The uncanny-looking Start has impressed itself upon the imaginations of most of those who have seen it. Polwhele, the historian of Devon, led to the thought by the fantastic solemnity of the rocky headland, and by the sound of its name, gravely assures us that here, in the dim dawn of history, stood a temple of the Phœnician goddess, Astarte, the “Ashtoreth” of the full-blooded Scriptural denunciations of the “worshippers of strange gods”; the more suave4 and worshipful Venus Aphrodite of the Greeks, fair goddess of the sea.
The Start—Start “Point” is a redundancy—has, however, nothing to do with heathen mythology5, suitable though it be, above all places, for altars of hungry sea-gods. The name of the headland is the Anglo-Saxon “Steort,” which itself means simply a point or tail; as seen in the name of the Redstart, or “redtail”; but to the[210] fanciful, these cruel rocks, the scene of so many fearful wrecks7, seem not unlike the sacrificial altars of some blood-stained superstitious8 cult9.
The Start projects far out to sea, a dark mass of gneiss rock with quartz10 veins11. It is in the uncomfortable shape of a razor-backed ridge12, with demoniacal-looking humps, spires13, and spines14 of iron-hard rock, ranging from prominences15 like the vertebræ of a crocodile’s back to sharp points in the likeness16 of hedge-stakes. The weird imagination of Doré never conceived anything in scenery more shuddery17 than that of the Start, and the coastguards, who declare that you have not seen England until you have come to the extremity18 of this difficult point, are not without some reason for their cryptic19 saying.
It behoves the stranger to be careful how[211] he comes to his exploration, for this, Λ, is the section of the Start. Sloping sides of short slippery grass at an alarming angle descend20 dangerously to the sea from the serrated skyline, and a false step will send you rolling down to those rocks that have proved fatal to full many a shipwrecked mariner22.
It is some sixty years since the lighthouse at the extremity of the point was built. The lantern of it is two hundred feet above the sea; and shows two lights, lit every evening, ten minutes before sunset: a revolving23 beam once every minute for vessels24 out in the Channel, and a constant fixed26 gleam for shore-going boats, to warn them off the Skerries bank.
But, for all these safeguards, the Start remains27 a fatal point. When a “snorter” from the south-west, or a fog, sends vessels out of their course upon this coast, they are doomed28. The lights are next to useless in foggy weather and at such time the fog-horn, bellowing29 in unearthly manner, is fraught30 with every kind of tragical31 suggestion.
Among the many wrecks of modern times is that of the Spirit of the Ocean, March 23rd, 1866, when twenty-eight out of thirty were drowned, the Gossamer32, China tea-clipper, driven ashore33 between the Start and Prawle Point in December 1868, when thirteen of a crew of thirty-one were lost; the Emilie, laden34 with saltpetre, broken up during a fog in June 1870; and the Lalla Rookh, a large vessel25, coming home from Shanghai,[212] laden with 1,300 tons of tea and 60 tons of tobacco, wrecked21 in March 1873 near Prawle Point. Shortly before the vessel struck she ran so close to the rocks that four of her crew jumped on to them as she flew by; but this was a wreck6 which did not touch the deepest note of tragedy, for in the end, all but one of those on board were saved. There was, however, a woeful waste of cargo36, and the little beaches near by, and the long three miles of Slapton Sands, were for days strewn in places with the wreckage37 of the Lalla Rookh, and ridges38 of tea eleven feet high, and trails of tobacco of almost equal size, were piled up at high-water mark by the waves.
Most dramatic was the wreck of the steamship39 Marana, in the wild blizzard40 of March 9th, 1891. As night closed down upon the wild scene off the Start, the lighthouse-keeper’s wife, looking forth41 from behind a window, upon that seething42 world of torn sea and whirling snowflakes, thought she saw a vessel drive through the smother43 of it, under the lighthouse. No help was possible, and the vessel was gone like a ghost. The tale that was afterwards told was a pitiful one.
Just before the vessel struck, and was broken in two, amidship, the crew made for shore, twenty-two of them in the lifeboat and four others in a smaller. The surf in Lannacombe Bay was so great that they dared not attempt a landing, and made for Prawle, where the lifeboat was smashed to pieces on the Mag Ledge44. Most of the unfortunate sailors were drowned, only four[213] surviving to tell the tale. A fifth, who had managed to drag himself, bruised45 and bleeding, from the rocks to land, lay down, exhausted46, for shelter, and died out there in the snow. It was not until a fortnight later that his body was found.
It was on the same occasion that the Dryad was totally wrecked at the extremity of the Start at midnight, and all hands lost. One survivor47 was seen at daybreak, clinging to a rock, but before help could reach him he was washed away.
The neighbourhood of the Start is an unsatisfactory place to be in on a day threatening rain, for it is outside roads, and the more than knee-high bracken of the coastguard paths is at such times a supersaturating growth. And the way up-along and down-along and round this way and that, past Pear Tree Point, where there are not any pear-trees (and I dare swear there never were any) is toilsome. Beyond the Point is the yellow strand48 of Lannacombe, famous for Lannacombe Mill and its miller49, who, when French privateers were here, there, and everywhere in the old rumbustious days and visited him one night, flung his money-bag out of window and found it, safe enough, the next morning, suspended in an elder-bush. The guide-books tell how the ruins of the mill may be seen, but they shyly hide themselves from some, and the other Lannacombe Mill, up the combe, which may not be historic in this small sort, is at any rate picturesque50 enough[214] to be excused a story. If one were not afraid of getting wet through on a moist afternoon, here by the clucking water-wheel and the moss-grown walls and the clear-running mill-leat should some hours be whiled away.
But the day that had gloomed at length grew damp, and necessity compelled a double-quick to the most accessible village: that of Chivelstone. On the way to it, that fine rain characteristic of Devonshire came down like smoke from the hills. “’Tes what us carls a miz-wet,” said a farm-labourer, trudging51 home contentedly52 beneath a thick covering of potato-sacks; and they do not[215] call it amiss, for the mist is undeniable, and there is no mistaking the wetness of it.
A traveller’s curse upon all landowners who suppress inns, and all villages without spirit sufficient to maintain one. Here the “Seven Stars” inn of guide-books, the only inn of Chivelstone, was not in existence, and this obviously was no resting-place. So to East Prawle, along a featureless road, in a wet and swirling53 fog, the way made musical with the howls and trumpetings of the Start fog-horn.
East Prawle ceased its growth in the act of developing from a farm-yard into a village; so that there are cottages where there should be ricks and cow-byres, and muck where there should be houses. Grass grows and liquid manure54 lies in the road, and stones and rocks in the pastures; and, altogether, Prawle, which is a very undesirable55 spot of earth, is a splendid example of matter in the wrong place.
But gentility of a kind has come to Prawle. You can never tell: the wind bloweth where it listeth; overmantels and preposterous56 photograph-frames, to say nothing of spiky57 articles of furniture in bamboo-ware, all projections58 and easily overset through the window, are to be found in the unlikeliest places. And that is how—Heaven help them and us!—they spell gentility at Prawle.
The Point—well-known by name to diligent59 readers of the shipping60 news in the daily papers—is crowned at Hurter’s Top with the Lloyd’s signal[216] station, where the vessels going out and home are “spoken.” It is a rude and jagged Point, and its rugged61 character lends it an air of greater height than it possesses. It rises suddenly out of a down, sloping towards the sea, and may be compared with the appearance of a hacked62 and uneven63 quarter of a round Dutch cheese. Off this point H.M.S. Crocodile was wrecked, and on the next westerly headland, Gammon Head, two Spanish galleons64.
All the way round from this point the great dark mass of Bolt Head shows finely, away across the arm of the sea running up between Portlemouth and Salcombe. Portlemouth, although of so impressive a name, is a meagre place on the very crest65 of the rugged upland overlooking Salcombe and the Kingsbridge River, and consists of merely a farmhouse66 with a few cottages grouped round the ancient church of St. Onolaus, otherwise, abating67 that Latinised form, the early sixth-century British St. Winwaloe. The horribly plastered exterior68 of the tower would dissuade69 many from seeking a further acquaintance with the church, by which the finely carved and painted thirteenth-century rood screen would be missed. In the churchyard, to the north-west of the tower, is a grim slate70 headstone, with a still more grim epitaph, on one “Richard Jarvis, of Rickham in this parish, who departed this life the 25th day of May 1782, aged35 79:—
“Through poison he was cut off
And brought to death at last.
[217]
It was by his apprentice-girl,
On whom there’s sentence past.
O may all people warning take,
For she was burnèd at the stake.”
The interesting person, who thus cheated the unfortunate Richard Jarvis of the few years that probably, in the course of nature, would have remained to him, was one Rebecca Downing, who was executed at the end of the following July at Ringswell, Heavitree, near Exeter; the old-time spot where Devonshire criminals and martyrs71 suffered; but this was really not quite so fearful an execution as it looks, for she was first hanged and her body then cut down and burnt. The exceptional treatment of hanging and then burning the body of the criminal was owing to the crime being, over and above that of murder, the particularly heinous72 one, in the eye of the old laws, of petit treason, the murdered person being the master of, and person in authority over, the assassin.
Coming down a breakneck path from Portlemouth to the ferry, you find yourself come, not only to an out-of-the-way spot, but to a place where, for the first time, you have a foretaste of the Cornish way of speech. Some one aboard the ferry-boat compares this arm of the sea with Fowey. “Aw, my dear man,” says the ferryman, “’tes wider yur than ’tes tu Foy: ees, feth.”
That is a kind of middle-marches compromise between the Devon talk and that of Cornwall, where, instead of say “yes, faith,” they say, “iss, fay.”
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1
looms
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| n.织布机( loom的名词复数 )v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的第三人称单数 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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3
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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mythology
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| n.神话，神话学，神话集 | |
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wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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wrecks
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| n.沉船( wreck的名词复数 )；（事故中）遭严重毁坏的汽车（或飞机等）；（身体或精神上）受到严重损伤的人；状况非常糟糕的车辆（或建筑物等）v.毁坏[毁灭]某物( wreck的第三人称单数 )；使（船舶）失事，使遇难，使下沉 | |
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superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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cult
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| n.异教，邪教；时尚，狂热的崇拜 | |
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quartz
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| n.石英 | |
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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spires
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| n.（教堂的） 塔尖，尖顶( spire的名词复数 ) | |
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spines
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| n.脊柱( spine的名词复数 )；脊椎；（动植物的）刺；书脊 | |
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prominences
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| n.织物中凸起的部分；声望( prominence的名词复数 )；突出；重要；要事 | |
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likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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shuddery
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extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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cryptic
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| adj.秘密的，神秘的，含义模糊的 | |
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20
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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mariner
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| n.水手号不载人航天探测器，海员，航海者 | |
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revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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24
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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25
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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bellowing
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的现在分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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30
fraught
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| adj.充满…的，伴有(危险等)的；忧虑的 | |
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tragical
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| adj. 悲剧的, 悲剧性的 | |
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gossamer
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| n.薄纱，游丝 | |
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ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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wreckage
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| n.（失事飞机等的）残骸，破坏，毁坏 | |
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38
ridges
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| n.脊( ridge的名词复数 )；山脊；脊状突起；大气层的)高压脊 | |
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39
steamship
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| n.汽船，轮船 | |
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40
blizzard
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| n.暴风雪 | |
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41
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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seething
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| 沸腾的，火热的 | |
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43
smother
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| vt./vi.使窒息；抑制；闷死；n.浓烟；窒息 | |
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44
ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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45
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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survivor
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| n.生存者，残存者，幸存者 | |
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48
strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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49
miller
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| n.磨坊主 | |
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50
picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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51
trudging
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的现在分词形式） | |
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52
contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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53
swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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54
manure
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| n.粪，肥，肥粒；vt.施肥 | |
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55
undesirable
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| adj.不受欢迎的，不良的，不合意的，讨厌的；n.不受欢迎的人，不良分子 | |
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56
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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spiky
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| adj.长而尖的，大钉似的 | |
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projections
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| 预测( projection的名词复数 )； 投影； 投掷； 突起物 | |
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diligent
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| adj.勤勉的，勤奋的 | |
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shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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61
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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hacked
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| 生气 | |
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uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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galleons
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| n.大型帆船( galleon的名词复数 ) | |
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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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farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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67
abating
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| 减少( abate的现在分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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dissuade
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| v.劝阻，阻止 | |
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70
slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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71
martyrs
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| n.martyr的复数形式；烈士( martyr的名词复数 )；殉道者；殉教者；乞怜者（向人诉苦以博取同情） | |
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heinous
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| adj.可憎的，十恶不赦的 | |
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