every parish church where I am
Lord and Patron, xx s. Also I bequeith to the church
of Pancraswyke vi s viij d. Also I bequeith to the Seint
Michaell of Shute xx s. Also I bequeith to the bretherede
of Seint Kateryne, of Colynton iij s iiij d. Also I
bequeith to the bretherede of Seint Kateryne of Chard
iij s iiij d. Also I bequeith to my curatt of Shute for
my tithes and oblacions forgoton x s. Also I bequeith
to Thomas Stokwell xx s. Also I bequeith to Nicolas
Bakei- xxvj s viij d, and so have it yerely after my
deceese, and Kateryn my wyfe, duryng the lyfe of the
said Nicholas. Also I bequeith to the bretherede of
Seint Kateryne and Seint Blase, in the parish of
Roggut (Rogate) in the dioc. of Chechester, xiij s iiij d,
and to by ij kine for the same bretherede to be evyr
prayed for. Also I bequeith to the hospitall of Ledys-
downe in the same dioc. xiij s iiij d. Also I bequeith to
Sir John Prestone, my chapelyne at Halfnaked vj s viiij d.
Item, I bequeith to the brethered of Seint Crosse, Seint
Nicholas, and Seint Martin, in the parish church of
Shute aforeseed, vi s viij d. Also I bequeith to Richard
Cambone xxvj s viij d. Also I bequeith to John Clarke
xiij s iiij d. Also I bequeith to Thomas Stampe xls.
Also I bequeith to Anne Brendon, Jane Wadham, and
Alice Wadham, to everich of them xli s, under this
condicion that if they continue in the service of my seid
wife, every of them to have the seid x li whan any of
them be so maried. Also I bequeith to Willyam Clarke
xx s. Also I bequeith to Sir Ricliard (Shelston) xl s.
Also I bequeith to all my servauntes, as well men as
women, so that they shall receyve and have after the
deceese of me and my wyfe, in maner arid forme as
suyth, that is to witt, every gentylman x s, every yoman
vj s viiij d, every grome v s, and every woman servaunt
iij s iiij d, except those that be feed and in the bequest
afore specified. Also I bequeith to my chapel at
Halfnaked, a portuos and a processionall to be had and
kept for ever fastened with a chayne of iron in the
lectorn there. Also I, the seid John Bonville, will and
graunt and that all my goodes and landes, moveabill
and unmoveabill, after the deceese of me and my wyfe,
and after my dettys payd, and the will of me aboveseid,
and the will of me also aforetyme declared, and the will
of my wyfe fully done and performed, that the same
goodes so remayning shall equally be departed betwene
my doughters Florence and Elizabeth ; under condicion
that they will please my wyfe during ther lyfe, according
to their dewte. And whereas John Stanney, esquire,
John Hamond, clerk, John Brugh, and Thomas Stampe, by
myn assent recoveryd by wrytt of right the manor of
Tateworth, in the Counte of Somerset, and other
manors, landes and tenementes in the Counte of
Devonshyre, in fee, have declared my wyll thereupon
afore this tyme as by writyng thereof made it apperith :
I will the seid John Stanney, John, John, and Thomas,
now thereof seased kepe the same my wyll afore this
tyme declared. Also I will and make myn executors of

this my testament Kateryn my wyfe ; Sir Reignold Br<W,
knight, Robard Reed oon of the kynges serjauntes of the
lawe ; and Edward Bartelott, desyring them to see this
my will and testament executed as ferre as in them is.
And I will that the seid Sir Reignold Bray, have for his
labour v marc ; Robert Reed xl s, and Edward Bartelott
xl s. And I will that the reverent fader in godd the
Bysshop of Bath and Wellys, now beying pryve seale, be
overseer of this my testament, he havyng for his labour
iiij li. Dat. die et anno supradicto.
Proved at ' Lamebith '—31 March, 1495, and commission
of administration issued to ' Kateryne,' the relict of the
deceased. The persons mentioned in the will are not
identified with the west country, except those of
Jane and Alice Wadham, in attendance on his
wife. They were probably daughters of Sir
Nicholas Wadham, of Merifield, Ilton, Somerset,
Captain of the Isle of Wight (ob. 1542), by his
wife Margaret Seymour, buried at Carisbrooke ;
he had a daughter Jane, married to Foster of
Baddesley, Hants. Elizabeth Brendon (Brandon)
was niece to Katherine Bonville, and daughter
of her sister Elizabeth Wingfield, who was
married to Sir William Brandon, grandfather of
Charles Brandon, the first Duke of Suffolk,
to whom she was aunt. She remained with
Katherine Bonville, and is mentioned in her
will. She married John Sydney of Penshurst,
ancestor of the Earls of Leicester of that name.
The bequests to the brethren of St. Katherine at
Colyton, Chard, and Bogate, were doubtless in
compliment to his wife's name. Sir Reginald
Bray, K. G. , was the trusty counsellor and
adviser of Henry VII. Robert Read was suc
cessively King's Serjeant, Justice of the King's
Bench, Chief Justice of the Common Pleas,
1506, and one of the executors of the will of
Henry VII. Edward Bartelott of Stopham, a
member of that old Sussex family. The Bishop
of Bath and Wells was Richard Eox, consecrated
to Exeter, 1462; translated to Wells, 1493; Dur
ham, 1494; Winchester, 1501 ; an influential
ecclesiastic and diplomatist of that era (ob.
1528). Katherine Bonville survived her husband
rather more than three years, and made her will
25 Sep., 1497, doubtless at Halnaker, of which
place she was heiress, but in it she follows the
description of her husband, as being late the
" wife of John Bonville of Shute, in the County
of Devon, Esquire." With the exception of the
opening dedication and date, it is wholly in
English. In Dei nomine, Amen. Vicesimo quinto die mensis
Septembris, anno domini millesimo cccc nonagesimo
septimo, I Eateryn Bonvyle, late wife of John Bonvyle, of
Shutte, in the countie of Devon, Esquier, being in hoole
mynde and good remembrance, but som deale sick in
my bodye, make, my testament and last will of all my
goodes, landes, and tenements in England ; in the
which lands and tenements John Hamond Clerk,
Thomas Stamp, and other ben seased of ;— First, I
bequeth and recomend my soule to Almyghty God to
our Lady and to all the Companygh of heven, and my
body to be buried in the church of the Priory of

XI

H>O«
X! o
fflaHM<!Zi
<Xo

D

THE LAST BONVILLES.

177

Boxgrave, as by me and my friends shall be assigned.
Item,— I woll that myne executours shall remove the
bodye and bones of John Bonvyle myne husbond which
lieth in Shutte, and bury thaym in the church of the
Prioury of Boxgrave aforesaid, if the lawe woll suffre
it ; — Item,— I bequeth to the reparation of the Cathedrall
church of Chichester iij s iiij d. Also I bequeth to the
Prioury of Boxgrave aforsaid xli to buy thaym ij blue
frontelles for the high awter, according to thair blue
vestyments late by my sayd husband and me to thaym .
yeven, for the which the Priour and Convent shall doo
all observances accordyng at my burying, moneth
mynde, and xijth moneth mynde. Also I bequeth to
the Priour the best hors of my horses in my stabyll the
tyme of my deth for my mortuary. Item, I bequeth to
the Convent of the same place xl s. Also I woll a cuppe
of silver wt a covering called Busshop Lacyes cuppe, a
powder box of silver, a litle standyng Goblett of silver,
and a litle pece of chased be made ij chaleys ; one
thereof I woll the Priour of Boxgrave shale have, the
other the chapell of Halfnaked. Also I bequeth to my
doughter Elizabeth West a ryng with a rubye, an ooche
(nouche) with a safer, ij rubies and iij gret perles, with
a chafyng boll (bowl) of silver, a prymmer with a claps
of silver, a little coffer of ivory, a long payer of bedes
cascydonyes, ij of my best kerchieffes, and my best
paynted cofer, x paier of shetes and ij gurdelles
harnessed, whereof one is enamyled. Also I bequeth
to my doughter Florence Fulford an ewer of silver and
gilt, ij spoonys silver and gilt, the which were the
busshop of Exceters (Fox), an agnus with a flat stone and
perles, and with holy wex therein, and my weddyng
ryng, and my second best paynted coffer. Also I
bequeth to John Lenthoip Esquyer a fethre bed, a
bolstar, and a paier of shetes, a payer of blankettes
and a coverlett, and xl s in money at the moneth daye.
Also I bequeth to Anne Brandon xli in money and
money worth ; Also I woll that the said Anne have
other xli of the bequest of my husbond as it appereth
in hys testament. Also I bequeth to Sir Richard
Shelston, clerk, xl s. Also I bequeth to Sir John Preston
Capellaine of Halfnaked, xls. Also I bequeth to Denys
Merwode, a fethre bed, a bolstar, a paier of shetes, a
paier of blankettes, and a coverlett. Also I bequeth
to Margery Bernard, a fethre bed, a bolstar, and a
paier of shetes, a paier of blankettes, and a coverlett.
Also to Davy Waren, a fethre bed, a bolstar, a paier of
shetes, a paier of blankettes, and a coverlett, and xl s
in money at the moneth day. Also I bequeth to
Ricliard Gamond a fethre bed, a bolstar, a pair of shetes,
a paier of blankettes, a coverlett, a potte, and a
panne. Also I bequeth to Davy Taillour a fethre bed, a
bolstar, a. paier of shetes, a paier of blankettes, and a
coverlett. Item I bequeth to Lawrence Poyntyngton
a fethre bed, a bolstar, a paier of shetes, a paier of
blankettes, and a coverlett. Also I bequeth to John
Stamp a fethre bed, a bolstar, a paier of shetes, a paier
of blankettes, and a coverlett. Also I bequeth to Isabel
Chest a mattresse, a bolstar. a paier of shetes, a paier of
blankettes, and a coverlett. Also I bequeth to Niclwlas
Hyne a mattresse, a bolstar, a paier of shetes, a paier of
blankettes, and a coverlett. Also I bequeth to Thomas
Benlace a mattresse, a bolstar, a paier of shetes, a paier
of blankettes, and a coverlett. Also to Nicholas Baker
a mattresse, a bolstar, a paier of shetes, a paier of
blankettes, and a coverlett. And I woll that all the said
stuff be delivered by the discretion of myne executors.
Also I woll that all my horses unbequethed be equally
devided amongst myservauntes by the advise of my said
executours. Also I woll that myne household be kept
till my moneth day be passed with mete and drynke,
and every man of my said houshold servants to whom
no money by me is bequethed to have xx s at the
moneth day, if he tary so long in houshold. Also I
woll that every of my women servantes, after my
moneth mynde be kept, have xxx s for their wage, and
to be conveyed home to thair frends at my cost and
chardge for th' advise and discretion of myne executours.
Also I woll that myne executours kepe an obite yerely

in the Prioury of Boxgrave to the value of xvis viijd,
by the yer of my moveable goods, till myne executours
may purchase land to the yerly value of xvis viij d, to
be distributed in this forme, to the Priour ther iij s iiij d ;
to the supprior xij d. And to every monke beyng a
prest viij d, to every novyce iiij d. And for bred and ale
to suche persones as shall com to the said yerely obite
iij s iiij d. And the residue of the said sume of xvi s viij d
to be distributed by the descretion of myne executours.
Also, I bequeth to our blessed ladie of Walsyngham, a
ryng with a safer, and a rubye. Also, I bequeth to our
lady of Peioe a paier of bedys of corall, with certain
rynges and tokyns in the same. Also, I bequeth to the
Rode of Norfch door of Paules an " Agnus Dei " without
stonys or perles. Also, I woll that myne executours
shall sell all my plate unbequethed for the costes and
expensys of removyng of my said husband from Shutte
to the Prioury of Boxgrave. Also, I woll that all my
moveable goodes with th'issues and profytes of all my
lands in Devonshir and Somersetshir, as yet beyng in
trouble and varyaunce betwene my Lord Marqueys and
me, aftre the recoveryng of the same be disposed to
the performyng and fulfilling of myne husbandes will
and myne ; and if the said lands cannot he recovered,
which God defend ! ! then I woll that myne executours
shall perform and fulfyll myne husbandes will and myne
so farr as all suche goodes of myne as shall com to
theire handes shall extend on all suche things as they
think moost necessary to be performed and fulfilled by
their discretion. Also, I bequeth to litle Roger xx s and.
a gowne. The residue of all myne other goodes not
bequethed, I give and bequeth to Maister Adam Facete,
Sir John Hawies, clerk, and Thos. Stamp ; whom I make
myne executours to dispose for my soule, myne hus
band's soule, and all crysten souls as they think moost
expedient to the pleasir of God, and the helth of our
soules. There beyng witnesses,— Sir Richard Shelston, John
Lenthorpe, Esquyer, Davy "Waren, Richard Gamond,
Davy Taillour, and meny other.
Proved at " Lamb'ith " 24 Mar., 1498, by Thos. Stamp,

The will is interesting from her desire that
"the body and bones of her husband" should
be brought from Shute and laid beside her
own in Boxgrove Priory church, but it is
doubtful if her executors were able to carry out
the request. The covered silver cup, " called
Bishop Lacy's," was probably a present from
that prelate, who was Bishop of Exeter, 1420-50.
The richly-gemmed nouche, was a clasp or
buckle. The ewer and spoons, silver and gilt,
" the which were the Bishop of Exeter's,"
perhaps also a present from Richard Fox,
Bishop of Exeter, and afterward of Wells, the
14 overseer " of her husband's will. It is also
clear that litigation was still proceeding between
her and Thomas Grey, Marquis of Dorset,
husband of Cicely Bonville, as to the recovery
of a portion of the Bonville property. The
distribution of beds and bedding among various
persons, the usual keeping open her establish
ment for the month after her decease, at the
end of which her women servants were to have
special wages, and then be "conveyed home to
their friends at my cost and charge," and the
final careful remembrance of "litle Roger," —
probably some trusty diminutive dependant
on her establishment, so yclept, with twenty

178

THE LAST B0NV1LLES.

shillings and a gown,— all bespeak the kind
thoughtfulness of this wealthy and influential
lady. "LITLE ROGER."
Who wert thou to be mentioned thus,
' Litle Roger,' —
In last thought of thy mistress kind,
When portioning the overplus
Of this world's wealth, she left behind ?
Doubtless a trusty varlet small,
' Litle Roger,' —
Long linked into her household's state,
Ready at every beck or call,
To errand run, ope door or gate,
Or whatsoever thou could'st do,
' Litle Roger.' —
Though nature with a thrifty hand,
In pigmy mould had cast thee, — true,
Leal service made thy stature grand.
No king that wins his robe and crown,
'Litle Roger,' —
For duty done, through fortune's stroke,
Greater than thee, clad in thy gown,
With store of money in thy poke.
For this thy record lives to-day,
' Litle Roger,' —
Death brought but little change about,
Though both have long since turned to clay,
She in the church, and thee without.

The Manor or Lordship of Halnaker, Hal-
nacre, and sometimes termed Halfnaked, in
Boxgrove, otherwise Boxgrave, originally be
longed to Robert de la Haia, or de la Haye, in the
twelfth century, and by his daughter Cecilia
came to Boger St. John, of Stanton St. John,
Oxon, — thence by a grand-daughter Mabel de
Aureval, who married Adam le Port of Basing,
whose son William took the name of St. John.
It continued in the family of St. John until its
last representative and heiress Isabel St. John,
born 1333, died 1394, brought it to her second
husband Lucas de Poynings, summoned 1368-73
as Baron St. John, ob. 1385, third son of
Thomas de Poynings, Baron Poynings, of Poyn
ings, Sussex, (ob. 1339.) Thence by descent to
Hugh de Poynings, his grandson, who married
first Elizabeth, daughter of Martin Ferrers, and
secondly, Eleanor, daughter of John, Lord Welles.
By his first wife he had one daughter Joan,
married to Thomas Bonville. By his second
wife two daughters, Constance, born about 1409,
died before 1453, married to John Paulet, whose
great-grandson Sir John Paulet, was created
Lord St. John of Basing, 1539, and Marquis of
Winchester, 1551 ; she married secondly, Henry
Greene of Drayton, by whom she had an only
daughter Constance, married to John Stafford,
Earl of Wilts, K.G., ob. 1473. Alice, the second
daughter, born about 1410, ob. 1439, buried in
the Grey Eriars, London, married first, John
Orell, by whom she had two daughters Elizabeth

and Eleanor, and secondly, Sir Thomas Kingston,
by whom she had a son Thomas, born 1435, and
said to be "of Shute," and a daughter Margaret,
married to Thomas Uvedale, of Hatcham,
Hants. These three daughters were the joint co
heiresses of Hugh de Poynings, of Halnaker,
but " It was not until 6 Nov., 1458, that the division was
made between them. Then by an indenture tripartite
between John Bonevyle, Esq., John Paulet, Esq., and
Thomas Kingeston, Esq., cousins and heirs as well as
unto Thomas Poynings, Lord St. John, as to Hugh St.
John, Knight, son and heir unto the said Thomas,
namely, the said John Bonville, son of Jane, eldest
daughter of the said Hugh, and the said John Paulet,
son of Constance, second daughter of the same Hugh,
and the said Thomas Kingeston, son of Alice, the third
and youngest daughter of the same Hugh, there was a
partition between them of all the manors, lands, &c, ot
the Poynings of Halnaker.
" John Bonville took Halnaker and Walburton manors,
the patronage of the Priory of Boxgrove, and of the
Chantry of Mundham; the free Chapel of Halnaker,
with the advowson of the same, and all the lands and
tenements in Boxgrove.Westhampnet, Hunston, Yapton,
Mundeham, Sediglsham, Arundell, Kirdeford, Offham,
Walburton, and Compton ; and likewise the reversion,
after the deaths of Godfrey Hilton and Alianore his
wife, of the manor and advowson of Chanton, and the
free Chapel there, the patronage of the Priory of
Selborne, and all lands in Chanton, subject to an
annual payment of £3 5«. lOd. out of Chanton to
Thomas Kingeston." *
Halnaker passed at the deaths of John and
Katherine Bonville to her daughter Elizabeth,
and her husband Thomas West, Lord de la
Warr, who resided there and largely rebuilt the
house, in which there was an oratory or private
(free?) chapel to which as true patron, Thomas
Bonville presented William Bakere, LL.B., in
1478. In 1532 they erected the beautiful
sacellum in Boxgrove Priory church, which is
situate almost on the edge of the park, » short
distance from the house.
The ruins of Halnaker house stand on a
rising ground in a beautifully undulating park,
studded over with magnificent chestnut trees of
immense size and great age. The mansion was
of considerable extent, but is now a mass of ruins
only, the entrance gateway, with flanking walls
and part of a corner tower being the only
portions at all complete. Before it was finally
dismantled, Dallaway says : —
" The wainscot of the hall wrought in carved oak in
knots, scrolls, and devices, with a frequent introduction
of the arms of the founder exhibit a most curious
instance of the progress of that art. It is now inhabited
by cottagers, and much has been pulled down."
On the acclivity behind the ruins there is a
deep round excavation with terraces, apparently
once a garden, with, perhaps, a fountain at the
* Sussex Archaological Collections,— vol. 15, page 59 
" The Bonvilles of Halnaker," by W. D. Cooper, p.s.a. '

TOMB OP THOMAS WEST, LORD DE LA WARR, K.G.— ob. 1524-5.
BrOADWATEH CHURCH, SUSSEX.

THE LAST BOSVILLES.

179

bottom. Traces of other ornamental grounds
lie around otherwise.
In 1540 Halnaker passed with the other
Boxgrove Priory property from Lord de la Warr,
in the exchange with the Crown. Subsequently
Queen Mary granted it to Henry Fitz-Alan,
Earl of Arundel, ob. 1579. In 1587 Sir John
Morley obtained a similar possession, and to
him Sir William Morley, K.B., of Halnaker.
He had an only daughter and sole heiress,
Mary, born 8 Sep., 1667, and married in 1708,
James Stanley, tenth Earl of Derby, by whom
she had a son, who died in his infancy. The
Earl died 1 Feb., 1735-6, and his Countess 29
Feb., 1752, " at Chichester, and by her own
desire was decently and privately interred at
Boxgrove, in Sussex, the burial place of her
family." The Halnaker estate passed, by her will, to
Sir Thos. Dyke Acland, Bart., of Killerton,
Devon, her nearest relative ; who in 1765 sold it
to the Duke of Richmond, whose park of
Goodwood it adjoins, and is now incorporated
with it.
Sundry relics, presumably saved at the final
dismantling of the house, have been preserved.
These include a portion of the finely carved
panelling, now at Buckhurst ; two paintings of
Halnaker, and two curfews of brass or latten
metal, whose Uate may be assigned to the reign
of James I. One measures fourteen inches high,
diameter nineteen inches ; the other sixteen
inches and a half by twenty-six, at Goodwood.
Also an iron thumb-screw, in private possession.
The Benedictine Priory of Boxgrove is situate
just on the edge of Halnaker park, and was
founded by Robert de la Haia, its first lord, in
the twelfth century. The succeeding owners of
Halnaker, the St. Johns, Poynings, Bonvilles,
and Lord de la Warr, were its patrons, and more
or less, with others, its benefactors. But little
of the Priory buildings remain, the chief being
the ruins of a fine hall, probably the Refectory,
originally of two stories, that under having
been groined : the character of the architecture
early Decorated.
The Priory was dissolved in 1535, during the
rule of Thomas Myles, the then Prior.
Thomas West, Lord de la Warr, husband of
Elizabeth Bonville, was then resident at Hal
naker, and as Patron of the Priory close to his
residence would naturally be much interested as
to its suppression, and he petitioned Secretary
Cromwell to spare its dissolution as a Priory, or
allow him to turn it into a College, or failing
both, to get a grant of the property for himself.
Concerning this, there is preserved in the
British Museum some characteristic letters. One
dated Lady-day, 25 March, 1535, from Lord de
la Warr to Secretary Cromwell : —

Right Worshippful Sir,
In my most harty wise I recommend me to you,
verey desyrus to here of your good helthe ; thankyng
you for your provyd goodnes shewed to me undeserved,
for the whiche you binde me to be yours dewring my
lyffe ; and so shall ye fynd me to the best of my letyll
power. Pleasyth you to be advertysed, that I have
perfytt word, that the Acte ys past, that all howses of
Relygion that ys under three hundred markys ys gevyn
to the Kyng's highness, bothe the lands and goodds ;
and that by the saide Acte his Highnes may, by his
letters patent under his grete seale, gyve lysense to as
many as shall stand with his gracy's pleasure, to
contynewe unsubpressyd. And so hyt ys that I have a
power howse callyd Boxgrave very near to my power
howse called Halnaker whereof I am founder ; and
there lyeth many of my Auncytorys, and also my
wyffy's mother ; and for by cawse hyt ys of my founda-
cyon, and that my paryshe churche ys under the roofe
of the churche of the said monastery, and have made a
power Chapell to be buryed yn; wherfor yf yt mybgt
stande with the Kynges gracy's pleasure, for the power
servyce that I have doyn his Highnes, to forbere the
subpressynge of the same, or else to translate hyt ynto
a College of such nombre as the landes wyll bere.
And yf hyt may not stand so with hys Gracy's pleasure ;
then I wold lowly beseche hys Grace to have the prefer
ment of the farme, with all suche other thyngs as the
Pryoryie hys tyme had for the provysyon of hys howse.
Wheryfor I wyll beseche you, that I may have your
lawfull faver, goodwyll, and helpehereyn. And surely,
Syr, I shall recompence your goodnesse, kyndness, and
payne hereyn ; so that I trust that for so power a
thinge, that you shall be contentyd and pleasyd,
besechyng you to be as good to me hereyn as you may
be, as my most trust ys yn you, as Knowethe the
Blessed Trinite, who longe preserve you.
Wryttyn at my power howse, upon owre Lady day.
Your owen assuryd,
Thomas la Warre.
This wily, disingenuous letter to Cromwell,
would seem to have been written on the 25th of
March, while probably the Commissioners were
there, as on the 27th, two days after, they make
their report to the Secretary, which we subjoin.
The inference is Lord de la Warr found it very
unlikely the Priory would be permitted to be
kept open as it was, or in a modified shape by
him as a. College. He therefore made his
appeal to the Secretary, and then did the next
best thing to help it, get possession of the
buildings and estate by purchase.
Reght honorable and my synguler goode Lorde,
I humbly recommende me, unto yowe. This
shall be to advertyse yo'r Lordeshippe, that Syr John
Dawtree, Master Palmer, and I, accordmge to the
Kynges commyssion and instructions, have dissolved the
Priory of Boxgrave, in the Countie of Sussex.
The besenes of disolucion thereof was fynysshed, the
xxvith daye of this present monthe, at wh'ch tyme I
received yo'r Lordshippe's lettre in favor of my Lord
La Warre, w'ch accordinge to y'r Lordshyppes com-
maundement by th'asssent of other joynt com'yssioners
wythe me, I have followed ; so that my said Lord La
Warre is as I truste contented. The valure of the
goodes that he hath bowght comys to cxxvli, xiiis, iiiid,
wherof he hathe paide xlli, and for the reste, I have
taken hys owne bonde to the Kyng's use, to be payed at
suche dayes as he hymself hathe desyred, that ys to
sey, Myghelmas next, and Ester ffolowing ; wherwyth I
trust the Kyng's Grace wyll be pleasyd by means of
yowre good Lordshyppe ; and the rather, befor that hys
Grace, by the vygylant circumspection and dylygent

180

THE LAST BONVILLES.

dewtie of the said Lord La Warre hath more profett
there, then in any other Howse dissolved in Sussex,
And as I verylye thynke, the Kyng is not better
answeryd, nor more trewly of the goodds apperteyning
to hys Hyghnes by reason of any howse dyssolved in
England then he is also there.
As Almighty God knowith, who long preserve yo'r
Lordshyppe faver with the increase of honor to his
pleasure. From Boxgrave the xxviith day of Marche, at his
Lordshyppe's commaundment glad to do servyce.
John Mores.
Although Lord de la Warr got possession of
the Priory, and doubtless it was a strict stipula
tion that the religious were to be dispersed, and
the building dismantled, as was customary, —
he was probably a devout Catholic, and desirous
if possible of retaining or restoring the monks
there ; a very dangerous proceeding at that
juncture of time, and which seems to have
aroused the suspicions of the authorities, and
offensive to the grim Henry himself.
So it appears to have been determined on that
he should be dispossessed, not only of the
Priory buildings and lands, but of the old
patrimonial estate of Halnaker also, and be
given in exchange some other property of »
similar nature.
Notice seems to have been given them as to
this in 1539, for on 8 Nov., his wife Elizabeth
(who was the heiress of Halnaker), writes to
Secretary Cromwell to give her
*' reasonable time to depart from thence, considering
that all our corn and cattle, and other provision, is here
upon Halfnaked and Boxgrove, and on no other place,
and we can make no shift now, for no money, until
Summer." And the danger of his position was evidenced
by the report of the Lords of the Council to
Henry VIIL, on the 1 Dec. following, that they
had tried to find out " the very bottom and "pith
of such things as the Lord La Warr hath been
detected to have offended your Majesty," but
found no sufficient grounds to send him to the
Tower. The cloud appears to have blown over, and in
1540, by an exchange with the Crown, " he
dared not refuse," Lord de la Warr had assigned
to him the Benedictine Nunnery of Wherwell,
near Andover, its site, buildings, and estates.
The church was dedicated to the Holy Cross
and St. Peter. The Abbess' lodgings, and build
ings adjacent, were assigned to remain, the
church, steeple, chapter house, &c, deemed to
he superfluous. Scarcely any vestiges are now
remaining. Anne Bonville, sister to Sir William Bonville,
ob. 1407, the grandfather of Thomas Bonville,
-was a nun at Wherwell.
The Priory Church of Boxgrove is dedicated
to the Virgin Mary and St. Blaise. The second
name is a singularly appropriate one, the bishop

is claimed as the patron saint of the wool-
combers, and the edifice stands on one of the
Sussex downs, encircled with endless flocks of
sheep. In its perfect state the whole church
was 221 feet long, but there now remains the
choir, tower, and transepts only, 136 feet in
length by 46 in breadth. Originally it served a
double purpose, the nave, which is destroyed,
forming the parish church, and the portion left
that belonging to the Priory. It is a very fine
edifice, the tower which is low, is of Norman
work, with a lantern open to the church round
which is a rich arcade, and appears to have
been shortened about two centuries since, when
it was struck by lightning. The choir, which is
groined, with the aisles, is very fine early
English, the arcades, sub-arctuated ; the two
last bays toward the altar, having detached
Purbeck pilasters, surrounding the central
pillar. The east window consists of three im
posing lancet lights of great altitude. The
transepts have the peculiarity of being floored
over at about half their height. The ruined
nave, which was probably in a state of decay at
the dissolution, was much smaller and lower
than the choir portion, and is of Norman
character. The chantry or sacellum erected by Thomas
West, Lord de la Warr, and Elizabeth Bonville
his wife in 1532, is situate under the third arch
from the altar of the southern arcade of the
choir. Although stated to be only used as
chapel for celebrating obits by a chantry priest,
yet it was evidently intended for a mortuary one,
as Lord de la Warr in his letter to Cromwell
says : — " my paryshe churche ys under the
roofe of the churche of the said monastery, and
have made a power Chapell to be buryed yn." His
wife's mother was buried near. But the enforced
exchange of Boxgrove and Halnaker for Wher
well alienated him from the district, and
doubtless altered his determination, and he was
buried at Broadwater.
It is a very beautiful structure, about fourteen
feet by ten in area. The style is transition, late
Perpendicular, with classic ornament, the sides
are open with arches and pendants, a rich deep
cornice over, of armorial bearings and other
sculptures, divided by tiers of niches. Within
there is a finely groined, geometrically traceried
ceiling, with enriched pendants, and the whole
of the outside is covered with shields of arms,
badges, monograms, scroll-work, allegorical
figures and grotesques, all splendidly painted
and gilded, the colours being quite fresh, and
the sculptured details singularly free from
mutilation, the figures from the niches being the
only portions removed.
Painted on the lower ledge of the reredos
panel of the altar within, — which is quite plain

^.XM t

n*sj fi

«re$&

£s$gM

fflssfflmMM

mH

¦r. = ¦ R
IPS •':<£&
iliP m I i -li

:,  |llliP»i^^W
,ii''» .lyjaaBjL ,yx"-:- - %**S31^l8|Qg$P
IIEHHrr- 1 ii IRtBi ¦
¦IP; t (j^*f^ B lag® -

wo
B3D
ao«o
«>o«
K on

182

THE LAST BONVILLES.

and apparently never completed, — is this in
scription : —
OF YOR CHARITE PRAY FOR YE SOULE
OF THOMAS LE WARE, AND ELIZABETH
HIS WAIFE.
And on the two eastern pendants at the sides, —
©Ijomas la IHar
anno tio'i m'ltn b" isiii0
(Blr/jabett; la Mtar.
Arms within the chantry. On the north of the
reredos a shield within the Garter, — Quarterly of
four, — 1 and 4. Gules, crustily jitchy, a lion
rampant argent (De la Wabk). 2 and 3. Gules,
three leopards' heads inverted jessant-de-lys or
(Cantilupe). On south side, — quarterly of
four, — 1. Bonville, with crescent for difference.
2. St. John. 3. Poynings, with annulet for
difference. 4. Ferrers. On the central pendant
of the groining, — quarterly of eight, — 1. Bonville.
2. St. John. 3. West, argent, a fess dancettee
sable. 4. De la Warr, quartering Cantilupe.
5. Poynings. 6. Ferrers. 7. Mortimer. 8. Gules
three bends enhanced or (Geeille, Lord of
Manchester). On the other pendants are large
red double roses.
Outside, on the north cornice, four shields, —
1. De la Warr quartering Cantilupe, within
the Garter. — 2. Mortimer. — 3. Quarterly of
four,— 1. West. 2. De la Warr and Cantilupe
quarterly. 3. Mortimer. 4. Greille.— 4. Bonville
quartering St. John, Poynings, and Ferrers.
On the south cornice.— 1. St. John. — 2. De la
Warr and Cantilupe quarterly, quartering St.
John, Poynings, Greille, and Ferrers. — 3. Baron,
Bonville quartering St. John, Poynings, and
Ferrers, impaling./emme, Wingfield and GoushiU.
On the west end, Baron, quarterly of six.
1. West. 2. Cantilupe. 3. Gyronny gules and
or, within a bordure sable bezantee. i. Sable,
three hammers or pickaxes, or (Martel). 5.
Three lions . rampant or, within a bordure
engrailed gules (Fitz-Piees and Fixz-Heebeet) .
6. Gules on a bend cotised, three mullets pierced,
or, impaling femme, quarterly of four. 1. De
la Warr. 2. Barry, vaire and lozengy, or and
gules. 3. Greille. 4. Azure, eleven escallops gules,
5. 3. 2. 1. Over is a helmet with coronet, the
crest defaced. Supporters, a wolf collared, and
a cockatrice. Above are the letters T. E. joined
with cordon.
On the east end, St. John and Poynings,
quarterly ; and Bonville and Ferrers, quarterly.
On another shield, a, large red double rose.
The sculptured badges or cognizances of Can
tilupe, a leopard's head jessant-de-lys, — Bonville

and St. John, a mullet,— De la Warr, a lion
rampant, — Mortimer, a double rose, — Martel, the
liammer or pickaxe, — West, the sword crampette,
— and numerous single initial letters are thickly
scattered over the structure.
The badge of West, Lord de la Warr, is thus
blazoned : — a crampette or, the inside per pale
argent and gules, rimmed or, charged with the
letter r of the first. Their motto: — Joue de ma
vie. The double rose of Mortimer, per pale,
argent and gules. Sir Thomas West, ob. 1344,
married Eleanor, daughter and heir of Sir John
Cantilupe, of Hempston-Cantilupe, Devon, by
his wife Margaret, daughter of John, Lord
Mohun of Dunster. Thomas, his son, ob. 1387,
married Alice, daughter of Reginald Fitz-Piers,
baron of Wolverley, in Worcestershire (Collins).
This family, otherwise Fitz-Herbert, held a
manor in Hinton-Martel, Dorset, derived from
Martel, its early lords, whose arms were, argent,
three hammers or pickaxes, gules (Hutchins).
Alice his wife made her will at Hinton-Martel,
in 1395, wherein she orders her body to be
buried in the Priory of the canons of Christ
church, Hants, with her ancestors.
The spaces between the ribs of the choir
vaulting are painted with running patterns of
foliage, fruit and flowers, having in their centres
shields of arms of De la Warr and his descent,
evidently of contemporary date with the Chantry.
There are numerous tombs in the church, but
with the exception of a coffin-shaped stone or
two, are all of late date, mostly of Purbeck
marble, scarce any traces of indents of brasses
on their covers, and no inscriptions remaining.
In the south transept are two, one of large size,
with plain quatrefoils under, the other with
traceried panels with shields in the centre, once
covered with brasses. Three more are found in
the south choir aisle. In the north aisle is a
large plain tomb of Purbeck under a shallow
depressed arch, having the arms of St. John on
the keystone, and in the spandrels are the
letters T. M., probably for Thomas Myles, the
last Prior, who resigned the Priory 1535. There
appears to have been a memorial in the north
transept to John Rykeman, elected Prior 1409,
and " in the Latin inscription on his tomb he is
called ' Monachus istius loci.' "
Among those known to have been buried here,
beside the religious, was Sir Thomas de Poyn
ings, son of Sir Lucas de Poynings, who married
Isabel de St. John, the heiress of Halnaker, at
which place he principally resided, and died
7 March, 1429. In his will, dated 1428, he
orders his body to be buried in the north part of
the chancel, near the tomb of his second wife
Phiiippa, Countess of Arundel and Pembroke
"una cum petra marmora plana super corpus
meum ponenda etjacendd." She was the daughter
of Edmund Mortimer, third Earl of March

MONUMENT OP THOMAS WEST, LORD DE LA WARR, K.G.— ob. 1554.
and ELIZABETH BONVILLE, his Wife.
Broadwater Church, Sussex.

THE LAST BONVILLES.

183

ob. 1381, by his wife Phiiippa, daughter and
heir of Lionel Plantagenet, Duke of Clarence,
and had been married twice before, first, when
they were both very young, to John Hastings,
third Earl of Pembroke, killed in tilting with Sir
John St. John at Woodstock, 30 Dec, 1389 ; and
secondly, as his second wife, to Richard Fitz-
Alan, tenth (Burke) Earl of Arundel, so cruelly
beheaded in Cheapside, 21 Richard II., 1398;
and whose presumed monument with the effigies
of himself and first wife Elizabeth de Bohun,
are in Chichester Cathedral, believed to have
been removed there from the Chapel of the
Grey Friars' Monastery, in that city. She
survived her third marriage only two years, and
died 26 Sep., 1400. Katherine Wingfield, the
wife of John Bonville, was also buried here, and
her wish was that her husband's "body and
bones " should be brought from Shute and laid
beside her. She was connected with Phiiippa
Poynings, Countess of Arundel, being the grand
daughter of Elizabeth Fitz-Alan, the daughter
of her second husband's first wife, Elizabeth de
Bohun, daughter of William de Bohun, Earl of
Northampton. Broadwater church, the mother church of
Worthing, is also a large structure, mostly of
Early English, with richly ornamented Norman
arches supporting the tower.
The tombs of the Lords de la Warr in this
edifice are very fine, especially that of Thomas
West, fifth baron of that name and descent,
K.G., who died 1524-5. It is in the north wall
of the chancel, and was doubtless erected by
his son, being of late Perpendicular, with some
classic details of rich character, with coat
armour, and studded over with badges and
initials very similar to the chantry in Boxgrove
church. It appears to have been originally
painted and gilded, which has been removed,
but beyond the statues in the niches, the
sculpture has not been much injured. Neither
effigy nor brass apparently had place on it, and
there is no inscription remaining. A tilting
helmet stands on the table of the tomb, but this
doubtless was originally hung on an iron bracket
above it.
The monument of his son Thomas West,
.Lord de la Warr, K.G., sixth baron, and husband
of Elizabeth Bonville, who died in 1554, now
stands under an arched recess in the east wall
of the south transept, having been moved from
the chancel to its present position. It is smaller,
of plainer character, and almost wholly classic
in detail and ornament. It had been consider
ably mutilated, and was restored by a Lady de
la Warr early in the present century. There is
a rich canopy with armorial decoration on the
frieze, and below are three panels or plain niches
containing figures, one being nearly effaced.

On the left is the Virgin and holy Child, she is
crowned, and has a sceptre in the left hand.
On the right is St. George, armed with sword
and spear, trampling on the dragon. These
figures appear to be almost if not wholly new,
probably placed there when the monument was
restored. The central niche, much wider than
the others, represents the outline of a figure
seated on a chair or throne, and was evidently
intended for God the Father, probably holding
our Lord in His lap. Below are two further
outlines of figures in niches, whose identity is
doubtful. All these three last named figures
were doubtless purposely mutilated beyond
recovery, and consequently have been cleaned
off to a shallow flat surface, shewing the outline
only. There is something remarkable about the
introduction of these figures of saints, &c, on
this monument so long after the Reformation,
and apparently intentional subsequent destruc
tion, or delete on both memorials. There was,
it may be inferred, special reasons for this, first,
from circumstances previously related, this Lord
de la Warr was known to be devoted to the
Roman communion, probably never accepting
the Reformed faith ; and secondly, they were of
course inadmissible in a church that had re
pudiated their inclusion in its articles of belief.
Yet strange to say, two centuries and a half
afterward, two of them were again permitted to
be introduced.
There are four shields on the frieze. — 1.
Mortimer, for his mother. — 2. De la Warr and
Cantilupe, quarterly, within the Garter. Sup
porters, two wolves coward, each charged with
two mullets ; helmet with coronet and mantling,
crest, u griffin's head. — 3. West, quartering de
la Warr and Cantilupe quarterly, Mortimer,
and Greille. Supporters, dexter, a wolf coward,
collared, sinister, a cockatrice ; helmet and crest
as before. — 4. Bonville, with crescent, quartering
St. John, Poynings with annulet, and Ferrers.
The letters T. L. and E. L., the badges of West,
Cantilupe, Martel, double rose for Mortimer, &c,
stud the moulding under the arms, and occur on
other parts of the monument. There is no
inscription remaining.
It is singular, although the counties of Devon
and Sussex are so widely separated, yet the
families we have treated of should at various
times have been identified with both. The first
Sir Thomas West, known to Collins, is said by
him to have married Eleanor, daughter of Sir
John de Cantilupe, of Hempston - Cantilupe
(Broadhempston) in Devon, by Margaret his
wife, daughter of John, Lord Mohun of Dunster,
but her identification is difficult. Pole says :—
" William, Lord Cantilupe held in Hempston ij fees,
anno 27 Kinge Henry III. (1243) and anno 24 of Kinge
Edw. I., (1296) John Lo. Cantilupe of Hem'ston held

184

THE LAST BONVILLES.

the same, whose daughter Elinor was married unto Si-
Thomas West, wh'ch held the same anno 19 Kinge
Edw. III. (1346). It contynewed in y't famyly many
yeeres, and is not any longe tyme passed, that West
Lo. De Lawarr, sold this land unto John Rowe, Sonne
unto John Rowe, serjeant at lawe."
According to Burke, John Cantilupe, lord of
Snithfield, Warwick, had a, son John, who died
17 Edward II., ob. 1324, whose grand-daughter
married Sir Thomas West. Thomas West,
Lord De la Warr, husband of Elizabeth Bonville,
held the Broadhempston manor at his death, it
being mentioned in the inquisition post mortem,
taken at Cuckfield in Sussex, 6 June, 1 — 2
Philip and Mary. It must have been sold soon
after. Hugh de Poynings of Boxgrove, married
Elizabeth, daughter and heir of Martin Ferrers,
of Beer-Ferrers. Joan, his daughter, married
Thomas Bonville of Shute. Hugh de Poynings
himself was descended through St. John from
Courtenay (of Colcombe, Devon), neighbour to
Bonville. The seals of Sir William Bonville and Sir
Philip Courtenay, given in the illustration, as
appended to the deeds relating to William
Wynard's foundation of his Hospital in Magda
len Road, Exeter, called " Godes-house," appear
appropriately together. These noble families,
although usually in opposition to each other
over the rival claims, and in the faction fights of
the Roses, were nevertheless in domestic ties,
closely related. Sir William, afterwards Lord
Bonville, married secondly Elizabeth Courtenay
of the elder descent, daughter of Edward, third
Earl of Devon (the blind Earl) and widow of
Lord Harington. Sir Philip Courtenay, married
Elizabeth, sister of Walter, Lord Hungerford,
and their eldest son and heir Sir William Cour
tenay, ob : 1485, married Margaret, second
daughter of Lord Bonville by his first wife.
Phiiippa, their daughter was married to Sir
Thomas Fulford, and their son Sir Humphrey,
married Florence, daughter of John Bonville of
Halnaker. John Bonville himself was descen
ded collaterally from Courtenay, by his father's
marriage with Joan Poynings, one of the three
ultimate coheiresses of John, Lord St. John, and
Isabel Courtenay.
The alliances of Courtenay, Hungerford, and
Bonville may be seen on the capitals of the
columns of the south aisle of Powderham
church, alluded to in Dame Margaret Courte-
nay's will, dated 9 July, 1487, wherein she
requests —
" My body to be buried in the parrishe chirche of
Powderham, where my husband was buried, for my
husband and I made there the newe Isle, and also the
body of the Chirch at oure owen cost and charge;
Except that I had of the parrishe there to the help of
the said bilding viij d. And I will sette of my goodes to
helpe bild the body of the said chirch of Powderham
x li." She was cousin to John Bonville.

Ac the death of John Bonville, the historic
race of that name, in legitimate male descent,
ended. In ripe old age, and doubtless at his
wife's seat of Halnaker, in Sussex, he died, but
with due regard to his family antecedents, styled
himself of Shute in Devon, and to that parish
church where he had a ' curatt,' his body as
ordered in his will must have been conveyed for
sepulture. It is singular, almost touching as a
circumstance, that himself, the last of his name,
— and there is no record that any of his pre
decessors were buried there, — should be brought
back to the old ancestral home for interment.
But could his widow have had her wish fulfilled,
his remains would have been removed to Box
grove and placed by her side. Fortunately this
was not to be, and we think, with little doubt,
he rests undisturbed, where, most appropriately,
he desired to find his last resting-place.
No definite identified monument exists to a
Bonville, but in the absence of any such personal
memento we have the legacy of the beautiful
chapel at Ottery St. Mary, erected by Cicely,
widow of the Marquis of Dorset. The effigy
at Astley, Warwickshire, is only assumed to
represent her, consequently her last resting
place is to a considerable extent conjectural.
Distaffs carrying the name into other families,
are sparingly represented, chiefly by the allusive
association of heraldic inclusion. Their old
seat at Shute was replaced by another mansion
erected by the Poles. Halnaker, the acquired
residence of the younger branch, after enforced
alienation, has become a picturesque ruin. The
three last representatives of the main descent,
perished rapidly on the battle-field and the
scaffold. Of Newenham Abbey church, the
family burial-place, scarcely one stone remains
upon another.
But the longings, ambitions, vicissitudes, and
misfortunes that throng the story of their lives,
form an instructive subject for the investigator,
abounding with almost every phase of interest
occurring from the cradle to the grave.
HALNAKER.
As if to blot out each material trace
Of human life, that in its span became
Home, sanctuary, shrine, last resting-place —
Earth-lingering relics of a mortal name, —
Thy ruins Halnaker, brim Bonville's cup
Of destiny, in Pate's relentless hand,
With scattered wrecks that Time has gathered up
Within the region of his shadow-land.
Yet still doth Memory's tear, Love's transient smile,
Glimpses angelic— seem to glance and fade,
Haunting in Fancy's eye the mouldering pile,
Like glint of twilight stars in woodland glade,
Undulled by Lethe's tide, — whose murmurs keep
The drowsy Past hushed in his stony sleep.

PHx

.J"-"ARE/H ELFO

Q^^jt^Pyf'y^^

&^s

<&~<TP>*ts.

MONUMENT TO ELIZABETH ELFORD, SHEEPSTOR CHURCH.

A LEGEM) OF DARTMOOR.

Until this tyranny be over-past."

HE great tors
of Dartmoor,
thrust up as a
granite crown
amid the green
skirts of Devon,
— the impres
sive solitude of
its vast, undu
lating stretch
of accompany
ing moorland,
and panorama
of splendid,
ever-changing
scenery, consti
tute it the unique feature of this beautiful
county. Words fail to convey an adequate de
scription, and it must be seen and traversed, to
realize a true estimate of its size and grandeur.
In common with uninhabited, in old times
eomparatively inaccessible, and consequently
imperfectly known regions ; man, in the absence
of more definite knowledge, has clothed it with
a mirage of tradition, and peopled its wide'
expanse with a host of imaginary beings of
various kinds, fairies, pixies, et hoc genus omne,
grotesque in feature and stature, and endowed
with supernatural powers and functions, male
volent or gracious, that scour its wild precincts,
and haunt the purlieus of its rocks, caves, and
mountain torrents.
These characteristics, the wealth of its natural
beauty, and charm of weird associations, have
continuously attracted and inspired poet, painter,
and historian in almost endless succession, to
depict or record with pencil and pen some of
the multitudinous impressions its picturesque
expanse suggests.
But the tradition we propose to speak of is of
a purely personal kind, pertaining in the main
to homely every-day life, occurring two centuries
and a half since, and apart from the super
natural, although to some extent relative, and
consequently interwoven into its narration.

In a preceding dissertation, treating mostly of
west-country sun-dials, a description is given of
a remarkable piece of sculpture on the porch of
Sheepstor church, and a short history of its
presumed setter up. In addition to the facts
therein related, there are so many more interest
ing circumstances connected with his life, that
we now propose to supplement it with further
detail. John Elford was one of the nine children, and
eldest of the four son^ of Walter Elford of
Sheepstor, gentleman, by his wife Barbara,
daughter of John Crocker of Lynam, Esq. He
was baptized at Buckland-Monachorum 29 May,
1603. His parents appear to have been resident
there at the time, as two others of their children
were baptized at the same place.
The Elfords were an antient family, said by
Lysons to have come originally from Cornwall, a
Robert de Elford having been Sheriff of that
county 30 Edward III., 1302. Before the year
1400 they were settled at Longstone in Sheepstor,
and about 1517 a descendant married the heiress
of Scudamore, of Sheepstor.
The next notice we get of him is his marriage
with the first of his four wives. This was
Elizabeth, daughter of Amias Copleston of
Copleston and Warlegh, ob : 1621, by his wife
Gertrude daughter of Sir John Chichester. She
was baptized at Tamerton-Foliot 14 Feb.
1607-8,— her marriage license 26 March, 1631.
There were five daughters born during this
union, Susanna, ob : 1647, aged 16, — Gertrude,
married to Roger Woolocombe of Coombe, —
Elizabeth to Edmund Fortescue, — Barbara, to
Arthur Fortescue of Penwarne," and so direct
ancestors of the Earls Fortescue, — Joan, buried
18 Dec., 1636, at Widecombe-in-the-Moor. The
date of her death is not known, or burial place,
but the presumption would be at Sheepstor, as it
is to this first wife that the monument in the
church there is erected. This is evidenced by the
single remaining line of inscription which reads
Elizabeth Elfoed.
The memorial has been rebuilt, and some

186

A LEGEND OF DARTMOOR.

portions were probably destroyed. Its composi
tion is remarkable, for the quaintness of the
effigies, and allegorical adjuncts, bearing strong
resemblance in treatment to the sculpture on the
porch. The curious part is, it must have been
erected after he was married to his fourth wife,
as the arms are Elford and Scudamore quarterly,
impaling Copleston, Northcote, Gale and Woolo-
combe quarterly. Probably after his settlement
at Sheepstor, on the death of his father.
Secondly, he married Anna daughter of
John Northcote of Hayne, ob : 1632, by his
second wife, Susan daughter of Sir Hugh
Pollard of Kings-Nympton. She was baptized
26 Aug., 1619, and married 3 May, 1637. There
were five children, — Walter, eldest son, ob :
1674-5, married Elizabeth daughter of John
Quicke of Newton St. Cyres ; Jonathan, ob :
1690, married Amy daughter of Hals of Egg
Buckland ; Richard, ob : 1642, buried at Wide-
combe-in-the-Moor ; Grace, married to George
Young ; Anne, baptized 16 Dec, 1638, at Wide
combe. Mrs. Anna Elford was buried with her
ancestors at Newton St. Cyres, 5 Aug., 1640.
It was to Widecombe that he brought his third
wife Mary, the daughter of Thomas Gale of
Crediton, ob : 1625, by Elizabeth daughter of
John Furze. She was born in 1619, and married
at Crediton, 18 Feb., 1641-2. She died in child
bed, just a year after, and was buried at
Widecombe, 16 Feb., 1642-3. Her twin daugh
ters Mary and Sarah, both soon followed their
mother to the grave.
To this wife he erected a monument in the
church there, with this curious inscription : —
TO THE MEMORIE OF
MARY THE THIRD WIFE OF IOHN
ELFORD OF SHITSTOR, ESQr. WAS
HEER INTERRED FEBr Ye 16 Ao 1642,
HAVING ISSVE AT A BYRTH
MARY & SARAH.
Wed : poesie.
AS MARYES CHOYCE MADE IOHN
REIOYCE below.
Soe was her losse his heauie crossemost know
Yet lost she is not sure but found aboue
Death gaue her life t'imbrace A dearer loue.
Anagr: MARY ELFORD.-FEAR MY LORD.
Then FEAR MY LORD whilst yet yu mou'st on mold
That soe those armes that mee may thee infold
Neer twelue moneths day her maridge heer did pass
Her heauenly nuptiall consummated was
She fertile prou'd in soule and bodye both
Jn life good workes at death she twyns brought forth

And like A fruitfull tree with bearing dy'd
Yet Phoenix like for one there two suruiu'd
Which shortly posted their deare mother after
Least sin's contagion their poore soules might slaughter
Then cease your sad laments I am but gone
To reape aboue what I belowe haue sowne
Ao aetat VIXIt obiit sVperls
Maria GaLe Iohannl ELforD VXor tertla
heV obiit eX pVerperlo Erectum fuit Ao 1650.
Arms : — over the tablet a sculptured shield,
Elford and Scudamore quarterly. Shields on
either side Elford and Gale. Below Elford
impaling Copleston, Northcote, Gale, and Woolo-
combe. The chronogram in the first Latin line reads
25 as her age. That in the two succeeding Latin
lines 1642, as the date of her death. The
numerals 1650 indicate when the monument was
erected. In the north chancel aisle of Crediton church,
are several inscribed flat stones dating about this
era, to the respectable family of Gale, with
their arms, — Azure, a fess argent, fretty azure.
Fourthly, he married at Roborough, 20 July,
1647, Sarah second daughter of John Woolo-
combe of Coombe. By her he had five children,
— William, buried 1683 at Charles', Plymouth ;
Nathaniel, buried 1660 at St. Andrew's, Ply
mouth ; Samuel, 1678, and Joseph, 1686, both at
Buckland-Monachorum ; Benjamin ; and Sarah,
ob: 1672.
The date of the death of his second wife
is suggestive. There is no memorial to her
either at her burial place or elsewhere ; and
it was in this year 1640, that the sculpture
on the porch at Sheepstor bearing the initials
of John Elford was set up ; but the entries in
the Widecombe Register of the birth and burial
of two of his children shew that he mast
then have been resident there.
A remarkable conjugal record these numerous
' venters ' in the field of Hymen, and its fruit
ful result, by which he became the father of
eighteen children.
On 2 May, 1648, his father Walter Elford
made his will, and describes himself as : —
" Of Shepister, gentleman, ' being of perfect remem
brance thanks bee to God, and being desirous to settle
my estate, have thought good to take this present time,
which God in mercie hathe afforded me. I doe
commend my soul into the hands of Almighty God
beseeching him through the merits and passion of his
son Jesus Christ my only Saviour and Redeemer to
receive the same, when it shall be separated from the
body into his heavenly kingdom, and my body I commit
to the earth to be buried in Shepister in the Eele
commonly called Elford's Eele.' Gives bequests to the
poor of Meavy and Sheepstor, to Elizabeth Langworthy,
his grandchild, when she shall marry, ten pounds ; to

A LEGEND OF DARTMOOR.

187

each of his children, and John Symes, Vicar of Dean-
Prior, twenty shillings, to buy a gold ring; to his
apprentice William Clark, a house, garden, and orchard
in Sheepstor, for his life ; twenty pounds a year to his
wife, and ' her own, with her maid-servant diet freely
during her life, upon condition that she do yield up to
' my son John Elford all those lands, tenements, and
leases which I have conveyed to her, for her jointure or
otherwise ' ; - residue real and personal to his son John,
who ' shall therewithal pay my debts, legacies, and
discharge my funerals, which I desire may be in a
private way.' "
Just a week afterward on the 9 May, 1648, he
died, as recorded on his monument, aged seventy-
two. The singular line of epitaph inscribed
thereon, has been already referred to * ; and the
thought occurs, read in conjunction with the
son's objurgation at Meavy, as to whether parent
and child were in agreement on the great
social question then agitating society.
But the chief circumstance of interest con
nected with the life of this much-married,
patriarchal man, and by which he is principally
remembered, resides in the tradition, that during
the time of the conflicts that led to the Com
monwealth, he, being presumably a staunch
Royalist, became so obnoxious to the Parliamen
tary side, that to escape their vigilance and fury,
had to secrete himself in an aperture of the
rocks, near the summit of the adjacent tor, and
where, presumably if he was there so hidden,
like the prophet Elijah, his food must have been
conveyed to him by some friendly hand, if not
exactly by ravens.
Just behind the village — although not claiming
rank among the largest or highest — rises one of
the finest of the Dartmoor tors, that probably
gave name to the parish, now known as Sheeps-
Tor, antiently Shettis-Tor, or Shitts-Tor. It
forms one of the outposts of the vast Moor, is
pf great altitude^ and has the advantage of
isolation, its sides toward the summit being
very steep. On its southern slope, and gathering
in quantity toward the top, is a belt of enor
mous rocks or boulders, piled up on each other,
that at some remote age of the world's history,
must have dropped from its granite-cliffed brow.
Many of these rocks are of immense size, require
some skill and care to traverse, and it is about
the middle of the belt that Elford's presumed
hiding place is found.
In addition to this tradition, there is another,
and probably much earlier one connected with
it, being known as the Pixie's Cave, or Parlour,
— the haunt or trysting place of these super
natural denizens of the Moor, and by this name
is well known to all the country round.
The little cavern is undoubtedly of natural
formation, merely a larger one than common
among the openings of the rocks, and would be
. difficult to find without direction. The entrance
is at right angles with the larger cavity within,
* Page 146.

and must be crept through to reach it. The
inner chamber is formed of large boulders, with
one lying aslant across the top, forming the roof.
It would be of sufficient size for a person to
exist in for a time, with a suitable supply of
clothing and food, but would be necessarily cold
and damp from the water that exudes down the
sides. Above this belt of rocks rises the grand crest
of the tor, a solid mass of granite, perpendicular
as a cliff on two sides, like a bastion of Cyclo
pean masonry, fissured and bleached by the
Atlantic winds. The view from the summit is
magnificent. On the north and east the vast
region of Dartmoor stretches around as a pano
rama, with Great Mis-Tor glooming up in the
background, and mingling with the grey clouds.
In the west Hingston Down, and the Cornish
hills receding back to the giant Caradons. To the
south, lying as a map, the undulating landscape
down to Plymouth, with a long bright line of
ocean, shimmering in the far distance ; a scene
aptly described by the poet of the Moor : —
" Wild Tor !
Thou wearest not thy crown of clouds— the beam
Of heaven is on thee now, and from thy crest
Sublime, I view Devonia's garden-fields,
In native loveliness, stretch far away,
E'en to the austral strand : and clear descried,
Cornubia too her beauteous map outspreads ;
While nearer' in the dreary east, uprush
Devonia's cheerless Alps. 'Tis here to feel
The influence of that impressive calm
Which rests upon them. Nothing that has life
Is visible ; no solitary flock
At will wide-ranging through the silent Moor,
Breaks the deep-felt monotony ; and all
Is motionless, save where the giant shades
Flung by the passing cloud, glide slowly o'er
The gray and gloomy wild."
But to return to John Elford and the ro
mantic legend, that he being a zealous Royalist,
hid himself in the Pixies' Cave to escape the
violence of the redoubtable Protector and his
adherents, his food and necessaries being carried
to him by stealth.
This tradition which seems to have been oral
only, appears to have been first put on record by
Polwhele. What he says is thus quoted by Mrs.
Bray, who visited and described the cave, and
adopted its probably fabled occupant as a
character in one of her tales * : —
" Here (Sheepstor) I am informed, Elford used to hide
himself from the search of Cromwell's party to whom
he was obnoxious. Hence he could command the whole
country; and having some talents for painting, he
amused himself with that art on the walls of his cavern,
which I have been told (says Mr. Yonge of Puslinch) by
an elderly gentleman who had visited this place, was
very fresh in his time. The country people have many
superstitions respecting this hole."
Mrs. Bray remarks, " none of the paintings
now (1832) remain on the sides of the rock," —
* The Tamar and tlie Tavy. -Vol. I.— Page 235.

188

A LEGEND OF DARTMOOR.

certainly no trace of them exists at present, —
and it is doubtful from the rough surface and
dampness of the stones, that such could ever
have been executed on them.
Walter Elford, the father of John, died in
1648, who up to the date of his father's decease
lived at Widecombe. He would then be about
forty years of age, and had married Sarah
Woolocombe, his fourth wife, the previous year.
It is probable after the death of his father, he
moved across the Moor to the old paternal seat
of the family at Longstone, in Sheepstor, at
least for a time, though he appears afterward
to have resided at Buckland-Monachorum, where
three of his children by his last wife are buried,
and himself subsequently interred.
Meavy is an adjoining parish to Sheepstor.
In the church Register there is a remarkable
addition to his signature, attesting in his magis
terial capacity the introduction of the new
system of registry prescribed by the Common
wealth, particularly for marriages, then made a
civil contract, and the ceremony ' performed '
before a justice of the peace, which act came in
force 29 Sep., 1653,* the date of the year of the
entry at Meavy. The preamble of the act is
inserted at length, and officially signed by John
Elford, to which he appended this unrehearsed
verse from his mental litany : — " A scevitia et
ignorantia Puritanica, libera nos Domine,"
which expresses, — " From Puritanical violence
and ignorance, Lord deliver us." These words
would appear to sufficiently confirm John
Elford's fervent loyalty, and apparent detestation
of Puritanism ; and if he was usually as boldly,
and it may be said, — taking into consideration
the circumstances of the time, — dangerously out
spoken in his opinion of the then ruling power,
it could scarcely be wondered at, if he was
subjected to persecution.
But there is no direct testimony of his having
been so persecuted, indeed such evidence as is
available rather points to the contrary. Neither
his father's, nor his own name is found on the
commission of the peace during the reign of
Charles I., — but John Elford was a magistrate in
1647, and also in 1653, as appears in the Meavy
Begister : consequently he must have accepted
the appointment from the Commonwealth. If
he was proscribed as a dangerous Royalist, he
would scarcely have been entrusted with the
commission, nor is there any record that at the
restoration of Charles II., he was in any respect
marked for so doing, and absolved.
It is probable his sympathy with the Royalist
cause was well known in the district, which
"being commemorated by the entry in the Regis
ter, — the circumstance has been by Time expan-
* Refer to page 162.

ded into the romantic tradition associated with
the life of this, in many aspects otherwise re
markable man.
He died in 1678, and was buried on the third
of August in that year at Buckland-Monachorum.
Arms of Elford : — Per pale wavy argent and
sable, a lion rampant gules. Crest : — A demi-
lion rampant, per pale wavy argent and sable,
ducally crowned or. Motto : — Dieticilia Qua:
pulchea. An extended pedigree of Elford will be found
in Vivian's Visitations, which concludes with the
last descendant Sir William Elford, Bart., of
Bickham in Buckland-Monachorum. He was
created a Baronet 26 Nov., 1800, was F.R.S.,—
also M.P., and Recorder of Plymouth, died 30
Nov., 1837, when the title became extinct.
There is a monument with this inscription to
his memory in Totnes church : —
SACRED To the Memory of Sir WILLIAM
ELFORD, Bart.,F.R. and L.S.S. ; formerly
of Bickham in this County.
He was the last male Representative of an
antient Family, and died at the Priory on the
30th of November 1837, in the 89th year of his
age. His high intellectual Powers, and various
acquirements, his Christian Virtues, and many
endearing qualities, will cause him to be long
remembered, with veneration and fond affection.
" 0 tarry thou the Lord's leisure ; be strong,
and he shall comfort thy heart, and put thou
thy trust in the Lord." 27 Psalm 16th verse.
Arms : — Elford quartering Scudamore, with
badge of Ulster, and crest of Elford. On an
escutcheon of pretence, Semde of cross-croslets,
three eagles' (?) heads crazed.
Longstone, the antient seat of Elford, is situ
ated on the western skirt of the tor, not far from
the river Plym, along whose bank, for some dis
tance, through the relics of an avenue, the
road winds from the highway to the house. The
edifice is small, and shews the remains of late
sixteenth-century architecture, but the main
dwelling portion has been modernized. Within
there are no particular features of interest,
except the hall, or best kitchen as it is now,
which has two fire-places, and on one of the
granite stones that form the floor, is incised a
monogram probably intended for J. E.
Two old relics are preserved in the house.
One a tall, straight pewter flagon with cover,
evidently originally given for use at the Commu
nion in the church. On its front is engraved
within a myrtle-wreath, a merchant's mark,

A LEGEND OF DARTMOOR.

189

combined with a monogram (see initial letter),
— which reads Waltee Elfoed ; above are the
words Ex Dono, and below, the date 1636. The
other is a sack-bottle, with glass seal on which
are the crest and motto of Elford.
With this we close our few notes pertaining to
the memory of this denizen of the past, who in
the seventy years of his life saw many of the
chequered phases that occur in its span. Whe
ther Royalist or otherwise, one thing we may
justly infer, he was strongly imbued with religi
ous convictions, and in other characteristics an
earnest, zealous, thoughtful man.
Ample evidence of this remains in reviewing
the circumstances of his history.
His ' innodation ' for the fourth time in the
bonds of matrimony, and family of eighteen
children born to him.

The wealth of allegory he has presumably
left in the sculpture on the porch of Sheepstor
church, and the monument to his first wife
found within that edifice.
The quaint inscription, imbued with the
same spirit in anagram and chronogram, to
his third wife at Widecombe.
The pertinent reflection appended to his
father's memorial ; and his own resolute avowal
at Meavy.
Finally, the halo of tradition which keeps
his remembrance bright at Sheepstor, that of
his fleeing from the vengeance of the surly
Roundheads, and taking refuge for awhile in
the Pixies' Cave, in the granite fastness of
the great tor.
"Life is a pilgrimage, and not a rest."

ON TOMB AT DULOE.

A WIFE AND MOTHER OF CAREWS.

' Her price is far above rubies."

OF the noted Devonshire family of Carew,
the particulars of whose descent, lives,
dwelling-places, and monuments have so long
and amply occupied the attention and research
of the historians and biographers of that county,
it follows that but little respecting them has
escaped record.
One member of the family however, and by
no means the least celebrated, was the wife of a
Carew, sometime Dean of Exeter, and by him
became the mother of a son who was honoured
with an Earldom. Probably from the circum
stance of being a native of a distant county, to
which she returned during her long widowhood,
where she found sepulture and her monument
occurs, the events of her life appear to have
received no special notice from local chroniclers.
This omission we propose, in some measure, to
attempt to supply.
George Carew, her husband, was the third
son of Sir Edmund Carew, Knt., of Ottery-
Mohun, killed at Terouenne 24 June, 5 Henry
VIIL, 1514, by his wife Katherine, daughter of
Sir William Huddesfeild, Knt., Attorney General
to Henry VII. Of him Prince narrates, —
" George, (however the genius of the family enclin'd
the others generally to arms) addicted himself to the
arts ; and became a member of the University of
Oxford, spending sometime in the house then called
K. Henry the eighth's hall, since swallowed up in
Christ-church. How long he continued is uncertain;
but certain it is, that having been resident here awhile,
he betroth'd in marriage a noble young gentlewoman,
of excellent vertues, who being snatch'd away from
him by immature death, he took the stroke so tenderly,
that he resolved to leave his country, and travel beyond
sea. After some time returning into England, he took
holy orders; with this especial aim, That he be no
more obnoxious to love, and the contingencies of
matrimony. However, at length he changed his resolution, and
married Anne daughter of Sir Anthony Harvy, kt ; by
whom she had two famous sons, Sir Peter, an excellent
soldier, and Sir George, Earl of Totnes, and one
daughter." Mrs. Anne Carew was the daughter of Sir
Nicholas Hervey, Knight (second son of William
Hervey, of Ickworth, Suffolk, Esq.), by his
second wife Bridget, daughter of Sir John
Wiltshire, Knight, of Stone Castle, Kent, and
relict of Sir Richard Wingfield, K.G. Sir
Nicholas was of the Privy Chamber to Henry

VIII, and Lady Bridget, lady of the bedchamber
to Queen Anne Boleyn.
By her husband the Dean, she had four
children, two sons and two daughters, of whom
the youngest, Elizabeth, died an infant.
Sir Peter Carew, the eldest son, lost his life in
the Irish wars, 25 August, 1580. He married
Audrey, daughter of William Gardener, Esq.,
of Grove, in the county of Buckingham, by
whom he had Peter who died young ; and Anne
his only daughter and heir, married first to
William, son and heir to Sir Thomas Wilford,
Knight, of Kent, and secondly to Sir Allan
Apsley, Knight. Sir Allan was Lieutenant of
the Tower, 1616-30, and was buried in the
chapel of that fortress, and his monumental
tablet tells us that —
" He maried two wives, ye first was Ann, daughter and
heire of Sir Peter Carew, kt, by whome he had issue
Peter Apsley, Esq, sonne and heire ; Joice, maried to
Lister Blount, 2nd sonne of Sr Richard Blount, of Maple-
Durham, Kt, and Carew who died at nurse."
Sir Allan died 24 May, 1630. Sir George Hervey,
brother to Mrs. Anne Carew, and uncle by the
mother's side to Sir Peter, held a similar position
to Sir Allan, as his monument in Romford
church notifies —
" The said Sir George Hervy died the io daye of
Avgvst, beinge then Livetenant of the Tower of London,
in ye yeare of ovr Lorde God, 1605."
Sir Peter Carew is represented by the cross-
legged effigy, in the under compartment of the
Carew monument in the Chapel of St. Mary
Magdalen in Exeter Cathedral.
Sir George Carew, Mrs. Anne Carew's second
son, reached the highest honours of the family
as Earl of Totnes. His biography is well known,
he was buried at Stratford-on-Avon, where there
is a fine monument to him and his wife. Mary,
the surviving daughter, who married Walter
Dowrich, Esq., was buried at Sandford, 11
September, 1604, aged 54, and a brass to her
memory exists in that church.
After the death of her husband the Dean,
who deceased 15 June, 1583, Mrs. Anne Carew
appears to have lived with her brother, Sir
George Hervey, at his seat of Mark's Hall, in
the liberty of Havering, Essex. In Sir George's
will occurs this passage : —

O

S5<!
Hao
I— I

A WIFE AND MOTHER OF CAREWS.

191

I give unto my syster, Mrs. Anne Carewe, widowe,
one hoope ringe of gold waying four Aungells, to be
black inamled on the outside and to be written, ' Your
giuer loued you.' "
She survived her brother, Sir George, three
weeks only, and her burial is thus recorded in
the Romford parish Register : —
"1605. August 28th:— The worshipeful Mrs. Carew,
Mother to my Lord Carew, was buried."
She was interred in the chancel of Romford
church, and from the recently issued splendid
"volume of the Antient Sepulchral Monuments of
Essex, by Mr. F. B. Chancellor, from which
much of the preceding has been gleaned, we
further extract a notice of her monument in
that edifice —
" The monument of Anne Carew has been removed
from its original position in the chancel, and has lost
its original base. Upon the slab which was supported
hy the altar tomb lies the effigy of Anne Carew upon
her side, her head resting on her left arm, which rests
upon a cushion ; she is dressed in a tight-fitting bodice,
with sleeves punctured, and a full skirt arranged in
heavy and regular plaits, a small ruff encircles her
throat, her hair is dressed back, and a veil fastened
"thereto falls down her back. A somewhat poor en
tablature, supported on two Corinthian capitals acting
as corbels, forms a canopy, above which is a circular
panel enclosing a shield with the following arms : Or,
three lions passant in pale sable (Cahew) impaling, Gules,
on a bend argent, three trefoils slipt vert (Hervy). On a
tablet over the effigy is this inscription : —
" Heer lieth Anne Carew, Davghter of Sir
Nicholas Hervvy, Knight, and of Dame Brigid
his Wife, davghter and sole heire of Sir
John Wiltshier, Knight, widdow of Sir Richard
Wingfield, Knight of ye Garter, and Chav'celor
of ye Dvchy of Lancaster. Whch Sir Nicholas
being a gentelman, of the privie chamber to
King Henry the VIIIth was twise imployed
Ambassadovr vnto the Roman Emperor ; his
wife Dame Brigid, was a Lady of ye beddchamber
to Qveene Anne Bolleyn. This Anne married
George Carew, third Sonne to Sr Edmon Carew
(alias Montgomery) Baron of Carew and by her
said Hvsband, who died ye 15 day of Jvne, Anno
domini, i583, she had issve two sonnes and two
davghters, ye eldest sr peter carew, knight,
slaine in ye warres in Ireland ye XXV of
avgvst, i580, married awdry, davghter of
William Gardener of Grove, in Bvckinghamshier,
esqvir, and had issve pfiter, that died yong,
and Anne, his only Davghter and heire, maried
first to William sonne and heire to Sr Thomas
Wilford, of Kent, Knight, deceased, & is now
ye Wife of her second Hvsband SR Allan
Apsley, Knight. The second Sonne Sir George
Carew, Knight, Lord President and Governovr
of ye Province of Mvnster, in Ireland (vnder
qveen Elizabeth) nowe of late by ovr Sover-
aigne Lord King James is created Baron Carew,
of Clopton, & hath to Wife ye Lady Joyce,
Eldest Davghter and coheire of  Clopton of
Clopton in ye County of Warwick, Esqvire, ye
Eldest Davghter, Mary, who maried wth Walter
Dowrishe, of Devonshier, Esqvire, died 1604.
The yongest ElizH, died an infant; This Anne
Carew, deceassed ye XXVII of Avgvst, 1605; at
the age of LXXVI yeares : — In memoky of whom,
the Lord Carew, her son, for his Last dvtie
hath erected this Monvment, the 20 daye of
March, the yeare of Grace, 1605."

A recent visit to Romford church confirms
the foregoing description. The edifice is modern,
of large size, and intended to form an ornate
specimen of Gothic revival. The tower with
spire, is centrally situated outside the south
aisle, forming the principal entrance to the
church, and within it on the west side are placed
the remains of Mrs. Anne Carew's monument.
The effigy is apparently of alabaster, and the
tablet over that contains the inscription much
broken and injured. The monument with the
kneeling effigies of her brother, Sir George
Hervey, his wife, and their eleven children, is on
the opposite wall. There is no protection to
prevent these interesting monuments from further
injury. Dean Carew was an extraordinary pluralist :
Dr. Oliver thus recounts his ' preferments ; ' —
" He held a Canonry in Exeter Cathedral, was
Archdeacon of Totnes, became Precentor of Exeter,
also Archdeacon of Exeter, which office he resigned in
1569, for a pension of .£20 per annum, and got the
Deanery of Exeter in 1570, on the death of Dr. Gregory
Dodds, which he held till his death. Subsequently he
obtained the Deaneries of Bristol, of Christ church,
Oxford, and of Windsor, and the Precentorship of
Salisbury. In 1535 we find him in possession of a
Canonry in Crediton church, the Free Chapel of Ottery-
Mohun, the Vicarage of Brixham, and Rectories .of
Stoke-Fleming, East Arlington and Lidford."
The reader will be quite prepared after this
recital of the Dean's " voracity of church
property," for the result embodied in these
further remarks thereon from Prince ; —
"Prom all which preferments growing rich, he
purchased a good estate, rebuilded the house at Upton-
Hilion, (near Crediton) which he left unto his son Sir
Peter ; who dying without issue, left it to his brother,
the Earl of Totnes, who "sold it to the ancestor of
Sir Walter Young.'^
The Dean appears to have died in London
15 June, 1583, aged eighty-five, and was buried
in the church of St. Giles - in - the - Fields.
Mrs. Carew, who was much younger than her
husband, survived him twenty-two years, dying
27 August, 1605, aged seventy-six years. She
lived just long enough to see her younger son
raised to the peerage as Baron Carew of Clopton,
Warwickshire, 4 June, 1605. The Earldom was
not conferred on him until twenty years after
ward, 5 Feb., 1625.
Both sons died without surviving male issue,
and so the name and honours in this descent
became extinct.
" Tell me not," said a wise man, " of per
petuating a family. It is a vanity, and pride,
displeasing to the Great Disposer of all things,
to think of making that durable for ever, which
he has determined shall be subject to the common
mutability of all earthly things."

CAREW CASTLE:

AND OF ITS POSSESSOES.

1 Your fathers, where are they 1 "

IN treating of prominent members of the
family of Carew, who were resident during
life, and had sepulture in distant counties, it
may not be altogether out of place to supple
ment the preceding short account, with a
further notice of such in the person of Sir
William Carew, who was buried at Bury- St.
Edmund's in the adjoining county of Suffolk,
where presumably he resided. He was also the
progenitor of that branch of the family after
ward of Camerton and Crowcombe in Somerset,
one of his descendants becoming possessed of
Carew Castle, the original home of Carew in
Pembrokeshire. He was the fifth son of Sir Nicholas Carew
(Baron Carew) of Ottery-Mohun, in Luppit,
Devon, ob : 25 Henry VI., 1447, by his wife
Joan daughter of Sir Hugh Courtenay of
Haccombe, ob : 1425, by his second wife
Phiiippa daughter of Sir Waryn Archdekne.
She married secondly Sir Robert de Vere, from
whom the Earls of Oxford descend.
It is noticeable that from this alliance the
three existing branches of Carew originate, the
main descent becoming extinct.
Thomas Carew, the eldest son, who married
Joan Carminow, was of the old family seat
of Mohuns-Ottery, and the great-grandfather of
Dean Carew.
Nicholas, the second son, was the founder of
the Haccombe descent.
Alexander, fourth son, that of Antony in
Cornwall. William, the fifth son, the branch afterward
settled at Camerton and Crowcombe in Somerset.
This Sir William Carew was of Bury-St.
Edmund's, and after the manner of many a
mediaeval knight to enhance his fortune, married
Margaret daughter and coheir of Sir Thomas
Catworth, Lord Mayor of London, 1443.
He was created a Knight Banneret, by King
Henry VII. " at the batell of Stoke by Newarke,"
9 June, 1487. He made his will 26 May, 1501,
and appears to have died the same day. It was
proved on the 28 June following.
He was buried in St. Mary's church in the
Abbey yard, Bury-St.Edmund's.

Weever (edition 1631) speaks of " this parish
church as wondrous antient, built in the very
infancie of Christian religion, in the daies of
Felix, the first Bishop of the East Angles."
Then, he further adds, " the funerall monuments
in this church are almost all defaced, especially
such as are of any antiquities."
This accounts for the imperfect state of the
inscriptions he found and recorded to the
Carews therein.
On that to Sir William Carew : —
©rate pro  Wtllelntt darcta
mtlttts et JRargarete tonsortis
bue  ille nMjt 26 i&aij 1501.
ilia  1525.
and on a second : —

Sotjn (Earefo, Jbmtii
gareta  1425.

et $tar-

John Carew, eldest son and heir of Sir
William, a minor in 1501, married Marjory,
daughter and coheir of William Kelly of Stood-
leigh in Devon, and Camerton in Somerset.
This is apparently the John of the inscription,
the mistake of a century being probably made
in the date by the old copyist.
Thomas Carew their grandson, married
Elizabeth, daughter of Hugh Biccombe of Crow
combe, by his wife Elizabeth daughter of
Thomas Tilley of Cannington, Somerset. He
died 1 October, 1604, his wife 11 May, 1598, and
were buried at Crowcombe.
Sir John Carew, son of Thomas, married
5 June, 1589, at Bovey-Tracey, Elizabeth daugh
ter of Thomas Southcott, of Indeho in that
parish, ob : 1600,— by his third wife, a daughter
of Fitz-William.
He was knighted by King Charles I. at
Plymouth, 17 September, 1625. He also
obtained from that monarch a grant of Carew
Castle in Pembrokeshire, the original seat of the
family ; to be further referred to.

CAREW CASTLE.

193

Sir John died in 1637, his wife in 1633. She
was interred at Crowcombe. He in Carew church,
Pembrokeshire. The Carew Chapel or Chantry in Camerton
church, the burial place of the family, is on
the north side of the nave. It has been greatly
modernized and newly decorated. There are
two high tombs with effigies to the Carews
within it, and two other mural monuments.
On a large high tomb are two effigies. The
knight, in red trunk hose and ruff, but otherwise
in full armour, the appointments gilded, curled
flowing hair and moustache. The lady in wide
head-dress, lace stomacher, ruff, and black gown.
Their hands are raised in prayer, and they re
cline on a mattress, their heads resting on red
cushions with gold tassels. Beneath, on the
right side, are three kneeling figures of boys
behind each other, before a prayer-desk, with a
book open. The largest figure in armour, the
others in doublets, all have lace collars, kneel
on cushions, and are girt with swords. On the
left side four girls similarly kneel, clad in dark
gowns and with falling kerchiefs, also a baby
lying in swaddling clothes, and two skulls.
Behind the feet of the knight is sculptured the
date 1640 ; and there is this inscription : — ¦
This Monument
was erected to the Memory of
Sr John Carew, Kt,
and Dame Elisabeth his Wife :
Ao Di 1640.
Arms: — baron, — 1 & 4. Carew, quartering — 2.
Argent, a chevron between three billets gules
(Kelly). 3. Argent, a cross gules, betxoeen three
birds sable (coots'!) impaling femme, Argent,
a chevron gules, between three coots, sable —
(Southcott). Over are two helmets with
mantling and crests. 1. Carew. 2. A coot,
(Southcott). There is a double motto under
this shield. One although somewhat imperfect,
is evidently that adopted by the family, J'espeee
bien. The other apparently Beatus qvi so, the
remainder defaced. The monument is a cenotaph
only. On the second large high tomb recline
two effigies, their hands raised in prayer.
The gentleman is clad in long coat, orna
mented with rows of buttons, wide cuffs,
with wrist ruffles, and neckerchief; breeches,
stockings, and short high-heeled boots. The
lady in black gown with kerchief tied over the
head. Below, in niches, on each side is the
figure of a child sitting in » chair. These
effigies are also laid on a mattress, the headson
green cushions with gold tassels. Standing
behind their heads is a large winged and
crowned angel, in the attitude of supplication.

The inscription is repeated verbatim on both
sides : — • Here lyeth the Body of
John Carew, Esqr.,
second Sonne of
Sr John Carew, Kt :
who Dyed ye 5th of June, 1683.
Mrs. Dorothy Carew,
wife of
John Carew, Esqr,
who Erected this Monument ;
Dyed Jany. 14, 1686.
Arms : — 1. Carew with helmet and crest, im
paling, Sable, between two bendlets three mullets
or. 2. Carew, quartering Southcott, Wyndham,
and as above.
This is perhaps one of the very latest exam
ples of high tombs with recumbent effigies.
The earlier tomb with the effigies of Sir John
Carew, the holder of Carew Castle, and his wife,
accompanied by their seven kneeling children
affords an exact embodiment of Jane Taylor's
inimitable description : —
" Outstretch'd together, are express'd
He and my lady fair ;
With hands uplifted on the breast,
In attitude of prayer ;
Long visag'd, clad in armour, he,
With ruffled arm and bodice, she.
Set forth, in order ere they died,
The numerous offspring bend ;
Devoutly kneeling side by side,
As though they did intend
For past omissions to atone,
By saying endless prayers in stone."*
On the north aisle wall, a very large and
handsome white marble monument with busts of
the deceased, and this genealogical inscription : —
Near this Place in ye Vault underneath rests ye
Body of Thomas Carew, Esqr, who was son of Tho:
Carew Esq. Merchant in London, and Grandson
of Tho. Carew of StudUy in ye County of Devon,
and great Grandson of Sr John Carew kt of Carew
Castle in ye County of Pembrook in ye Principality of
Wales. He departed this life ye 4th day of Sept. in ye year
1719. He marryed Eliza : ye eldest Daughter of John
Sanford, Esq. of Nynehead, in this County, by whom
He had living at his death four sons, Tho: John,
George and Henry, and six Daughters Eliza,
Penelope, Mary, Anne, Lucy, and Amy, all young and
unmarryed. He was ye best of Husbands, and ye best of Fathers,
A sincere Friend, a good Master, a kind Neighbour,
and charitable to ye Poor.
Here also lyeth ye body of Sarah ye daughter of
Tho : Carew and Eliz : his Wife, who departed ys life
4th of Apr: in ye year 1714.
In memory of her very loving and entirely beloved
Husband, this Monument was erected by his Sorrow
ful Relict Ao. Di. 1721.
Here likewise is deposited the Body of Elizabeth,
Relict of the said Thomas Carew, Esq. who died
24 Sep. 1728. Aged 56.
* From Tlie Squire's Pew.

194

CAREW CASTLE.

Arms: — 1. Carew, impaling Sanford. 2. A large
genealogical shield, Carew quartering Bonville,
Courtenay, Mohun, Huddesfeild and others.
Motto : — J'espeee bien.
A white marble monument thus inscribed : —
In the Vault belonging to the Family are deposited
the Remains of Elizabeth, wife of John Carew,
Esqr. and Daughter of John Billing, Esqr, once
Mayor of the City of Bath. She died March 5,
1747, Aged 42.
Also the Remains of the above John Carew, Esqr.,
who died Dec. 12, 1750. Aged 46.
Arms : — Carew. He was second son of the fore
going. In the churchyard outside is the effigy of a
lady in white stone, reclining on her elbow.
It was evidently once within the church, but is
now covered with green mould and much
weather-worn. The costume is almost exactly
similar to that worn by the lady on the latest
high tomb, Mrs. Dorothy Carew, ob : 1686. It
was lying here a century since when Collinson
visited the church. On a shield in the wall,
without the Carew chapel, is Anno D'ni 1638.
Rebuilt apparently just before the erection of
Sir John's monument.
At the death of John Carew in 1771, (the
second son of John Carew and Elizabeth Billing,)
who left no male issue, the name and direct
descent of Carew of Crowoombe expired. He
left two daughters, Elizabeth, who died un
married, and Mary whose husband assumed the
name and arms of Carew in 1811.
The manor of Camerton was held successively
by Dinham, Asthorpe and Paulton. Sir William
Paulton having no issue settled it on the
husbands of two kinswomen, one of whom was
Joan, the daughter of Elias Fitzpayn of Stood-
leigh in Devon, and wife of John Kelly, temp.
Edward IV. Marjory the second daughter and
coheiress of William Kelly (of Southwike) the
second son of John, married John Carew eldest
son of Sir William Carew of Bury-St. Edmund's.
She brought her moiety of the manor, and the
Carews subsequently acquired the other portion,
which they held until the middle of the last
century, when Thomas Carew, Esq., sold it to
Philip Stephens, Esq. (Collinson).
The manor of Stoodleigh in Devon, which
also came to the Carews by Marjory Kelly, is
described by Risdon as " a large demesne, and
fair inheritance." Lysons adds that " James
Bernard, Esq., who possessed it in right of his
wife, the heiress of Crowcombe, sold the estate
about 1779."
Crowcombe, is about centrally situate on the
western skirt of the Quantocks, the fine hill of
Wills-Neck, rising to an altitude of twelve hun
dred and seventy feet, immediately to the right.

Its environment is most picturesque, the slopes
being wooded almost to their summits.
A moiety of the manor called Crowcombe-
Bickham, was held by the family of Crowcombe,
whose ultimate heiress Isolda became possessed
of it, 21 Edward III. 1348. She married John
Biccombe, of Biceombe or Bickham, in Somer
set, and their descendant Hugh Biccombe (3-4
Philip and Mary)—
" Settled this estate on his eldest daughter Elizabeth,
on her marriage with Thomas Carew of Camerton,
Esq. Since which time the said Manor of Crowcombe-
Bickham has uninterruptedly continued in the Carew
family, and is now in the possession of James Bernard,
Esq., who married Elizabeth, the only surviving issue
of the late Thomas Carew, Esq., the founder of the
present manor-house, called Crowcombe Court. King
James I. by letters patent granted to Sir John Carew,
knt. a free-warren, and liberty to make a warren and
park at Crowcombe, which park still continues, and is
laid out in elegant plantations and pleasant walks."
(Collinson.) Crowcombe church is an interesting fabric of
late Perpendicular, dedicated to the Holy Ghost.
The Carew Chapel is on the north side of the
nave, and is said by Collinson to have been re
built by Thomas Carew in 1655.
Within it are two large mural marble monu
ments. On the first, this inscription : —
" Here lye several of the Antient House of
Carew, descended from Nesta Daughter of Rees,
Prince of South Wales, by whom came the Barony
and Castle of Carew, which gave name to this
family, Thomas Carew, great grand-son of Sir William
Carew, of Bury, (created a knt banneret by K. Henry 7)
having married Elizabeth daughter of Hugh Bic
combe, Lord of the Manor of Crowcombe-Biccombe,
was first of ye Family who settled here 1553. She
was buried May nth, 1598, He Oct. I, 1604.
Sr John Carew, knight, their Son, married Eliza
beth daughter of Thomas Southcot of Indehoe.
She was buried here 1633 ; He in Carew Church 1637.
Thomas Carew, their eldest son married Margery
daughter of Sr John Windham of Orchard, knt. She
was buried Nov. 7, 1660 ; He Dec. 3, 1662.
Elizabeth Carew their daughter died Dec. 10, 1668 ;
She gave to the poor of this parish and Stodely in
Devon, 400I, now laid out in Lands in Bishop-Lydeard.
John Carew their eldest son was buried Jan. 3.
1684. His only Son, by Catherine Daughter of
Zouch Tate, dying under Age, was succeeded by
Thomas Carew of Camerton, his uncle, to whom
his eldest son Thomas Carew (by Mary daughter of
Thomas Heatley) succeeded, who, by Elizabeth
Daughter of John Sandford, was the father of the
erector of this monument."
Arms :— on the top, a large genealogical shield
of Carew with twenty-two quarterings, helmet,
crest, motto, and supporters, dexter, a lion sable,
crowned gules, sinister an antelope gules, attired
or. At the sides six shields, Carew impaling
Southcott, Wyndham, and Paly of three, or and
gules, per fess counterchanged, on each semi-pale
or, a bird sable.

«- .,0
iky

CAREW CASTLE, PEMBROKESHIRE.

From a Photograph by Francis Bedford .

Monument to Sir John and Dame Elizabeth Carew. — A. D. 1640 .

Camerton Church, Somerset.

CAREW CASTLE.

195

On the other which has an urn and weeping
figure in white marble : —
Thomas Carew Esq : eldest son of Thomas Carew
of Camerton, Esq; by Elizabeth daughter of John
Sanford, of Ninehead, Esq; was buried here March
24, 1766, aged 64.
A true patriot He served his Country many years in
Parliament with integrity, and asserted its real interest
with Ability.
He built the Family Seat here, and gave an Estate
at Cove in the parish of Tiverton in Fee to support a
Charity School in this Parish.
His first Wife was Mary, Daughter of Francis
Drewe, of Grange, Esq ; an excellent Woman by
whom he had three Daughters, Mary, Elizabeth, and
Anne. She died May 25, 1738 aged 36. Mary, died
unmarried. Elizabeth is the Wife of James
Bernard of the Middle-Temple, Esq ; and Anne died
an Infant.
His second Wife Mary, sister of John Horne,
Esq ; late Governor of Bombay, by whom He had no
Issue was buried here July 22, 1757.
Mrs. Mary Carew, whose Goodness of Heart
added to her many other Virtues, gained her the
Esteem of all that knew her, having ordered this
Marble to be placed here to preserve the Memory of
her much-honoured Parents, died Jan. 16, 1774, in the
fifty-first year of her Age, greatly lamented, especially
by the Poor, to whom she was very liberal.
The carved bench-ends in this church are
remarkably fine and perfect. On one is a. shield
charged with a cross between four birds, and on
another this coat impaling Barry of six, three
vaire. . Query, if this be not Biccombe impaling
Beaumont. This coat is quartered on the shield
on Sir John Carew's cenotaph at Camerton.
Richard Biccombe (son of Robert, ob : 1523)
married Jane daughter of John Beaumont of
High-Hampton, Devon, by his wife Isabel
daughter of Thomas Calwoodley. Elizabeth
daughter of Hugh Biccombe, son of Richard,
married Thomas Carew, ob : 1604.
: On another bench-end is this inscription : —
. %mxti tt'nt mmo axct™ xxxma infmo.
The date 1534, would exactly accord with the
era of Richard Biccombe's life, and taken in
conjunction with his presumed arms, point with
considerable probability to him as donor of the
benches, he being lord of the manor of Crowr
combe at the time. And it is probable he first
erected what is now the Carew Chapel, and was
buried therein.
- It will be seen that the earliest settlement of
Carew in Somerset, was at Camerton, by the
marriage of John Carew eldest son of Sir
William, with Marjory daughter of William
Kelly. Thomas Carew, oh : 1604, grandson of John
of Camerton, married Elizabeth Biccombe, ob :
1598, daughter of Hugh Biccombe of Crowcombe,

and settled there, where the main branch of the
family appears to have resided, a younger descent
holding Camerton. On the death of John
Carew of Crowcombe, ob : 1691, a minor, but
first male heir of the elder branch, his uncle
Thomas Carew of Camerton, ob : 1692, suc
ceeded to both estates. The male descent and
name finally expired at the death of his great-
grandson, (son of John Carew and Elizabeth
Billing) John Carew, ob : 1771, who left a
surviving daughter, Mary. At the death of her
cousin Elizabeth Bernard, ob : 1805, only sur
viving daughter of her father's uncle Thomas
Carew of Crowcombe, ob : 1766, she became
sole heiress, both to Crowcombe Court, and
Carew Castle. She died in 1852, her husband
having assumed by sign-manual the name and
arms of Carew in 1811.
Carew Castle is situate near a village of the
same name, a few miles from Pembroke, on »
creek of Milford Haven.
It is of large size, quadrangular in plan, and
now a magnificent ruin. One portion exhibits
the olden arrangement of a' feudal fortress, to
which has been added a large domestic mansion
of late Perpendicular character.
The Castle appears to have been originally a
royal demesne, and was given by Rhys ab
Tewdwr, Prince of South Wales, to his daughter
Nesta, wife of Giraldus de Windsor, Constable
of Pembroke. The long and intricate early
descent of Carew need not be entered on here,
but it may be noted that Odo, the grandson of
Giraldus, assumed the name of Carrio or Carew,
and to him King Richard I. gave Braunton in
Devon, the first introduction of the name into
that county. Fifth in descent from him was;
Sir Nicholas Carew, ob : 1311, described as Lord
of Carew, Moulsford and Odrone, who married
Amicia, daughter of Hugh Peverell of Erming-
ton. His son John Carew, married Elinor
daughter and heiress of Sir William Mohun of
Ottery-Mohun, and settled there. Fourth in
descent from him was Sir Nicholas Carew, the
father of Sir William of our little description,
whose descendant Sir John Carew of Crowcombe,
regained possession of the Castle,temp: Charles I.
Whether the Devonshire descendants of
Carew continued to hold the early possession of
the Castle, or if it was held by another branch
of the family, does not appear, but toward the
end of the fifteenth century, the Castle is said
to have been mortgaged to the celebrated Sir
Rhys ab Thomas, and he is reputed to have
rebuilt .a large portion of it, probably all that
exhibits the later style of architecture. This is
evidenced by the appearance of three shields,
each apparently displaying the arms and sup
porters of his friend and patron Henry VII.
They occur in one of the inner courts of the

196

CAREW CASTLE.

Monument of Sir Rhts ab Thomas ( before restoration ) .

later addition, between a doorway and a window.
Leland says, he " repaired and magnificently
builded it."
Here this great Welsh magnate resided in
princely style, and in 1497 entertained King
Henry VII., (who Sir Rhys had aided so ma
terially to gain the English throne, and who was
born in the adjacent Castle of Pembroke)
together with six hundred of the neighbouring
nobility and gentry for several days, with great
munificence in feasting, jousting, tournaments,
and other amusements.
This extraordinary entertainment, perhaps
one of the largest and most sumptuous on record
in mediaeval days, is graphically and minutely
described by an old Welsh chronicler who flou
rished about the end of the sixteenth century.*
Here also Sir Rhys spent the remainder of
his days, and kept up his activity in the " spirrit
of gymnastique discipline " with his servants
and retainers, specially in " horsemanshipp "
which he delighted in, for his " numerous stalls
were ever full of horses of the rarest breed," and
* Printed in full in the Cambrian Register, for 1796. —
page 49.

with " assistantes instituted mock battailes and
reviews," acting bloodlessly his old life over
again, and the " yonge gentrie flocked thither as
to a military schoole." He kept up a most
" princilie establishment," and while the good
things of this life were most lavishly cared for,
the welfare of " his body's immortal inmate was
not overlooked " and " he was as regular and
exacte in his ghostlie, as in his bodilie exercises."
An apparently necessary adjunct, for his habits
of life savoured both of the martial state of the
mediaeval baron, and inclinations of an Eastern
potentate. Thus much for what may be termed the golden
days of Carew Castle. But death at last laid
his " icy hand " on the great Welshman amid
all his state, and in the year 1527 his body was
carried over to the Abbey Church of the Grey
Friars at Carmarthen, and a tomb with his
effigy erected over it, which at the dissolution
was removed to St. Peter's church in that town,
where it is now preserved.
Sir Rhys' monument when translated from
the Grey Friars' Abbey Church was placed in the
chancel of St. Peter's, and irregularly put

uakEW CASTLE.

197

together. There are two effigies, Sir Rhys and
his wife, the lady being much shorter than the
knight. In 1865, Lord Dynevor, who claims to
be his lineal descendant, removed the tomb to a
more open position, and restored it. It was
then found that the bones of Sir Rhys, and
probably one of his wives, had been preserved,
and enclosed separately within the tomb, which
was rebuilt with great care, and the bones
reverently preserved within it. Sir Rhys had
vast possessions in Wales, and Henry VII.
bestowed several honours on him, but no peerage,
although it is traditionally handed down he was
offered the Earldom of Pembroke and declined
it. It is probable, however, the astute Henry
did not wish to further enhance the influence of
his powerful subject to whom he owed so much
for the acquisiton of the Crown. "Though
never more than a knight," says Fuller, "he
was little less than a prince in his native coun
try," a fact Henry had opportunity of observing.
Sir Rhys was at Terouenne and Tournay in
the reign of Henry VIIL He had two wives, and
several illegitimate children, was three times
Mayor of Carmarthen, and died at Carew Castle
in 1527, aged seventy-six.
A few years after his death, in 1531, his
grandson Sir Rhys ab Gruffydd, was committed
to the Tower, and " lost his head, twelve hun
dred a year, and thirty thousand pounds in jewels
and plate, for assuming the name of Fitz-Urien,
which Henry VIIL interpreted as a desire to
assert his claim to the government of Wales,
.and so conspiring to dethrone him." A charac
teristic piece of Tudor jealousy and ingratitude,
with the congenial inducement of confiscating
the possessions of so rich a subject. The estates
were attainted, and Carew Castle doubtless then
passed to the possession of the Crown. A partial
restoration of the property is said to have been
made on petition during the reigns of Mary,
Elizabeth, and Charles I.
Subsequently its possession appears to have
reverted to the Crown, and was bestowed by
Charles I. on Sir John Carew. It was garrisoned
for the King during the war preceding the
Commonwealth, but surrendered to the Parlia
mentary forces, after sustaining much injury
from the effects of the siege.
Afterward it was apparently dismantled and
¦deserted as a residence, and its present state
suggests a glance of retrospect.
Roofless and windowless, with garniture only
.of decay's constant companion, the clasping
ivy, it exhibits a striking contrast to the palmy
days of Sir Rhys' occupation, when retainers
clustered around its hospitable gates, revelry
.blazed within its now deserted halls, music and

shouts of enjoyment echoed from the tilt-yard.
Then another phase of its history, when with
closed doors and moody silence, its armed and
determined inmates, were anxiously watching
the distance, and waiting the approach of the
enemy. Then its beleaguerment by an equally
determined and armed host, the deadly clash of
battle, and surrender, probably in a half ruinous
condition ; from thenceforward doomed to be no
more inhabited as a residence, consonant with
the peaceful requirements of home life. And
so to us of to-day it appears only as a
" memorial of the majesty of Time,
Impersonated in its calm decay."
Here concludes our desultory series of
Sketches. They form another, but very trifling
raid on the storehouse of the Past
" within whose silent halls,
There lie the bygone ages in their palls,
Guarded by shadows vast."
but whose door is ever open, inviting the en
trance of the investigator, with promise of freest
access to the almost limitless spoil found within
it, and that only waits the touch of human
interest to revive and re-appear in much of its
olden reality.
The events of to-day happening around us
come and go like phantoms. Not so the inci
dents embalmed in the long yesterday of the
world's history. Responding to the magic call
of Memory, before which even Time himself
seems to lay down his scythe, they form an
eternal inheritance for all those who seek
acquaintanceship with these treasured delights.
Thus to reverently enjoy them, until the strong
hours bear away the investigators' lives and
deeds also into the still receding bourne, there
to remain in their turn for a like sympathetic
invocation from those to come.
"When Rest eternal bids Life's conflict cease,
And Care lies slumbering in the lap of Peace."

CAREW CASTLE.
The wandering sea-bird glances by,
And peers down on its crumbling walls,
Where to his mate, snug-nested high,
The sooty-suited daw oft calls.
Life's olden tale, anempty home !
By human state forsaken quite,
Nature hath bid her tenants come,
And hold new revels of delight : —
Clothed its decay with mantling bowers,
Where happy breasts love-tales may tell,
And in the fastness of its towers,
Than armed knight, more safely dwell.

INDEX.

SAVED ! An Incident of the Kebellion op
Monmouth  pp. 1-39
DOOMED ! A Smuggling Tbadition when
George the Second was King . . 41 -65

Glimpses op Past Days

67-77

The Feoffee Bayly— Voluntary Church rate, 67.
Books chained and value of — Local Official, and
Magnates — The Armada — Hospitality — Rustic tor
ture, 68. Martial matters— A Stock— Plundering, 69.
Fighting — Old trades — Old Schoolmasters, and
Overseer — Churchyard, Chimes, and Curfew — The
Plague— Marriage Ceremonies, 71. A poor Suitor,
72. Orthographic— Church expenses — A fastidious
Parson — Damping the dust — Town Lake— Beauty
and the Beasts — A Parish passport, 73. License to
travel — Time and Death — Tax on Firehearths—
Human waifs— A parish Apprentice, 74. Hanged —
Advertising— Old Signatures, 75. Bells and Bell-
founding, 76.
A Devonshire King-of-Arms . . 78-81
Sir Isaac Heard— where born— sketch of his life-
enters the Navy— saved from Shipwreck— Arms and
pedigree, 78. Appointments as Herald and King-of-
Arms— marriages, death, burial place, and monumental
inscription— the Michells, his mother's family— their
monument and inscription in Salcombe Church, 79.
Notices of their descent and dwelling places in
Salcombe and Branscombe, 80. Reputation as a
linguist, and death at great age, 81.
Old Musical Echoes of the Cathedral 82-87-
Precentors Germyn and "Well— Sub-Chanter Sylke,
82. Precentor Harryes — Chief-Musician Matthew
Godwin, his monument and inscription — John
Loosemore, builder of the Organ, 83. Short history
of the instrument— burial place of John Loosemore,
and inscription,— of his son-in-law John Shearme—
Sub-Chanter Wake— Sub-Chanter Tobias Langdon,
his pedigree, 84. Portrait, and strange history
concerning — Priest - Vicar Savery — Sub-Chanters
Vinnicombe— John Hicks, and Richard Langdon, his
monumental inscription, 85. William Jackson —
notice of his life— his attainments in music and
the fine arts— friendship with Gainsborough and
Reynolds— paintings and literary remains, 86. Death,
"burial place, and monumental inscription— James
Paddon— Dr. S. S. Wesley— Alfred Angel, 87.

A Ghost op Crime and Suffering.
ivelchester gaol, and olden
Punishments  89-116
Sketch of Ilchester, 90. The Mace— Old and Modern
Gaol— incarceration of Henry Hunt, 90. Publication
of his 'Peep' — his description of the state of the
gaol and condition of its inmates, 91. His publication
of the evidence taken before the Royal Commission,
and their Report— trial and sentence on Bridle, keeper
of the gaol, 93. Reply of Bridle,— how he found the
gaol - enlarged and improved it — conveyance of
prisoners — typhus fever— Hang-Fair Day at Ilchester
— from the gaol to the Gallows-Plot — wretched
scenes— a new drop, 94-96. Visiting Magistrates —
character of the record of their visits — punishments
within the gaol — Magistrates appoint committee to
investigate Hunt's charges, previous to the Royal
Commission — dismissal of Bridle — his rejoinder-
subscriptions to defray his costs— sketch of his life-
abolition of the gaol, 97-98. Old punishments-
severity to children and youths— revolting sentences
executed on traitors and rebels — 1685, 1745 and
subsequently— the hurdle, 99-100. Inflicted on witches
— burning at the stake — hanging by various methods,
101-102. Number of offences formerly capital— a
'comfortable' drop— cruelty in sentencing— a 'dis
gusting relic ' in Exeter Cathedral — hanging in
chains— methods, and a story respecting, 102-104.
Efforts to repeal death punishments — Ringswell and
Liverydole, near Exeter, the antient places of
execution — history and particulars, 104-105. The
Press-yard— horrors of the hulks, and transportation—
the pillory and its terrors— the stocks, 106. Whipping
and its ferocity, antient and modern, 107-109. Former
wretched state of the gaols at Dorchester and
Exeter, and results — farming the prisoners — assize
balls, and the judges— a find at Dorchester, 109-110.
Catalogue, with particulars of their crimes, of those
who were hanged at Ilchester Gaol, during the present
century— their burial place— the hang-men— the old
gaol bell, 110-116.
The Sweeter Side of ' Peter Pindar ' 117-124
Sketch of his life and attainments— discovery of
Opie— birth at Dodbrooke — education — enters the
medical profession— accompanies Sir W. Trelawny to
Jamaica — lived at Truro, Helston and, London— death
and burial place— criticism on his works, 118-119.
Quotations from his poems, 119-124.
A Cornish Bishop, and two Kings-of-
Arms. Duloe and its associations 125-139
Approach to Duloe— its Church and associations-
chantry, tombs, and skreens, 126. Effigy of Sir John
Colshull of Tremoderet— inscription and heraldry—

200

INDEX.

descent of the Colshulls, and notice of their pre
decessors, 127-129. Succeeded by Sir Renfrey Arundell
of Lanherne, who married Johanna, heiress of
Colshull, mother of Bishop Arundell, 129-130. Sketch
of the Bishop's life— his death, burial place, and
monumental inscription, 130. Descent and extinction
of this branch of Arundell, 130-131. Acquirement of
Tremoderet by John Arundell of Trerice— monument
in the chantry— their descent and extinction, 131-132.
The Anstis family, their descent and acquirement of
West-North and Tremoderet— family of Killiow of
West-North— of Tremayne and Smith— their monu
ments in the Church, 132-133. John Anstis, senr.
—particulars of his marriage, children, heraldic
appointments, literary works, arms, and death, 134-
136. John Anstis, junr., his son, his heraldic
appointments, character, death, and extinction of
the family in the male line, 136-137. Descent of the
property by the heiress of Anstis to Bewes, 137-138.
Death of Mrs. Avarilla Oliveria Cromwell Bush, 138.
Incidents in the career, and character of the elder
Anstis, 139.
Glimpses of Past Days, Part II. . 141-144
A flying waggon, 141. An old spirit retailer,— and a
doctor— small-pox— French prisoners— a wig maker—
an unfaithful wif e — Forestallers and Regraters —
Stage-coaches — a model man-servant — a literary
announcement — a poor curate — cock-fighting, 142.
Flying machines— town free of small-pox— a small-pox
hospital— a runaway apprentice wearing a charm-
Freemasonry— pro and con— sword, dagger, and back
sword play— circumstantial description of a runaway
apprentice— parish Clerk and Schoolmaster— a cock-
match, 143. Men-servants and their qualifications —
a grand Ridotto ball— single-stick and wrestling-
sword and dagger playing— the cider tax and its
abolition— youths wearing everlasting breeches, and
with murphled faces, 144.
A Sermon in Stone. West Country
Sun-dials  145-149
History of Sun-dials, 145. Remarkable sculpture
with mottoes, at Sheepstor— John Elford, its presumed
setter up— monument and inscription to Elford in the
church, 146. Particulars of West-country sun-dials,
and their inscriptions, found at Parkham, Frithelstock,
Saltash, St. Stephen's, Maker, Bideford, Winkleigh
Morwinstow, Marston-Magna, Chew-Magna, Sutton-
Montis, Sidbury, Crediton, Seaton, Kenton, Rattery,
Tavistock, Welcombe, Little-Torrington, St. Budeaux,
Ruishton, Cookbury, Weston Mill, Liskeard, Botus-
Fleming, North-Huish, Diptford, South Brent, New-
lyn, Ermington, Tytherton-Kelways, Bridestowe, St.
Ive, Horton, Axmouth and Dodbrooke, 147-148. On
clocks at Exeter and Salisbury, 149.
A Tudor Merchant and his Wife . 150-155
John and Joan Takell of Honiton— his avocations-
name of wife— daughter Joan— landed possessions,
house in Honiton— death, and will, 151-152. Joan
Takell his widow, her death, burial, monumental
inscription, and will- her only daughter Joan, married
to Balwin Mallett, 152-153. Situation of their pre-
sumed residence in Honiton — rebuilding the old
Church — the Courtenays — arms noted there — the
skreen— John and Joan Takell's benefaction— inscrip
tion on the pillars in testimony, 154. Numerous

bequests in their wills for ecclesiastical purposes, and
large provision for the health of their souls-Mrs.
Joan Takell, her possessions, costume, and character
—her desecrated gravestone, 154-155.
Puritanism and Old Nonconformity
in East Devon .... 156-168
Causes of Puritanism, 156. Its results, 157-158. Social
aspect in East Devon, 159. The Yonges, Poles, Erles,
Peryams — their family relationship — Sir William
Pole— Walter Erie— Roger Weeke of Bindon— Mary
Weeke _ Dorothy Pole — Walter Yonge — William
Peryam— Robert Hone — Sir Thomas Bodley— John
Peryam, his son Chief Baron Sir William Peryam—
the Chief Baron's marriage — issue — monument and
effigy in Crediton church— inscription — last wife's
will, 159. Mary, his daughter— married to Sir W.
Pole — death by accident — monument in Colyton
church — inscription — John Peryam brother to Sir
William — his marriages— issue — portrait in Exeter
Guildhall— another at Exeter College, Oxford— Jane
his daughter, married to Walter Yonge— the Yonges
as Puritans— letter from Sir Walter Raleigh, 160.
John Peryam, refuses to again become Mayor — his
gift to the Exeter Chamber — William and Elizabeth
Pole— their emigration to America, — William Hook-
Walter Yonge no 'separatist' — his death — his son
Sir John— John Wilkins, 161. Sir Walter Erie— his
imprisonment— marriages — death — Fighting, skirmi
shing, and pillaging at Colyton — Prebendary Collins
— Dr. Manton — the Register — Act for marrying — Mrs.
Jane Yonge— her death — will — bequest fco Wilkins^
John Wilkins — his will — death and burial-place —
gravestone inscription — Monmouth's Insurrection, 163.
The fight at Sedgemoor — barbarities afterward —
early Nonconformity — old Quaker Meeting-house at
Membury — its description — their burying place —
family of Smith of Cloakham — Lee Hill Farm — old
chair found within, 164. Description and destination —
Loughwood Chapel, Shute — Five-Mile Act — descrip
tion of building — Rev. Isaac Hann — his monument
and inscription, 166. Old oak chair, stool, and
Ordinance vessels — graveyard and stable — two old
Deacons, 167. Cromwell and his daughter Elizabeth
Claypole — a coincidence, 168.

The Last Bonvilles .

. 169-184

Migrated to Sussex — Sir W. Bonville— his second wife
Alice — agreement with the Abbot of Newenham for
her burial — the document and translation, 169. John,
his son — his wife Elizabeth Fitz-Roger— their eldest
son William, Lord Bonville — difficulty as to his
second marriage — Thomas Bonville their second son
(of Sussex) — pardon from Henry VI. — Eleanor
Cobham, 170. Her accusation and character — his
property in Cornwall, its descent, and curious
marriage agreement relating thereto — his first
marriage — the Poynings and St. John families of
Poynings, and Halnaker in Boxgrove, Sussex — their
descent, arms, &c, 172. His second marriage —
Gorges — Foliot— Wibbery — his son John Bonville, and
proof of his age — John Bonville's first marriage —
issue — monument in Tamerton-Foliot church, 173.
Second marriage — descent of Wingfield and GoushiU
— issue — the Fulfords — West, Lords de la Warr — his
tory — deaths — burial places — death and will of John
Bonville, 175. Persons mentioned, 176. Death and
will of Katherine his wife — bequests and gifts, 177.
Descent of Halnaker — description of ruins and park,

INDEX.

201

178. Relics from the old mansion — Boxgrove Priory
— its dissolution — acquirement by Lord de la Warr —
curious letters, 179. Enforced exchange with the
Crown — Wherwell Nunnery — Boxgrove Priory Church
—description, 180. The West-Bonville Chantry —
description, arms, and inscriptions— other monuments,
those buried there, 182. Broadwater church— tombs
of the Lords de la Warr — description — the Cantelupe
property in Devon, 183. Seals of Sir William
Bonville and Sir Philip Courtenay — family relation
ship — Powderham Church — burial of John Bonville
at Shute, 184.

A Legend of Dartmoor

185-189

Characteristics of Dartmoor — John Elford — his
parentage and birth — family originally from Cornwall
— first marriage and issue — her death and singular
monument at Sheepstor, 185. Second marriage — her
death and burial — third marriage— her death, burial
and monument with curious inscription at Wici ecombe
in - the - Moor — fourth marriage and issue — will of
Walter Elford, 186. His death and monument —
tradition concerning John Elford — Sheeps-Tor— the
Pixies' cave or parlour — description of — view from
Sheeps-Tor — Polwhele's note— Mrs. Bray's visit —
paintings said to have been seen in it — present con
dition, 187. Meavy — entry in the Register by John
Elford — as a magistrate — his death and burial — arms
and pedigree — Sir William Elford — his death and
burial — monumental inscription — Longstone — de
scription of house — old flagon and sack-bottle
preserved therein, 188-189.

A Wife, and Mother of Carews

190-191

George Carew, Dean of Exeter — his descent and
parentage — Prince's description of him — Mrs. Anne
Carew — her descent and parentage — her children—
her son Sir Peter — his marriage and issue — cause of

death — his effigy in the Cathedral — son-in-law Sir
Allan Apsley — his death, burial in the Tower chapel
— her son Sir George Carew, afterward Earl of Totnes
— her daughter Mary Dowrich — her brass at Sandford
190. Mrs. Carew resides with her brother, Sir George
Hervey, in Essex — his gift by will to her— her death-
entry in Romford Register — buried in that church —
monument, effigy and inscription — Romford church —
Dean Carew — a great pluralist — number of his
benefices — Prinoe's remarks thereon— his death and
burial place— extinction of that descent of Carew,
191.

Carew Castle : and of its possessors 192-196
Sir William — Carew of Bury-St. Edmund's — his
descent — marriage— death and burial-place — grave
stone and inscription — his son John Carew of Camer
ton — marriage — gra?estone — Thomas Carew of
Crowcombe — marriage — death and burial-place — Sir
John Carew — marriage— knighted — grantee of Carew
Castle, 192. His monument at Camerton — also to
John Carew, his second son— and to Thomas Carew
and others, 193. Also to John Carew— effigy in
churchyard — the Carew chapel — date of erection —
last male descendant — manor of Camerton and its
descent — of Stoodleigh— of Crowcombe— its church —
the Carew chapel— monument to Thomas Carew and
others therein, 194. Also to a succeeding Thomas
Carew — carved bench-ends— heraldry and inscription
thereon— final descent of Carew — Carew Castle-
situation and description — early history — acquisition
by Sir Rhys ab Thomas, 195. Partly rebuilt by him
—his great entertainment of Henry VII. — death,
burial and monument, 196. His grandson Sir Rhys
ab Gruffyd — confiscation of his property and decapi
tation by Henry VIIL — reversion of Castle to the
Crown— bestowed by Charles I. on Sir John Carew—
garrisoned for the King— siege and surrender to the
Parliamentary forces— present ruined condition, 197.

CORRIGENDA.
Page 141, column 2, line 25, for sociably, read socially.
„ 157 ,, 1 „ 25 ,, who ,, whose son.
„ 159 „ 2 „ 15 „ 1604 „ 1605.
„ 184 „ 2 „ 20 „ definite „ definitely.
„ 193 „ 1 ,, 35 „ three „ four.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

John Arundell, Bishop of Exeter .

James, Duke of Monmouth
Vignette. Tom Vye .
"Another shake of the long red night-oap'
Judge Jeffreys
Jack Ham
Beer Cove .
The Cliff Platform .
The Undekcliff, Beer

Some Old Signatures
Sir Isaac Heard ...
His Signature .....
Bev. Tobias Langdon .
William Jackson ....
"A peep into Ilchester Bastile " .
Ilchester Mace ....
Henry Hunt . ...
William Bridle . . . . .
On the Boad to the Gallows
Hanging in Chains
,, ,, on Brandon Heath
John Wolcot, M.D. . . . .
" Peter Pindar " . .
John Anstis, Jun 
Effigy of Sir John Colshull. Duloe Church

Frontispiece

page. 115
20404142 656678 8182
8789 909294 96
104
105 117124125129

• 203
ILLUSTRATIONS— continued.

John Anstis, Sen 
Heraldry from the Colshull Chantry
Brass of Bishop Booth
The Machine 
Sundial Sculpture, Sheepstor Church
The Takell Pillar, Honiton Church
John Peryam 
Effigy of Chief Baron Peryam, Crediton Church
Old Furniture and Ordinance Vessels, Loughwood
Bev. Isaac Hann 
The West Bonville Chantry, Boxgrove Priory Church, Sussex
Seals of Sir W. Bonville and Sir Philip Courtenay .
Ruins of Halnaker 
Tomb of Lord de la Warr, Broadwater Church, Sussex
Boxgrove Priory Church, Sussex ... . .
Monument of Lord de la Warr and Elizabeth Bonville, his Wife, Broadwater Church
Monument to Elizabeth Elford, Sheepstor Church ....
Monogram . ....... ...
On Tomb at Duloe 
Effigy of Mrs. Anne Carew, Romford Church, Essex .
Carew Castle * 
Monument to Sir John Cakew and Dame Elizabeth, his Wife, Camerton Church
Somerset .........
Monument of Sir Rhys ab Thomas, St. Peter's Church, Carmarthen *
Arms of Carew  . .

page. 134136139141145
152 156159165167169171176 179181
182185
185
189190194195
196198

By permission of Messrs. Catherall & Prichabd, Chester.

By ihe same Author and fully Illustrated, —
MEMORIALS OF THE WEST,
HISTORICAL AND DESCRIPTIVE,
COLLECTED ON THE BOBDERLAND OF SOMERSET, DORSET, AND DEVON.
(A few copies only remaining.)

THE STRIFE OF THE ROSES
AND
DAYS OF THE TUDORS IN THE WEST.
Illustrated by ROSCOE GIBBS.

EXETER :
JAMES G. COMMIN, 230 HIGH STREET.
LONDON: W. W. GIBBINGS, 18 BURY STREET.

YALE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY

me
BRITISH HISTORY
PRES5hV/'"~<GM
SUPPOFsitbBYNEH