NEW BRIDGE.
Now swerving sharply to the east, the Teign develops into an estuary, and with a background of hills on either hand, those on the left rising into the broad downs of Haldon, hastens to discharge itself into the sea, flowing beneath what claims to be the longest wooden bridge in England, which connects Teignmouth on the north with Shaldon on the south. Teignmouth is an ancient fishing-village which has grown into a watering-place. If the story that it suffered at the hands of Danish pirates in the eighth century is an error due to confusion between Teignmouth and Tynemouth, it was indubitably ravaged by the French at the end of the seventeenth century. In these days its chief feature is the Den, a sandbank due to the shifting bar that obstructs the mouth of the river, but now converted into an esplanade, whence, looking inland, one sees the twin peaks of Heytor and other outlying hills of Dartmoor, while to the south, along the shore-line, appears the bold promontory known as The Ness, and on the north stand out the quaint pinnacles of red rock which the patient waves have carved into shapes that have won for them the designation of the “Parson and the Clerk.”
BUCKFASTLEIGH.
The DART may be said to attain to self-consciousness at Dartmeet, where in a deep and lovely valley the rapid East and West Dart mingle their foaming waters. The two streams rise at no great distance from each other, in the neighbourhood, as we have seen, of Cranmere Pool; and they are never far apart, but the western water follows a somewhat less consistently south-east course, past Wistman’s Wood—a grim assemblage of stunted, storm-beaten oaks, springing up amidst blocks of granite—and Crockern Tor and Two Bridges; while the eastern stream, from its source at Dart Head, speeds by Post Bridge and Bellaford, crossed at both places by “clam” bridges. Hurrying impetuously along over a shallow rocky bed, with a monotonous clatter which is locally known as its “cry,” Dart washes the base of Benjay Tor, and rushing beneath New Bridge—a not unpicturesque structure, despite its unpromising name—enters a richly timbered glade. Presently, as its valley deepens, it makes a wide circuit to wander past the glorious demesne of Holne Chase. Beyond the woods which stretch away for miles to the north-east, Buckland Beacon rears his giant form; on the other side of the stream is the little village of Holne, birthplace of Charles Kingsley, whose father was rector here. A mile or so above Buckfastleigh, on the right bank, are the ruins of Buckfast Abbey, consisting of little more than an ivy-clad tower and a spacious barn. Originating in the tenth century, this house was re-founded in the reign of Henry II., and grew to be the richest Cistercian abbey in all Devon. From the Dissolution till the beginning of the present century the site remained desolate. Then a mansion in the Gothic style was built upon it, and this is now occupied by a community of Benedictine monks from Burgundy, who have in part re-built the monastery on the old foundations.
Beyond smoky Buckfastleigh and its spire, the Dart flows among lush meadows and around wooded hills, past Dean Prior, with its memories of Herrick, and Staverton, where it is crossed by a strongly buttressed bridge. Now it again makes a bend eastwards to enclose the fine grounds of Dartington Hall. The house, partly in ruins, is commandingly placed high above the densely wooded right bank; and the oldest part of the structure, the Great Hall, dates from the reign of Richard II., whose badge, a white hart chained, appears on one of the doorways. Soon Totnes comes into view, climbing the steep right bank and spreading itself over the summit, its most salient features the ruined ivy-draped shell of the Norman castle on the crest of the hill, and the ruddy pinnacled tower of the church.
Totnes has not scrupled to claim to be the oldest town in England, and, quite half way up the acclivity, far above the highest water-mark of the Dart, they show the stone on which Brute set foot at the end of his voyage from ruined Troy. Few places can better afford to dispense with fabulous pretensions, for the evidences of its antiquity declare themselves on every hand. Its name is allowed to be Anglo-Saxon, and it is thought to be not improbable that its castle mound was first a British stronghold. A considerable part of the ancient wall is left standing, and the East Gate still divides High Street from Fore Street. Very quaint and charming are many of the old houses in the High Street, with their gables and piazzas; and the venerable Guildhall preserves its oaken stalls for the members of the Corporation, with a canopied centre for the Mayor. Below the town is the graceful three-arched bridge which connects it with Bridgetown Pomeroy, on the left bank; and from this one may descend by steps to the tiny island in mid-stream, some years ago laid out as a public garden.