"A Chronicle Of The Old Exe Bridge"
A sad and somewhat macabre tale from the Westcountry Library archives.
By Daniel Cray
(It's 'reprinted from the "Torquay Directory," November 7th, 1900' and 'communicated by A.J. Davy.' I tried editing it down but gave up because I like all of it- Dan)
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The autumn of the year 1537 was remarkable for the continued deluge of rain which fell upon the fair pastures of Devon, causing great destruction of cattle, crops, and homesteads, from the rapid rise of the great many rivers and streams. There were not wanting persons who looked upon these things as portentous signs of a great judgement of God, for the sins of the King and his counsellors in the suppression of many of the many lesser monasteries which had been so zealously effected the previous year.
Loud and bitter had been the cry which was raised in Exeter from the various monastic establishments, and many of these discomfited ecclestiastics, scattered and driven throughout the land, were ready to forebode dire calamities as a just visitation upon the nation for their sufferings. On the other hand, the citizens of Exeter (at least those in the reformed interest) were not slow to remember the many oppressions they had borne under the hands of these too arrogant monks and friars, and also the martyr, Benet, whose terrible death at the burning stake at Liveydole, a few years previously, was yet vividly painted in their memories. They derided triumphantly these irritated churchmen, whose power was no longer dreaded, and whose fearful ban of excommunication now fell harmless. Further than this, causes of irritation on one side, and triumph on the other, were found in the Lord Cromwell's edict for providing a copy of Miles Coverdale's English Bible (lately issued from a Continental press), to be chained and secured in the churches for the use of every inquirer and reader. Few, indeed, were found equal to the latter requirement, but he who had the skill willingly gave himself to the task as willingly as the crowds listened to the
STRANGE TALE
of God's own gift to man.
Such were the scenes and such the contending feelings which existed at the period of the commencement of the English Reformation. Among the eager listeners at the daily reading of the Bible, at the church of St.Edmund on Exe Bridge were occasionally to be seen two fair haired maidens, twin sisters, of the age of about eighteen, just blooming into womanhood; not marvels of beauty and loveliness, but comely and well proportioned. There was, moreover, in each of their countenances a cast of sorrow which usually excited a sympathetic interest in the hearts of those who looked upon them; and, withal, there was in these two maidens a gentleness of manner and modesty of behaviour which betokened an early acquaintance with grief. Never had they been noticed together at the desk which supported the precious volume for their duties at home forbade it; but at one time or another each of their young hearts had been entranced by the wondrous and comforting truth which the worthy saddler, Morris Walrond, had read to his wondering auditors.
Agnes Selden and her sister, Margery, fed one another with precious truth: each communicated what the other had heard. Few and rare indeed were their opportunities, but they were valued and improved. The Book had comforted their lone hearts, and had reconciled them to many trials. Left orphans at an early age, they had been committed to the charity and care of a distant relative, in whose house at the Bridge-end they resided, and performed it's menial duties. Mistress Cove was one of those stern and uncompromising spirits whose word is law, and from whose dictum there is no appeal. Moreover, her heart had never been warmed with maternal tenderness. Her husband, a sturdy armourer and citizen soldier of the Marquis of Exeter's troop, was often suddenly summoned from his home at the call of arms. In many respects Mistress Cove well matched her husband, for neither of them had much experience of those gentle emotions which animate less callous hearts.
The disaffected feelings feelings consequent upon the dissolution of the monasteries were exhibited first openly and formidably in Lincolnshire, subsequently more alarmingly in the north, under one Aske, whose enterprise was styled
"A PILGRIMAGE OF GRACE."
To Doncaster the Marquis of Exeter had proceeded, with his band of Devonshire followers, to check Aske's southward progress. Amongst the number was Master Cove, the armourer. But in this expedition negotiation disarmed the insurgents of their power, and the soldiers were (as was usual) ordered to disband and return to their respective homes. Master Cove returned to Exeter, in company with those citizens who were his companions in arms, though his return was not in much haste or good speed, as the continued rains had rendered the roads dangerous and troublesome to pass over. On reaching the East Gate of the old city, the little troop were beset with many an anxious enquiry as to the success of the expedition, and many were the opinions and conjectures as to the results of the great revolution which had taken place in the old-established religious opinions of the country.
"Marry, and those priests and monks had a fat life on't, and thought but evil of us poor soldier folk- now they are fairly distraught, and e'en crave a morsel and sup from a poor knave."
So said Master cove, and strode on from amongst the crowd, leaving his more garrulous companions to answer the numerous enquiries.
The portal of the West Gate enshrouded another knot of old companions in arms and lounging "Algerines"- as these "West Enders" had been nicknamed by their old opponents, the "Grecians," beyond the East Gate.
"Hallo!-Hallo!-Hallo!" shouted a trio of these worthies, as Master Cove was seen making way his through the deep slough towards the gate. Old Grindall , the porter, was the first to hail him with the enquiry, "What news of the Lord Marquis, worthy armourer, and of thine own batterings amongst these lazy monks?"
"Aye, aye, worshipful sirs and old Grindall Gate!" (as he was won't to be called) "news enough; but of the peaceful kind- hard words in the room of hard knocks."
"But what of the Lord Marquis, good Master Cove? A valiant and doughty knight, I trow, as any in the broad land of old Denshire."
"Aye, aye, Master Grindall, a good knight and a gentle-one who cares for his followers as well as for"-
"Bah, hold thy peace," exclaimed an old grim-visaged, scar-marked man-at-arms, who had charge of the cresset which hung over the archway, and who had just finished ordering it for the night, his hands begrimed with the grease and tar which filled it. "If these citizen soldiers had felt a few of the Frenchman or Scotchman's
HARD KNOCKS
upon their sconces, they would think less of their comforts and easements. What is the meeting of a score of cudgel players and churchmen?"
"Silence! old grumbler. I think the Scotchman's claymores have touched thy brain box. Thou should'st have one of my proof morions, and then thou would'st have have had need of less lustihood and less skilful handling of thy weapon- an old dotard; but let his tongue wag while it may. But let us pass on, good folk, there must be no more loitering now, as the smithy at the Bridge-end has wanted the hand and eye of the master long enough."
So saying, The armourer passed over the old bridge to his home, above the doorway of which swung his sign of "The hammer in hand," the device rudely painted, with his name above it, and the motto "Strike hard!" beneath the sign. It was easily distinguished at the city end of the bridge.
Although the armourer possessed none of these tenderer feelings which endear man to his home, he experienced a feeling of satisfaction as the well known sign with its appropriate emblem caught his eye. He paused to look at the turbid swollen volume of the Exe, as it made its way with seeming difficulty between the narrow arches, the projecting cut-waters at the same time throwing back the tide with an eddy of foam and a dull gurgling sound. Deep, dark and rapid was the waterway, as he gazed upon it. Amid the wrecks of destruction that floated down he espied a poor dog vainly endeavouring to turn aside out of the current, and howling as the remorseless waters hurried him on till he was no more seen. "Aye poor brute," said the armourer, "thine errand is soon done." The rain had fallen with but little intermission since our traveller and his companion left the hostel the previous night; and just as the armourer reached his own door it again fell heavily. The heavens were darkened by heavy clouds, surcharged with their watery burden about to fall upon the already too much saturated earth. The wind, too, was beginning to howl in a most melancholy and foreboding tone; and our armourer felt but little regret when he reached the covert of his own good rooftree.
"How now, good wife! Dost make no more ado of thy liege lord's safe return from a dangerous expedition than of the restoration of an old-mended kettle?"
"Marry! The old kettle's come to no harm; so be content that thou hast found thy household in
PEACE AND GOOD VICTUALS,
and a blazing log for thy welcome. Ho, Margery! Hither (the good wife continued), and carry off thy kinsman's gear, which bears no marks of worse usage than a pattering shower could make upon them. And as for thy hose and buskins, these blazing logs will soon dry them. Well! and how fared these noisy marauders in the north and my lord of Exeter? Thine own damage is but scant, if any, but it will be well if the strife be so easily quelled in Devonshire, as I hear there be gatherings of the old faith, who will doubtless blaze out anon; but what matters it? These knaves of priests have lost their gains, and the new-comers must needs switch out the old comers."
"Aye, wife, thou art right. Instead of preaching friars, we have now preaching readers of the new-fangled book from foreign parts. For my part, I have no mind for such things; and as to the gathering"-
"But husband," she interrupted, "let me forewarn thee that thou hast those within who think as much of those matters as thou, and thy wife lack to think of them; but, anon, the wenches are coming. What of thy doings in the north?"
Margery and Agnes, on entering the apartment to attend to their mistress's calls, respectfully and cordially greeted their kinsman, and busied themselves to wipe dry his arms, and to deposit them in their accustomed place, and further employed themselves about their ordinary duties. The wind continued to howl, and the rain was blown in furious gusts against the casements, which rattled in their frames.
"Marry, but what of the North?" again asked the wife.
"Why, d'ye see, my Lord of Norfolk must e"en be merciful, and let the villains go free. Fair speeches on one side, and fair promises of submission on the other, ended the business; and so thou hast thy husband home again sound and unscathed."
"Husbands," replied Mistress Cove, "are nowadays like golden angels, but rarely seen, while the lone good wife at home is valued at less than a groat."
"So thou say'st," answered her lord, who wished to avoid a discussion; "but what of the varlets in the smithy? A gay time, I ween, they've had on't. How fare's my lord's back plate?"
"The lazy carls told me it wanted the master's hand upon't, but the knaves gained naught by that; I've held them hard at work on tasset hinges, buckles, and rivets."
"Aye, that's the way with the lazy crew- ever ready with an excuse; but they shall ply the hammer and anvil to a tune that will make their visages
GLOW LIKE THE FORGE FIRE.
Now, wife, a cup of thy choice Hippocras, and then a bed: the roistering crew last night kept me wakeful, and the accomodation of the 'Silver Crescent' was none of the best. Now, wenches, to bed! By my fay, 'tis a wild night. To bed, I say, wenches, to bed!"
The armourer's household speedily betook themselves to their several dormitories; Cove and his wife to their chamber adjoining the common room, raised from it by a single step. The river flowed beneath, and the house projected over it in the manner of buildings of those days, at about six feet above the water. Now the river had risen nearly level with the floor, and could be distinctly heard splashing against the protruding timbers which supported it.
"Mercy on us! By my halidame, 'tis a foulsome night!" exclaimed the wife. "Hearken!" Hear ye not the splash of the tide against the floor timbers? And how the old beams crack! What a fearful howl! The saints preserve us."
"Tush, wife," said the armourer, "art afraid of a muttering storm? Let's see how it looks abroad."
Opening the casement with this intent, his own sinewy arm was again dashed back again, and, at the same time, a rush of wind and rain extinguished their light, and left them to grope to their couch in total darkness.
"Such another night as this," said the armourer, "we passed in watch and ward at Doncaster, while that mongrel rout were consulting as to the terms proposed to them by my Lord of Norfolk. But I'm too drowsy, wife, and thy Hippocras hath finished what my day's journey hath left of strength in me."
The wind continued to blow in fearful gusts, dashing the rain against the casement as it descended in torrents; the river rolled on with crushing sound through the narrow arches of the bridge, and under the projecting stories of the houses on either side, rushing in and out and dashing among the old timbers and brackets which held them up; while the furious blasts of the wind howled and moaned as it found its way about the lumbering crevices and large boards of upper stories. Then, sometimes, the crash of a chimney, or of the loosened tiles from the roofs falling into the river, made up the dismal concert of most terror-striking sounds.
Such was fearful night passed by the good citizens of Exeter in ___A.D. 1537; but let the city historian, Richard Izaacke Esq., relate in brief the substance of the foregoing narrative and its
REMARKABLE SEQUEL:-
"There fell abundance of Rain, which made the Waters so high and violent, as that one of the piers of Exebridge fell down. In the evening of the day precedent, one John Cove (who had been at Doncaster under the command of the Marquess of Exeter) was returned home to his house beyond the said Bridge, and the same night, being in his Bed, one end of his house went to the waterside and fell down. His servants in the Chamber over him in bed asleep fell into the River and were drowned, but he and his Wife, lying in a low Room, were carried into the River, bed and all; he commanded his Wife not to stir, and he, using sometimes his hands and then his Feet, instead of Oars, kept himself on the West side of the River, out of the violent stream, there glyding, and (through God's great mercy) got on an Hillock, where the Waters were shallow, and so both recovered the shore in safety."
On the subsidence of the water, the bodies of the sisters were found under the ruins of the fallen house, locked in each other's arms, but sadly crushed and disfigured. The harder natures of Master Cove and his wife were subdued by the remembrance of the melancholy fate of these maidens, and their own almost miraculous deliverance, and neighbour Walrond, the Bible reader, used the opportunity of throwing in words of divine counsel and comfort, so that the Bible reading at St.Edmunds was not without it's good fruits.