For ought I woot, he was of Dertemouth.
—obviously because of Dartmouth’s national reputation. Topsham, formerly the port of Exeter, is a truly startling instance of decline, since as late as the reign of William III. London alone exceeded it in the amount of its trade with Newfoundland. On the other hand, Bideford never possessed all the importance that Kingsley attributes to it, though relatively of much greater consequence in ancient days than at present. It is a curious fact that Ilfracombe, that popular watering-place, sent six ships to the siege of Calais, as compared with Liverpool’s one, Dartmouth contributing thirty-one, and Plymouth twenty-six.
The Black Prince was the first Duke of Cornwall, and the stannaries or tin-bearing districts of Devon and Cornwall, which in Saxon and Norman times had been a royal demesne, passed to this valiant prince and his successors. The old Crockern Tor Parliament would furnish material for a fascinating chapter in the romance of history, but the present sketch is necessarily too brief to admit of much discussion. Its regulations certainly did not err on the side of leniency. “The punishment,” says Mrs. Bray, “for him who in days of old brought bad tin to the market was to have a certain quantity of it poured down his throat in a melted state.” The most important event in the annals of Chagford, one of the stannary towns, is the falling in of the market-house on Mr. Eveleigh, the steward, and nine other persons, all of whom were killed. This sad disaster, which occurred “presently after dinner,” is the subject of a rare black-letter tract, entitled, True Relation of the Accident at Chagford in Devonshire.
Going back to the Wars of the Roses, the West of England for the most part supported the Lancastrian cause. In 1469, Exeter was besieged for twelve days by Sir William Courtenay, in the interest of Edward IV.; and in the following year, Clarence and Warwick repaired to the city prior to embarking at Dartmouth for Calais. When, however, Edward IV., seated firmly on the throne, appeared in Exeter as de facto sovereign of the realm, the citizens, forgetting past grudges, provided such a welcome for the monarch, his consort, and his infant son, that he presented the Corporation with the sword of state still borne before the Mayor. The city had given him a hundred nobles. Just twice that sum was the loyal offering to Richard III. when, in 1483, he arrived at Exeter soon after the Marquis of Dorset had proclaimed the Earl of Richmond King. A gruesome incident marked his visit, for Richard, that best-hated of English rulers, caused his brother-in-law, Sir Thomas St. Leger, to be beheaded in the court-yard of the Castle. The name, Rougemont, jarred on his superstitious nature, the reason being its similarity to Richmond. The point is referred to by Shakespeare in the well-known play:—
When last I was at Exeter
The Mayor in courtesy showed me the castle,
And called it Rougemont; at which name I started,
Because a bard of Ireland told me once
I should not live long after I saw Richmond.
In 1497, that bold adventurer, Perkin Warbeck, claimed admission within the walls, which, so far as the citizens were concerned, would have been readily granted. The Earl of Devon and his son were less accommodating, and, after Warbeck had set fire to the gates, succeeded in beating off his attack. The pretender’s next appearance in the city, where the King had taken up his quarters, was in the character of a prisoner. Henry’s conduct towards his rebellious subjects was worthy of a great prince, and affords a marked contrast to the brutality that characterized the suppression of the next revolt and the still more notorious savagery of “Kirke’s Lambs.” When brought before him, “bareheaded, in their shirts, and halters round their necks,” he “graciously pardoned them, choosing rather to wash his hands in milk by forgiving than in blood by destroying them.”