OF

RICHARD WESTLAKE,

AGED 27 YEARS,

MASTER OF THE BRIG "ISLA,"

ALSO JOHN WESTLAKE,

HIS BROTHER, AGED 24 YEARS,

WHO LOST THEIR LIVES IN THE SAID BRIG WHICH FOUNDER'D IN THE STORM ON THE 29TH DAY OF OCTOBER 1823 WITHIN SIGHT OF THIS CHURCH.

Readers be at all times ready, for you Know not what a day may bring forth.

Teignmouth was a strange-looking town, and the best description of it was by the poet Winthrop Mackworth Praed, who described it as seen in his time from the top of the Ness Rock:

A little town was there, O'er which the morning's earliest beam Was wandering fresh and fair.

No architect of cla.s.sic school Had pondered there with line and rule-- The buildings in strange order lay, As if the streets had lost their way; Fantastic, puzzling, narrow, muddy, Excess of toil from lack of study.

Where Fashion's very latest fangles Had no conception of right angles.

Possibly the irregular way in which the old portion of the town had been built was due to the inroads of the French, who had invaded and partially destroyed the town on two occasions; for in those days the English coast between Portland and Plymouth was practically undefended.

By way perhaps of reprisal Teignmouth contributed seven ships and 120 mariners to Edward III's expedition to Calais in 1347.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THE PARSON AND CLERK ROCK," DAWLISH.]

That unfortunate young poet John Keats visited Teignmouth in 1818. He had begun to write his poem "Endymion" in the Isle of Wight the year before, and came here to revise and finish it. The house where he resided, with its old-fashioned door and its three quaint bow windows rising one above another, was pointed out to us, as well as a shop at that time kept by the "three pretty milliners" in whom poor Keats was so greatly interested. Endymion was a beautiful youth whom Selene, the moon, wrapped in perpetual sleep that she might kiss him without his knowledge. Keats, who was in bad health when he came to Teignmouth, was reported to have said he could already feel the flowers growing over him, and although he afterwards went to Rome, the warmer climate failed to resuscitate him, and he died there in 1820, when only twenty-five years old.

We had expected to have to walk thirty miles that day, via Newton Abbot, before reaching Torquay; but were agreeably surprised to find we could reduce the mileage to twenty-three and a half by crossing a bridge at Teignmouth. The bridge was quite a formidable affair, consisting of no less than thirty-four arches, and measured 1,671 feet from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e. It was, moreover, built of beams of wood, and as it had been in existence since the year 1827, some of the timber seemed rather worn.

The open rails at the sides and the water below, and our solemn thoughts about Keats, tended to give us the impression that we were not altogether safe, and we were glad when we reached the other side, and landed safely at St. Nicholas, or rather at the villages which formed the southern portion of Teignmouth. With the Ness Rock, a huge dark red rock with a nose turned upwards towards the sky, to our left, we walked briskly along the coast road towards Torquay in order to reach that town before dark, as we were obliged to find a good inn to stay in over the Sunday. Continuing along this road, with fine views in the neighbourhood of Anstey's Cove, we soon arrived at Torquay, of which we had heard such glowing descriptions on our journey.

Near the entrance to the town we overtook a clergyman, with whom we entered into conversation, telling him of our long journey, in which he was much interested. We asked him if he could recommend us a good hotel where we could stay until Monday morning, as we did not walk on Sundays; and he suggested that we should stay at one of the boarding-houses. We had never thought of staying at these places, but when he said he knew of one that would just suit us, and would be pleased to accompany us there, we were delighted to accept his kind offer.

[Ill.u.s.tration: TEIGNMOUTH NESS LIGHTHOUSE.]

I knew my brother was rather suspicious of boarding-houses, and when we arrived opposite the rather nice house where the clergyman had taken us I noticed he looked rather critically at the windows both below and above. When he saw that the curtains were drawn equally on each side of the windows and all the blinds drawn down to almost exactly the same distance, he was quite satisfied, as he had often said it was a sure sign that there was somebody in the house who was looking after it, and that similar order would be certain to reign within.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ANSTEY'S COVE. TORQUAY.]

The clergyman was evidently well known to the people at the house, and an introduction to the master and mistress, and (shall we record?) to their two daughters as well, placed us immediately upon the best of terms with the whole family. We received every attention, and after a good tea we had a walk in and around the town, and were well pleased with the appearance of Torquay. It was a much larger place than we had antic.i.p.ated. In a stationer's shop window we saw exhibited a small _Guide to Torquay_, published in Manchester, and sold for the small sum of one penny, from which we learned that the population of Torquay had risen enormously during the past few years, for while it registered 11,294 in 1858 and 16,682 in 1868, in 1871, the year of our journey, it stood at 26,477; and it further informed us that the distance from there to London was 216 miles, and that "the express which leaves Paddington at 9.15 and arrives at Torquay at 4.34 has a third-cla.s.s carriage for Torquay"--an example of the speed of express trains in those days. The _Guide_ must have only just been issued, evidently in advance for the coming year, as it gave the Torquay High Water Table from May to October inclusive for 1872, and the following precise account of Anstey's Cove.

ANSTIS COVE

Anstis Cove deserves a special visit. Pa.s.sing from the Strand, under an avenue of trees opposite the Post-Office, and leaving the Public Gardens on the right hand, the visitor will go as straight as the road will permit till he comes in sight of St. Matthias' Church. The road to the right leads down to Anstis Cove. He will notice among the ferns and trees a door in the mossy bank, like the entrance to a hermitage in the wilderness. It is the door of the venerable Kent's Cavern. Persons who are now employed by the Torquay Natural History Society will guide the visitor and supply candles. The vast cavern is six hundred and fifty feet in length, with small caverns and corridors, which are most dangerous without a guide, rugged, wet, and slippery. Some years ago the skeleton of a woman who had lost her way was found. No one now enters without a guide. In some parts the cavern is so low that the visitors are obliged to crawl and squeeze, but in other parts it is 30 feet high. The eminent geologist, Dr.

Buckland, here discovered the bones of rhinoceros, elephants, lions, wolves, bears, hippopotami, and hyaenas--beasts of prey that haunted the forests of prehistoric England before the times of the Celts.

Rude implements which have been found in the cavern prove that in very remote times it was the resort of savage tribes. The cavern is now in process of careful examination by qualified persons, at the expense of the British a.s.sociation, to whom they make periodical reports. Fossil remains which have been, discovered may be seen at the museum of the Natural History Society, in Park Street, between the hours of ten and four daily.

But Anstis Cove is the object of our search. Proceeding down the shady lane, taking the first turning on the left hand, we find a gateway leading to a footpath among all kinds of bushes and shady trees, down to the pebbly beach. The lofty limestone cliff of Walls Hill is before us--such rocks as are nowhere else to be seen. They seem like huge monsters creeping into the ocean. Here, amongst huge rocks on the sh.o.r.e, are the bathing machines. The water is clear as crystal. Rowing-boats are also here for hire, and here the strata of the neighbouring cliffs hanging over the sea can be examined. Here is a cottage, too, where lobsters and picnic viands may be procured. On the beach the fossil Madrepore is often found.

We were the only visitors at the boarding-house, where the cleanliness and the catering were all that could be desired. The young ladies vied with each other to make our visit a pleasant one, and after a good supper we stayed up relating some of our adventures until the clock struck ten, when we retired for a well-earned rest, having walked quite 179 miles that week.

(_Distance walked twenty-three and a half miles_.)

_Sunday, November 12th._

We rose at our usual early hour this morning, and were downstairs long before our friends antic.i.p.ated our arrival, for they naturally thought that after our long walk we should have been glad of an extra hour or two's rest; but habit, as in the time of Diogenes, had become second nature, and to remain in bed was to us equivalent to undergoing a term of imprisonment. As boot-cleaning in those days was a much longer operation than the more modern boot-polish has made it, we compromised matters by going out in dirty boots on condition that they were cleaned while we were having breakfast. It was a fine morning, and we were quite enchanted with Torquay, its rocks and its fine sea views on one side, and its wooded hills on the other, with mansions peeping out at intervals above the trees. We could not recall to mind any more beautiful place that we had visited.

[Ill.u.s.tration: TORQUAY FROM WALDON HILL IN 1871.]

After breakfast we attended morning service at the church recommended by our host, but after travelling so much in the open air the change to the closer atmosphere of a church or chapel affected us considerably.

Although we did not actually fall asleep, we usually became very drowsy and lapsed into a dreamy, comatose condition, with shadowy forms floating before us of persons and places we had seen in our travels. The constant changes in position during the first part of the Church Service invariably kept us fairly well alive, but the sermon was always our chief difficulty, as during its delivery no change of posture was required. When the service began, however, we were agreeably surprised to find that the minister who officiated was none other than the clergyman who had so kindly interested himself in finding us lodgings yesterday. This awakened our interest in the service, which we followed as closely as we could; but when the vicar announced his text, beginning with the well-known words, "They that go down to the sea in ships," we were all attention, for immediately our adventures in the North Sea came into our minds, and the ocean, that great work of the Almighty, is so graphically described in that 107th Psalm, and the dangers of the sailors with their fears and hopes so clearly depicted, that we record the whole text, as it appeared in the versified rendering of the Psalms, in the hope that some one may "read, mark, learn and inwardly digest":

They that go down to the sea in ships: and occupy their business in great waters; these men see the works of the Lord, and His wonders in the deep. For at His word the stormy wind ariseth, which lifteth up the waves thereof. They are carried up to the heaven, and down again to the deep: and their soul melteth away because of the trouble. They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wit's end. So when they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, He delivereth them out of their distress. For He maketh the storm to cease, so that the waves thereof are still. Then are they glad, because they are at rest, and so He bringeth them unto the haven where they would be. O that men would therefore praise the Lord for His goodness, and declare the wonders that He doeth for the children of men.

The preacher referred feelingly to a great storm or tornado which had visited the South Coast about six years before, when a large number of ships, sheltering in Torbay, were swept out by a sudden change in the wind and over forty of them were sunk. This happened in the month of January, when drifting snow filled the eyes of the spectators, who were within hearing distance but could render no a.s.sistance. The Brixham sailors acted most bravely and saved many lives, but over one hundred people were drowned. We could see that some members of the congregation still mourned the loss of friends who had perished on that sad occasion.

We were well pleased with the service, and after a short ramble returned to our lodgings for dinner at one o'clock, afterwards adjourning to the drawing-room, where we were presently joined by our host, who suggested a walk that afternoon to see the beautiful views in the neighbourhood, a proposition to which we readily a.s.sented.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE OUTER HARBOUR, BRIXHAM.]

But while he was getting ready my brother happened to strike a few chords on the piano, which immediately attracted the attention of the two young ladies, who told us they had seen us at church, where they were in the choir. They were beginning to learn some pieces to sing at Christmas, and, producing a pianoforte copy, asked my brother to play the accompaniment while they tried them over. He made some excuses, but they said they knew he could play as soon as they heard him strike the chords; so, as his excuses were not accepted, he had to submit to the inevitable---not altogether unwillingly. They had only just begun when their father came into the room and claimed our company for the promised walk, and, as I was the only member of the party ready to join him, we went out with the understanding that they would follow us. After walking a short distance I suggested waiting for them, but the gentleman a.s.sured me they knew the way he always went on Sundays, and would be sure to find us. I enjoyed the company of our host, as he seemed to know the history of the whole neighbourhood, and possessed a fund of information ready at command concerning every object of interest we saw. He pointed out Portland in the far distance, where convicts worked, and where the stones used for sharpening scythes were produced. He also told me that formerly Torquay consisted merely of a few cottages inhabited by fishermen, but some n.o.bleman bought the place for 13,000, and let the ground in lots on short leases for building purposes. Now that it was covered with fine houses, he received tens of thousands a year from chief rent, while many of the houses would come to his family in a few years' time.

It surprised me greatly how much I missed my brother's company. We had never been separated for so long a period during the whole of our journey, and at every turn I found myself instinctively turning round to see if he were following. It was a lovely walk, but when we reached the house on our return, neither my brother nor the young ladies were to be found, and it was nearly time for the five-o'clock tea before they returned. They all looked very pleasant, and a.s.sured us they had followed us as promised, and the young ladies seemed able to convince their father that they had done so; but to my mind the matter was never satisfactorily cleared up, and I often reminded my brother in after years about those two young ladies at Torquay, who, by the way, were very good-looking. Many years afterwards some poetry was written by a lady who must have been an authority on the "Little Maids of Devon," for she wrote:

Oh! the little maids of Devon, They've a rose in either cheek, And their eyes like bits of heaven Meet your own with glances meek; But within them there are tiny imps That play at hide and seek!

Oh! the little maids of Devon, They have skins of milk and cream, Just as pure and clear and even As a pool in Dartmoor stream; But who looks at them is holden With the magic of a dream.

Oh! the little maids of Devon, They have honey-coloured hair.

Where the sun has worked like leaven.

Turning russet tones to fair, And they hold you by the strands of it, And drive you to despair.

Oh! the little maids of Devon, They have voices like a dove, And Jacob's years of seven One would serve to have their love; But their hearts are things of mystery A man may never prove!

We all attended church again for evening service, and after supper pa.s.sed the evening singing hymns, in which I was able to join, some of them very beautiful and selected because they had been composed by people connected with the County of Devon. One of them was written by Charlotte Elliott, who died at Torquay in 1871, the year we were there, and still a favourite even in these later years, the first verse being:

Just as I am, without one plea But that Thy Blood was shed for me, And that Thou bidd'st me come to Thee, O Lamb of G.o.d, I come.

The first vicar of Lower Brixham was the Rev. Henry Francis Lyte, who at fifty-four years of age began to suffer from consumption, and who, when he knew he had not long to live, prayed that he might be enabled to write something that would live to the glory of G.o.d after he was dead.

As a last resource he had been ordered by the doctors to go to the Riviera, where he died at Nice a month later. The night before he started he preached his farewell sermon, and, returning to his house as the sun was setting over the ships in the harbour, many of which belonged to the fishermen he had laboured amongst for so many years, he sat down and wrote that beautiful hymn:

Abide with me; fast falls the eventide; The darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide; When other helpers fail, and comforts flee, Help of the helpless, O abide with me.

Then there was the Rev. A.M. Toplady, for some time vicar of Broad Hembury, near Honiton. While walking out with some friends in Somerset, he was caught in a storm, and the party sheltered in a well-known cave by the roadside, where, standing under its rocky entrance, he wrote this famous hymn:

Rock of ages, cleft for me.

Let me hide myself in Thee; Let the Water and the Blood, From Thy riven Side which flow'd, Be of sin the double cure, Cleanse me from its guilt and power.