But the most important departure from the port was in 1620, when the Mayflower sailed for America with the "Pilgrim Fathers" on board. She was only a little barque of 180 tons, and was sadly tossed about by the big waves in the Atlantic. But after enduring many hardships, the emigrants landed on the barren shores of Massachusetts Bay, and named the spot where they landed "New Plymouth," that being no doubt what Elihu Burritt had in his mind when he described Plymouth as "the Mother Plymouth sitting by the Sea," for so many emigrants had gone from there to America and other places that there were now quite forty places named Plymouth in different parts of the world. The place whence the "Fathers" left the port on their perilous journey was afterwards marked with a stone. This we went to see, but we were driven off the Hoe by a heavy shower of rain.
THE "MAYFLOWER STONE," PLYMOUTH HARBOUR.
Plymouth was also the last port of call in Europe of the ship Northumberland bound for St. Helena, with Napoleon Bonaparte on board; and we thought it a strange incident of travel that the list of distinguished visitors here in 1871 should have included (in addition to ourselves of course!) the names of the unfortunate Emperor Napoleon III, and his still more unfortunate son, who had been there about a fortnight before we arrived. During that year the French agreed to pay the great indemnity which the Germans demanded, and which it was said laid the foundation of the prosperity of the German Empire.
(Distance walked twenty-three and a half miles.)
Wednesday, November 15th.
We left our hotel at daylight this morning, having made special arrangements last night for a good breakfast to be served in time for an early start, for we had a heavy day's walk, before us. We were now in sight of Cornwall, the last county we should have to cross before reaching Land's End. We had already traversed thirteen counties in Scotland and fourteen in England since leaving John O' Groat's. But an arm of the sea named the Hamoaze separated us from Cornwall, and as our rules prevented us from crossing it either by boat or train, the question arose how we were to get across the water, which was one of the greatest naval anchorages in the world, and near the great dockyards in which the Government employed some thousands of men. We had come that way in the hope of seeing some of the big warships near Devonport, and at length we came to the great railway bridge at Saltash. The thought occurred to us that we might reach the Cornish coast by walking over the bridge to the other side. We had walked across a railway bridge on one occasion in Scotland to enable us to reach Abbotsford, the former residence of the great Sir Walter Scott, so why not adopt a similar plan here? We were some time before we could find a place where we could scale the embankment, but ultimately we got on the railway and walked to the entrance of the bridge; but when we reached the path at the side of the bridge it looked such a huge affair, and such a long way across the water, that we decided not to venture without asking some advice. We waited until we saw coming along the railway track a workman, to whom we confided our intention. He strongly advised us not to make the attempt, since we should run great bodily risk, as well as make ourselves liable to the heavy fine the railway company had power to inflict. We rather reluctantly returned to the road we had left, but not before seeing some of the big ships from the bridge—the finest and last of the iron tubular bridges built by the famous engineer Brunel, the total length, including approaches, being 2,200 feet. It had been opened by H.R.H. the Prince Consort in 1859, and was named after him the "Royal Albert" Bridge. We had now to leave the main road and find our way across country, chiefly by means of by-lanes, until we reached Tavistock, where there was a bridge by which we could cross the River Tavy. We had become quite accustomed to this kind of experience, and looked upon it as a matter of course, for repeatedly in Scotland we had been forced to make a circuit to find the "head of the loch" because we objected to cross the loch itself by a ferry.
THE "ROYAL ALBERT" BRIDGE, SALTASH
We had only proceeded a mile or two beyond the great bridge at Saltash, when we came in sight of the village of St. Budeaux, at the entrance of which we came upon a large number of fine-looking soldiers, who, we were informed, were the 42nd Highlanders, commonly known as the Black Watch. They were crossing a grass-covered space of land, probably the village green, and moving in the same direction as ourselves, not marching in any regular order, but walking leisurely in groups. We were surprised to see the band marching quietly in the rear, and wondered why they were not marching in front playing their instruments. The soldiers, however, were carrying firearms, which quite alarmed my brother, who never would walk near a man who carried a gun—for if there was one thing in the world that he was afraid of more than of being drowned, it was of being shot with a gun, the very sight of which always made him feel most uncomfortable. He had only used a gun once in all his life, when quite a boy, and was so terrified on that occasion that nothing could ever induce him to shoot again. He was staying at a farm in the country with a cousin, who undertook to show him how to shoot a bird that was sitting on its nest. It was a very cruel thing to do, but he loaded the gun and placed it in my brother's hand in the correct position, telling him to look along the barrel of the gun until he could see the bird, and then pull the trigger. He did so, and immediately he was on the ground, with the gun on top of him. His cousin had some difficulty in persuading him that the gun had not gone off at the wrong end and that he was not shot instead of the bird. It was one of the old-fashioned shot-guns known as "kickers," and the recoil had sent him flying backwards at the moment of the noise of the discharge—a combination which so frightened him that he avoided guns ever afterwards.