Whitby’s Attractions—The Pier—The River-Mouth—The Museum—Saurians and Ammonites—An enthusiastic Botanist—Jet in the Cliffs, and in the Workshop—Jet Carvers and Polishers—Jet Ornaments—The Quakers’ Meeting—A Mechanics’ Institute—Memorable Names—A Mooky Miner—Trip to Grosmont—The Basaltic Dike—Quarries and Ironstone—Thrifty Cottagers—Abbeys and Hovels—A Stingy Landlord—Egton Bridge—Eskdale Woods—The Beggar’s Bridge.

Whitby, and not Scarborough, would be my choice had I to sojourn for a few weeks on the Yorkshire coast. What it lacks of the style and show which characterize its aristocratic neighbour, is more than made up by its situation on a river and the beauty of its neighbourhood; and I regretted not having time to stay more than one day in a place that offers so many attractions. Woods and waterfalls beautify and enliven the landscape; shady dells and rocky glens lie within an easy walk, and the trip by rail to Pickering abounds with “contentive variety.” And for contrast there is always the wild Black-a-moor a few miles inland; and beyond that again the pleasant hills and vales of Cleveland.

And few towns can boast so agreeable a promenade as that from the bridge, along the spacious quay, and out to the pier-head, a distance of nearly half a mile. Thence can be seen all the life and movement on the river, all the picturesque features of the heights on each side crowded with houses, and to seaward the foaming crests of waves chasing one another towards the land. You can see how, after rolling and plunging on the rocky bar, they rush up the stream with a mighty swell even to the bridge. In blowing weather their violence is such that vessels cannot lie safely in the lower harbour, and must shift to the upper moorings above the bridge. On the pier-head stands a lighthouse, built in the form of a fluted Doric column, crowned by a gallery and lantern; and here, leaning on the encircling parapet, you can admire the solid masonry, or watch the furious breakers, while inhaling the medicinal breath of the sea. The pier on the opposite side is more exposed, serving the purpose of a breakwater; and at times clouds of spray leap high from its outer wall, and glisten for an instant with rainbow hues in the sunshine.

It surprises a stranger on first arrival to hear what seems to him the south bank of the river spoken of as the east bank, and the north bank as the west; and it is only by taking into account the trend of the coast, and the direction of the river’s course, that the cardinal points are discovered to be really in their true position, and you cease to look for sunrise in the west.

One of the buildings at the rear of the quay contains the Baths, and on the upper floor the Museum, and a good Subscription Library. The Museum, which belongs to the Literary and Philosophical Society, dates from 1823, a time when Whitby, with the sea on one side and wild tracts of moorlands on the other, was in a manner shut out from the rest of the world, and compelled to rely on its own resources. Not till 1759 was any proper road made to connect it with neighbouring towns. Warm hospitality was thereby nourished, and, as regards science, the result is highly meritorious. To say nothing of the collections which represent antiquity, ethnology, natural history, and mineralogy, the fossil specimens are especially worth attention. Side by side with a section of the strata of the coast from Bridlington to Redcar is a collection of the fossils therein contained; among which those of the immediate neighbourhood, such as may be called Whitby fossils, occupy the chief place, all classed and labelled in a way that shows how much may be done with small means when the curator is in earnest. There are saurians in good preservation, one of which was presented to the Museum for 150l., by the nobleman on whose estate it was found embedded in lias. The number of ammonites of all sizes is surprising. These are the headless snakes of St. Hilda’s nuns, and the “strange frolicks of Nature,” of philosophers in later days, who held that she formed them “for diversion after a toilsome application to serious business.” Perhaps it is to some superstitious notion connected with the snake-stones that the town owes the three ammonites in its coat of arms. In all, the fossil specimens in the Museum now amount to nearly nine thousand.

I had the advantage of explanations from Mr. Simpson, the curator, during my visit, and afterwards of accompanying him and some of his friends on a walk. One of the party, a botanist, was the first to discover the Epilobium alpinum (alpine willow herb) in England, while walking one day on the hills near Whitby. No sooner did he set eyes on it, than, as his companions said, they thought he had taken leave of his senses, for he leaped, shouted, danced, sang, and threw his hat up in the air, and made other enthusiastic demonstrations around the plant, which, up to that time, was believed not to exist south of the Tweed. I asked him if he would have exchanged his emotions for California.

“No,” he answered, “that I wouldn’t! At all events, not for the first three minutes.”

Besides its traffic in ship-building, alum, and stone, Whitby has a trade in works of art which makes at least its name known to fashionable society; and for this, as for its fossils, it depends on the neighbouring cliffs. For many miles along the shore, and at places inland, jet is found embedded with other formations. Drayton makes mention of it:

And the shaping of this remarkable substance into articles for ornament and use gives employment to five hundred men, women, and children in Whitby. I was favoured with a sight of Mr. Greenbury’s manufactory, and saw the processes from beginning to end. There is nothing mysterious about them. The pattern of the desired object, a scroll, leaf, flower, or whatever else, is scratched with a steel point on a piece of jet sawn to the required dimensions; the workman then with a knife cuts away the waste portions, brings out the rude form, and by using various knives and chisels, according to the delicacy of the design, he in no long time has the article ready for the polisher. The work looks very easy, as you watch the men cutting, apparently with less concern than some folk bestow on the whittling of a stick, and making the chips fly in little heaps. The nature of the jet favours rapidity of hand. It has somewhat the appearance of compressed pitch, and when under the knife sends off a shower of chips and splinters as hard pitch does. Some specimens have been found with fossils so embedded therein, as to confirm the opinion of those who hold jet to be a species of petroleum, contrary to the common belief that it is wood partly converted into coal.

After the knives, the grindstones come into play, to work up and smooth all the accessible surfaces; and next swift-whirling wheels encircled with list, which give the polish. The deep incisions and hollows which cannot be touched by the wheel are polished on narrow slips of list. This is the work of boys: the slips of list are made fast by one end to the bench, and taking hold of the other, and shifting or tightening as the work may require, the boys rub the deep parts of the ornaments backwards and forwards till the polish is complete. The finishing touch, which imparts the brilliance, is given by a sprinkling of rouge, and a light hand with the rubber.

Armlets and bracelets composed of several pieces are cemented together, forming a complete hoop, while in course of manufacture, to ensure accuracy of workmanship, and are separated at last for the drilling of the holes for the elastic cord whereby they are held together in the finished state. The drilling of these holes through each separate piece is a nice operation, for any departure from the true line would appear as an imperfection in the ornament.

What with the drilling lathes, the rapid grindstones and polishing-wheels, and the busy artificers, from those who cut up the jet, to the roughers-out, the carvers, the polishers in their order, to the boys with their list rubbers, and the finishers, the factory presented a busy scene. The boys earn from three-and-sixpence to five shillings a week; the men from three to four times as much. I made an inquiry as to their economical habits, and heard in reply that the landlord of the Jetmen’s Arms could give the surest information.

No means have yet been discovered of working up the chips and splinters produced in cutting the jet, so as to form solid available blocks, as can be done with black-lead for pencils; there is, therefore, a considerable amount of waste. The value of jet varies with the quality; from ten to eighteen shillings a pound. According to the report on mineral products, by Mr. Robert Hunt, the value of the jet dug and manufactured in England is twenty thousand pounds a year. Some of the best shops in Whitby and Scarborough are those where jet is sold; and not the least attractive of the displays in Regent-street, is that labelled Finest Whitby Jet, and exhibited as vases, chains, rings, seals, brooches, taper-stands, and obelisks. Here in Whitby you may buy a small ammonite set in jet.

Jet is not a new object of luxury. It was used for ornamental purposes by the ancient Britons, and by their conquerors, as proved by articles found in their tombs. A trade in jet is known to have existed in Whitby in 1598. Camden, translating from an old Treatise of Jewels, has

The amber mines of Prussia yield a species of jet which is burnt as a coal.

Whitby presents signs of a social phenomenon which is observable in other places: the decline of Quakerism. I was invited to look at the Mechanics’ Institute, and found it located in the Quakers’ Meeting House. The town was one of George Fox’s strongholds, and a considerable number of Quakers, including some of the leading families, remained up to the last generation. Death and secession have since then brought about the result above-mentioned. Is it that Quakerism has accomplished its work? or that it has been stifled by the assiduous painstaking to make itself very comfortable?

I went up once more to the Abbey, and to enjoy the view from the churchyard steps. The trouble of the ascent is abundantly repaid by such a prospect: one should never tire of it. On moonlight nights, and in a certain state of the atmosphere, there is another attraction. It is a sight of Saint Hilda. Incredulous as you may be, there are maidens in Whitby who will tell you that the famous Abbess is still to be seen hovering near the Abbey she loved so well. And when the moon is in the right place, and a thin, pale mist floats slowly past, then, in one of the windows, appears the image of the saintly lady. Scott and other writers mention it; and Professor Rymer Jones tells me that he once saw it, and with an illusion so complete, as might easily have deceived a superstitious beholder.

While looking down on the river you will hardly fail to remember that Cook sailed from it, to begin his apprenticeship to a seafaring life; and profiting in later years by his early experience, he chose Whitby-built ships for his memorable voyage of discovery. And from the Esk sailed the two Scoresbys, father and son—two of the latest names on the list of Yorkshire Worthies.

During the summer many an excursion train, or ‘chape trip,’ as the natives say, brings thousands of the hardworking population of the West Riding, to enjoy a brief holiday by the sea. There once arrived a party of miners two of whom hastened down to the beach to bathe. As they undressed one said to the other “Hey, Sam, hoo mooky thou is!” “Aw miss’d t’ chape trip last year,” was the laconic and significant reply.

Towards evening I took a trip by railway to Grosmont (six miles), or the Tunnel Station as it is commonly called, for a glance at the pretty scenery of the lower part of Eskdale. The river bordered by rocks and wooded hills enlivens the route. From the Tunnel I walked about half a mile down the line to a stone quarry, where a section of that remarkable basaltic dike is exposed, which, crossing the country in a north-westerly direction for about seventy miles, impresses the observer with a sense of wonder at the tremendous force by which such a mass was upheaved through the overlying strata. Here it has the form of a great wedge, the apex uppermost; and the sandstone, which it so rudely shouldered aside, is scorched and partially vitrified along the line of contact. The labourers, who break up the hard black basalt for macadamising purposes, call it ‘chaney metal.’

This is a pleasant spot to loiter in; but its sylvan character is marred by the quarrying, and by the great excavations where busy miners dig the ironstone which abounds in the district, after the rate, as is estimated, of twenty-two thousand tons to the acre; no unimportant item in the exports of Whitby, until blast furnaces shall be built to make the iron on the spot.

“The path ’ll tak’ ye up to a laan,” said the quarryman, with a Dutch pronunciation of lane; “and t’ laan ’ll bring ye doon to Egton, if ye don’t tak’ t’ wrang turning.” So up through the wood I went, and came presently to the lane, where seeing a lonely little cottage, and a woman nursing a few flowers that grew near the door, I tarried for a short talk. ’Twas but a poor little place, she said, and vera lonesome; and she thought a few flowers made it look cheerful-like. The rent for the house and garden was but a pound a year; but ’twas as much as she could afford, for she had had ten children, and was thankful to say, brought ’em all up without parish help. ’Twas hard work at times; but folk didn’t know what they could do till they tried. It animated me to hear such honest words.

A little farther there stands a long low cottage with a garden in front, an orchard at the side, and a row of beehives in a corner, presenting a scene of rural abundance. I stopped to look at the crowding flowers, and was drawn into another talk by the mistress, who came out on seeing a stranger. I could not help expressing my surprise at the prosperous look of the garden, and the shabby look of the house, which appeared the worse from a narrow ditch running along the front. “’Tis a miserable house,” she answered, “damp and low; but what can we do? It’s all very well, sir, to talk about the beautiful abbeys as they used to build in the old days, but they didn’t build beautiful cottages. I always think that they built the wall till they couldn’t reach no higher standing on the ground, and then they put the roof on. That’s it, sir; anything was good enough for country-folk in them days.” Some modern writers contend that the abbeys and cathedrals were but the highest expression of an architecture beautiful and appropriate in all its degrees; but I doubt the fact, and hold by the Yorkshirewoman’s homely theory.

I suggested that the landlord might be asked to build a new house. “Ah, sir, you wouldn’t say that if you knew him. Why, he won’t so much as give us a board to mend the door; he’ll only tell us where to go and buy one.” I might have felt surprised that any landlord should be willing to allow English men and women to dwell in such a hovel; but she told me his name, and then there was no room for surprise.

Ere long the view opens over the valley, and a charming valley it is; hill after hill covered with wood to the summit. Then the lane descends rapidly, and we come to the romantically situated hamlet of Egton Bridge. This is a place which, above all others, attracts visitors and picnic parties from Whitby, and the Oak Tree is the very picture of a rustic hostelry. Here you may fancy yourself in a deep wooded glen; and, if limited for time, will have an embarrassing choice of walks. Arncliffe woods offer cool green shades, and a fine prospect from the ridge beyond, with the opportunity to visit an ancient British village. But few can resist the charm of the Beggar’s Bridge, a graceful structure of a single arch, which spans the Esk in a sequestered spot delightful to the eye and refreshing to the ear, with the gurgling of water and rustling of leaves. There is a legend, too, for additional charm: how that a young dalesman, on his way to say farewell to his betrothed, was stopped here by the stream swollen with a sudden flood, and, spite of his efforts to cross, was forced to retrace his steps and sail beyond the sea to seek fortune in a distant land. He vowed, if his hopes were gratified, to build a bridge on his return; and, to quote Mrs. George Dawson’s pretty version of the legend,

A pleasant twilight walk among the trees, within hearing of the rippling Esk, brought me back to the Tunnel in time for the last train to Whitby.