Chapter XIII: Part 13

John Davy was born at Upton Hellions, and was an illegitimate child, baptized as Davie on Christmas Day, 1763. When he was about three years old, he entered the room one day where his uncle, a blacksmith in the same parish, was playing a psalm tune on the violoncello; but the moment he heard the instrument he ran away crying, and was so terrified that it was thought he would have a fit. For several weeks his uncle repeatedly tried to reconcile him to the instrument; and at last, after much coaxing and encouragement, he effected it by taking the child’s fingers and making him strike the strings. The sound thus produced startled him considerably at first, but in a few days he became so passionately fond of the amusement, that he took every opportunity of scraping a better acquaintance with the monster. With a little attention he was soon able to produce such notes from the violoncello as greatly delighted him.

Soon after this Davy’s uncle frequently took him to Crediton, where a company of soldiers was quartered, and one day at the roll-call he was greatly delighted at the music of the fifes; so much was he pleased that he borrowed one, and very soon taught himself to play several tunes decently. After this he began to make fifes from the tubular reeds growing on the banks of the Creedy, and commonly called “billers.” With these he made several imitations of the fife, and bartered them to his playmates.

At the age of four or five years, his ear was so correct that he could play any easy tune after once hearing it. Before he was quite six years old, a neighbouring blacksmith, into whose house he went frequently, lost twenty or thirty horseshoes. Diligent search was made for them during many days. But one evening the blacksmith, John Davy’s uncle, heard faint chimes, like those of Crediton Church, sounding from the garret of his house, and having listened a sufficient time to be convinced that his ears did not deceive him, he ascended to the attic, and there found the boy with the horseshoes, or so many of them as would form an octave, hung clear of the wall to nails, and he was striking them with a hammer or iron rod, playing the chimes of Crediton Church bells.

The story coming to the ears of Chancellor Carrington, then rector of Upton Hellions, he felt interested in the child, and showed him a harpsichord, on which he speedily acquired some proficiency. He applied himself likewise to the violin, on which his uncle, who played in the orchestra of the church choir, was able to give him some instruction, and he found little difficulty in surmounting the preliminaries. When eleven years old the Chancellor introduced him to the Rev. Mr. Eastcott, who possessed a pianoforte, then an instrument of recent introduction, at least in the west. With this also the boy soon became familiar, and so impressed Mr. Eastcott with his intuitive genius for music, that he advised his friends to place him with some musician of eminence, under whom he would have free access to a good instrument, and might learn the rules of composition. They applied to Mr. William Jackson, the organist of Exeter Cathedral, and when John was about twelve years of age, he was articled as a pupil and apprentice to this able man.

His progress in the study of composition, and especially of church music, was rapid. He also became an admirable performer on the organ, and often took the place of Jackson in the cathedral. The first of his compositions that appear to have attained any degree of celebrity were some vocal quartettes.

Having completed his studies with Jackson, Davy went to London, where he obtained a situation in the orchestra at Covent Garden; and he employed his time in teaching, and soon had a considerable number of pupils. He composed some dramatic pieces for the theatre at Sadler’s Wells, and wrote the music to Mr. Holman’s opera of _What a Blunder_, which was performed at the little theatre in the Haymarket in 1800. In the following year, he was engaged with Moorhead in the music of _Perouse_, and with Mountain in _The Brazen Mask_, for Covent Garden.

He was greatly lionized in Town, owing to the éclat attending his early efforts, and was retained as composer of music by the managers of the Theatres Royal until infirmities, rather than age, rendered him almost incapable of exertion, unhappily a victim to drink. He died, before he was sixty-two, in February, 1824, without a friend, and was buried in St. Martin’s churchyard at the expense of two London tradesmen, one of whom, Mr. Thomas, was a native of Crediton.

Davy at one time had an ambition to shine as an actor, and he actually made his debut on the stage at Exeter, but failed.

Although Davy’s end was so wretched, many of his compositions will never cease to be recollected and sung; notably that delicately beautiful ballad, “Just Like Love”; others, more boisterous in character, are, “May We Never Want a Friend,” “The Death of the Smuggler,” and “The Bay of Biscay.”

For the life of Davy, see dictionaries of Musical Biography, and an article by Dr. Edwards on “Crediton Musicians” in the _Transactions_ of the Devonshire Association, 1882.

RICHARD PARKER, THE MUTINEER

For the story of Richard Parker, I shall quote almost verbatim the account, which is very detailed, by Camden Pelham in _Chronicles of Crime_, London, 1840.

In the year 1797, when the threatening aspect of affairs abroad made the condition of the naval force a matter of vital importance to Britain, several alarming mutinies broke out among the various fleets stationed around the shores of the country. In April of the year mentioned, the seamen of the grand fleet lying at Portsmouth disowned the authority of their officers, seized upon the ships, hoisted the red flag, and declared their determination not to lift an anchor, or obey any orders whatsoever, until certain grievances of which they complained were redressed.

There is no denying or concealing the fact--the men had been ill-paid, ill-fed, shamefully neglected by the country, which depended upon them for its all, and, in many instances, harshly and brutally treated by their officers, and belly-pinched and plundered by their pursers. They behaved with exemplary moderation. The mutineers allowed all frigates with convoys to sail, in order not to injure the commerce of the country. The delegates of the vessels drew up and signed a petition to Parliament and another to the Admiralty; their language was respectful, and their demands were very far from exorbitant.

After some delay, satisfactory concessions were made to them by Government, and the men returned to their duty. But the spirit of insubordination had spread among other squadrons in the service, and about the middle of May, immediately after the Portsmouth fleet had sailed peaceably for the Bay of Biscay, the seamen of the large fleet lying at the Nore broke out also into open mutiny. The most conspicuous personage in the insurrection was one Richard Parker, a native of Exeter, privately baptized, in St. Mary Major parish, 24 April, 1767. His father was a baker in that parish, and had his shop near the turnstile. It was afterwards burnt down. He rented it of the dean and chapter, from 1761 to 1793, and acquired a little land near to Exeter as his own. Young Parker received a good education, and at the age of twelve went to sea. He served in the Royal Navy as midshipman and master’s mate. But he threw up his profession on his marriage with Anne McHardy, a young woman resident in Exeter, but of Scottish origin, a member of a respectable family in Aberdeen.

This connexion led Parker to remove to Scotland, where he embarked in some mercantile speculations that proved unsuccessful. The issue was that before long he found himself in embarrassed circumstances, and unable to maintain his wife and two children. In Edinburgh, where these difficulties arose, he had no friends to whom he could apply for assistance, and in a moment of desperation he took the King’s bounty, and became a common sailor on board a tender at Leith. When he announced to his wife the steps he had taken, she hastened to Aberdeen in great distress to procure from her brother the means of hiring two seamen as substitutes for her husband. But when she returned with the money from Aberdeen it was too late, for the tender had just sailed with her husband on board. Her grief was aggravated at this time by the loss of one of her children. Parker’s sufferings were shown to be equally acute by his conduct when the vessel sailed, crying out that he saw the body of his child floating upon the waves; he leaped overboard, and was with difficulty rescued and restored to life.

_Who was executed on board the Sandwich off Sheerness on Friday Jun 30^{th} 1797 pursuant to the sentence of a Court Martial for having been the Principal in a most daring Mutiny on board several of his Majesty’s Ships at the Nore & which created a dreadful alarm through the whole Nation_]

In the early days of May, 1797, Parker reached the Nore, a point of land dividing the mouth of the Thames and the Medway. Probably on account of his former experience as a seaman, he was drafted on board the _Sandwich_, the guardship that bore the flag of Admiral Buckner, the Port Admiral. The mutinous spirit which afterwards broke out certainly existed on board the Nore squadron before Parker’s arrival. Communications were kept up in secret between the various crews, and the mischief was gradually drawing to a head. But though he did not originate the feeling of insubordination, the ardent temper, boldness, and superior intelligence of Parker soon became known to his comrades, and he became a prominent man among them. Their plans being at last matured, the seamen rose simultaneously against their officers, and deprived them of their arms, as well as of all command in the ships, though behaving respectfully to them in all other ways. Each vessel was put under the government of a committee of twelve men, and, to represent the whole body of seamen, every man-of-war appointed two delegates and each gunboat one to act for the common good. Of these delegates Richard Parker was chosen president, and in an unhappy hour for himself he accepted the office. The representative body drew up a list of grievances, of which they demanded the removal, offering return immediately after to their duty. The demands were for increased pay, better and more abundant food, a more equal division of prize-money, liberty to go on shore, and prompt payment of arrears. A committee of naval inquiry subsequently granted almost all their demands, thereby acknowledging their justice. Parker signed these documents, and they were published over the whole kingdom with his name attached, as well as presented to Port Admiral Buckner, through whom they were sent to the Government. When these proceedings commenced the mutineers were suffered to go on shore, and they paraded the streets of Sheerness, where lay a part of the fleet, with music and the red flag flying.

But on the 22nd of May, troops were sent to Sheerness to put a stop to these demonstrations. Being thus confined to their ships, the mutineers, having come to no agreement with Admiral Buckner, began to take more decisive measures for extorting compliance with their demands, as well as for securing their own safety. The vessels at Sheerness moved down to the Nore, and the combined force of the insurgents, which consisted of twenty-five sail, proceeded to block up the Thames, by refusing a free passage, up or down, to the London trade. Foreign vessels, and a few small craft, were suffered to go by, after having received a passport, signed by Richard Parker, as president of the delegates.

In a day or two the mutineers had an immense number of vessels under detention. The mode in which they kept them was as follows: The ships of war were ranged in a line, at considerable distances from each other, and in the interspaces were placed the merchant vessels, having the broadsides of the men-of-war pointed to them. The appearance of the whole assemblage is described as having been at once grand and appalling. The red flag floated from the mast-head of every one of the mutineer ships.

The Government, however, though unable at the moment to quell the mutiny by force, remained firm in their demand of “unconditional surrender as a necessary preliminary to any intercourse.” This was, perhaps, the best line of conduct that could have been adopted. The seamen, to their great honour, never seemed to think of assuming an offensive attitude, and were thereby left in quiet to meditate on the dangerous position in which they stood in hostility to their own country. Disunion began to manifest itself, and Parker’s efforts to revive the cooling ardour of the mutineers resulted in rousing particular hostility against himself.

Meanwhile, formidable preparations had been made by the Government for the protection of the coast against a boat attack by the mutineers, and to prevent the fleet advancing up the Thames and menacing London. All the buoys and beacons in the three channels giving entrance to the Thames had been removed. Batteries with furnaces for red-hot shot were constructed at several points. Sheerness was filled with troops, and at more distant places outposts were established to prevent the landing of parties of the mutineers. Two ships of the line, some frigates, and between twenty and thirty gunboats lying higher up the river were fitted out in great haste, to co-operate, in the event of an attack by the mutinous fleet, with the squadron from Spithead, that had been summoned. Alarm and perplexity disorganized the council of the mutineers. The supply of provisions had for some time been running short.

A price had been set on Parker’s head--£500. It was thought that he might attempt to escape, and therefore a description of him was published: “Richard Parker is about thirty years of age, wears his own hair, which is black, untied, though not cropt; about five feet nine or ten inches high; has a rather prominent nose, dark eyes and complexion, and thin visage; is generally slovenly dressed, in a plain blue half-worn coat and a whitish or light coloured waistcoat and half-boots.”

But Parker made no attempt to escape. The mutineering vessels held together till the 30th May, when the _Clyde_ frigate was carried off by a combination of its officers and some of the seamen, and was followed by the _S. Fiorenzo_. These vessels were fired upon by the mutineers, but escaped up the river. The loss was, however, more than counterbalanced by the arrival of eight ships from the mutinous fleet of Admiral Duncan, anchored in Yarmouth Roads.

On the 4th June, the King’s birthday, the Nore fleet showed that their loyalty to their Sovereign was undisturbed by firing a general salute.

On the 6th June two more ships deserted under the fire of the whole fleet, but the same evening four more arrived from Admiral Duncan’s fleet. On this day Lord Northesk, having been summoned on board the _Sandwich_, found the council, comprising sixty delegates, sitting in the state cabin, with Parker at its head. After receiving a letter containing proposals of accommodation to which the unfortunate Parker still put his name as president, Lord Northesk left, charged to deliver this letter to the King. The answer was a refusal to all concessions till the mutineers had surrendered unconditionally. Disunion thereupon became more accentuated, and on 10 June, Parker was compelled to shift his flag to the _Montague_ and the council removed with him.

On the same day the merchantmen were permitted by common consent to pass up the river, and such a multitude of ships certainly had never before entered a port by one tide.

Fresh desertions now occurred every day, and all hope of concerted action was ended by stormy discussions, in which contradictory suggestions were made with such heat as to lead in many instances to acts of violence. Upon ship after ship the red flag was hauled down and replaced by one that was white, signifying submission. On the 12th only seven ships had the red flag flying. Such was the confusion, every crew being divided into two hostile parties, that five ships were taken up the Thames by those in favour of surrender, aided by their opponents under the belief that an attack was about to be made on the shore defences. The discovery by the latter that they were betrayed aroused terrible strife. The deck of the _Iris_ frigate became a battlefield; one party in the fore, the others in the after-part, turned the great guns against each other, and fought till the mutineers were worsted.

By the 16th the mutiny had terminated, every ship having been restored to the command of its officers. A party of soldiers went on board the _Sandwich_ to which Parker had returned, and to them the officers surrendered the delegates of the ship, namely a man named Davies and Richard Parker.

Richard Parker, to whom the title of admiral had been accorded by the fleet and by the public during the whole of this affair, was the undoubted ringleader, and was the individual on whom all eyes were turned as the chief of the mutineers. He was brought to trial on the 22nd of June, after having been confined during the interval in the Black-hole of Sheerness garrison. Ten officers, under the presidency of Vice-Admiral Sir Thomas Pasley, Bart., composed the court-martial, which sat on board the _Neptune_, off Greenhithe. The prisoner conducted his own defence, exhibiting great presence of mind, and preserving a respectful and manly deference throughout towards his judges.

The prosecution on the part of the Crown lasted two days, and on the 26th, Parker called witnesses in his favour, and read a long and able defence which he had previously prepared. The line of argument adopted by him was--that the situation he had held had been in a measure forced upon him; that he had consented to assume it chiefly from the hope of restraining the men from excesses; that he had restrained them in various instances; that he might have taken all the ships to sea, or to an enemy’s port, had his motives been disloyal, etc. Parker unquestionably spoke the truth on many of these points. Throughout the whole affair, the injury done to property was trifling, the taking of some flour from a vessel being the chief act of the kind. But he had indubitably been the head of the mutineers. It was proved that he went from ship to ship giving orders and encouraging the men to stand out, and that his orders were given as though he were actually admiral of the fleet. Nothing could save him. He was sentenced to death. When his doom was pronounced, he rose, and said, in firm tones, “I shall submit to your sentence with all due respect, being confident in the innocency of my intentions, and that God will receive me unto His favour; and I sincerely hope that my death will be the means of restoring tranquillity to the Navy, and that those men who have been implicated in the business may be reinstated in their former situations, and again be serviceable to their country.”

On the morning of the 30th of June, the yellow flag, the signal of death, was hoisted on board the _Sandwich_, where Richard Parker lay, and where he was to meet his fate. The whole fleet was ranged a little below Sheerness, in sight of the _Sandwich_, and the crew of every ship was piped to the forecastle. Parker was awakened from a sound sleep on that morning, and after being shaved, he dressed himself in a suit of deep mourning. He mentioned to his attendants that he had made a will, leaving to his wife some property in Devonshire that belonged to him. On coming to the deck, he was pale, but perfectly composed, and drank a glass of wine “to the salvation of his soul, and forgiveness of all his enemies!” He said nothing to his mates on the forecastle but “Good-bye to you!” and expressed a hope that “his death would be deemed sufficient atonement, and save the lives of others.”

He was strung up to the yard-arm at half-past nine o’clock. A dead silence reigned among the crews around during the execution. When cold, his body was taken down, put in a shell, and interred within an hour or two after his death in the new naval burying ground at Sheerness. A remarkable and pathetic sequel to the account has served as the basis of a popular ballad still sung.

Richard Parker’s unfortunate wife had not left Scotland, when the news reached her ears that the Nore fleet had mutinied, and that the ringleader was one Richard Parker. She could not doubt that this was her husband, and immediately took a place in the mail for London, to save him if possible. On her arrival, she heard that Parker had been tried, but the result was not known. Being able to think of no way but petitioning the King, she gave a person a guinea to draw up a paper, praying that her husband’s life might be spared. She attempted to make her way with this into His Majesty’s presence, but was obliged finally to hand it to a lord-in-waiting, who gave her the cruel intelligence that all applications for mercy would be attended to, except for Parker. The distracted woman then took coach for Rochester, where she got on board a King’s ship, and learnt that Parker was to be executed next day. She sat up, in a condition of unspeakable wretchedness, the whole of that night, and at four o’clock in the morning went to the riverside to hire a boat to take her to the _Sandwich_, that she might at least bid her poor husband farewell. Her feelings had been deeply wrung by hearing every person she met talking on the subject of her distress, and now the first waterman to whom she spoke refused to take her as a single passenger. “The brave Admiral Parker is to die to-day,” he said, “and I can get any sum I choose to ask for carrying over a party.”

Finally, the wretched wife was glad to go on board a Sheerness market boat, but no boat was allowed to run up alongside of the _Sandwich_. In her desperation she called on Parker by name, and prevailed on the boat people, moved by the sight of her distress, to attempt to approach, but they were stopped by a sentinel who threatened to fire at them, unless they withdrew.

O Parker was the truest husband,
Best of friends, whom I love dear;
Yet when he was a-called to suffer,
To him I might not then draw near.
Again I ask’d, again I pleaded,
Three times entreating,--all in vain;
They even that request refused me,
And ordered me ashore again.

As the hour drew nigh, she saw her husband appear on deck walking between two clergymen. She called to him, and he heard her voice, for he exclaimed, “There is my dear wife from Scotland.”

Then, happily, she fainted, and did not recover till some time after she was taken ashore. By this time all was over, but the poor woman could not believe it so. She hired another boat, and again reached the _Sandwich_. Her exclamation from the boat must have startled all who heard it. “Pass the word,” she cried in her delusion, “for Richard Parker!”

The ballad says:--

The yellow flag I saw was flying,
A signal for my love to die;
The gun was fir’d, as was requir’d,
To hang him on the yard-arm high.
The boatswain did his best endeavour,
I on the shore was put straightway,
And there I tarried, watching, weeping,
My husband’s corpse to bear away.

On reaching the _Sandwich_ she was informed that all was over, and that the body of her husband had just been taken ashore for burial. She immediately caused herself to be rowed ashore again, and proceeded to the cemetery, but found that the ceremony was over and the gate was locked. She then went to the Admiral and sought the key, but it was refused to her. Excited almost to madness by the information given her that probably the surgeons would disinter the body that night and cut it up, she waited around the churchyard till dusk, and then clambering over the wall, readily found her husband’s grave. The shell was not buried deep, and she was not long in scraping away the loose earth that intervened between her and the object of her search. She tore off the lid with her nails and teeth, and then clasped the hand of her husband, cold in death, and no more able to return the pressure.

Her determination to possess the body next forced her to quit the cemetery and seek the assistance of two women, who, in their turn, got several men to undertake the task of lifting the body. This was accomplished successfully, and at 3 a.m. the shell containing the corpse was placed in a van and conveyed to Rochester, where, for the sum of six guineas, the widow procured another wagon to carry it to London. On the road they met hundreds of people all inquiring about, and talking of, the fate of “Admiral Parker.”

The rude ballad thus relates the carrying away of the body:--

At dead of night, when all was quiet,
And many thousands fast asleep,
I, by two female friends attended,
Into the burial-ground did creep.
Our trembling hands did serve as shovels
With which the mold we moved away,
And then the body of my husband
Was carried off without delay.

At 11 p.m. the van reached London, but there the poor widow had no private house or friends to go to, and was constrained to stop at the “Hoofs and Horseshoe” on Tower Hill, which was full of people. Mrs. Parker got the body into her room, and sat down beside it; but the secret could not long be kept in such a place, more particularly as the news of the exhumation had been brought by express that day to London.

An immense crowd assembled about the house, anxious to see the body of Parker, but this the widow would not permit.

The Lord Mayor heard of the affair, and came to ask the widow what she intended to do with her husband’s remains. She replied, “To inter them decently at Exeter or in Scotland.” The Lord Mayor assured her that the body would not be taken from her, and eventually prevailed on her to consent to its being decently buried in London. Arrangements were made with this view, and in the interim it was taken to Aldgate Workhouse, on account of the crowds attracted by it, which caused some fears lest “Admiral Parker’s remains should provoke a civil war.”

Finally, the corpse was buried in Whitechapel Churchyard, and Mrs. Parker, who had in person seen her husband consigned to the grave, gave a certificate that all had been done to her satisfaction. But, though strictly questioned as to her accomplices in the exhuming and carrying away of the body, she firmly refused to disclose the names.

Parker had, as he said, made a will, leaving to his wife the little property he had near Exeter. This she enjoyed for a number of years, but ultimately lost it through a lawsuit with Parker’s sisters, who claimed that it was theirs by right. She was thrown into great distress, and, becoming almost blind, was obliged to solicit assistance from the charitable. King William IV gave her at one time £10, and at another £20.

In 1836 the forlorn and miserable condition of poor Parker’s widow was made known to the London magistrates, and a temporary refuge was provided for her. But temporary assistance was of little avail to one whose physical infirmities rendered her incapable of any longer helping herself. When Camden Pelham wrote in 1840, she was aged seventy, blind, and friendless; but time and affliction had not quenched her affection for the partner of her early days. However, in 1828, John C. Parker, the son of the mutineer, obtained a verdict against his aunts for the possession of the little estate of Shute that had belonged to his father’s elder brother. The question turned on the legitimacy of the plaintiff, which was proved by his mother, a woman who then exhibited the remains of uncommon beauty, and who was able to prove that she had married Richard Parker in 1793.

Then farewell, Parker, best beloved,
That was once the Navy’s pride,
And since we might not die together,
We separate henceforth abide.
His sorrows now are past and over,
Now he resteth free from pain--
Grant, O God, his soul may enter
Where one day we meet again.[16]

The melody to which the ballad of the “Death of Parker” is set is much more ancient, by two centuries at the least, than the ballad itself. It is plaintive and very beautiful, and the words are admirably fitted to the dainty and tender air.

Richard Parker was a remarkably fine man. The brilliancy and expression of his eyes were of such a nature as caused one of the witnesses, while under examination, to break down, and quail beneath his glance, and shrink abashed, incapacitated from giving further testimony.

Douglas Jerrold wrote a drama upon the theme of the “Mutiny at the Nore.” But it is a mere travesty of history. The true pathos and beauty of the story of the devoted wife were completely put aside for vulgar melodramatic incidents.

For authorities, the _Annual Register_ for 1797; _The Chronicles of Crime_, by Camden Pelham, London, 1840; _The Mutiny at Spithead and the Nore_, London, 1842; “Richard Parker, of Exeter, and the Mutiny of the Nore,” by S. T. Whiteford, in _Notes and Gleanings_, Exeter, 1888.

BENJAMIN KENNICOTT, D.D.

Benjamin Kennicott was born at Totnes on 4 April, 1718, and was the son of Benjamin Kennicott, the parish clerk of that town. The family had been one of some respectability, as in 1606 one Gabriel Kennicott was mayor of Totnes. Probably, if a well-to-do tradesman family at one time, it had sunk, and Benjamin senior was quite content to act as clerk on a small stipend. His son was educated at the Grammar School, founded by King Edward VI in 1554, and held in a building adjoining the Guildhall, both of which occupy a portion of the old dissolved priory of Totnes, on the north side of the church. The trustees of Eliseus Hele had endowed the school, and the corporation were empowered to send three boys to the school to receive their education free of expense; and there can be little doubt that Benjamin the younger was one so privileged. After quitting school he was appointed master of a charity school for poor children, male and female, at Totnes; which same charity children were provided with quaint and antiquated garbs. Young Kennicott now doubtless thought that he was provided for for life.

In 1732, when he was only fourteen years of age, the bells of Totnes tower were recast, and at the same time the ringers presented to the bell-ringing chamber an eight-light brass candlestick inscribed with the names of the ringers. Benjamin Kennicott the elder headed the list, and Benjamin Kennicott the younger brought up the tail. But in 1742, when new regulations were drawn up and agreed to by the ringers, the youngest ringer had become the leader.

Bell-ringing was a pastime dearly loved and much practised in Devon at the time. There were contests between the ringers of various churches, and challenges, the prize being either money or a hat laced with gold. All over the county one comes on old songs relating to these contests, and in these songs are recorded the names of ringers who are now only represented by moss-grown stones in the churchyard. A party of ringers, say of Totnes, would sally forth to spend a day in contest with those of Ashburton or Dartmouth, and all day long the tower would be reeling with the clash of the bells. Here is one of the songs touching the ringers of Torrington:--

1. Good ringers be we that in Torrington dwell,
And what that we are I will speedily tell.
1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5 . 6; 6 . 5 . 4 . 3 . 2 . 1.
The first is called Turner, the second called Swete,
The third is a Vulcan, the fourth Harry Neat.
1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5 . 6; 6 . 5 . 4 . 3 . 2 . 1.

2. The fifth is a doctor, a man of renown,
The tenor the tailor that clothes all the town.
1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5 . 6; 6 . 5 . 4 . 3 . 2 . 1.
The breezes proclaim in their fall and their swell,
No jar in the concord, no flaw in a bell.
1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5 . 6; 6 . 5 . 4 . 3 . 2 . 1.

3. The winds that are blowing on mountain and lea,
Bear swiftly my message across the blue sea,
1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5 . 6; 6 . 5 . 4 . 3 . 2 . 1.
Stand all men in order, give each man his due,
We can’t be all tenors, but each can pull true.
1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5 . 6; 6 . 5 . 4 . 3 . 2 . 1.

olim Socius.

_From the portrait at Exeter College, Oxford_]

There is another, wedded to an exquisitely sweet and expressive melody, concerning the ringers of North Lew, who challenged Ashwater, Broadwood, S. Stephen’s, and Callington. I give but the opening verse:--

One day in October,
Neither drunken nor sober,
O’er Broadbury Down I was wending my way,
When I heard of some ringing,
Some dancing and singing,
I ought to remember that Jubilee Day.
’Twas in Ashwater town,
The bells they did soun’;
They rang for a belt and a hat laced with gold.
But the men of North Lew
Rang so steady and true,
That never were better in Devon, I hold.

On this song the late Rev. H. H. Sheppard remarked: “There is an indolent easy grace about this tune which is quite in keeping with the words and charmingly suggestive. The sunny valleys, the breezy downs, the sweet bell-music swelling and sinking on the soft autumn air, the old folk creeping out of their chimney-nooks to listen, and all employment in the little town suspended in the popular excitement at the contest for the hat laced with gold; all this, told in a few words and illustrated by a few notes, quite calls up a picture of life, and stamps the number as a genuine folk-song. The narrator is unhappily slightly intoxicated, but no one thinks the worse of him; stern morality on that or any other score will in vain be looked for in songs of the West.”

Such a picture as this must have occurred again and yet again in young Kennicott’s life whilst head of the ringers at Totnes.

Kennicott’s sister was in service as lady’s-maid to the Hon. Mrs. Elizabeth Courtney, of Painsford in Ashprington, near Totnes; and in 1743 that lady had a narrow escape from death, having eaten a poisonous herb in mistake for watercress, which it much resembled. The charity-school master, on hearing of this, composed a poem on her recovery, which he dedicated to “Kelland Courtney, Esq., and his Lady.” It consisted of no fewer than three hundred and thirty-four lines; and this effusion having gained him the favour of the family, he was taken in hand, and sent in 1744 to Oxford, where he became a student of Wadham College. But the Courtneys, though his principal patrons, were not the sole. Archdeacon Baker, the Rev. F. Champernowne, and H. Fownes Luttrell, Esq., subscribed to send him to college.

At Oxford he speedily attracted attention by his industry and abilities, and was elected Fellow of Exeter College in 1747, and was admitted to his B.A. degree a year before the usual time. He took his M.A. degree in 1750, about which time he entertained a design of collating the Hebrew texts of the Old Testament. In 1753 he published his first volume on the state of the printed text, and in 1760 his second volume. In these works he pointed out various discrepancies, and proposed an extensive collation of manuscripts.

Subscriptions were obtained, and between 1760 and 1769 no less than £9117. 7s. 6d. had been raised for the work. This work occupied ten years. To aid in it, persons were employed to examine the MSS. in all parts of Europe. In 1769, Dr. Kennicott stated that of the 500 Hebrew MSS. then in Europe he had himself seen and studied 250; and of the 16 MSS. of the Samaritan Pentateuch eight had been collated for him. Subsequently other MSS. were heard of, and the collation extended in all to 581 Hebrew and 16 Samaritan MSS.

In 1776 appeared the first fruit of all the labour, being the first volume of his _Vetus Testamentum Hebraicum cum variis lectionibus_, and the second appeared in 1780.

Kennicott took his degree of D.D. in 1761, and received from the Crown a pension of £200. In 1770 he was made Prebendary of Westminster, but this he afterwards exchanged for a canonry at Christchurch. He was also rector of Culham, a valuable living, but resigned it, as owing to his studies he was unable to reside and pay attention to his pastoral duties there.

Against the garden wall of Exeter College grew a fig tree, and Kennicott was very partial to figs. Now in a certain year there was but a single fig on the tree. The Doctor watched it, eagerly expecting when it would be ripe, for a fig is like a pear, it ripens and reaches perfection all at once, before which moment it is no good at all. To secure this fruit for himself he wrote out a label, “Dr. Kennicott’s Fig,” and hung it above the fruit on the tree. But just as the fig was fit to be gathered and eaten, some audacious undergraduate managed to get it, plucked, ate, and then reversing the label wrote in large letters thereon “A Fig for Dr. Kennicott.”

When the reverend divine was at the height of his fame he visited Totnes, and was asked to preach in the parish church. This he consented to do. In the vestry he found his old father, still parish clerk, prepared to robe him. The Doctor protested. No--on no account would he suffer that. He could perfectly well and unassisted encase himself in cassock and surplice and assume his scarlet doctorial hood. But the old man was stubborn. “But, Ben--I mean Reverend Doctor--do it I must, and do it I will. You know, Ben--I mean Reverend Sir--I am your father and you must obey.” So the Hebrew scholar was fain to submit and give to the old parish clerk the proudest hour of his life. Dr. Kennicott died on 18 September, 1783, in the sixty-sixth year of his age.

For authority see an article on “Benjamin Kennicott, /D.D./,” by Mr. Ed. Windeatt, in the _Transactions_ of the Devonshire Association, 1878.

The portrait given with this article is from one in Exeter College.

CAPTAIN JOHN AVERY

Concerning this captain it is not easy to give a trustworthy account as the discrepancies between the narratives of his life and adventures are considerable, and the means of discriminating between the true and the fictitious are not available. He is a Flying Dutchman who appears in weird and terrible scenes, and then vanishes into mist.

The authorities for his adventures, such as they are, are these:--

(_a_) _“The Life of Captain Avery” in Captain Charles Johnson’s
General History of the Robberies and Murders of Notorious Pyrates,
from 1717._ London, 1724.

(_b_) _The Life and Adventures of Captain John Avery._ I. Baker.
London, 1709.

(_c_) _The Famous Adventures of Captain John Avery of Plymouth._
Falkirk, 1809. Probably a reprint of an earlier Life.

(_d_) _The King of Pirates._ (Supposed to be by Daniel Defoe.)
London, 1720.

With regard to (_a_), Johnson gives no authority for his narrative, and it widely differs in the sequel from (_b_) and (_c_).

(_b_) purports to be written by Adrian Van Broeck, a Dutchman, who was a prisoner for some time with Avery in Madagascar, but he effected his escape in a vessel of the East India Company, and his narrative terminates abruptly with the severance of his connexion with the pirates.

(_c_). In this--as we have it--late version, all the early life of John Avery is given totally different from (_a_) and (_b_). Little or no reliance can be placed on it, and as to (_b_) it is hard to say whether Van Broeck’s is a fictitious narrative or whether he records actual facts. It is singular that Johnson should not have spoken explicitly about this, the first published record of the pirate’s adventures.

(_d_) purports to be Avery’s story of his own life, but it is almost certainly a product of Defoe’s lively imagination.

On the whole Johnson’s account is the most reliable, and we will follow that, noticing the divergences from it in (_b_), and will take no account of (_c_) and (_d_). Johnson begins: “None of the bold adventurers on the Seas were ever so much talk’d of for a while as Avery. He was represented in Europe as one that had rais’d himself to the Dignity of a King, and was likely to be the Founder of a new Monarchy; having, as it was said, taken immense Riches, and married the Great Mogul’s Daughter, who was taken in an Indian Ship which fell into his Hands; by whom he had many Children, living in great Royalty and State: That he had built Forts, elected Magistrates, and was Master of a stout Squadron of Ships, mann’d with able and desperate Fellows of all Nations. That he gave Commissions out in his own Name to the Captains of his Ships, and to the Commanders of the Forts, and was acknowledg’d by them as their Prince. A Play was writ upon him, call’d _The Successful Pyrate_;[17] and these Accounts obtained such Belief that several Schemes were offer’d to the Council for sending out a Squadron to take him; while others were for offering him and his Companions an Act of Grace and inviting them to England with all their Treasure, lest his growing Greatness might hinder the Trade of Europe to the East Indies.

_CAP^/T/. AVERY and his Crew taking one of the GREAT MOGUL’S Ships_]

“Yet all these were no more than false Rumours, improv’d by the Credulity of some, and the Humour of others who love to tell strange Things; for, while it was said he was aspiring at a Crown, he wanted a Shilling; and at the same Time it was given out he was in Possession of such prodigious Wealth in Madagascar he was starving in England.”

John Avery was a native of Plymouth; according to (_b_) he was born in 1653. His father had served under Admiral Blake, then left the navy for the merchant service, but died whilst John was still young, and to his sixth year was brought up by his aunt, Mrs. Norris. The story in (_c_) is that his mother kept the tavern with the “Sign of the Defiance,” and because one night she refused to receive a drunken party of sailors, in revenge they carried off her son and took him on board their ship, where the captain, taking a liking to him, carried him with him to Carolina. After three years he returned to Plymouth and was placed under the guardianship of a Mr. Lightfoot. At the age of forty-four he entered on board the _Duke_, a merchant vessel, Captain Gibson.

At this time, by the Peace of Ryswick, 1697, there was an alliance betwixt Spain, England, and Holland against France; previous to this the French had carried on a smuggling trade with the Spaniards in Peru, which was against the law that reserved the trade with the Spanish possessions in the New World to Spaniards alone. Accordingly a fleet was ever kept at sea to guard the coast and seize as prizes any foreign vessels that approached within a certain number of leagues. But as this fleet was very inefficient, the French smugglers became vastly daring. Accordingly, the Spanish Government, after the conclusion of the peace, hired three large vessels, built at Bristol, to serve as preventive ships on the South American coast. The merchants of Bristol at once fitted out two of thirty guns each, and one hundred and twenty hands apiece, for service under the Spanish Government, and one of them was the _Duke_; and in it as mate sailed our hero, John Avery. These two vessels were ordered to sail for Corunna, thence to take some Spanish officers on board. Before sailing Avery, as first mate, got into close communication with both crews and persuaded them to mutiny so soon as they got to sea, and instead of serving the Spanish Government, to sweep the Indian Sea as pirates. Captain Gibson was nightly addicted to punch, and spent most of his time on land in drinking and getting drunk. The day of sailing, however, he did not go ashore, but tippled in his cabin. The men who were not privy to the design, as well as he, turned into their hammocks, leaving none on deck but the conspirators. At the time agreed upon, ten o’clock at night, the long-boat of the consort, called the _Duchess_, approached. Avery hailed, and was answered by the men, “Is your drunken boatswain on board?” which was the watchword agreed upon between them. Avery replied in the affirmative, and sixteen men from the boat came on board, joined the company, and proceeded to secure the hatches. They did not slip the anchor, but weighed it leisurely, and so put to sea without disorder, though there were several ships lying around.

The captain awoke, roused by the motion of the vessel and the noise of working the tackle, and rang his bell. Thereupon Avery and two others went to him. He, half asleep, shouted out, “What is the matter?” To which Avery replied coolly, “Nothing.” The captain retorted, “Something is the matter. Does she drive? What is the weather?” “No, no,” said Avery, “we are at sea with a fair wind.” “At sea!” exclaimed Captain Gibson, “how can that be?” “Don’t be alarmed,” said Avery; “put on your clothes, and I’ll let you into a secret. You must know that now I am captain of the ship, and that henceforth this is my cabin, so please to walk out of it. I am bound for Madagascar to seek my fortune, and that of the brave fellows who have joined with me.”

The captain was now thoroughly roused, and in a great fright. Avery bade him not fear. If he chose to throw in his lot with them, he would be received, but must remain sober and mind his own business, and if he conducted himself properly would be made lieutenant. If he refused he might have the long-boat and go ashore in it. The captain preferred the latter alternative; he was accordingly put into the boat along with such seamen, five or six in all, who would not throw in their lot with the mutineers. The two ships proceeded to Madagascar, and came across a couple of sloops at anchor on the north-east of the island. These were manned by mutineers as well, and both parties speedily came to an agreement to hunt together, and they now sailed for India. Off the mouth of the Indus they espied a large vessel flying the Great Mogul’s colours. Avery opened fire, and the sloops ran close to her, one on the bow, the other on the quarter, and boarded her. She at once struck her colours. She was a vessel of the Great Mogul, bound with a load of pilgrims for Arabia to make the annual pilgrimage to Mecca. On board were also a lady with her retinue, whom they took to be a daughter of the Mogul. The vessel was laden with treasure.

At this time much trouble and vexation to the East India Company was caused by the interlopers. The Company had obtained their charter, granting them exclusive rights to trade between India and England, and they had certain determined ports where they had their factories. But the trade was so profitable that companies of merchants and private adventurers embarked on the trade in defiance of the rights of the Company. They put into ports within the limits of the Company concessions, but to which the ships of the latter did not resort, by this means undermining and invading the rights of the Company. It was more than that, it was a direct attack on the legal exercise of the privileges of the Company. In 1695 the British Court informed Sir John Gayer and the Presidency of Surat that the expedients which had been adopted for suppressing the interlopers had failed at home and abroad by their not being excluded from foreign markets, and the Company’s servants were required to obstruct their sales in foreign markets, and further to take measures against their entering the Indian ports. In 1675-6, the interlopers being disappointed in the sales of their cargoes and in the purchase of Indian produce, determined not to return to Europe without realizing gains for themselves and their employers, and they turned pirates and seized vessels belonging to the native princes, and left the Company’s servants exposed to suspicion and imprisonment and their property to seizure and confiscation. It was precisely at this conjuncture that Avery’s little piratical fleet made its capture. The vessel, the _Gunswek_, was bound from Bombay for Daman. Avery cleared it of all its treasure, and only released the pilgrims on payment of a heavy indemnity, and left the ship to be steered back to Bombay by the native crew. As to the ladies on board, Avery took to himself that one whom he supposed to be the daughter of the Great Mogul, and let his crew toss up for the rest as partners.

John Bruce in his _Annals of the East India Company_ says nothing of the retention of the ladies, nor of the capture of the Mogul’s daughter. It is likely enough that some women were taken and retained, but certainly no lady of so high a rank as the grand-daughter of Aurungzebe.

This outrage produced very unpleasant effects. Already in September, 1695, an interloping vessel turned pirate, and, bearing English colours, had plundered a ship belonging to Abdul Gopher, a merchant of Surat, and the governor of the place had been obliged to set a guard on the house of the Company to prevent its being wrecked by the enraged natives, and the servants of the Company from being massacred. News now arrived that the same pirate had attacked a ship belonging to the Mogul, conveying pilgrims to Mecca. If the first injury to an individual merchant was resented, this which was deemed a sacrilege roused fanatical resentment to fury, and obliged the Governor to put the President and all the English in irons to prevent their being torn to pieces by the inhabitants.

The Governor desired French, Dutch, and English to send vessels in search of the pirate, that by her capture the fact might be ascertained as to who really was responsible. The French and Dutch hesitated to comply, and the readiness of the English to go on this service served somewhat to abate the hostility entertained against them.

Sir John Gayer, as General of the Company’s affairs, wrote to the Mogul to assure him that the Company were not only ignorant of the existence of such a pirate, but were ready to employ two of their ships completely armed to convey the pilgrims to Jedda, if he would grant that all the English but the Company should be debarred from trading in his dominions. The Mogul answered “that the English, French, and Dutch must go to sea in search of the thieves, but that the embargo he had placed on all trade must continue till the innocence or guilt of the English Company was proved.”