MEMBLAND, RESIDENCE OF LORD REVELSTOKE, AFTER THE STORM.
"The two plantations near the house present the appearance of hundreds of trees felled down for the advance of an invading and cruel enemy. On the carriage-drive you come across a huge tree torn up by the roots, leaving the whole road cracked as from an earthquake! By the side of this devastation, at every turn, you see the most curious sight of all,—a tree frail from age or extreme youth left untouched! The drift at the lodge was from fifteen to twenty feet deep. The lodge-keeper took one hour and three-quarters getting from the lodge to the house, on Tuesday, the 10th; a distance under three-quarters of a mile. Mr. Methyrell, a tenant of Lord Revelstoke's, residing one mile from Membland, lost fifty of his sheep. Lord Revelstoke was fortunate in not losing more than seventeen sheep and one black lamb. The village of Noss Mayo, situated in the estuary of the Yealm, in the parish of Revelstoke, has sadly lost in beauty and picturesqueness from the destruction of trees, these falling headlong in some instances on the boats of the inhabitants, and causing distress and ruin.
"Lord Revelstoke was in London—Lady Revelstoke was alone in the house with her niece, Miss Bulteel: the experience of being cut off from all communication with the neighbouring villages, the impossibility of procuring the services of Dr. Adkins were it a matter of life or death, the cessation of all postal or telegraphic communications, being told the last portion of flour was exhausted—this lasting from Monday until Saturday—all the different incidents arising from this "Great Unforeseen" are recollections which will never be effaced from the memories of the inhabitants of the parish of Revelstoke. The postman from Plymouth to Yealmpton and Newton Ferrers, including the parish of Revelstoke, deserves praise. His return was looked for anxiously by the inhabitants of Noss Mayo and Newton, morning after morning. He got to Yealmpton, and sallied forth like the dove after the flood to try and find his way to Newton, but was forced to turn back. He succeeded on the Saturday, and was hailed with delight.
"At Flete, Mr. Mildmay's place, three-and-a-half miles from Ivybridge, the damage is great, but the loss of trees not as irreparable as in other places. The family were away. But the snug little corner between Flete and Membland, at the mouth of the Erme, inhabited by Mr. Bulteel, was a haven chosen by this merciless blast upon which to vent its worst fury. The peaceful valley strewn with trees, and the beautiful laurels shattered.
"A little incident is worth recording to illustrate the friendliness and kind-heartedness of the neighbours. The town of Modbury is six miles from Pamflete. Mr. Bulteel has for years dealt with Mr. Coyte, the butcher. On Thursday, the 12th, Mr. Coyte feared Mr. Bulteel might run short of butcher's-meat; he accordingly started three men at 8 A.M. from Modbury, one man carrying a basket of meat, and the other two with shovels, for places found too impassable to ensure a footway.
"These men reached Pamflete (Mr. Bulteel's) at 6 P.M., after a struggle of ten hours to get there. It is needless to say they were welcomed by Mr. Bulteel, who was thoroughly grateful to Mr. Coyte for his kind thought."
Another account says:—"At Mount Edgcumbe Park, the principal seat of the Rt. Hon. Earl of Mount Edgcumbe, the wreck to the timber is enormous. So large are the gaps made in the groups and avenues of trees, that the unaccustomed open spaces are distinctly visible from Plymouth Hoe, and from even greater distances. Altogether, the Earl estimates his loss at two thousand trees (at Mount Edgcumbe alone), and calculates that it will take two years to sufficiently clear his park of fallen timber to enable him to again throw it open to visitors."
The reproduction of a photograph by Mr. Heath, of George-street, Plymouth, shows the entrance to Mount Edgcumbe Park. Here there are down three fine elms, each four hundred years old. One fell right across the path, the other two fell towards the lodge, which they only escaped by a few inches, the branches even sweeping off some of the slates from the roof of the building. Had the trees fallen but a little more to the north, the lodge must have been crushed like cardboard. All the way up the avenue leading to the house the trees are lying in every direction. In the private garden behind the house (the favourite resort of the Earl and his family), the beautiful cedars, known only to those who have had the privilege of visiting this retired spot, are all down or shivered where they stand. Particularly and painfully noticeable are a fine old lime, a chestnut tree, and a beautiful Turkey oak, not only rooted up but split to pieces. These the Earl describes as having been his favourite trees.