CHAPTER XVI
MOUTH MILL AND BLACK CHURCH ROCK—THE COAST TO HARTLAND—HARTLAND POINT—HARTLAND ABBEY—HARTLAND QUAY
Wild scrambling is the portion of him who would explore the coast-line between Clovelly and Hartland, and those who undertake the task, or the pleasure—and it is both—are few. The way lies by the church and Clovelly Court, adjoining: that church where Kingsley’s father was rector, and whence the novelist of “Westward Ho!” himself drew so much inspiration. Quaint epitaphs are found, notably:
“Think not that youth will keep you free,
For Death at twenty-seven months called off me.”
To visit the cliff-top of Gallantry Bower, in Clovelly Park, a fee is demanded, as also to see Mouth Mill; the receipts, in common with those paid for entrance to the Hobby Drive, being devoted, it is announced, “to local charities.” Now Clovelly is a small place, and prosperous, the receipts large, and the demands for charity necessarily small: it seems to an unprejudiced observer that the statement needs to be amplified. Moreover, it is not altogether fair that visitors should be taxed by the owners of Clovelly Court, who receive an excellent rent-roll from Clovelly village, and should thus relieve themselves of a natural obligation to return in charity a percentage of the tribute they are paid.
CLOVELLY, FROM THE SEA.
But now for Mouth Mill. Disregarding all notices with such flapdoodle as “Private,” and “Trespassers will be prosecuted,” generally known among lawyers as “wooden liars,” you turn from Clovelly churchyard into a farmyard, then left and then right, along some park-like paths; soon finding yourself on a rough upland in company with a rude signpost pointing a wizened finger “To Hartland.” On the right is a gate marked “Private,” leading into a woodland drive. Taking no notice of that impudent attempt to warn the inoffensive stranger off a remarkably pretty coast scene, you descend through the woods by a well-defined road, and come at last to Mouth Mill; one of the typical gullies of this coast, with a stream losing itself on a beach composed of giant pebbles and strange, contorted rocks. A lonely cottage, the usual limekiln, and a landing-place, obviously where the Clovelly Court coals are landed, are the items completing the scene. A pyramidal rock of almost coal-black hue discloses itself as you scramble down to the sea. This is Black Church Rock: a huge mass with a hole in the middle of it, and all its strata on end.
CLOVELLY CHURCH.
The unimpeded cliff-path scrambler can find a way from this beach up Windbury Head. Arrived there, in absolute solitude, down dives the path again, and up to the gigantic mass of Exmansworthy Cliff. Here the going is extremely difficult, but the scenery is sufficient reward, even for these exertions. Fatacott Cliff, the loftiest of all these ramparted outlooks, midway between Clovelly and Hartland, is the scene of many a shipwreck. Few winters pass without some unfortunate vessel ending here.