Chapter VI

Bridport--Lyme Regis--Axmouth--Teignmouth

Two-thirds of the distance from the Bill of Portland across the wide expanse of West Bay lies the little old-world harbour of Bridport, with its quaint mouth into which runs the tiny river Brit, from whence the name is derived. The town itself stands some two miles from the harbour at the foot of a picturesque and well-wooded hill.

On the quay is the famous George Inn, at which King Charles II lay when he came there a fugitive, having ridden over from Charmouth, where he had been almost discovered by a more than ordinarily suspicious ostler and an unusually logical blacksmith, who reasoned that as the fugitive’s horse had been shoed in four counties, and one of them Worcester, the owner of the horse might be the fugitive King on whose head so high a price had been placed. Charles, however, was warned in time, and spurred on to Bridport, and thence to Salisbury ere the hue and cry was raised, ultimately reaching Shoreham, where he took ship for the French coast.

To-day Bridport by the sea is just a quiet, picturesque little resort, where weary workers and holiday makers, whose taste is not for the bustling, fashionable type of watering-place, may find rest and quietude from the over-energetic and noisy world without, with the open and uninterrupted expanse of West Bay spread in front of them, sunlit, grey, peaceful or storm-driven by turns, whilst northward and north-eastward lie the green undulating hills and vales of Dorset.

The port is nowadays of comparatively little consequence, and has much declined from the times when there was a good deal of trade with Archangel and Riga for the importation of flax and hemp, and a considerable coasting trade also.

Bridport town, which is prettily situated, and has an old-world flavour hanging about it, lies chiefly in a hollow of the hills and on the well-wooded slopes. Nowadays, except when market folk have flocked in from the surrounding country, bringing with them a temporary air of industry and bustle, it has a somewhat “sleepy hollow” atmosphere, apparently undisturbed by the happenings of the great world which lies beyond it. In its streets on market days, at all events, one sees many true Wessex types--farmers who might have stepped right out of the pages of one of Thomas Hardy’s novels; sun-tanned and buxom dairymaids, whose joys in the glory of the girt (big) shops is only equalled by their love of gaudy colours and cheap finery on Sundays and at fair times; gaitered drovers with weather-beaten faces, still happily some of them wearing the picturesque smocks of their fore-fathers, give an air of added picturesqueness to a picturesque calling; shepherds that remind one of Gabriel Oak in _Far from the Madding Crowd_; and the Darbies and Joans of neighbouring villages and hamlets, hale and hearty old Wessex folk who have seen many years but few changes, with their crinkled russet cheeks and country gait.

Bridport is surrounded by one of those dairy districts for which Dorset is noted, and not a little of the famous “blue-vinny” cheese finds its way into the market.

[Illustration: BRIDPORT]

The town has on several occasions since its foundation been upon the very verge of attaining to a position of some importance, and but for ill-fortune might have become one of the more prosperous ports of the southern coasts. But it has, one must admit, in the end sadly lagged behind, and at the present time is merely a fairly well-to-do country town, not over-burdened with life or activity of any kind. Centuries ago, at any rate, in the reign of Edward the Confessor, when it possessed a mint and a priory, Bridport was of some considerable standing as a trading town; and in the reign of Henry III the town and surrounding lands, which formed a royal demesne, received a charter, although not actually incorporated till some three centuries later.

It has always been noted for its manufacture of hemp ropes, cords, and sail cloth; and so highly were these articles of Bridport production esteemed, that the greater proportion of the canvas and cordage used for the rigging and sails of the English Navy from early times, as well as that of the ships which so bravely attacked and gloriously defeated the Spanish Armada, were of local manufacture.

There is an ancient and historic joke at the historian Leland’s expense, in connexion with the industry of the town. In olden times not only was hemp largely manufactured into rope and canvas in the town, but the raw material itself was grown in some considerable quantity in the immediate neighbourhood, which gave rise to the quaint saying of Fuller that when a man was unfortunate enough as to be hanged, “he was stabbed with a Bridport dagger.” This having reached Leland’s ears during his tour of the southern counties, and being understood by him in the literal sense of the word, he solemnly afterwards stated that “At Bridport be made good daggers,” which error has probably caused as much amusement and discussion as any mistake of the kind ever made by an historian of standing.

Although Bridport in ancient times was a place of some note, it has never played any very important part in the history of the west country; but it suffered, as did most other towns in Dorset, from at least two visitations of the Plague, the most serious of which, in 1670, we are told “did not spare any man, but caused many deathes in the town and the villiages near by, so that of the dead many remain unburried.”

During the Civil War Bridport formed one of the pawns in the mighty game which was being played by the contending Royalist and Parliamentarian forces for the possession of the west of England.

Forty years later, too, the town was again to see an armed force approach it, when on the fine Sunday morning of June 14, 1685, after a night march from Lyme, the Duke of Monmouth arrived before the place to attack the Dorset militia which “lay in the town to the number of about 1200, with a hundred or more horse.”

The Duke’s forces were about 500 all told, and advancing with some amount of discretion and stealth, under cover of the morning mist, and meeting no outposts nor resistance they succeeded in entering the town by way of the Allington Bridge, where they surprised a considerable number of the King’s troops, who, after standing to face one volley, turned tail and fled to join their comrades who were encamped in a field on the opposite side of the town. Then the streets became the scene of sharp skirmishing between the rival forces. The townsfolk taking little or no part in the conflict, but according to one account, “though much alarmed (they), kept well within their doors, scarcely daring, indeed, to thrust their heads out of the windows lest they might fall victims alike to their curiosity and the bullets of the King’s or Monmouth’s men.”

It was in the cross streets and in the main street near the Bull Inn that the hottest skirmishing took place. Ultimately, the Duke’s followers, under the command of Lord Grey and Colonel Wade, advanced to the attack of the western bridge at the far end of the street by which they had entered the town. Here the Dorset militia had been rallied by their officers and stood so firm that after receiving a volley or two from them the Duke’s men were commanded to retreat by Colonel Venner, who himself galloped away along the road back to Lyme after Lord Grey, who had already fled, leaving Colonel Wade to extricate his small force as best he could. The Colonel was a good soldier, and not only succeeded in withdrawing his forces in good order, but actually carried with him a number of prisoners who had been captured when he succeeded in entering the town. The Dorset militia for some reason allowed Monmouth’s men to retreat unpursued. On their way back to Lyme Colonel Wade and his followers were met by the Duke of Monmouth himself, with a reinforcement of troops. This skirmish, which resulted in a score or so of killed and wounded, has always been esteemed a most unfortunate affair for the Duke’s cause. Out of it none of Monmouth’s officers emerged with credit save Colonel Wade; although it would appear that his raw troops behaved with considerable steadiness and bravery.

As happened in the case of so many other towns, Bridport was, however, soon to pay dearly for that Sunday morning visit of “King Monmouth’s” followers; for a few months later Judge Jeffreys arrived on the business of the “Bloody Assize,” and soon a gallows tree was erected in the marketplace, and a round dozen of the townsfolk were hanging to it. As happened at other places, if one may believe the records remaining behind, not a few of the unfortunate victims were entirely innocent of offence.

In the church, which is a fine building, chiefly Perpendicular in style, with early English transepts and Perpendicular inserted windows, is a brass erected to the memory of “Edward Coker, Gent., second son of Captain Robert Coker, of Mapowder, slain at the Bull Inn in Bridport, June 14, An. Do. 1685, by one Venner, who was an officer under the late Duke of Monmouth in that rebellion.”

Bridport, from the time of that stirring Sunday morning of two-and-a-quarter centuries ago, has had an uneventful history. Even the great wars with France, which had so great an influence on most south and south-western coast towns, seem to have affected it and disturbed its serenity but little, and nowadays it is chiefly noted for its old-world atmosphere and stolid indifference to the more modern methods of trade and business life. To antiquarians this little town, set amid the green of the hillside, presents a few attractions in the form of old houses and buildings, which are chiefly situated in South Street, where there is a fine Tudor House. And there are the remains of the once rich St John’s Hospital at the rear of the houses on the side of the eastern bridge, where the final skirmish in 1685 took place.

Bridport beach, which is skirted by a few villas and some of the old-time thatched cottages, is of finest shingle--so fine, indeed, that it may be mistaken at a little distance, and at first sight, for sand. The narrow entrance to the harbour and quays is flanked on either side by cliffs, which here attain a considerable altitude. As a haven the port is useless. The seas which run in the wide expanse of the West Bay when a gale blows, are far too high to allow of threading the “needle’s eye” entrance to the port without grave risk of disaster. It is, in fact, just as Mr Hardy phrases it, “a gap in the rampart of hills which shut out the sea.”

[Illustration: LYME REGIS]

Westward of Bridport, some eight miles along the coast, lies the ancient and picturesque little town of Lyme Regis, which has probably played as great a part in the history of Dorset, and indeed of the south of England, as any place of its size. The town, which nestles in old-fashioned retirement upon the border of the sister county of Devon, consists of a few steep and narrow streets on the rocky and somewhat wild portion of the coast which lies midway between Bridport to the east and Colyton in Devon to the west. The little port itself, with its famous Cobb, lies in a hollow at the mouth of the River Lyme, and on the slopes of the two cliffs which shut it in on either side. Of late years it has somewhat developed as a quiet holiday resort, but like other Dorset seaports, it is of considerably less account now than formerly. It would be more favoured by yachting and holiday folk were there more water in the harbour at low tide; for the place is quaint and interesting, and the country round about quite lovely.

The principal portion of the town, which presents so picturesque an aspect as one approaches it from the sea, has been built in the cleft and on the slopes of a deep combe, and the chief street appears almost as though it would slide into the water. It is through this combe or valley that flows the little stream from which the town takes its name.

Leland in his itinerary describes Lyme as “a pretty market town set in the side of an high rokky hille down to the hard shore”; and this description of so long ago is almost equally accurate at the present time.

Lyme Regis has never been a large town, but it has from very early times been a place of some importance. At the latter end of the eighth century, by a Charter of Kynewulf, King of Wessex, one manse was granted to the Abbey of Sherborne for the purpose of supplying the monks with salt, and as early as the reign of Edward I, it was enfranchised and enjoyed the liberties appertaining to a haven and a borough. It had so far grown in importance, indeed, that in the reign of Edward III it was able to supply him with four ships and sixty-two seamen to take part in the Siege of Calais.

Like so many other towns along this coast, it was often attacked, and on several occasions almost left in ruins, by the French during the reigns of Henry IV and Henry VI. And in the middle of the sixteenth century there was a renewal of these attacks, but the marauders were repulsed with very heavy loss. Lyme Regis, however, soon seems to have recovered its prosperity, and only a few years later we find that it supplied two ships, named _The Revenge_ and _Jacob_, with a good complement of men, to join the fleet which was gathered together for the purpose of attacking the Spanish Armada. These two ships no doubt played a gallant part in that wonderful running fight, a part of which took place in sight of Lyme, which ultimately resulted in the scattering of the vast fleet intended by Philip of Spain to threaten not only the independence of England, but also the religion and civil liberty of its people. There are yet remaining some records of the doings of the two or three score of Lyme Regis men who sailed away to throw in their lot with the ships of Drake and Frobisher. Lyme, though it led a quiet, untroubled existence from that time onward, for nearly three-quarters of a century, was also destined to play a very important

## part in the history of the Civil War between King Charles I and his

Parliament.

The famous siege which began on April 20, 1644, and lasted till June 15 of the same year, proved to be one of the most important events in the history of the west country throughout the progress of the war. The town was not well constructed for defence, but the attempt to strengthen it was carried out with the greatest heroism by the inhabitants, under the direction of Colonel Seeley and Lieutenant-Colonel Blake, who afterwards became the famous admiral. The attacking force was under the direction of Prince Maurice, the nephew of the King himself, and the failure of the Royalist siege operations did not a little to injure the military reputation of the General in command.

The besiegers centred their forces at Colway and Hay, having early captured these two houses, and also the score or so of men who were stationed as defenders in each. Altogether Prince Maurice had upwards of 3,000 men under his command and, with the assistance of some of the country folk who were pressed into the service, batteries were speedily thrown up, and several fierce attacks made upon the town, which soon, indeed, began to experience all the hardships incidental to a close investment.

By the end of May provisions had run so short that there was some likelihood that a surrender would be rendered inevitable, and at the beginning of June Colonel Seeley dispatched a communication to the “Committee” of the two Kingdoms, urging that relief might be sent by land with provisions, and stating that if this were not done the town would undoubtedly have to fall. The defenders, however, were not idle, and several sorties were made with a view of dislodging the besieging force from the new positions it had taken up. None of these attempts proved successful, and the condition of the town was, in consequence, not altered for the better, and both provisions and ammunition were rapidly depleted.

The condition of the beleaguered garrison now became very serious, but happily news reached Lyme on June 15 of the approach of the Earl of Essex, who was stated then to be at Dorchester, with a force of some 13,000 horse and foot, and on Prince Maurice becoming aware of this fact the siege was raised, and the Royalist forces departed in the direction of Bristol.

The rejoicings on the day of the departure of the Royalist troops were unhappily destined to be marred by one of those acts of terrible fanaticism and cruelty which have often defaced the brightest pages of history, and frequently have been connected with gallant deeds and brave endurance. On realizing that the siege was raised, some of the soldiers of the garrison sallied forth to Colway and Hay House with a view of discovering whether any Royalists still lurked there; and on reaching the latter place found a poor old Irish woman, who had been attached to the besieging force, remaining behind. Actuated possibly by religious as well as political fanaticism, the soldiers seized her and drove her through the streets to the waterside, where after she had been ill-treated and robbed of all she possessed, they killed her, and then slashed and cut her body to pieces with their swords, and cast her mutilated remains into the harbour.

Another version of the incident, that of Whitlock, states that the poor old woman was slain and almost pulled to pieces by the women of the town; but whichever version may be the correct one, the incident remains a blot on the historic siege which was so gallantly and bravely endured by the inhabitants.

After the siege was raised, the life of the town again resumed the even tenor of its way and old-time habits, until on a bright June day in the year 1685--to be exact, June 11--a small fleet of three vessels hove in sight off the Cobb, and at 8 o’clock the same day James, Duke of Monmouth, landed with about sixty adherents, and a small body of troops. Thus began what was destined to be one of the most romantic and tragic episodes in the history of the town, and of the west country. The Duke, who on landing had fallen upon his knees to thank God for preservation during his voyage, and to invoke divine assistance in his adventure, immediately afterwards proceeded to the market-place, and there having set up his standard, caused a proclamation to be made to the crowd which had by that time gathered together. Afterwards he and his staff took up their quarters at the fine old gabled George Inn, which was unhappily destroyed by fire in 1844, where they remained for a period of four days. The news of the Duke’s landing spread like wildfire through the western counties, and was sent to King James II in London, in what must have then been quite record time. The Mayor of Lyme, immediately the ships appeared in the offing, guessing their mission, himself sped from the town and sent the news to Westminster post haste; less than thirty-six hours elapsing before the courier reached London.

The Duke, who was received with wild enthusiasm, soon set about recruiting his small force, after having been welcomed by the school children of Lyme with shouts of “A Monmouth! A Monmouth! The Protestant Religion!” and by noon on the day after his landing more than a hundred young men of the town had enlisted under his banner. We are told that by sunset of the same day the number of adherents had increased to upwards of 1,000 foot and more than 150 horse. The town was wild with enthusiasm, even children paraded the streets with banners, and not only the commoner folk, but many gentry also came in from the out-lying districts to join the Duke’s forces, amongst the latter of whom were Colonel Joshua Churchill, Colonel Mathews, Mr Thomas Hooper, and Mr Legg, all of them well-known and influential local gentry.

On the following day, June 13, there came to the town of Lyme one--then twenty-four years of age--who was destined to achieve greater immortality, as the author of _Robinson Crusoe_, than even the ill-fated master he elected to serve during the perilous days and adventures which followed.

During the next day or two from far and near came vast numbers of men into the town armed with all sorts of weapons, but few with guns, to the number of nearly 12,000. “More,” we are told, “than could be received for the lack of the wherewithal with which properly to arm them.”

Mr Gregory Alford, the Mayor, had not only sent news of the Duke’s landing to King James, from Honiton, to which place he had fled at the sight of Monmouth’s little fleet, but had pursued his course westward from that town, and as he sped along the countryside had warned the constables of the various villages to summon the militia and _posse comitatus_ to resist Monmouth’s progress. This activity undoubtedly forced the Duke to make a somewhat premature advance. It was in consequence of this that he left Lyme with his force on June 15 and proceeded to Axminster. He had little cavalry, unless one could count as such the country folk mounted upon horses and ponies taken from off the land, and a mere handful of gentlemen, squires and the like, upon their own nags.

As the Duke’s force marched along, more adherents came to his standard, but these were far fewer in number and of less importance than he had been led to suppose would be the case. Some also of the more important farmers and yeomen whose farms were situated in the villages through which Monmouth’s army passed professed sympathy with his cause, but few did anything more active.

The Duke’s progress, indeed, was not, as he had hoped, one of triumph, but was rather of a dispiriting character. Save at Taunton, where he was enthusiastically received, there was little outward show of support, and many desertions took place almost daily. Indeed, it soon became apparent that his followers, ill-clad, and badly armed, were in no way fit to successfully cope with the forces which were being hurriedly arrayed against them.

On July 1 the Duke’s diminishing force marched from Shepton Mallett to Wells, and thence to Bridgewater, where they were met by a deputation from Taunton, entreating the Duke not to return again to the town which was already beginning to suffer from having received him so enthusiastically a week or so previously. From this day Monmouth’s cause may be said to have rapidly declined; and during the double back to Sedgemoor from Bridgewater, nothing but disaster and discouragement attended him.

Lord Feversham lay with the King’s forces at Sedgemoor after having made some rather feeble and ineffectual attempts to get in touch with Monmouth. It was decided at a council of war that the latter’s forces should attack those of Lord Feversham by night, and one Richard Godfrey was sent to find out the number and position of the Royal troops. In due course he returned with, so far as it went, a true, but unfortunately very incomplete account. He stated for one thing that the enemy were not entrenched; but he somehow or other omitted to take notice of the fact that a deep “rhine” or great drain lay across the track by which Monmouth’s men would be compelled to approach. In this “rhine,” we are told by a contemporary writer, the water was only about two feet deep, but the soft bottom had enough mud to drown a man. This astonishing omission of Godfrey’s undoubtedly cost the Duke the battle; although the man was not a traitor, as has been stated by some authorities, but merely a blunderer, which, indeed, on occasion brings about even more disastrous results.

The two opposing forces were, according to several contemporary accounts almost equal as regards numbers. Feversham’s was, of course, better armed, but there was the advantage of a night surprise to set against that fact, had it not been for the “rhine.” The attack of the Duke’s small body of horse failed, and the rest of his force, evidently finding themselves outflanked, broke and fled. Then at dawn, or soon after, ensued one of the most relentless pursuits, followed by a series of massacres in cornfields, barns, and coppices, under the hedges, and in the ditches of the countryside, which was only to be equalled a little later on by the bloody work of Jeffreys himself. In the immediate district it is estimated that at least 1,200 of the unfortunate followers of Monmouth were slain. The Duke became a fugitive, and was ultimately captured near Wimborne, and taken thence to London for trial and execution.

A few weeks after Lyme Regis was to pay very dearly for the part it had played at the time of Monmouth’s landing, and early in September, Judge Jeffreys condemned thirteen Lyme Regis people at Dorchester, several of whom were mere lads; and these were executed in Lyme on September 12.

From the date of the Monmouth Rebellion the history of the town has been quite uneventful, and it gradually declined from the position it once held as a centre of trade with Morlaix in Brittany, and other ports of the Continent. In former times, too, it had a considerable trade in salt, wine, and wool; in elephants’ tusks, and gold dust from African coasts; and also for many years in serges and linens, though the last named trade was destroyed during the latter part of the seventeenth century by the war with France. The general foreign commerce of the town may be said to have declined from that date until the end of the eighteenth and the commencement of the nineteenth century, when it became practically extinct.

Nowadays Lyme relies almost entirely for prosperity on its popularity as a seaside holiday place of a quiet type, and as a marketing town for the district round about. The famous Cobb, or pier, one of the most ancient along the south coast, is familiar to every one who knows Lyme. It is some 1,200 feet in length, and partakes rather of the nature of a breakwater, although nowadays it is much used as a promenade by visitors and residents. It is thought to have dated from about the time of Edward I, and has certainly done something to prevent the encroachment of the sea, that in former days used to cause the inhabitants of Lyme a very considerable amount of anxiety. The little harbour itself is picturesque, and not entirely devoid of that form of life which comes from the presence of a considerable number of coasting vessels which are engaged chiefly in the export of cement stones.

Lyme Regis can boast of literary associations of considerable interest, for here it was Miss Mitford spent a somewhat long period of her youth in the early days of the last century, and Jane Austen also stayed on several occasions in a large white cottage standing at the harbour end of the little parade. It is generally thought that Jane Austen wrote considerable portions of her novels whilst at Lyme, and also drew upon the local scenery and characters for the purpose of her books. At any rate there is a great deal of Lyme Regis matter in _Persuasion_; and Bay Cottage claims to be the original of Captain Harville’s house. It was, of course, from the steep flight of steps of the Cobb that Louisa Musgrave leapt.

The exterior of Lyme parish church is of less interest than it might be, owing to the jacket of stucco with which it has been inadvisedly enveloped. But within the building are not only a fine Jacobean gallery in good preservation and a carved wooden pulpit, the gift of one Richard Harvey, a merchant prince in the days of the town’s prosperity; but also some interesting tapestry of great age. The colours of this have lost their freshness, and have faded to that vagueness which is the pathos of many such ancient and decaying things.

Seafarers should not forget that it was at Lyme that Sir George Summers, who is called the discoverer of the Island to which he gave his name, now known as the Bermudas, was born. The real discoverer, in 1522, appears to have been a Spaniard, Juan Bermudas. The group was not inhabited, however, until the casting away of Sir George Summers upon the principal island in 1609.

Lyme Regis can scarcely hope to revive into a place of any great importance, but it is nevertheless a charming little town with many features of interest, and some beautiful and picturesque scenery surrounding it; whilst in the summer season a considerable influx of visitors make it a bright, though still old-fashioned, place at which to stay.

Westward along the coast from Lyme to Beer Head, which is the last of the great chalk promontories to the west, the coast is very fine. The sea has done its work of erosion with the result that all along the shore the cliffs have fallen, forming a sort of undercliff, somewhat similar to that on the southern side of the Isle of Wight. The fall of the cliffs, too, has not always been gradual, for towards the middle of the last century one landslip amounted to some forty or fifty acres in extent, and with it went one orchard and two cottages. Of later years, however, this picturesque coast appears not to have suffered so severely from the sea’s inroads as in former times, with a result that here and there along the cliffs houses have been built in such close contiguity to the edge as would, from past experiences, appear recklessly dangerous.

On the east side of Beer Bay is a straight and lofty cliff, and under this headland, called Haven Cliff, there was formerly a pier and landing quay, where vessels of some considerable tonnage could enter; but of this there is now scarcely a trace.

At the commencement of the fertile valley which runs inland from the shore stands Seaton, formerly a mere village, now becoming quite a fashionable holiday resort; but the quaintest and prettiest spot in the bay is Beer, on the other side. Just in the little cove behind Whitecliff lies the fishing village with its ancient caves and quarries which are still worked. In the old smuggling days these formed, as it were, ready-made stores for the cargoes which were run, and many a successful trip was made across Channel by the Beer smugglers, much to their own profit and the loss of the Government.

But Beer, even in the smuggling days, was noted for at least one legitimate industry, that of lace-making, and it was in this little village that Queen Victoria’s wedding dress was made. There is, unfortunately, no harbour, and so it is much less visited by yachtsmen than it would otherwise be.

Along the coast westward there are many lovely spots; one, soon after lofty Beer Head is left behind, is Branscombe Chine, with the village hidden from the sea in a beautiful little valley where three streams meet. Here, too, lace-making is even nowadays carried on. All along the coast to Sidmouth the scenery is lovely, broken into charming little chines and verdant with foliage. To enjoy it fully one must be able to hug the cliffs closely. Soon the coast line begins to trend south-westward, and Sidmouth, one of the prettiest spots of all Devon, is reached. On the western side stands High Peak, with its lofty cliffs, rearing themselves 500 feet above sea level, and between is the valley of the Sid, with swelling uplands all around. Unfortunately for yachtsmen who love the picturesque, and for whom comparatively quiet Sidmouth would have attractions, there is no harbour.

The haven or quay which must once have been there is now covered at high tide. That anciently there was a harbour seems little doubt, as we are told that on the west side of a roof of rocks known as Whitledge Roman remains are frequently washed up.

Geologists seem to be of the opinion that all the coast between Bridport to the east and Otterton Head to the west has either been swallowed up by the sea or has sunk very considerably. For it would be out of the question for ships of such a size as once traded to north and west African ports from Lyme to have entered the latter with the water there is in the harbour at the present time. To drop anchor off Sidmouth early on a fine summer’s morning is almost like approaching fairyland. The valley with its beautiful woods appears a perfect gem of its kind, and up from the little town and off the sea, ascend to the hills on either side the morning mists and the blue-grey smoke of early fires; whilst the red cliffs of Salcombe glow yet redder in the light of sunrise. The sea off Sidmouth has a wonderful range of colour and transparency, which artists of the school of Napier Hemy, and Tuke would fully appreciate. Underneath the cliffs it is almost a deep olive green, whilst further from the shore it becomes a deep sea-green, and where the sand lies, a shade of golden-green hue.

One of the prettiest coves hereabouts is just beyond High Cliff, and into it even quite a fair-sized boat can get comfortably enough if the channel is known. This cove, Ladram Bay, has many curious rock formations, as well as unexpected holes and corners of great charm.

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