And there is no doubt that Lynmouth prides itself on being exclusive. As already shown, it does not cater7 for the crowd. Up at Lynton you are in the world and of the world, and find something of all sorts. Lynmouth’s idea of Lynton is instructive. It is that of a place where the gnomes8 work, who labour for the convenience and enjoyment10 of the village down by the sea: only here you have the paradox11 that the underworld of these labouring sprites is above, and that the socially superior place is the, geographically12, nether13 world.22 It is only fair to remark that Lynton does by no means agree with these estimates of itself, and is indeed, a bright, clean, pretty little town, with its own individuality, and an amazing number of hotels, boarding-houses, and lodgings14, the houses mostly built in excellent taste; and I assure you I have seen no such thing as a gnome9 there. You do not, generally, on the North Devon coast, as so often in South Devon, find the scenery outraged15 by a terrible lack of taste, displayed in a plenitude of plaster.
When Mr. Louis Jennings passed this way, about 1890, the Cliff Railway, or lift, was newly opened, but the Lynton and Barnstaple Railway was not yet in being. Lynton, nevertheless, was in the throes of expansion, and he found “the hand of man doing its usual fatal work on one of the loveliest spots our country has to boast of. Flaring17 notices everywhere proclaim the fact that building sites are procurable18 through the usual channels; this estate and the other has been ‘laid out’; the lady reduced in circumstances, and with spare rooms on her hands, watches you from behind the window-blinds; red cards are stuck in windows denoting that anything and everything is to be sold or let. A long and grievous gash19 has been torn in the side of the beautiful hill opposite Lynmouth—a gash which must leave behind it a broad scar never to be healed.
“‘Who has done this?’ I sorrowfully asked the waiter at the hotel.
23 “‘Tit-Bits, sir.’
“‘Who?’ said I, thinking the waiter was out of his mind.
“‘Tit-Bits,’ the man replied.
“‘Well, then,’ said I, ‘what has Tit-Bits done it for?’
“‘To make a lift, sir. Some people complain of the hill, and so this lift will shoot ’em up and down it, like it does at Scarborough. They say it will be a very good spec. You see, sir, he came along here and bought the land; and I have heard say that Rare-Bits is coming too, and means to make a railroad.’”
However, as this horrified21 traveller was fain to acknowledge, even although these things had come to pass and though the once old-fashioned hotel had been changed into “a huge, staring structure, assailing22 the eye at every turn”—he meant the Valley of Rocks Hotel—“it will take a long time to spoil Lynton utterly24.”
Very much more has been done to Lynton since then, and building has gone on uninterruptedly. The narrow-gauge Lynton and Barnstaple Railway—the “Toy Railway,” as it is often called, from its rather less than two-foot gauge—opened in 1898, has been a disappointing enterprise for its shareholders25, but has brought much expansion. Probably it would have been a better speculation26 had its Lynton terminus been in the town, rather than hidden on the almost inaccessible27 heights of “Mount Sinai,” another climb of about two hundred feet. The service is24 so infrequent and the pace so slow that, coupled with the initial difficulty of finding it at all, the traveller can perform a good deal of his journey by road to any place along the route, before the train starts. And an energetic cyclist can, any day, make a very creditable race with it.
LYNTON.
Lynton has now become no inconsiderable town, very bustling28 and cheerful in summer: its narrow street quite built in with the tall “Valley of Rocks Hotel” aforesaid, and a large number of shops and business premises29 not in the least rural. Between them, they contrive30 to make the old parish church look singularly out of place. That is just the irony31 of it! The interloping, hulking buildings themselves are alien from the25 spirit of the neighbourhood, but they have contrived32 to impress most people the other way. “How odd,” unthinking strangers exclaim, as they see a rustic33 church and grassy34, tree-shaded churchyard amid the bricks and mortar35; not pausing to consider that the church has been here hundreds of years, and few of the buildings around more than twenty. But there is little really ancient remaining of the church, for it was rebuilt, with the exception of the tower, in 1741, and has been added to and altered at different times since then. Quite recently it has again, to all intents, been rebuilt, and fitted and furnished most artistically36, in the newer school of ecclesiastical decoration. Those who are sick at heart with the stereotyped37 patterns of the usual ecclesiastical furnisher, with his stock designs in lecterns and an?mic stained-glass saints, his encaustic tiles with an eternity38 of repetitive geometrical patterns, and indeed everything that is his, will welcome the something individual that here, and in some few other favoured places, may be found to redress39 the dreary40 monotony.
Everything within Lynton church has been smartened up and clean-swept; even the old wall-tablet in memory of Hugh Wichehalse has been gilded41 and tended until it glows like a modern antique, unlike the genuinely old relic42 it is. And since much of the ancient history of Lynton and its neighbourhood is inseparable from the story of the Wichehalse family, let that story be told here.
In the many old guide-books that treat of26 Lynton, it is stated, with much show of circumstantial evidence, that the Wichehalses were of Dutch origin, and fled from Holland about 1567, to escape the persecution43 of the Protestants. We are even told how “Hughe de Wichehalse” was “head of a noble and opulent family,” and learn how he had fought in the Low Countries against the persecuting44 Spaniards. Harrowing accounts are even given of his narrow escape, with wife and family, to England.
But the supremest effort is the legend, narrated45 in a score of guide-books, of Jennifrid Wichehalse and the false “Lord Auberley,” who loved and who rode away, in the days of Charles the First. It is a tale, narrated with harrowing details, of a daughter’s despair, of a tragic46 leap from the heights of “Duty Point” at Lee, and of a father’s revenge upon the recreant47 lover at the Battle of Lansdowne; where, with his red right hand (you know the sort of thing), he struck down the forsworn lord in death. Follows then the sequel: how the father, a Royalist, was persecuted48, and forced, with kith and kin20, to put off in a boat from Lee. “The surf dashed high over the rocky shore, as a boat manned by ten persons, the faithful retainers of this branch of the house of de Wichehalse, pushed desperately49 into the raging waters. It was never more heard of.”
But that is all fudge and nonsense. There was never a Jennifrid Wichehalse; still less, if that be possible, was there ever a Lord Auberley, and the Wichehalse family did not end in the way described.27 All those things are doubtless creditable to the imagination of their compilers, but they do not redound50 either to their sincerity51, or to the tepid52 interest taken in the neighbourhood by past generations of visitors. Any cock-and-a-bull story sufficed until recently, but now that local history is acknowledged to be not unworthy of research, it has been proved to demonstration53 by painstaking54 local antiquaries that the Wichehalses were not Dutch, but of an ancient Devon stock, and that they consequently could not have been the heroes of those hair’s-breadth ’scapes ascribed to them.
But their own true story is sufficiently55 interesting. They are traced back to about 1300, to the hamlet of Wych, near Chudleigh, in South Devon, a hamlet itself deriving56 its name from a large wych-elm that grew there. From the hamlet the family drew their own name, spelled at various times and by many people in some twenty different ways; commonly, besides the generally-received style, “Wichelse,” and “Wichalls.”
It was in 1530 that the Wichehalses first came to North Devon; Nicholas, the third son of Nicholas Wichehalse, of Chudleigh, having settled at Barnstaple in that year. Like most younger sons in those days, even though they might be sons of considerable people, he went into trade, and became partner of one Robert Salisbury, wool merchant, and prospered57. Robert Salisbury died, and Nicholas Wichehalse married his widow in 1551; prospered still more, became28 Mayor of Barnstaple in 1561, and lived in considerable state in his house in what is now Cross (formerly Crock) Street. The great wealth he accumulated may best be judged by mentioning merely some of the manors59 he purchased: those of Watermouth, Fremington, Countisbury, and Lynton. To this eminently60 successful kinsman61, the nine children of his brother John, who had died in 1558, were sent, as wards62. His own family numbered but two, Joan and Nicholas, who came of age in 1588.
Nicholas, succeeding his father, retired63 from trade, and is described in local records as “gentleman,” and appears incidentally in them as wounding another gentleman with a knife, in a quarrel. Something of a young blood, without a doubt, this young Nick. He never lived to be an old one, at any rate, dying in 1603, aged16 thirty-eight, leaving five sons and three daughters.
Large families appear to have been a rule not often broken among the Elizabethan Wichehalses. It was indeed in every way a spacious64 era, and one of the most continuously astonishing things to any one who travels greatly in England, and notices the late sixteenth and early seventeenth century monuments in the churches, is the inevitable65 repetition of family groups, with the reverend seniors facing one another, in prayer, above, and the Quakers’ meeting of children below, boys on one side and girls on the other, gradually receding66 from grown-up men and women, down to babies in swaddling clothes. Early and29 late the Elizabethans laboured to replenish67 the earth and people the waste places.
Hugh, the eldest68 son of Nicholas, the buck69, or blood as I shall call him, was seventeen years of age when his father died. He also had nine children, and resided at the family mansion70 in Crock Street, until 1628, when that terrible scourge71, the plague, frightened away for a time the trade of the town and such of the inhabitants as could by any means remove. It was a sorry time for Barnstaple, for the political and religious wrangles72 that were presently to break out in Civil War were already troubling it. For many reasons, therefore, Hugh Wichehalse, who appears to have been an amiable73 person, and above all, a lover of the quiet life, resolved to leave Barnstaple and reside at Lee, or Ley, in the old thatched manor58-farm that then stood where Lee “Abbey” does now. Here he died twenty-five years later, as his monument in Lynton church duly informs us. The epitaph, characteristic of its period, is worth printing, not only as an example of filial piety74, but as an instance of extravagant75 praise. From what we know of him, he certainly seems to have been the flower of his race; but, even so, he probably was not quite everything we are bidden believe.
HUGH WICHEHALSE OF LEY,
WHO DEPARTED THIS LIFE
Christide Eve, 1653,
?t. 66.
30
No, not in silence, least these stones below,
Congeal’d to Marble shall vy threnes with theirs.
This weeping Marble then Drops this releife
To draw fresh lines to fame, and Fame to griefe:
Whose name was Wichehalse—’twas a cedar’s fall.
Rich Talents not in niggard napkin Layd,
Surviving th’ other fowre his care did shine
Love seal’d with Constancy, which knowes no end.
Death would have stolne this Treasure, but in vaine
His life was hid with Christ; Death only made this story,
Christ call’d him hence his Eve, to feast with Him in glory.
The play upon words, “’twas a Cedar’s fall,” should be noticed above: it is by way of contrast to the “Wiche”—i.e., wych-elm, in the Wichehalse name.
Four years before the death of Hugh Wichehalse, his eldest surviving son, John, had married one Elizabeth Venner. He distinguished85 himself as one of the most bitter and relentless86 among the Puritans of Barnstaple, and especially as a persecutor87 of the loyal clergy88. He found it prudent89 in after years to retire to Lee, and endeavour to efface90 himself when the Royalists returned to power. Whether it was for love he married again, a woman of Royalist sympathies, after the death of his first wife, who had been as bitterly Puritan as himself, or whether it was policy, does not31 appear; but, at any rate, when he died in 1676, aged fifty-six, he left the family estates much shrunken. The enriched Wichehalse family was already on the decline.
His eldest son, John, was an ineffectual and extravagant person, with a bent91, that almost amounted to perverse92 genius, to muddling93 away his property; and a wife who in every respect aided and abetted94 him. After a while, they removed to Chard, in Somerset; then, returning, he sold the manor of Countisbury, to pay his debts. He raised repeated mortgages on his other properties, borrowed right and left from his own relatives and his wife’s; and finally, at his death in London, after the foreclosure of mortgages and many actions at law, practically all his lands had been dispersed95.
His misfortunes were largely caused, according to popular superstition96 at the time, by the part he took in the capture of Major Wade97, one of the fugitives98 after the Battle of Sedgemoor, on July 6th, 1685. Wade and some companions had fled across country after the battle, and, coming to Ilfracombe, seized a vessel100 there, intending to make off by sea. But being forced ashore101 by ships cruising in the Channel, they were obliged to separate and skulk102 along the coast. At Farley farm, above Bridgeball and Lynmouth, Wade was so fortunate as to excite the compassion103 of the wife of a small farmer named How. She brought food to him, hidden among the rocks, and induced a farmer named Birch to hide him in his still more32 secluded104 farm on the verge105 of Exmoor. Information leaked out that a fugitive99 was concealed106 in one of the few houses at Farley, and on the night of July 22nd, John Wichehalse, Mr. Powell, the parson of Brendon, Robert Parris, and John Babb, one of Wichehalse’s men, searched the place. Three houses were entered unsuccessfully, but in the fourth—which happened to be Birch’s—Major Wade was hiding behind the front door, as the search-party, armed, came in. Grace How admitted the party. Wade, who was disguised in Philip How’s rough country farmer’s clothes, ran off through the back door, with two other men, and John Babb, raising his gun, fired and hit him in the side. Wade was made prisoner. His wound was healed, and himself afterwards pardoned. It is a pleasing thing to record that he afterwards pensioned Grace How, who had succoured him in time of need.
The only tragedy of the affair was the suicide of Birch, who, afraid of his part, hanged himself some few days after the capture.
This affair deeply impressed the country-folk. Wichehalse was thought never after to have prospered, and it was told how John Babb was thenceforward a man accurst. He left his master’s service and went into the herring-fishery; whereupon the herrings deserted107 Lynmouth. He died unhonoured, and his granddaughter, Ursula Babb, was afflicted108 with the evil eye. She married and had one son, who was drowned at sea; and thenceforward lived lonely at Lynmouth, half-crazed;33 telling old stories of the departed grandeur109 of the Wichehalses which grew more and more marvellous and confused with every repetition. It was she who told the Reverend Matthew Mundy the legends, which he took down and first printed—with many embellishments of his own—of Jennifrid’s Leap.
There was never (let it be repeated) a Jennifrid Wichehalse. The feckless John Wichehalse, who ruined the family, had three sons and one daughter. The sons died without issue; the last vestiges110 of the family wealth being dissipated in their time by the effectual means of a Chancery suit. Mary, the daughter, married at Caerleon one Henry Tompkins, and had one son, Chichester Tompkins. She returned, in a half-demented condition, to Lynmouth, and was used to wander along the cliffs, the scene of her ancestors’ former prosperity, accompanied by one old retainer, Mary Ellis. At last Mary Tompkins fell over a steep rock into the sea, her body never being recovered; and so ended the last Wichehalse. To-day, in spite of those large families of the various Wichehalse branches, you shall not find one of that name remaining in Devonshire.
To-day the Newnes’ interest dominates Lynton. I shall draw no satirical picture of what has been made possible by the Elementary Education Act of 1869 and Tit-Bits. Such an alliance carries a man into unexpected horizons, but with so many Richmonds now crowding the field, the thing will not be so easily repeated. On the crest111 of Holiday34 Hill stands the residence of Sir George Newnes, Bart., and in the town the Town Hall he gave is a prominent object: picturesqueness112 itself, in its combined Gothic and Jacobean architectural styles, and contrasted masonry113 and magpie114 timber and plaster.
There is always, in the summer, a cheerful stir in Lynton, and the railway has by no means abolished the four-horsed coach that plies115 between Ilfracombe and this point, and even on to Minehead. But when the close of the season has come and the holiday world has gone home, what then? The hotel-keepers and all the ministrants to the crowds of visitors must surely, to protect themselves from sheer ennui116, institute a kind of desperate “general post,” and go and stay with each other, on excessive terms, to keep their hands in, so to say.
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1
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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geographical
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| adj.地理的；地区(性)的 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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jealousy
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stew
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| n.炖汤，焖，烦恼；v.炖汤，焖，忧虑 | |
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refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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cater
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| vi.(for/to)满足，迎合；(for)提供饮食及服务 | |
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gnomes
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| n.矮子( gnome的名词复数 )；侏儒；（尤指金融市场上搞投机的）银行家；守护神 | |
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gnome
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| n.土地神；侏儒，地精 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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paradox
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| n.似乎矛盾却正确的说法；自相矛盾的人(物) | |
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geographically
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| adv.地理学上，在地理上，地理方面 | |
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nether
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| adj.下部的，下面的；n.阴间；下层社会 | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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flaring
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| a.火焰摇曳的，过份艳丽的 | |
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procurable
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| adj.可得到的，得手的 | |
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gash
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| v.深切，划开；n.(深长的)切(伤)口；裂缝 | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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assailing
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| v.攻击( assail的现在分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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urn
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| n.（有座脚的）瓮；坟墓；骨灰瓮 | |
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utterly
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shareholders
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| n.股东( shareholder的名词复数 ) | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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inaccessible
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| adj.达不到的，难接近的 | |
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bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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premises
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| n.建筑物，房屋 | |
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contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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mortar
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artistically
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stereotyped
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eternity
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| n.不朽，来世；永恒，无穷 | |
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redress
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| n.赔偿，救济，矫正；v.纠正，匡正，革除 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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gilded
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| a.镀金的，富有的 | |
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relic
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| n.神圣的遗物，遗迹，纪念物 | |
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persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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persecuting
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的现在分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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narrated
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| v.故事( narrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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recreant
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| n.懦夫；adj.胆怯的 | |
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persecuted
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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redound
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| v.有助于；提；报应 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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tepid
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| adj.微温的，温热的，不太热心的 | |
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demonstration
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| n.表明，示范，论证，示威 | |
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painstaking
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| adj.苦干的；艰苦的，费力的，刻苦的 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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deriving
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| v.得到( derive的现在分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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prospered
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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manors
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| n.庄园（manor的复数形式） | |
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eminently
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| adv.突出地；显著地；不寻常地 | |
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kinsman
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| n.男亲属 | |
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wards
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| 区( ward的名词复数 )； 病房； 受监护的未成年者； 被人照顾或控制的状态 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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67
replenish
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| vt.补充；(把…)装满；(再)填满 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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69
buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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70
mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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71
scourge
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| n.灾难，祸害；v.蹂躏 | |
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72
wrangles
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| n.（尤指长时间的）激烈争吵，口角，吵嘴( wrangle的名词复数 )v.争吵，争论，口角( wrangle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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vocal
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| adj.直言不讳的；嗓音的；n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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amity
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| n.友好关系 | |
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emblems
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| n.象征，标记( emblem的名词复数 ) | |
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piously
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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consort
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| v.相伴；结交 | |
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84
wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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persecutor
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| n. 迫害者 | |
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88
clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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efface
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| v.擦掉，抹去 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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perverse
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| adj.刚愎的；坚持错误的，行为反常的 | |
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muddling
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| v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的现在分词 )；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
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abetted
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| v.教唆（犯罪）( abet的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；怂恿；支持 | |
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dispersed
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| adj. 被驱散的, 被分散的, 散布的 | |
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superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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wade
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| v.跋涉，涉水；n.跋涉 | |
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fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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99
fugitive
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| adj.逃亡的，易逝的；n.逃犯，逃亡者 | |
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vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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101
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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102
skulk
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| v.藏匿；潜行 | |
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103
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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104
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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105
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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106
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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107
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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afflicted
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| 使受痛苦，折磨( afflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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109
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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vestiges
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| 残余部分( vestige的名词复数 )； 遗迹； 痕迹； 毫不 | |
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111
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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112
picturesqueness
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113
masonry
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| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
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114
magpie
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| n.喜欢收藏物品的人，喜鹊，饶舌者 | |
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115
plies
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的第三人称单数 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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116
ennui
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| n.怠倦，无聊 | |
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