NATURAL CURIOSITIES OF DERBYSHIRE.
Extracts from the Journal of a Tourist.
For the Table Book.
Buxton, May 27, 1827.
***I was so fortunate as to meet at the inn (the Shakspeare) at Buxton with two very agreeable companions, with whom I dined. The elder was a native of the place, and seemed well acquainted with all the natural curiosities at Buxton, and in the county of Derby. The name of the other was H——, of a highly respectable firm in London, sojourning at the Wells for the benefit of a sprained leg. He accompanied me on the following morning to visit an immense natural cavern, called Pool’s Hole, from a freebooter of that name having once made it his place of abode. It is situated at the foot of a steep hill, the entrance low and narrow: it is 696 feet in length, penetrating into the bosom of the mountain, and varying in height from six to fifty or sixty feet. Our guides were two old women, who furnished us with lights. There is in it an incessant dripping of water, crystallizing as it falls, forming a great variety of grotesque and fanciful figures, more resembling inverted gothic pinnacles than any thing else I could imagine: it was with great difficulty that we could break some fragments off; they are termed by naturalists stalactites. A scene so novel and imposing as the interior of this gloomy cave presented, with its huge blocks of rocks irregularly piled upon each other, their shapes but indistinctly visible from the glare of the torches, was of that kind as to leave an indelible impression on my mind. It has many very large and curious recesses within; one of which is called Pool’s chamber, another his closet, and a third his shelf. The continual falling of the water from the insterstices in the roof upon the rocks beneath, causes holes on them, which are not formed by the friction of the water itself, but by its gradual crystallization immediately around the spots whereon it drips. The utmost extent that can be reached by a human foot is called Mary Queen of Scot’s Pillar; from that point it becomes dangerous and impassable.
After dinner we made a short excursion along the banks of the river Wye, called Wye-dale; a walk, which from the grandeur of the scenery, and its novelty, (for I had never before seen any of the Peak scenery,) will be long imprinted in vivid colours on my recollection. In some parts the river flowed smoothly along, but in others its motion was rapid, impetuous, and turbulent: huge fragments of rock, disunited from the impending crags, divided the stream into innumerable eddies; the water bubbled and foamed around, forming miniature cataracts, and bestowing life and animation to the otherwise quiet scene. On either side, the rocks rose to a great height in every diversity of shape; some spiral, or like the shattered walls or decayed bastions of ruined or demolished fortresses; others bluff, or like the towers of citadels; all covered with a variety of coarse vegetation, among which the stunted yew was the most conspicuous; its dark foliage hanging over the projecting eminences, gave an expressive character to surrounding objects. A few water-mills, built of rough unhewn limestone, presented themselves as we followed the windings of the stream, having a deserted and silent appearance.
It appeared to me probable, that the now insignificant little stream was, in by-gone distant ages, a mighty river; the great depth of the valley, excavated through the rocks, could scarcely have been caused but by the irresistible force of water. The lesser vales diverging from it in some parts, favour the conjecture that they had been formerly some of its tributary streams: in one of these, which we had the curiosity to ascend, we observed a small rill. After a slippery ascent on the rough stones of which its bed was formed, we reached a mineral spring, issuing from a fissure in the rock, and depositing a greenish copperas-like sediment at the bottom; we found some beautiful specimens of mosses and lichens.
I inquired of a passing peasant what fish the Wye could boast of. “Wee (Wye) fish to be sure,” said he: by which I understood him to mean, that there was in it only one species of the finny race of any consequence, and that trout.
It was late before we gained our inn; we had walked upwards of six miles in that deep and romantic dale.
28th. This morning I enjoyed a beautiful ride to Tideswell, along the banks of the Wye, about seven miles. The road wound up the sides of lofty hills, in some parts commanding views of the river flowing in the vale beneath; not so high however, but that the murmur of its waters, mellowed by the distance, might be heard by the traveller. Tideswell possesses a handsome church; from the steeple arise four gothic spires.
29th. Went forward to Castleton, down the hills called the Wynyats, by the Sparrow Pit mountain; the ride took me over some of the wild and barren hills which surround Buxton on every side. The immediate descent to Castleton is from a steep mountain more than a mile in length, and is only to be effected by a road formed in a zigzag direction. A fine view of the rich vale beneath presents itself from this road, having the appearance of a vast amphitheatre, for nothing is to be seen on any side but mountains; it is of great fertility. The most remarkable mountain is Mam-Tor; its height is 1301 feet. One of them I learnt was called the “Shivering” Mountain; the reason for which being, that after severe frosts, or in heavy gales, large quantities of earth separate from one side of it, which is nearly perpendicular. At the foot of Mam-Tor there is a lead mine, called Odin; from whence is procured the famous fluor spar, of which so many articles of utility and ornament are made. Castleton is by no means a handsome town; it has narrow dirty streets, and a deplorably rough pavement. The objects worthy of notice near it are, a celebrated cavern, called Peak’s Hole, and a venerable ruined castle, situated on the rock immediately above it. It was built by William Peveril, to whom the manor of Castleton was granted by William the Conqueror.
On the path leading to the cavern, a streamlet is followed, which issues from that extraordinary wonder of nature; the approach is grand and striking; the perpendicular cliffs above are solemnly majestic—their height is about 250 feet. The arch of the first and largest chamber in this cavern is stupendously broad in its span. The top of the mountain along the edges is fringed with a number of fine elms, wherein there is perched a rookery, a singular situation of the noisy tribe: lower down are innumerable jackdaws, which build in the ledges of the rocks.
The span of the grand arch is 180 feet; the length of the first cave 220 feet. A number of labourers in it are employed at rope walks, making twine, &c. From the roof hang immense spiral masses of petrified water, or stalactites. The entrance to the interior is through a small door at the further end: the visiter is there directed to stop and gaze at the arch of the first cavern; this is a most striking object; the very livid colour of the light admitted, with the bluish-white reflection upon the surrounding rocks, reminded me forcibly of the descriptions of the infernal regions by Virgil, Milton, and other poets. Torches are here put into your hands: the passage is narrow and low, and you reach an immense hollow above you in the roof, called the Bell House, from its resemblance to that form; the same stream is then seen which was followed on your approach; on it is a small shallop. I was directed to extend myself along its bottom with the guide, on account of the rock being in this place but fourteen inches from the surface of the water, which in depth is only four feet. I was then landed in a cavern more stupendous than the first; the whole of it was surrounded with a number of rugged rocks of limestone, which seemed to have been tossed and heaped together by some violent convulsion of nature, or by the impetuosity of the water that swells to a great height after heavy and continued rains. This is called Pluto’s Hall; and when a distant gallery, formed by a ledge of rocks, was illumined by the light of some dozen of candles, the effect was the most imposing of the kind I ever witnessed. There is a continual dropping of water; and after passing a ford, I reached what is called “Roger Rain’s” House, from its always dripping there. A little further on is a place called the Devil’s Wine Cellar, from which is a descent of 150 feet; it becomes terrific in the extreme: immense arches throw their gloomy and gigantic spans above; and the abyss on one side, which it is impossible for the vision to penetrate to the bottom, adds to the intensity of the horror. This wonderful subterraneous mansion is 2250 feet in length.
30th. At Bakewell, one of the pleasantest of the small towns in England, there is an excellent hotel, called the Rutland Arms, belonging to the Rutland family, and under its patronage. The church is situated on a rising ground. There is a neat stone bridge over the river Wye, and the silvery stream winds the adjoining vale. The view from the church-yard is enchanting. The two rivers, the Wye and Derwent, form a junction at some little distance, and beyond are wood-tufted hills sloping their gentle elevations. Haddon Hall, one of the finest and most perfect of the ancient baronial residences in the kingdom, is seen embosomed in the deep woods.
Bakewell is celebrated as a fishing station. The fine estates of the Devonshire and Rutland families join near it.
In the church-yard I copied, from the tomb of one who had been rather a licentious personage, the following curious
Epitaph.
“Know posterity, that on the 8th of April, 1737, the rambling remains of John Dale were, in the 86th year of his age, laid upon his two wives.
“This thing in life might raise some jealousy,
Here all three lie together lovingly;
But from embraces here no pleasure flows,
Alike are here all human joys and woes.
Here Sarah’s chiding John no longer hears,
And old John’s rambling, Sarah no more fears;
A period’s come to all their toilsome lives,
The good man’s quiet—still are both his wives.”
Another.
“The vocal powers here let us mark
Of Philip, our late parish clerk;
In church none ever heard a layman
With a clearer voice say Amen:
Who now with hallelujah’s sound
Like him can make the roofs rebound?
—The choir lament his choral tones
The town so soon—here lie his bones.”
E. J. H.
June, 1827.