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their vessel was taken by a Turkish man- | ried their boat down to the shore. But, of war, and Adams, with six of his ship- alas! they had no sooner launched their frail mates, was carried off to Algiers, where vessel than they found it would only hold he and his companions endured for five five out of the seven captives; two were years all the hardships of slavery. By the therefore obliged to stay behind, whilst end of that time their bold English natures the others, bidding them a sorrowful farecould bear captivity no longer, so they de- well, set sail, the only provisions they were termined to make their escape. It was a able to take with them being a little bread difficult matter, watched and warded as and two leathern bottles of fresh water. they were, but faint hearts never won fair It was upon the 30th of June that these ladies, and, nothing daunted by the obsta- five brave, trustful-hearted men launched cles which they knew they should have to their little boat upon the great waters, overcome, they set about their prepara- where they were destined to see many tions. fearful wonders which made their "souls melt within them because of the trouble." In a short time the fresh water which they had hoarded with so much care began to smell, and on the third day their small stock of bread, already spoiled by the salt water, was finished. Added to this, the labor they had to undergo in order to keep the boat free from water was incessant, the fierce sun all the while scorching them, and the salt water, which the man who was employed in emptying the boat cast upon the others to cool them, horribly blistering their backs. Then indeed "their hearts began to fail them, and they were at their wits' end." Hungry-eyed famine stared them in the face, and on the fifth day they lost all hope of reaching Minorca, the haven to which, by help of a pocket compass during the day and of the stars by night, they had been endeavoring to steer their course. So they ceased plying their oars, and sat crouching down in the boat, looking listlessly over its rocking sides on the bright, dancing, pitiless waters, so soon, as they deemed, to be their fathomless grave. But suddenly they saw in the far distance a tortoise floating upon the shining surface of the sea; then hope once more tremblingly passed the threshold of their hearts; they silently clutched their oars again, and rowed stealthily towards the animal, their eyes greedily fixed upon it, their minds conscious of nothing else at that moment, around, beneath, or above them; at last they neared it, and ere it was aware of them they seized upon it, cut off its head, fed upon its flesh, and drank its blood for lack of water. Refreshed and strengthened, they plied their oars with renewed courage, and about noon that very day-oh, sight of joy!-their longing eyes described a thin gray line stretching along the far-away horizon. Misty it might be; low down and distant, but

Their plan was to construct a boat in separate parts, to be put together when they reached the coast. A wild-goose scheme it seemed, and who was the originator of it or whence he derived his idea we are not told. Perhaps he had heard of something of the same kind, only on a far larger scale, which had been planned and executed some hundred years before when Vasco Nunez made his men cut down trees on the northern coast of the isthmus of Darien, and, after carrying them over lofty sierras and along almost impassable roads to the river Valsa, had the wood fashioned into ships wherein to navigate the great Pacific. But whether William Adams and his shipmates had heard this story and its disastrous ending or not, certain it is that they in their small way proceeded on the same plan. Fortunately for the success of their scheme, the master of one of them had allowed him the convenience of a cellar in which to place the goods that he was accustomed to trade with for his master's advantage, and here it was that the captives in their few and often stolen moments of leisure carried on their operations. The first thing they did was to make a keel in two portions; then they fashioned the ribs, and next, to render their boat water-tight and the use of boards unnecessary (for they feared the noise they would be obliged to make in hammering them would betray their secret), they provided as much stout canvas as would make a double covering for the little skiff, and this they saturated well with tallow, pitch, and tar, so as to convert it into a kind of tarpauling. Lastly, they procured enough sailcloth to make a sail. These things they carried out of town at different times and in small parcels to a valley about half a mile from the sea, where they fitted the several portions together, and then, unobserved, car

still it wavered not nor melted into air. So, rejoicingly they steered towards it, and ere the night closed in upon them the mountains of Minorca-cloud-like stillloomed upon their gaze. Morning light revealed still more clearly to their watching eyes the friendly coast, and by ten o'clock that night they had landed. Then, indeed, were they "glad, and gave thanks unto Him who had brought them unto the haven where they would be." Immediately they had run their boat ashore, some of the party went in search of food, nor had they wandered far before they came upon a Spanish watch-tower, and no sooner had they told their wondrous story than their astonished hearers hasted to load them with food, which they joyfully took to their companions, who, meantime, had found a stream near at hand, by the side of which they all sat down, and having eaten and drank with thankful hearts they laid them down to sleep.

village of Berry Pomeroy, so named after the noble family of Pomarai. It is impospossible to guess what the castle which they once inhabited, and now lies in ruins, must have been in its palmy days, so little now remains to show the ancient magnificence of a place respecting which it is said that it was no light day's labor for a servant to open and shut the casements of the windows, at present draperied only with ivy and ferns. No traces are there now of the former splendor of its chambers, once adorned with statues of alabaster, chimney-pieces of marble, and ceilings of the most delicate fretwork; in vain, also, we looked for any remains of the noble terrace walk that formerly extended before the great entrance, and was all arched over with freestone, elaborately carved and ornamented with various devices, and supported in front by stately pillars; whilst in the opposing wall were placed stone seats cut in the form of scallopshells, wherein delicate ladies and weary pilgrims might rest and feast their eyes the while on the lovely views before them, the undulating wooded heights and verdant glades, wherein were standing stately trees, beneath whose shade herds of dappled deer rested amongst the bracken, and there found shelter from the noontide heat.

Next morning they made diligent haste to the town, where they were kindly welcomed by the viceroy, and hospitably entertained by the citizens, who were so struck with the recital of their adventures that they caused the canvas boat to be brought up from the shore, and placed as a votive offering in their great church, where a traveller saw the ribs and skeleton still hanging in the year 1771. As soon as William Adams and his shipmates had recovered from the hardships they had undergone, they took their passage on one of the King of Spain's ships bound for Alicant, whence they sailed for England, where they arrived in safety in the month of September of the same year.

William Adams lived many years after this adventure, made numerous voyages, became a prosperous man, and spent his green and peaceful old age in the village which had been his birthplace, and where, to use the words of his biographer, "he died in the year of our Lord 1687, and his body, so like to feed fishes, lies buried in Paignton Churchyard, about four miles east of Totness, where it feedeth worms." A little while after reading this story of Adams, we made an excursion in the neighborhood of Paignton, and tried to discover his grave in the churchyard there. But we sought in vain; none of the mossgrown tombstones bore his name: the place that had known him knew him no more. On our return the evening of that day to Totness, we halted at the little

Here the Pomerais had their dwelling for upwards of five hundred years, holding their state amongst the greatest in the land; not only marrying their daughters to some of the principal peers of the realm, but allying themselves with the blood-royal itself. Famed too they were for pious deeds, one of them giving this very lordship of Biry, afterwards redeemed by his brother, to the monks of Gloucester; another employing large sums of money in restoring the magnificent Abbey of Buckfast. Time would fail us to enumerate the largesses bestowed by these noble barons upon the church; but before we take leave of them altogether, let us glance over the romantic story of Henry de la Pomerai as given in these chronicles. It appears that he took arms against his liege lord King Richard, then in the Holy Land; and, in behalf of John, expelled the monks from their home on St. Michael's Mount, turning their convent into a fortress. But "hearing soon after of his sovereign's enlargement," so writes old Hollinshed, "he died with thought," or, as another says, "the very fear of ensuing harm wrought

in him a present effort of the utmost that any harm could bring, and that was death." Evening had closed in when we drove back from the castle to Totness, and beautiful were the changing lights that glowed in the sky, and steeped the nearer hills in a golden mist, whilst the heights of Dartmoor stood up calm and dark against the deep purple heaven, the steep crags of Haytor lifting higher still their sharp crests into the living light of the sunset. Now that Totness has been mentioned, we may as well see whether Prince mentions it as the birthplace of any of his Devon worthies. Yes, curiously enough, he says it was celebrated in the good old time for its lawyers, as indeed were many other towns in Devonshire, according to quaint Dr. Fuller, who asserts that "the natives of this county seem innated with a genius to study law, there being no other in England, Norfolk only excepted, who by the practice thereof have raised such great estates." But it is not of lawyers alone that Totness can make her boast, for though George Carew, Baron of Clopton, and son of Dr. Carew, Archdeacon of Totness, was born at Exeter, the town can claim him as being the first of her earls to whom she gave a title. And well the gallant soldier deserved his dignities, if we may judge from the following letter which Queen Elizabeth wrote to him with her own hand after he had quelled the rebellion in Ireland:

MY FAITHFUL GEORGE,-If ever more services of worth were performed in shorter space than you have done, we are deceived among many eyewitnesses; we have received the fruit thereof, and bid you faithfully credit that whatso wit, courage, or care may do, we truly find they have been thorowly acted in all your charge. And for the same believe that it shall neither be unremembered nor unrewarded. And in the mean time believe my help nor prayers shall never fail you. Your Sovereign that best regards you.

E. R.

Certes, those were times worth living in, and this without any disparagement to the present. Brave, high-hearted, noble, and generous old times, when a queen could so write, and a subject so deserve such praise. "Not unremembered-not unrewarded;" sweet, touching, inspiring words, well fit to nerve the arm and invigorate the heart amidst the din of battle, or of wordy conflicts waged in the Councilchamber. Not unrewarded in life-not unremembered after death! Who would


not gladly have sacrificed himself in the service of such a mistress, if so be that he might add one more jewel to her already lustrous crown?

It was, however, by Charles I. that Sir George was created Earl of Totness, after having been constituted Lord President of Munster, and Master of the Ordnance in Ireland, by Queen Elizabeth, and Governor of the Isle of Guernsey and Castle Barnet by King James, who also advanced him to the dignity of a Baron of the realm. It was not only as a gallant soldier, a skillful commander, or an able statesman, that George Carew was famed; in his early days he had studied at Oxford, and though the profession of arms had been dearer to him in his youth than that of arts, he afterwards became imbued with a love of letters, and distinguished himself as an ele gant scholar as well as a great patron of learning. We can not have a better proof that it is possible for the professions of lite rature and arms to be combined and cultivated at the same time with equal success, than is to be found in the fact that during the three years in which he was Lord President of Munster, and incessantly engaged in conflicts with the rebellious Irish, and with the Spanish army which was overrunning the province, he contrived to find, or rather make, time for writing an account of all the events of the war. Thus, like the great Marquis of Montrose, Sir George Carew had that in him which would have enabled him to make the lady of his love not only "glorious through his sword, but famous by his pen." To his commanding talents he also added quali ties which shed such a beautiful and peculiar lustre over greatness-simplicity of mind, grace and dignity of manner, and modesty unfeigned.

There were other Carews in Devon not less illustrious than the Earl of Totness; amongst them Mr. Thomas Carew, whose history is too romantic to be entirely passed over in our talk about Devon worthies. When a quite young man he fell in love with his brother's ward, the daughter of Sir Philip Courtenay, she being a great fortune, and, carrying her away secretly, he married her, to the great displeasure of his brother and the young lady's grandfather. So, to appease them, the bridegroom determined to absent himself for a time, and went to the wars, in which he soon found an opportunity of distinguishing himself, at the Battle of Floddenfield,


after the following wise. Before the battle began a brave Scottish knight sent a challenge to an English gentleman to come out and fight with him for the honor of his country last sparks these of the dying flame of chivalry, so soon to be utterly extinguished. Thereupon, Mr. Carew begged permission of the Lord Admiral Howard, then commanding the king's army (in those days men often filled double offices with honor to themselves and their country), to answer the challenge. His request being granted, Mr. Carew met his adversary in open field, and overcame him, "to his high commendation and great endearment with the Lord Admiral ever after," which affection was greatly increased, as well it might be, by a service which Mr. Carew was enabled to render his general soon after. But we will read the account of it in the words of his biographer:

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The enemy coming on to this narrow passage, Mr. Carew, in his rich habit, well mounted, crossed the bridge with his horse, and for a time so valiantly defended the same that no man could pass; that way gaining time, the numbers between them being very unequal, for the Lord Admiral's escape. However, Mr. Carew was at last taken prisoner, to the no little joy of the enemy, who thought they had taken the general himself, as indeed by the richness of his armor they had reason to imagine. But in fine, finding themselves deceived, they courteously carried him to the Castle of Dunbar, lying twenty Scotch miles to the east of Edinbro', in Scotland, where he was courteously entertained by the lady thereof, who, having a brother then a prisoner in England, hoped by the advantage of an exchange to have him delivered to her again.

The lady there was always affable and courte ous to her prisoner, but the keeper of the castle was of a malicious and churlish nature and dealt most cruelly with him. As an instance of which, as Mr. Carew was sitting by the fireside in his chamber, he came suddenly upon him with his sword drawn, and an intention to murder him, which he, timely perceiving, took up the chair whereupon he sat to defend himself, which, using his best skill to defend his life, he managed so well that he gave his keeper a deadly wound; whereupon, more help called in, he was presently cast into a deep dungeon, and kept there in such a

cruel manner that he fell dangerously sick. However at last he was redeemed and so returned to

his manor at Bicklegh, after which the Lord Admiral never forgot the noble services Mr. Carew did him, but ever entertained him with all courtesy and friendship, made him his vice-admiral (!!), and assisted him in all his affairs.

Truly romantic passages were these in the eventful life of Mr. Carew; beautiful are these traits of generous, prompt, and brave self-sacrifice! Greater love can no man show for his friends than to lay down his life for them, and this Mr. Carew was ready and eager to do for his gallant chiefhe who had so lately left his girl-bride that he might prove to her relatives and his own how worthy he had been to win. her whom in that passage of the bridge he could have scarcely dared to hope he should ever see again, yet for whose sake, and for the sake of that which was dearer to him still, he was ready to give up all, if so be that he might leave an honored name behind him. She too, in the lonely moated house where she passed the early days of her widowed wifehood, how sadly must the time have passed with her during the dreary months of her husband's captivity; yet doubtless her heart would at times exult, and her eyes fill with proud tears, remembering the cause for which he was suffering. And when from the highest turret of Bicklegh she looked forth and beheld him returning to his nobly won wife and his long-left home, how would all her cares and anxieties-the weary watching days and sleepless nights, now gone by for ever, be forgotten in the bliss of that moment-bliss so great that at first it would seem well-nigh akin to anguish.

We have wandered far from home, but ere we return we will once more visit the neighborhood of Totness, for the purpose of taking a look at Dartington, and lingering awhile in the great Hall-the only part still remaining of the ancient mansion which has seen so many generations pass in and out of its portals. A right stately Hall it is, with its lofty roof and its long row of noble Gothic windows, overlooking a wide extent of hill and valley, and the tortuous windings of the silver Dart, one of the loveliest of Devonshire rivers. Within these mantled old walls, all now with ivy, their only tapestry, the christening feast in honor of the infant Lord John Holland was celebrated some 450 years ago. A princely christening

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feast in truth it must have been, aptly | Raleigh thus apostrophizes the Destroyer? shadowing forth the splendid life of the "O eloquent, just, and mighty Death, child who was the subject of it. In our whom none could advise thou hast perold book we read that on that memorable suaded, what none has dared thou hast occasion the infant noble was presented done, and whom all the world hath flatwith a cup of gold, curiously wrought tered thou hast only cast out and despised; in the form of a lily, and filled to the thou hast drawn together all the farbrim with gold coins, by his sponsor, the stretched greatness-all the pride, cruAbbot of Tavistock, that the Prior of elty and ambition of man, and covered it Plymton also gave him a purse of gold, all over with these two narrow words, and that he was carried from the Hall to 'Hic jacet." the church in the arms of his godmother, the Lady Pomerai, whose husband walked on one side of her, and Sir John Dinham on the other, "conducting her by the arms," whilst twenty-four men marched before them each with a torch in his hand, which was kindled so soon as the baptismal rite was concluded, and the young lord's sponsors had promised for him that he should renounce the pomps and vanities of this wicked world, a promise that his after-life would seem to show he had scarcely cared to keep. Both the kings of England in whose reigns he lived appear never to have been weary of showering dignities upon him. Henry V. constituted him his general by land and sea; made him Governor of Melhun, and Constable of the Tower of London, whilst on Henry's death he went to the siege of Compiegne, whence he returned to attend the coronation of Henry VI., solemnized at Paris; and not long afterwards he was made Lord High Marshal of England. Being sent as ambassador to the city of Arras, he obtained permission from the king to carry with him certain treasures in gold and silver, rich gems, splendid vestments, and woolen cloth, for the manufacture of which England was famed. Seven years afterwards he was created Duke of Exeter, with the special privilege of having place and seat in all parliaments and councils next to the Duke of York. Lastly, he was constituted Lord High Admiral of England, Ireland, and Aquitaine. Namerous grants of money and lands were also made to him, and he was blessed with three wives, all of them of noble family, and of whom the third survived him many years. But "at last this great person, after he had seen all the grandeur of this world, and was himself a good part thereof, yielded to fate in the year 1447, not being fully arrived at the fiftieth year of his age." And what more fitting epitaph could be inscribed upon his tomb than those striking words in which Sir Walter

The Duke's tastes, like every thing else connected with him, seem to have been splendid; of this we have one instance in the chalice made of beryl, and adorned with gold, pearls, and precious stones, which he presented to the high altar of the church of St Catharine, in which he was buried. A pompous funeral it must havé been, judging from the large sums of money he bequeathed to the priests and clerks of the House of St. Catharine, for their "great labor and observance on the day of his burying." Perhaps it was the conviction, from personal observation, of the worthlessness of such labors and observances, which caused his wife Anne, with a wisdom beyond her husband's, to forbid her executors from making any great feast" at her funeral, "or having a solemn hearse, or any costly lights, or largess of liveries, according to the vain pomp of the world," but only what might be sufficient to the "worship of God;" for which purpose she left particular legacies, further directing her executors to find an "honest priest to say mass and pray for her soul, her lord's soul, and all Christ ian souls, in the chapel where she should be buried, for the space of seven years: her lord having already ordained that four honest and cunning should pray yearly and perpetually," not for all Christian souls, but only "for his soul, and those of his wives, and his sister Constance, and for the souls of all his progenitors." The Duke left two children behind him a daughter Anne, to whom he bequeathed. his "white bed, with popinjays;" and a son Henry, to whom he left "all the stuff of his wardrobe." Little did he then guess what would be the fate of that gallant and luckless son of his, whose sad story we must let his biographer relate in his own words:

"He was a very brave soldier, but unfortunately engaging on the weakest side (by the support of the tottering house of Lancaster), he perished un

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