Along the northern bank of the estuary lie the two villages of Kingsteignton and Bishopsteignton, the manor of the first being part of the ancient demesnes of the Crown, as that of the second was of the See of Exeter. At the Kingsteignton 'revel' a curious custom used to be observed, for a part of the proceedings was that 'a ram was hunted, killed, roasted, and eaten.' Mr Baring-Gould gives these details, and adds a village anecdote. 'The parson there once asked a lad in Sunday-school, "How many commandments are there?" "Three, sir," was the prompt reply--"Easter, Whitsuntide, and the Revel."'

Bishopsteignton has a church in which there are portions of Norman work, and in the parish lie the remains of a Bishop's palace, 'From ancient times,' says Lysons, 'one of the country seats of the bishops.' It was practically rebuilt by Bishop Grandisson.

I was once given an interesting piece of information relating to Bishopsteignton by an old man living near Newton St Cyres. He said that in a general way the women there used to be very small, and folks said that was because they had been changed by the pixies when they were babies.

It is unnecessary to dwell on the fact that Teignmouth, besides being a port, is a most flourishing watering-place. The colouring is very rich, and especially lovely when set off by a brilliant sky and glittering blue water. Blood-red cliffs lead north and south, and the green of gra.s.s and plants, broken by ma.s.ses of wild-flowers of all tints, here scattered thinly, there in clumps, overlaps and creeps down the face of the rock wherever there is foothold. Between Teignmouth and Dawlish an 'island-rock' of the warmest red runs out into the sea, and through an arch in it the rippling water may be seen beyond. Looking down at Teignmouth from the hill on the opposite side, the town seems to run very flatly into the angle between sea and river. In the estuary, at low tide, the ships and boats lie in pools among the sand-banks, with the gulls circling and screaming about them.

It has been said that 'the cliffs of Teignmouth owe their deep-red hue to the slaughter of the inhabitants by the Danes in 970, when "the very rocks streamed with blood"'; and the old people confidently a.s.sert that the dwarf-elder (called hereabouts 'Danes-elder') grows only upon the site of old battle-fields 'where the Danes' blood was spilt!' These legends are not altogether baseless, for there is no doubt as to the pitiless brutality which the Danes showed in their various incursions into Devon between the years 894 and 1013. Drayton's image is bold and gruesome:

'When all the country swam with blood of Saxons shed.'

Teignmouth was last troubled by an enemy in 1690, when Admiral de Tourville, having defeated the united English and Dutch fleets off Beachy Head, sailed down the Channel and anch.o.r.ed one night in Tor Bay.

The Devonshire militia flew to arms. 'In twenty-four hours all Devonshire was up. Every road in the county from sea to sea was covered by mult.i.tudes of fighting men, all with their faces set towards Torbay.'

De Tourville, upon this discouraging reception, gave up any ideas he may have had of disembarking, and merely sent some galleys to Teignmouth, who first turned their cannon on the town and afterwards landed and burned it.

The general excitement that this attack created found voice in a ballad called 'The Devonshire Boys' Courage, 1690.' It is utter doggerel, but expresses the contemporary views of the people, and was sung to a tune called 'Liggan Water,' a t.i.tle that, according to Mr William Chappell, refers to an Irish stream. I give only a few verses:

[Ill.u.s.tration: music]

'Brave _Devonshire_ Boys made haste away When news did come from _Tinmouth-bay_, The French were landed in that town And Treacherously had burnt it down.

'When to the Town they did draw near, The _French_ did straightways disappear; Because that they had then beat down And basely burnt poor _Tinmouth-town_.

'On _Haldon-Hill_ they did design To draw their men up in a line; But _Devonshire_ Boys did make them run; When once they did discharge a Gun.

'Brave Blew coat Boys did watch them so, They to no other place dare go; For if they had returned again, I'm sure the _Frenchmen_ had been slain.

'Let _Monsieur_ then do what he can, We'll still Reign Masters o'er the Main; Old England's Right upon the Sea In spight of _France_ maintain'd shall be.

'No Seaman fears to lose his Blood, To justifie a Cause so good; To fight the _French_, who have begun With burning down poor _Tinmouth-town_.

'The _Cornish_ Lads will lend a hand, And _Devonshire_ Boys will with them Band, To pull the pride of Monsieur down, Who basely burn'd poor Tinmouth-town.'

CHAPTER VI

Torbay

'Torbay, unknown to the Aonian Quire, Nothing oblig'd to any Poet's lyre ...

The Muses had no Matter from thy Bay, To make thee famous till great William's Day....

To _Orange_ only and _Batavia's_ Seed Remain'd this glory, as of old decreed, To make thy Name immortal, and thy Sh.o.r.e More famous and renown'd than heretofore....

O happy, happy Bay! All future times Shall speak of thee renown'd in foreign Climes!...

Muses have matter now, enough to make Poets of Peasants for Torbaia's sake....

King _David's_ Deeds were sung, and Triumphs too, And why should not Great _Orange_ have his due?

Supream in Earth, Dread Sovereign thou art; Long may'st thou reign, we pray with all our heart.'

AVANT: _Torbaia digna Camoensis_.

It is impossible for those who have had no better fortune than to see Torbay only in prints or photographs to gather more than a very imperfect idea of what its best can be. The cliffs near Paignton are red, nearer Torquay they are a warm russet, alternating with a rosy grey where limestone comes to the surface; and some of the rocks beneath, shining with salt water, are pink, interlined with white veins. In fair weather the warm tints of these cliffs, chequered by a green lattice-work of plants and bushes, and the rich, full colours of the sea, make a picture that is more easily remembered than described.

The great promontories of Hope's Nose and Berry Head stand between three and four miles apart at the northern and southern points of this rounded, shallow bay. Torquay itself is a new town, and only developed into being one in the early part of the last century. At the time that there was real fear of Napoleon making a descent on this coast, fortifications were built on Berry Head, and houses were wanted for the officers in charge. One authority suggests that Torquay was brought into general notice by serving as a lodging for the families of officers in the Channel Fleet under Lord St Vincent, who used Torbay as an anchorage. But in any case its existence is really due to Napoleon.

Certainly the growth was rapid, for Lysons, writing about 1820, speaks of Torquay as having been till lately a hamlet,--and even its name is modern.

The one important building was the Abbey, founded in 1196 by William, Lord Briwere, and endowed by him with the whole of the Manor of Wolborough and part of the Manor of Torre. The probable origin of this great gift is interesting. The Abbey was founded soon after the return from Austria of the hostages who had been kept there till the ransom of King Richard I was paid, and it has been generally supposed that, as the eldest sons of the greatest n.o.blemen were sent, Lord Briwere's only son was among the number, and that the Abbey was a thank-offering, the fruit of a vow made by the father in regard to his son's happy return. Lord Briwere installed in the Abbey seven monks of the Premonstratensian Order. Alicia, daughter of Lord Briwere, married Reginald de Mohun, and as, on the death of her brother, she inherited the Torre property, it is easily seen how Tor-Mohun came to be the name of the parish. Successive bequests to the monastery made it the richest house of the Order in England, though at the time of its dissolution there were only fifteen monks besides the Abbot. The peace and prosperity of the Abbey were once broken, Dr Oliver tells us in his 'Monasticon Dioecesis Exoniensis,'

by a painful incident: 'In 1390, notwithstanding the Abbot's irreproachable life and manners, some malicious person spread a rumour that he had beheaded one of the Canons of Tor called Simon Hastings.'

The Abbot was 'greatly distressed,' and the Bishop p.r.o.nounced the accusation to be a falsehood of the 'blackest dye,' and, besides, declared that he, the said Canon, was _alive and well_. But that it should be possible to bring such a charge against an 'irreproachable'

Abbot in this casual way, and that the accusation should for a moment be listened to, is a view of those days not often opened to one.

After changing hands several times, the Abbey became the property of the Carys (in 1662), and their descendants still live in it. Many alterations have been inevitable, but much of the character of the building still remains. Parts of the walls of the original church are still standing, and enough of the masonry is left to show the exact plan. It was longer than any other church that has since been built in Torquay, and wanted only seven feet to equal the length of Exeter Cathedral between the west end and the organ-screen. The refectory stretches towards the west; it has been converted into a chapel, and a stone cross rises from the roof. The embattled gateway and the whole of the building near it are of a soft rose colour; beyond stands a tower, duller in tint, and at right angles the old grange, known since Elizabethan days as the Spanish Barn. For the _Capitana_, the first ship of the Armada to be taken, fell to Sir Francis Drake off Torbay, and the four hundred men captured on her were brought to Tor Abbey and imprisoned in the grange.

Leaving Torquay, and going some miles to the north, and slightly inland, one arrives at Haccombe, the smallest parish in England. This year (1908) the population numbers nine. It is also conspicuous for having as its Rector the sole 'Arch-priest' in the kingdom, and for its independence, for though Haccombe Church is subject to the jurisdiction of the Bishop, it claims to be free from any ruling of the Archdeacon. A college or arch-presbytery was founded there in 1341, 'which college,'

says Lysons, 'consisted of an arch-priest and five other priests, who lived together in community.' The Arch-priest, or Rector, as he is usually called, is the only remaining member of the college.

Haccombe pa.s.sed by a succession of heiresses from the Haccombes, who held it in the time of William I, to the Carews, during the fourteenth century, to which family it still belongs. On the church door hang two horseshoes, commemorating a victory that George Carew, Earl of Totnes, wrested from his cousin, Sir Arthur Champernowne. A wager was laid as to whose horse could swim farthest into the sea, and the horse of 'the bold Carew' won. The story is told in the following ballad:

'The feast was over in Haccombe Hall, And the wa.s.sail-cup had been served to all, When the Earl of Totnes rose in his place, And the chanters came in to say the grace.

'But scarce was ended the holy rite, When there stepped from the crowd a valiant knight; His armour bright and his visage brown, And his name Sir Arthur Champernowne.

'"Good Earl of Totnes, I've brought with me My fleetest courser of Barbary; And whether good or ill betide, A wager with thee I mean to ride."

'"No Barbary courser do I own; But I have," quoth the Earl, "a Devonshire roan; And I'll ride for a wager by land or sea, The roan 'gainst the courser of Barbary."

'"'Tis done," said Sir Arthur, "already I've won; And I'll stake my manor of Dartington 'Gainst Haccombe Hall and its rich domain."

So the Earl of Totnes the wager hath ta'en.

The land is for men of low degree; But the knight and the Earl they ride by sea.

'"To horse! to horse!" resounds through the hall Each warrior steed is led from its stall; And with gallant train over Milburn Down Ride the bold Carew and the Champernowne.

'But when they came to the Abbey of Tor, The Abbot came forth from the western door, And much he prayed them to stay and dine, But the Earl took naught save a goblet of wine.

'Sir Arthur he raised the bowl on high, And prayed to the Giver of victory; Then drank success to himself in the course, And the sops of the wine he gave to his horse.

'Away they rode from the Abbey of Tor, Till they reached the inlet's curving sh.o.r.e; The Earl plunged first in the foaming wave, And was followed straight by Sir Arthur the brave.

'The wind blew hard and the waves beat high, And the horses strove for the mastery; Till Sir Arthur cried, "Help, thou bold Carew!

Help, if thou art a Christian true!

'"Oh, save for the sake of that lady of mine!

Good Earl of Totnes, the manor is thine; The Barbary courser must yield to the roan, And thou art the Lord of Dartington."