Chapter XI: The Taw and the Torridge (2)

Barnstaple sent three ships to join the fleet that met the Armada. Risdon calls it 'the chief town of merchandise next the river's mouth,' and says that the people 'through traffic have much enriched themselves,' although their haven is so shallow 'that it hardly beareth small vessels.' Yet spring-tides sometimes flood the marshes all round, and on one occasion some of the people 'to save their lives were constrained from their upper rooms to take boat and be gone.' Westcote speaks of it as trading especially with 'Spain and the islands,' and till the latter half of the eighteenth century wool for the serge-makers from Ireland and America was brought to this port; but its trade has now almost dwindled away.

Barnstaple Fair is a great institution, and, though not quite the event that it used to be, still keeps up many traditional ceremonies. On the first morning a large stuffed glove is put out on the end of a pole from a window of the Guildhall, and is supposed to be the symbol of welcome to all comers. This sign was adopted long ago, and in the accounts in 1615 and 1622 are two entries: 'Paid for a glove put out at the fair, 4d.,' and 'Paid for a paire of gloves at the faire, 4d.'

In the Guildhall, toast and spiced ale are handed round in loving-cups to all comers, and after two or three speeches the Mayor and Corporation proceed to the High Cross and other places in the borough, and the Town Clerk reads the Proclamation of the Fair. A 'Fair Ball' is still given, but the custom of a stag-hunt on the second day has been dropped.

Barnstaple was a sort of shuttle-cock during the Civil War. Here, as elsewhere, the citizens were not all of one mind; though the merchants and the majority were for the Parliament, and it was taken possession of first by one side and then by the other.

In August, 1643, Barnstaple and Bideford sent a combined force against the royal troops under Colonel Digby at Torrington, but being completely routed, their courage was shaken, and a few days later Barnstaple was surrendered to Prince Maurice. The next year, however, most of the garrison having been drawn away, the inhabitants arose and took possession of the town for the Parliament. Prince Maurice hurriedly sent Colonel Digby to bring them to reason, but with great determination they resisted the Royal troops, who were driven back. During the next three months the fortunes of the Parliament in the West were at a very low ebb, and in September the town was summoned by Lord Goring. The store of ammunition was very low, and as soon as they were blockaded, the townspeople found themselves short of provisions. 'At that time but weakly garrisoned, the town surrendered on terms, and the garrison quitted it on the 17th, leaving 50 pieces of ordnance.'

In the following May the Prince of Wales arrived, for, says Clarendon, 'no place was thought so convenient for his residence as Barnstaple, a pleasant town in the north part of Devonshire, well fortified, with a good garrison in it, under the command of Sir Allen Apsley.' The King sent orders to the Prince, who at this time was little more than fifteen years old, 'by the advice of his council, to manage and improve the business of the West, and provide reinforcements for the army.' The Prince's council had no easy task, for they were harassed by several causes. Lord Goring's jealousy and selfishness were a great hindrance; in consequence of a petition regarding the violence of his horse, the Prince, says Clarendon, 'writ many earnest letters to the Lord Goring.' Another great difficulty to be grappled with here was a fierce quarrel between Sir Richard Grenville and the Commissioners of Devon and Cornwall, who complained of him in such bitter terms, that anyone who judged from their report must have concluded him to be 'the most justly odious to both counties that can be imagined.'

Prince Rupert paid the Prince a visit in June, and not long afterwards Lord Goring's horse arrived in hot disorder, having been chased most of the way from Bridgwater by Fairfax's troops. In the following spring the town was besieged by the Parliament's troops, and the day after the treaty for the surrender of Exeter was completed, Fairfax himself marched to Barnstaple. The Governor, seeing that resistance was hopeless, gave 'the castle and the town ... as a security for surrender of the fort at eight days' end'; and on honourable terms Barnstaple yielded to the enemy. It was the last town in Devonshire to be delivered to the Parliament.

About two miles upstream the river 'Taw vails bonnet to Tawstock, in our ancestors' speech,' says Westcote, and he goes on to describe it as 'a pleasant and delicate seat indeed, in a rich soil, and inhabited by worthy personages.' The modest claim has been put forward that the view here includes 'the most valuable manor, the best mansion, the finest church, and the richest rectory, in the county.' Possibly other parishes may not agree with all the superlatives, but the beautiful features of the valley certainly offer a temptation to use them.

Tawstock Court was once the property of the Earls of Bath, and now belongs to their descendant, Sir Bourchier Wrey. An Elizabethan gateway is all that is left of the old house, which was burnt down, and rebuilt in 1787. The beautiful cruciform church is chiefly Decorated, but parts are of a later date; it is dignified by a fine central embattled tower, crowned by pinnacles. In the church are several altar-tombs to the Bourchiers, Barons Fitzwarine and later Earls of Bath, and to their wives, and there is a very early effigy carved in wood.

Leaving the Taw and crossing the country to the south, and a little to the west, one reaches the Torridge, and Torrington, a town 'built scatteringly, lying at length, as it were, upon the brow of a hill hanging over the river.' It is, perhaps, chiefly known as the scene of a skirmish and an engagement during the Civil War. The skirmish, already mentioned, took place when the Parliament's partisans set out from Barnstaple and Bideford to attack Colonel Digby, who, with a small force, had established himself there. It was indeed a case of fortune favouring the bold, for the Royalists were taken unawares, and had it not been for the daring of 'the Colonel, whose courage and vivacity upon action was very eminent, and commonly very fortunate,' the day might well have been with the other side. Colonel Digby had divided a small number of horse into little parties in different fields, and was waiting for some of his troops to join him before attacking the enemy, when a band of about fifty Parliamentary musketeers came towards the ground where they stood. Realizing that, if these once gained possession of the high banks between the two forces, his party must be driven off, Colonel Digby, with instant decision, took four or five officers with him, and charged with such vigour that the raw country troops, smitten with panic, threw down their arms and ran, 'carrying so infectious a fear with them, that the whole body of troops was seized by it and fled.' Colonel Digby followed, with all the horse at his disposal, 'till,' says Clarendon complacently, 'their swords were blunted with slaughter.' Perhaps the Royalists were more anxious to impress a salutary warning against the sin of rebellion than to kill the fugitives, for Clarendon finishes the account by saying that the rebels 'were scattered and dispersed all over the country, and scarce a man without a cut over the face and head, or some other hurt, that wrought more upon their neighbours towards their conversion, than any sermon could be preached to them.' This affair practically brought about the submission of Barnstaple, Bideford, and Appledore.

The second engagement was of a far more important character, with fatal consequences to the King's cause in the West--already in a hopeless condition. In the early spring of 1646, Lord Hopton marched to Torrington, and was waiting there for the arrival of about half his ammunition and provisions, when he heard that Sir Thomas Fairfax, with a large army, was in the immediate neighbourhood. To the best of his power, he hurriedly made such defences as were possible. His position was excellent, for Torrington stands on a hill almost surrounded by deep valleys, but his force was very inferior in numbers to that of the enemy. It is curious that the second engagement at Torrington began accidentally. Fairfax's army had had a series of encounters with an outlying troop of Royalist dragoons on approaching the town, and by the time they drew near the day was nearly spent. As the Royalists were well prepared for their arrival, the lanes and fields near the town being lined with musketeers, the Parliamentary Generals resolved to stay at a little distance and wait for the morning to attack. The Royalist word for the night was, 'We are with you,' and their sign, that each man had a handkerchief tied round his right arm. The word for the other army was, 'Emmanuel, God with us,' and their signal, a sprig of furze in every hat.

About nine o'clock a noise in the town suddenly awoke the suspicion that the Royalists were retreating, so, says Sprigg, 'that we might get certain knowledge whether they were going off or not, a small party of dragoons were set to fire on the enemy near the barricadoes and hedges; the enemy answered us with a round volley of shot.' Whereupon the engagement became general, and both sides fought 'in the dark for some two hours, till we beat them from the hedges and within their barricadoes, which were very strong, and where some of their men disputed the entrance of our forces with push of pike and butt-end of musket for a long time.' At length the Parliamentary troops prevailed, and their horse 'chased the enemy through the town.' Lord Hopton, bringing up the rear, had his horse shot dead under him in the middle of the town, but, in spite of the fact that he was slightly wounded, he made yet another effort to rally his troops, and they, 'facing about in the street, caused our foot to retreat.' Then a body of horse dashed up with a vehemence that the Royalists could not stand against, and they were obliged to fly; 'one of the officers publicly reporting,' says Clarendon bitterly, 'lest the soldiers should not make haste enough in running away, that he saw their general run through the body with a pike.'

Scarcely were the Parliamentarians in possession of the town, when a frightful explosion occurred. The church, which unknown to them, Lord Hopton had used as a powder-magazine, was blown up and about two hundred prisoners whom the Roundheads had confined in the church were killed. In his account of the disaster, Sprigg, who was obviously, from passages in his writings, a man of warm feelings, and a clergyman by profession, refers very cheerfully to the fact that 'few were slain besides the enemy's (that were prisoners in the church where the magazine was blown up), and most of our men that guarded them, who were killed and buried in the ruins,' and not for one moment does the melancholy fate of the many victims seem to damp his joy.

The victory was a very important one, and a public thanksgiving was held in consequence--indeed, this was the last real resistance made by the Royalists in the West.

The church has been very unfortunate, for since it was rebuilt in 1651 the tower has been blown down, and it fell through the roof, doing a good deal of damage. An old print shows this tower to have been a wonderful erection of slates and tiles, projecting eaves, and irregular gables, surmounted by a little dome, with a weathercock on the top of all. It was replaced by a slender, tapering, but more conventional spire.

Margaret, Countess of Richmond, and mother of Henry VII, lived here for some time, and left a generous gift, for, 'pitying the long path the pastor had from home to church,' she 'gave to him and his successors the manor-house with lands thereto': and on this site of the manor-house stands the present vicarage. Besides making this gift, 'on every occasion a friend to learning, even in its infancy, she built a room for a library, and furnished it with the most useful books then to be had.'

Torridge Castle, a building of the fourteenth century, stood on the verge of a steep descent to the river. In Risdon's day it was almost gone, the ruins had 'for many years hovered, which, by extreme age, is almost brought to its period;' and in 1780 the chapel, the only part left, was partly pulled down and afterwards turned into a school.

About a mile or so to the east stands Stevenstone--a new house, in the midst of a fine deer-park. For over three centuries Stevenstone was owned by the Rolles, and when Fairfax's troops advanced on Torrington, two hundred dragoons were being entertained by 'Master Rolls,' and the advance was disputed by these dragoons, who, after a long and straggling fight in the narrow and dirty lanes, eventually fell back on the town. Here Fairfax took up his quarters after the town had been taken.

A few miles upstream the Torridge passes Potheridge, the birthplace of General Monk, whose ancestors had owned property here since the reign of Henry III.

The character of George Monk is extraordinarily interesting, a curious point being that, though he was essentially cautious, level-headed, and, as Clarendon says, 'not enthusiastical,' and therefore unlikely to rouse very vivid sentiments in others, as a matter of fact he awoke violent feelings either of glowing enthusiasm or of extreme bitterness. It is easy to understand his unpopularity with keen partisans who looked on their opponents and all their ways with abhorrence, and therefore failed to understand how an honest man could fight for the King, then accept a command from Cromwell, and finally become the prime mover of the Restoration. But--'If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer'; and it may well be that the beat that ruled Monk's steps was the peaceable government and welfare of the people, and especially of the army, and to the personal claims and rights of the rulers he was indifferent. The general state of things needed reform badly enough. Monk's acts were never inconsistent, but he had a genius for silence. When war in England broke out, he returned from fighting for the King in Holland, to fight for him at home. When Cromwell offered him his release from the Tower, at the price of helping to subdue the Irish rebels, his accepting the command was to the advantage of this country.

To begin with, Monk was forced to turn soldier with unexpected suddenness. The Under-Sheriff of Exeter publicly affronted Sir Thomas Monk, on which his son, aged sixteen, went to Exeter and gave the offender 'the chastisement he deserved (without any intention of murder).' This step created a good deal of disturbance, and to avoid more, 'our young gentleman' was packed off to 'the School of War in the Low Countries.'

He was taken prisoner early in the Civil War, and after over two years of close imprisonment, agreed to accompany the Lord Deputy Lisle to Munster. After leaving Ireland he gained brilliant successes at sea over the Dutch. Prince tells a tale that is characteristic of him and of Cromwell. The seamen who had served under Monk had been told that they should receive their full pay as soon as the prizes were sold off, but were unreasonably impatient; and while Monk was actually at Whitehall putting their claims before the Protector, news was brought him 'that three or four thousand seamen were come as far as Charing Cross with swords, pistols, and clubs, to demand their pay. General Monk, thinking himself wronged in this, ran down to meet them, drew his sword, and fell upon them; Cromwell following with one or two attendants, cut and hew the seamen, and drove them before him.' Prince finishes the story with applause of the boldness that 'should drive such great numbers of such furious creatures as English seamen.' Later, Monk's command in Scotland resulted in a state of order and quietness then very unusual in that country.

Accusations of dealing unfairly with the Parliament in 1659 may be levelled against him with some justice, but how was loyalty possible to a household so divided against itself as were the rulers of the Kingdom? The Army and the Parliament were in bitter antagonism to each other, and Lambert's soldiers had shut the Parliament out of Westminster. The members of the Rump Parliament, the earlier 'secluded' members, the Presbyterians, the Independents under Lambert, the Royalists, and smaller parties, were all working for their own ends. When Monk marched south, a deputation was sent to meet him from the Council of Officers, ostensibly to make terms between their army and his, but also with the secret object of establishing an understanding between him and Fleetwood that would enable the latter to get rid of his friend and colleague, General Lambert. Meanwhile Lambert, jealous of Fleetwood, sent a private and friendly message to Monk by Major-General Morgan, who not only betrayed his party at Lambert's bidding, but betrayed that patriot as well, for at the same time that he gave the message, he also delivered a secret letter from Lord Fairfax, begging Monk to adopt a course which would have been fatal to Lambert. And the country as a whole was heartily sick of both factions.

Had Monk openly declared himself for the Stuarts, at the time that he first began to prepare for the Restoration, he would probably have imperilled the success of the whole scheme, and most certainly would have plunged the country again into the horrors of Civil War. When he did reveal his negotiations with the exiled Court at Breda, 'London would not have borne many days, or even many hours longer, the extreme tension it was then suffering--the City one way, Westminster the other way; Monk's army between them, and Fleetwood's wolves prowling all round, and ready to pour in.'

Apart from all else, tribute must be paid to Monk's marvellous skill in so ordering affairs that the Restoration was brought about almost without the cost of a drop of blood. During the winter of 1659, a far larger army than his own lay for many weeks a few miles to the south on the Border, sent there with the especial purpose of watching and if necessary attacking him. But Monk knew how to bide his time and to prolong negotiations to suit his convenience till in the end, without a blow being struck, he marched his army south to London. Masterly was the diplomacy and grasp of detail which, on the eve of announcing the Restoration, dispersed over the country all soldiers who would be inclined to stand by the Parliament, making any serious attempt at a revolt on their part impossible.

One failing his most fervent admirer cannot ignore--a strong leaning to avarice. But his popularity was unbounded, and 'it was his singular fortune to win in succession the affection of three very different populations, those of Dublin, Edinburgh, and London.' In Ireland his men were devoted to him. 'A soldier, tho' sick and without shoes, would strive to go out with honest George Monk.' After the death of Cromwell he was offered the crown, but he refused, 'holding it a greater honour to be an honest subject than a great usurper.'

During the frightful visitation of the Plague, the Earl of Craven, and the Archbishop of Canterbury and Monk, were the only high officials who stayed at their posts, and exposed themselves perpetually to the 'seeds of death.' So great was the public confidence in him, that at the time of the Great Fire, he being then at sea, 'the people did believe and say: "If he had been there, the city had not been burned."' No idol of the mob could ask a more whole-hearted adoration.

The popular feeling is expressed in a rather limping acrostic on his name, of which I quote only the first quarter. It was called 'England's Heroick Champion, or The ever-renowned General George Monck.' The date is about 1659-60.

'G ood may'st thou be, as thou are great. E ver regarded. O r like _Alexander_ compleat, R ichly rewarded. G ainst thy virtue none dare stand, E xcluded Members now are Back return'd by thy hand.

'M any miles didst thou compass, O nly us to free; N othing by thee too hard was, C ompared to be. K eep us in thy protection! We were all greatly distrest; Bring thou in all the best.

'G reat bonfires then was made, E xpressing joy, O f us that sorrow did invade, R efresh our annoy. G uard us with thy aid, we desire; E xaltation we all will raise Unto heaven in thy praise.

'M uch good hast thou already done, O ver this land; N ow our hearts thou hast quite won: C ommand! Command! K indly we will entertain Those that were excluded, For they have not intruded.'

In later years, as Duke of Albemarle, he returned to the estate of his forefathers, and rebuilt Potheridge in a very magnificent manner. It has since been pulled down.

If the traveller follows the Torridge upstream, he will be led south till he is within two miles of Hatherleigh, and here the river curves away westwards, and then in a northerly direction. In the spring, this clear, rippling stream has a special charm--thousands and thousands of daffodils grow along the banks though only sparingly in the fields beyond, so that, if the river happens to be low and the water not to be seen at a little distance, the windings of the river through the wide green valley are marked by two broad lines of pale, clear yellow.

Hatherleigh Moor was given a bad name very long ago. The saying is double-edged:

'The people are poor, as Hatherleigh Moor,
And so they have been for ever and ever.'

But the people of the little town are able to graze their cattle and cut furze for fuel on it. Hatherleigh parish has two holy wells. St John's Well stands on the moor, and there used to be a pretty custom of fetching its water for a baptism. The water of St. Mary's Well was good for the eyes, and within the memory of persons still alive pagan traditions were observed around it on Midsummer Eve. Amidst 'wild scenes of revelry ... fires were lit, feasting and dancing were indulged in.'

For some years, in this part of the country, while he was curate to his father, who had the neighbouring living of Iddesleigh, the renowned 'Jack' Russell preached on Sundays and hunted on weekdays. He was immensely popular, and so many stories are told of him and his hounds that it has been already said, 'Russell is fast becoming mythical.' He was not the ideal of a modern parish priest, but this is the opinion of one who remembers him. The writer begins by speaking of a friend of Russell's as a man who 'seems ... to have been as good a Christian as he was a gentleman; not ecstatic perhaps, but in the sense of leading a godly, righteous and sober life. And,' he goes on, 'the same may with certainty be predicated of Russell ... Russell, like a wise man, got right home to Nature. It was not for nothing that the gipsy chieftain left him his rat-catcher's belt, and begged for burial at his hands in Swymbridge churchyard.'

Perhaps the following story of him is not quite so well known as many others:

Mr Russell once advertised for a curate: 'Wanted, a curate for Swymbridge: must be a gentleman of moderate and orthodox views.'

Soon after this advertisement had appeared Mr Hooker, Vicar of Buckerell, was standing in a shop door in Barnstaple, 'when he was accosted by Will Chapple, the parish clerk of Swymbridge, who entered the grocer's shop. "Havee got a coorate yet for Swymbridge, Mr Chapple?" inquired the grocer, in Mr Hooker's hearing. "No, not yet, sir," replied the sexton. "Master's nation purticler, and the man must be orthodox." "What does that mean?" inquired the grocer. "Well, I reckon it means he must be a purty good rider."

Here we must leave the Torridge altogether, and go eleven miles south-east to the point where the Taw leaves the uplands of Dartmoor. Almost the first village that the river passes is South Zeal, close to South Tawton, and near South Zeal was the old home of the Oxenhams, the family about whom the well-known legend of the white bird is told. When an Oxenham is about to die, a white bird flaps at the window or flies about the sickroom, and stories of the bird having been seen at such times have been told at intervals, through two centuries. The evidence in some instances seems fairly good, but where an apparition is expected it is not unlikely imagination may play tricks, or a chance event may be interpreted as an omen.

Lysons quotes from Mr Chapple's manuscript collections a case that happened in 1743, the story being given to Mr Chapple by the doctor. Mr William Oxenham was ill, and 'when the bird came into his chamber, he observed upon the tradition as connected with his family, but added he was not sick enough to die, and that he should cheat the bird, and this was a day or two before his death, which took place after a short illness.'

It is necessary to pass over thirteen or fourteen miles, but at Chumleigh one must turn aside to the east, for about six miles in that direction was the ancient home of the Stucleys. Affeton Castle has been for many years altogether in ruins, but in the middle of the last century Sir George Stucley roofed over the old gate-house and made it habitable as a shooting-box. This is the only part of the castle still standing, though the farmhouse close by is no doubt built upon some of the foundations. 'Lusty Stukeley' (the name was spelt in several ways) was far from among the worthiest of his family, but distinctly the most entertaining. His ideas were certainly 'spacious' enough for the great days in which he lived, though he was too crack-brained and full of self to fall into line with his betters, whose deeds still bear rich fruit. 'He was,' says Fuller severely, 'one of good parts, but valued the less by others, because over-prized by himself.'

If it be allowed that the personality of everyone inclines to being drab or flamboyant, his may be compared to fireworks. Thomas Stukely, who was born about 1530, was for a younger brother unusually well endowed, 'but his profluous prodigality soon wasted it; yet then, not anyway dejected in mind, he projected to people Florida, and there in those remote countries to play rex.' He 'blushed not' to tell Queen Elizabeth 'that he preferred rather to be sovereign of a mole-hill than the highest subject to the greatest king in Christendom.' His audacity reached the point of bandying words with the Queen, who seems, from the polite irony of her tone, to have been amused by his vanity.

'I hope,' said the Queen, 'I shall hear from you when you are stated in your Principality?' 'I will write unto you,' quoth Stuckley. 'In what language?' said the Queen. He returned, 'In the stile of Princes, To our dear Sister.'

And on this Stukely departed, but not to Florida, for he met with reverses which dashed his plans, but not his spirits. Westcote quotes 'a ditty made by him, or of him,' apparently at this time:

'Have over the waters to Florida.
Farewell good London now;
Through long delays on land and seas,
I'm brought, I cannot tell how.

'In Plymouth town, in a thread-bare gown.
And money never a deal:
Hay! trixi trim! go trixi trim!
And will not a wallet do well?'

Unfortunately, his career was a great failure. From sunning himself at the Court of Elizabeth, he turned to paths of disloyalty, and became the 'Pope's pensioner.' The Pope created him Marquis of Leinster, and added several minor titles, and then this 'Title-top heavy General' attempted in vain to carry treasonable help to the Irish rebels. Yet he had 'the fortune to die honourably.' Arrived in Lisbon at the moment when the King of Portugal was starting in a campaign to Barbary, Stukely was persuaded to join his army, and fell, fighting gallantly, at the Battle of Alcasar, 1578.

'A Fatal Fight, where in one day was slain
Three Kings that were and one that would be fain.'

About five miles to the north, at King's Nympton, the Pollards were settled for some generations, and many of them 'lived to be as proper gentlemen as most in this or any other county.' Sir Hugh Pollard fought in the Civil War, and as Governor of Dartmouth Castle made a brave and resolute though unsuccessful defence. After the Restoration, Charles II appointed him Comptroller of the Household. It was said of Sir Hugh 'that he was very active and venturous for his Majesty in the worst of Times, and very hospitable and noble with him in the best.'

Five miles north of Bishop's Nympton is the old town of South Molton, and the manor was part of the demesne of Edward the Confessor. In the reign of Edward I, Lord Martin held it 'by sergeantry to find a man with a bow and three arrows to attend the Earl of Gloucester when he goeth to Gower [in Wales] to hunt.'

In the spring of 1654, Charles II was proclaimed King in South Molton, for the Wiltshire gentlemen who had risen against the Government, headed by Sir Joseph Wagstaff and led by Colonel Penruddock and Mr Hugh Groves, made their way so far west before they were overpowered. Sir Joseph escaped, but the other two leaders were beheaded at Exeter.

A little to the north of the town, and about eight miles south of Barnstaple, are the wide grounds of Castle Hill--broad lawns and slopes, clear streams, and rich feathery masses of woodland that, shaded and softened by distance, spread far away.

The Fortescues, not long after the Conquest, were granted lands in Devonshire, and in one generation after another they have come forward to take a part in public affairs--often a Samson's share of toil. Sir John Fortescue fought at Agincourt, and was chosen Governor of Meaux by Henry V. Sir Edward Fortescue, when he had surrendered Salcombe Castle, had the consolation of knowing that this fort had been held for the King later than any other place in Devonshire. Sir Faithful and Sir Nicholas Fortescue were distinguished commanders in the same war. In the reign of Henry VI, Sir Henry Fortescue was Lord Chief Justice of Ireland, though his fame is very much eclipsed by the greater brilliancy of his brother.

Sir John Fortescue, Lord Chief Justice, is usually spoken of as Lord Chancellor, though it is doubted whether he ever received a valid appointment; for when the honour was bestowed upon him, Yorkists and Lancastrians were already at war. As the trouble deepened, Sir John laid aside his robe for his sword, and fought bravely for the 'falling cause' in the terrible battle of Palm Sunday. Later, he accompanied the King and Queen in their flight, and while abroad, with courageous optimism, began to instruct the Prince in the 'lawes of his country and the duties of a King of England.' Of Sir John's two celebrated treatises--De Natura Legis Naturae, and De Laudibus Legum Angliae--the latter and most famous was specially compiled for the benefit of the Prince, and Sir Edward Coke has enthusiastically declared it 'worthy to be written in letters of gold for the weight and worthiness thereof.'

A Fortescue of a later generation who 'took to the law,' eventually became Master of the Rolls. He was a great friend of the poet Pope, and from the gentle mockery in some of the long letters of the poet still in existence, it would seem that Mr Fortescue had a proper share of prejudice in favour of his own county. In 1724 Pope writes: 'I am grieved to tell you that there is one Devonshire man not honest; for my man Robert proves a vile fellow, and I have discarded him.' And in another letter, nearly ten years later, in March, 1734-35: 'Twitnam is very cold these easterly winds; but I presume they do not blow in the happy regions of Devonshire.'

Sir John Fortescue, born in 1533, had the honour of being chosen 'Preceptor to the Princess Elizabeth.' Later he was appointed Keeper of the Great Wardrobe; whereupon it was remarked that Sir John Fortescue was one whom the Queen trusted with the ornaments of her soul and body. 'Two men,' Queen Elizabeth would say, 'outdid her expectations,--Fortescue for integrity, and Walsingham for subtlety and officious services.'

Towards the end of the eighteenth century a member of one of the branches of Fortescues who settled in Ireland was created Lord Clermont. He was very much liked by the Prince of Wales, and both Lord and Lady Clermont were a great deal at Court. In Wraxall's 'Posthumous Memoirs' there is an amusing account of an evening spent by Lady Clermont in launching into London society the Count Fersen who was noted for his devotion to Marie Antoinette. Already 'Swedish Envoy at the Court of France,' he had arrived in England, 'bringing letters of introduction from the Duchesse de Polignac to many persons of distinction here, in particular for Lady Clermont. Desirous to present him in the best company, soon after his arrival she conducted him in her own carriage to Lady William Gordon's assembly in Piccadilly. She had scarcely entered the room and made Count Fersen known to the principal individuals of both sexes, when the Prince of Wales was announced. I shall recount the sequel in Lady Clermont's own words to me, only a short time subsequent to the fact. "His Royal Highness took no notice of me on his first arrival, but in a few minutes afterwards, coming up to me: 'Pray, Lady Clermont,' said he, 'is that man whom I see here Count Fersen, the queen's favourite?' 'The gentleman,' answered I, 'to whom your royal highness alludes is Count Fersen; but so far from being a favourite of the queen, he has not yet been presented at Court.' 'D----n!' exclaimed he, 'you don't imagine I mean my mother?' 'Sir,' I replied, 'whenever you are pleased to use the word "queen" without any addition, I shall always understand it to mean my queen. If you speak of any other queen, I must entreat that you will be good enough to say the Queen of France, or of Spain.' The Prince made no reply; but after having walked once or twice round Count Fersen, returning to me: 'He's certainly a very handsome fellow,' observed he. 'Shall I have the honour, sir,' said I, 'to present him to you?' He instantly turned on his heel, without giving me any answer; and I soon afterwards quitted Lady William Gordon's house, carrying Count Fersen with me. We drove to Mrs St John's, only a few doors distant, who had likewise a large party on that evening. When I had introduced him to various persons there, I said to him, 'Count Fersen, I am an old woman and infirm, who always go home to bed at eleven. You will, I hope, amuse yourself. Goodnight.' Having thus done the honours as well as I could to a stranger who had been so highly recommended to me, I withdrew into the ante-chamber and sate down alone in a corner, waiting for my carriage.

'"While there the Prince came in, and I naturally expected, after his recent behaviour, that he would rather avoid than accost me. On the contrary, advancing up to me: 'What are you doing here, Lady Clermont?' asked he. 'I am waiting for my coach, sir,' said I, 'in order to go home.' 'Then,' replied he, 'I will put you into it and give you my arm down the stairs.' 'For heaven's sake, sir,' I exclaimed, 'don't attempt it! I am old, very lame, and my sight is imperfect; the consequence of your offering me your arm will be that, in my anxiety not to detain your royal highness, I shall hurry down and probably tumble from the top of the staircase to the foot.' 'Very likely,' answered he, 'but if you tumble, I shall tumble with you. Be assured, however, that I will have the pleasure of assisting you and placing you safely in your carriage.' I saw that he was determined to repair the rudeness with which he had treated me at Lady William Gordon's, and therefore acquiesced. He remained with me till the coach was announced, conversed most agreeably on various topics, and as he took care of me down the stairs, enjoined me at every step not to hurry myself. Nor did he quit me when seated in the carriage, remaining uncovered on the steps of the house till it drove off from the door."'