Not far away is Barnstaple Bridge, with its many arches, spanning the river Taw—the scene of one of Tom Faggus’s exciting adventures. Westcote has a quaint tale concerning the origin of this stately bridge, which, he declares, was due to two maiden ladies, sisters, who were spinsters in both senses. Not only did they spin themselves, but they taught young children the art, and with the proceeds of their industry brought about the completion of the first two piers. Nor was this all. They obtained a license to go a-begging among good and charitable people with a view to accumulating funds for the finishing of the structure.
A terrible episode in the history of Barnstaple was the visitation of the plague in 1646. This came direct from the Levant in a vessel laden with wool, and after decimating Bideford, extended its ravages to the larger town. There is a gruesome tradition on the subject, which is worth recording, and may possibly have some foundation in fact. It is as follows. Four brothers, sons of Thomas and Agnes Ley, were fishing on the banks of the Taw, when the tide floated up a bundle. This they drew to the shore, and discovered that it was simply bedding and rugs, which had no doubt been the property of a
sailor, and had for some reason been thrown into the sea. The sequel rendered it well-nigh certain that the poor man had died of the pestilence, with which all four brothers became infected, and of which they all died. As a precaution against the further spread of the disease, the corpses were ferried across the river to the Tawstock bank, and interred at high-water mark. Here a monument was erected to their memory, and an enclosure formed by seven elms, which, through some confusion, resulted in the spot being named the “Seven Brethren Bank.” In 1791 a certain Elizabeth Horwood made a copy of the inscription on the tombstone, which she described as standing in Higher Pill Marsh, on the east side of the gut that emptied itself into the Taw, a little above the higher Tawstock marsh and bank. The epitaph, apparently genuine, is stated to have been:—
“To the memory of our four sweet sons, John, Joseph, Thomas, and Richard, who immaturely taken from us altogether, by Divine Providence, are Hear inter’d, the 17 August, Anno 1646.
“Good and great God, to thee we do resigne
Our four dear sons, for they were duly thine,
And, Lord, we were not worthy of the name
To be the sonnes of faithful Abrahame,
Had we not learnt for thy just pleasure sake
To yield our all as he his Isaack.
Reader, perhaps thou knewest this field, but ah!
’Tis now become another Macpelah.
What then? This honour it doth boast the more,
Never such seeds were sowne therein before,
Wch shall revive and Christ his angells warne
To beare with triumphe to the heavenly Barne.”
From tragedy to romance. Mr Charles Cutcliffe, of Weach, a solicitor residing at Bideford, is the narrator; Madam Chichester, daughter of the Rev. Charles Howard, and relict of Arthur Chichester, of Hall, the lady implicated, and the Rev. George Bradford, the eloping parson. The incident is succinctly related in the following letters—with a rider.
“May 21, 1728.—There was a very great storm at Pill last Friday. I mean within doors, for that morning abt one, the parson of Tawton and Madm Chichester ridd away together without a servt, in order to be married; but where the jobb was done, I don’t yet hear with certainty. The parson yesterday made a visit in his coach, and no doubt looks very grand.
“June 9, 1728.—I think I wrote you that the Viccar of Tawton had married Madm Chichester. I must now acquaint you that Cozn Moll Chichester was married to Mr Waldron, her old sweetheart, the Monday following, but not discovered till last week. I had the pleasure yesterday of bringing father and daughter together at Pill, where all things were perfectly reconciled, and am forthwith to prepare an handsome settlement.”