To Barnstaple, capital of North Devon, and capital also of the Maid of Sker, or such portions of the story as relate to the county, proceed we now. Already we have winged brief flights to the neighbourhood in connection with Heanton Court and Ashford, one of Blackmore’s early homes described so lovingly in the above-named romance. The scenes appear very real, and would have been still more so but for the construction of the railway, which shuts off from the view the house and the old boat-stage (Maid of Sker, chapter xxxix.). The true name of “Deadman’s Pill,” which was opposite Ashford, is Fremington Pill or Penhill, a creek in which there was a sort of dock, where the larger vessels anchored, and received or delivered cargoes.

Barnstaple is a place on which it would be a pleasure to bestow many a page of garnered lore, and the district around is no less delightful to the lover of the past. This being the case, it may be well to premise that my hope is, in a subsequent volume on the Kingsley country, to amplify the account here given, and this must excuse seeming deficiencies.

The recollections of old inhabitants are always interesting, and it may be laid down that, next to our own, no age attracts like that immediately preceding it, out of which we are sprung, and in which Blackmore flourished. Therefore I account it a fortunate accident that made me for a short time an inmate in the house of Mr Parminter, one of the makers of modern Barnstaple, who drew my attention to a remarkable fact—that in the old days the town was provided with iron gates, which were closed at night, to keep out tramps and travellers. Mr Parminter remembers two—those in High Street and Cross Street. Boutport Street, where Parson Rambone challenged all and sundry, must also have had its gate.

A great support of old Barnstaple was the shipping industry. Vessels of one hundred to two hundred tons were built here and owned by Barnstaple men, amongst whom was Mr Bament, father of Mrs Carruthers Gould, who was also a tanner. The ships were employed in different services, and known as London traders, Liverpool traders, Bristol traders, etc., according to the port of arrival. Their cargoes were of all kinds—groceries, draperies, and general merchandise. There was also a considerable traffic in Scotch herrings. The quays, of which there were four—three above Barnstaple Bridge—were at right angles to the river. At present, ships are barred from coming up beyond a certain distance by the railway bridge. Below this, however, is the Rolle Quay (so called after the Rolle family, to whom it belongs), which is still accessible, and where much business is done. When in Barnstaple recently, I watched a sailing ship from the opposite bank, and her action in entering curiously resembled that of a mouse stealing into its hole. One of the services of the Barnstaple vessels was as emigrant ships, and Mr Bament helped to export hundreds of sturdy colonists to the Antipodes. In the Maid of Sker (chapter xxx.), the “Tawton fleet” of brown-sailed lighters is referred to; the river is navigable for barges and small craft to about three miles above the town.

Mr Parminter has many appetising reminiscences of parliamentary elections, which in days of yore were in the hands of the freeman. This position was esteemed a valuable privilege, since it carried with it other rights, not merely that of voting. Mr Parminter, for instance, as a freeman, was able, when building a chapel at Ilfracombe, to convey all the material by sea without paying quay dues. As to politics, however. Adjoining the North Walk is a mansion called the Castle, in the grounds of which is a raised mound, on which in former times guns were mounted for the defence of the river passage. This house was occupied for many years by Mr Brembridge, M.P. for the borough (commonly known as “Dick Brembridge”), who was pitted against Lord Ebrington, the present Lord Fortescue, on one occasion, and, together with his colleague, unseated for bribery. His lordship, however, was unable to occupy either of the vacant places, as one of his own agents was convicted of corruption, to the tune of £10. This was really a modest amount, seeing that in 1841 as much as £80 was paid for a single vote. There were other modes of gaining or retaining support, and amongst these may be reckoned a champagne breakfast at the King’s Arms, which Mr Parminter recollects attending when quite a boy, with his father. A famous contest was that in which Messrs Hudson and Gore, the former a wealthy brewer, succeeded in ousting the Hon. John Fortescue, brother of the present Earl, and Sir John Palmer Chichester (“Arlington Jack”), representing two of the oldest local families.

All the world has heard of Mr F. Carruthers Gould, the renowned caricaturist, but all the world may not know that, although not a resident in the town, Mr Gould is a thorough Barnstaple man, and his wife, as we have seen, is a Barnstaple lady. The Goulds are an old Barnstaple family. The grandfather of F. C. G. was a lime and slate merchant, and his father, Mr Richard David Gould, a very clever architect, in large practice, who designed the market and many private residences, including the house in which Mr Parminter lives and I lodged. Prior to this my excellent landlord occupied the Castle, an hotel which he built for himself in the street of the same name, where he had Mr R. D. Gould himself as a paying guest. In his youth Mr Carruthers Gould was a clerk in the Old Bank, and, whilst in that position, presumed to caricature old Trewin, the jailor—a terrible personage, with a great capacity for holloaing. The sight of the picture enraged him beyond measure, and it is said he was almost for murdering the daring young artist.

For many years Barnstaple has known no such benefactor as the late Mr W. F. Rock, who, I believe, started in life as a linen-draper and lived to found the North Devon AthenÆum, which originated in a debating society. He was the author of a dialogue in the North Devon dialect, and took an interest in many other things besides literature. For instance, he gave a most useful stimulus to the slumbering artistic taste of the townspeople; and the wonderful development of Barum ware and cabinet work may be attributed, directly or indirectly, to the seed sown by this wise and patriotic townsman.

From this gossip of recent days I turn to severer researches, suggested in part by points that have already cropped up—for instance, the matter of the castle. When Barnstaple Castle was first erected, whether by King Athelstan or some other Saxon ruler, cannot be accurately stated. This much is certain—that there was ample reason for such a fort in Anglo-Saxon times, since the berserker Hubba appeared in the neighbourhood, and at the mouth of the Taw is the so-called Hubba-stone, supposed to mark his grave. Two other Norse chieftains, Crida and Putta, are reputed to have given their names to Croyde and Putsborough. The castle was rebuilt or considerably extended by Judhel de Totnes, a favourite of William the Conqueror, to whom he, William, granted the borough of Barnstaple, and who occasionally resided there. He also repaired the town walls. Judhel was afterwards banished, and the barony and castle, after passing through a number of different hands, came at length to Sir John Chichester, who in 1566 conveyed the entire manor, with the exception of the castle, to the corporation, in whom it is still vested. For some reason the fortress attracted the jealous attention of the Government, and in the reign of Henry III., A.D. 1228, a precept was directed to the Sheriff of Devon, commanding him to reduce its walls to a height not exceeding ten feet. According to Fuller, it was in the following century the principal residence of the worthy Lord Audley, but in Leland’s time (1542) it was already a ruin.

“The town of Berdenstaple,” he says, “hath been waulled, and the waulle was in compace by estimation half a myle. It is now almost clene faullen. The names of the four gates by east, west, north and south, yet remain, and manifest tokens of them. There be manifest ruines of a great castelle at the north-west side of the towne, a little beneath the towne bridge, and a place of dungeon yet standeth.”

The next notice of the castle is found in the Journal of Philip Wyott, Town Clerk of Barnstaple from 1586 to 1608: “1601, nineteenth day of December, at night, some of the castle walls was blown down and blown into the Castle, and did no harm, saving some ravens were found dead, and belike sat within the wall.” Elsewhere the Journal tells how two hundred trained soldiers were reviewed in the Castle Green, and, how, in October 1606, a great flood “threw down the whole house wherein James Frost did dwell, whereby himself was slayne, and two children lying within bed was slayne, with the falling of the walls, and all the walls between that and the Castle fell.”

The aforesaid mound, and some remains of two or three massive walls incorporated with the Castle House, alone are left to mark the site of the once proud river-fort. With regard to the mound, time was when it was surmounted by a small keep or watch-tower, and it is supposed that part of a wall on one side of it is a remnant of the ancient building. This had plainly vanished in 1727, when trespassers on the mound were put on their trial at Exeter.

Next, as to shipping. Barnstaple was one of the subsidiary Cinque Ports, and, as such, assisted in repelling the Spanish Armada. The local contribution to the English fleet amounted to five ships out of a total number of 197. Old Philip Wyott says briefly: “Five ships went over the bar to join Sir Francis Drake at Plymo,” but Stow, in his Annals, supplies the names of three of them—the Tiger, the God Save Her, and the Galleon Dudley. On the dispersal of the dreaded Armada, letters of marque were issued by the English Government, and piracy having become both legal and respectable, Barumites engaged in it with considerable energy and success, the reprisal ships bringing in freights of gold, ivory, and wine. The White Hart, the Blessing, the Prudence, the John of Braunton, and the Mayflower were the names of some of these Barnstaple vessels, and in the case of the two last, complete lists of the “governors” and crews in 1612, together with inventories of the fittings, are yet extant.

One of the sights of Barnstaple is Queen Anne’s Walk, with its convenient colonnade, in which one may see old men, who have borne the burden and heat of the day, resting placidly and watching the stream of traffic surge past them. Originally the building was intended as an exchange or merchant’s walk, and did not acquire its present name till 1708, when it was restored by the Corporation, with the help of some noblemen; and the statue of Queen Anne, in the costume of the period, was presented by Mr Rolle, of Stevenstone.

Not far away is Barnstaple Bridge, with its many arches, spanning the river Taw—the scene of one of Tom Faggus’s exciting adventures. Westcote has a quaint tale concerning the origin of this stately bridge, which, he declares, was due to two maiden ladies, sisters, who were spinsters in both senses. Not only did they spin themselves, but they taught young children the art, and with the proceeds of their industry brought about the completion of the first two piers. Nor was this all. They obtained a license to go a-begging among good and charitable people with a view to accumulating funds for the finishing of the structure.

A terrible episode in the history of Barnstaple was the visitation of the plague in 1646. This came direct from the Levant in a vessel laden with wool, and after decimating Bideford, extended its ravages to the larger town. There is a gruesome tradition on the subject, which is worth recording, and may possibly have some foundation in fact. It is as follows. Four brothers, sons of Thomas and Agnes Ley, were fishing on the banks of the Taw, when the tide floated up a bundle. This they drew to the shore, and discovered that it was simply bedding and rugs, which had no doubt been the property of a

sailor, and had for some reason been thrown into the sea. The sequel rendered it well-nigh certain that the poor man had died of the pestilence, with which all four brothers became infected, and of which they all died. As a precaution against the further spread of the disease, the corpses were ferried across the river to the Tawstock bank, and interred at high-water mark. Here a monument was erected to their memory, and an enclosure formed by seven elms, which, through some confusion, resulted in the spot being named the “Seven Brethren Bank.” In 1791 a certain Elizabeth Horwood made a copy of the inscription on the tombstone, which she described as standing in Higher Pill Marsh, on the east side of the gut that emptied itself into the Taw, a little above the higher Tawstock marsh and bank. The epitaph, apparently genuine, is stated to have been:—

From tragedy to romance. Mr Charles Cutcliffe, of Weach, a solicitor residing at Bideford, is the narrator; Madam Chichester, daughter of the Rev. Charles Howard, and relict of Arthur Chichester, of Hall, the lady implicated, and the Rev. George Bradford, the eloping parson. The incident is succinctly related in the following letters—with a rider.

“May 21, 1728.—There was a very great storm at Pill last Friday. I mean within doors, for that morning ab^t one, the parson of Tawton and Mad^m Chichester ridd away together without a serv^t, in order to be married; but where the jobb was done, I don’t yet hear with certainty. The parson yesterday made a visit in his coach, and no doubt looks very grand.

“June 9, 1728.—I think I wrote you that the Viccar of Tawton had married Mad^m Chichester. I must now acquaint you that Cozⁿ Moll Chichester was married to Mr Waldron, her old sweetheart, the Monday following, but not discovered till last week. I had the pleasure yesterday of bringing father and daughter together at Pill, where all things were perfectly reconciled, and am forthwith to prepare an handsome settlement.”

Tawstock Court, a long castellated building, and Tawstock Church, which has been called the “Westminster Abbey of the West,” encompassed with old woods, and so closely linked that they may almost be regarded as one, are near neighbours of Bishop’s Tawton, the home of the romantic vicar. Their unity of interest may be illustrated by an ancient custom depicted in a print belonging to Sir Bourchier Wrey, and a much valued heirloom. In the churchyard are two ivy-covered pillars, the remains of a gateway through which the family at the mansion walked on their way to church, while behind them, in solemn procession, marched their servants and retainers.

A full account of the contents of this most sumptuous church is beside my purpose, but attention may be drawn to some of its more important features. In the north transept is a square wainscoted seat, which has a canopy adorned with coloured bosses, and on the cornice are Bourchier knots. The latter circumstance suggests that it was the state pew of the Bourchiers, Earls of Bath, though the opinion has been hazarded that it was a confessional box. The late Sir Gilbert Scott thought the best piece of carving in the building the little gallery leading into the belfry, the principal adornment being the vignette or running decoration of leaves and tendrils. The bench-ends also, with their alto-rilievo of rose, pomegranate, and royal arms, are excellent specimens of wood-carving.

The beautiful screen was erected by John Bourchier, second earl, whose arms and quarterings, impaling those of his countess, the Lady Elinor, are to be seen on the outside of the church over the priest’s door.

The monuments are of almost unparalleled splendour. The “goodliest of all,” as Risdon has it, is that erected to the memory of William Bourchier, third earl, and his wife, Lady Elisabeth Russell, daughter of Francis, Earl of Bedford, whose armorial bearings are fully blazoned. The recumbent figures of the earl and countess are life-size, and the colouring of their crimson robes, lined with ermine, is still perfect. The fifth and last earl, Henry, was honoured with a large sarcophagus, which is surmounted by “an elegant black urn,” supported by four griffins. Beside it stands the marble statue of his wife, the Lady Rachel Fane, daughter of Francis, Earl of Westmorland. The work of Bernini, a famous Florentine sculptor it is mounted on a decorated pedestal of circular form. A square canopy, built in memory of Lady Fitzwarren and her babes in 1586, adorns the south wall, and under an arch in the north wall of the chancel is the recumbent figure of a lady, temp. Edward III., carved in wood.

An ancient chest in a small room, to which access is gained by a flight of old oak stairs, preserves the remains of a collection of armour of the style worn by musketeers in the reign of Charles I., and till 1832 “as good as new.” In that year a visitor requested permission to purchase it, but was informed that he was just too late—it had been sold to a Taunton man as old iron. And so nearly the whole of the morions, gorgets, back and breast-plates, wheel-lock guns and bandoliers, which were deposited in this chamber until comparatively recently, have been irrecoverably lost.

Another village within easy reach of Barnstaple is Landkey, the original home of the great Devonshire family of Acland. If, however, I allude to it here, it is on account of an extraordinary story, for which old Westcote vouches, and which may as well be given in his own quaint language.

“In this parish of Landkey are two towns (indeed both will make but a pretty village were they joined), named Easter and Wester Newlands; a thoroughfare much travelled, as being not passing two miles from Barnstaple. These are somewhat dangerous to be passed by strangers; not for thieves or such like, but to those whose tongues are ushers to their wits, and walk before them, such I mean as bring the cause with them; for if out of their blindness and boldness (for it is no other), though they term it valour, they shall cry out these words (I am almost afraid to whisper them), “Camp-le-tout, Newland,” held of the good women very scandalous to their honesty, they are instantly all up like a nest of wasps with the first alarum, the streets are corded, the party (or more, if more be in the company) beaten down from his horse (if he ride) with stones, or other dog-bolts always in readiness, so taken and used at the pleasure of the good townswomen, washed, shaved, and perfumed (and other like dainty trimming, not for modesty to be spoken) that he that travels that way a fortnight after may smell what hath there been done; and he that hath made the trial will confess, by experience, that it is folly for a wise man to anger a multitude causelessly.

The great event in Barnstaple was, and perhaps is, its fair, for which David Llewellyn arrived just in the nick of time, establishing his headquarters at the “Jolly Sailors” in Bear Street. I cannot find that any hostelry of that name ever existed in this thoroughfare, which, however, boasted the “Ebberly Arms,” the “Rolle Arms,” and the “Northmolton Inn.” The importance of Barnstaple Fair is beyond dispute, and formerly was much greater. It is still the largest in the county, both for business and pleasure. The opening ceremony is quaint; for a company assemble in the Guildhall, where the Mayor provides a feast of mulled ale, toast, and cheese. On such occasions the civic plate is displayed, including two massive silver flagons, which are among the few Elizabethan municipal drinking-vessels in the country; and another interesting piece is the punch-bowl presented by Thomas Benson, who forgot to supply the ladle, but afterwards repaired the omission, and caused the latter to be inscribed “He who gave the bowl gave the ladle.” Benson represented Barnstaple in Parliament, but having cheated the Government by sending convicts to Lundy Island instead of abroad, was compelled to fly the country. Numerous speeches are made by the Mayor and others, after which a procession is formed and wends its way to the High Cross, where the Fair is formally proclaimed.

The duration of the Fair is three days, the first being devoted to the buying and selling of cattle. In the middle of the last century £20,000, it is said, was often expended in the purchase of live stock. The cattle fair used to be held in Boutport Street—the scene of Rambone’s swagger. On the second day was the horse fair, and, in conjunction therewith, a stag-hunt was held. The meet was on the borders of Exmoor. The third day was given up to sight-seeing and all manner of amusements.