he edge of the estuary--were once
owned by the family of De Albemarle, which name was gradually
transformed into Damarel, and in this guise is not uncommon in the West
to-day.

Two and a half miles farther on is Exmouth--a town fortunate in the
delightful views on every side. The sea stretches away to the south; on
the north-east the hills rise towards Woodbury Common; on the west lie
the broad, shining reaches of the river, and beyond them the beautiful
heights of Haldon. Here 'Ex taketh his last tribute with a wider channel
and curled waves, shedding itself into the sea.'

Exmouth has a rather curious history. In the early part of the
eighteenth century it was little more than a hamlet, chiefly consisting
of fishermen's cottages; but soon afterwards it became a fashionable
watering-place--according to report, because one of the judges on
circuit was charmed with the sea-bathing here. The town continues to
flourish and is greatly patronized by visitors. The strangeness of the
history lies in the fact that Exmouth should ever have been reduced to
such a humble condition, for it inherited great traditions. When the
Danes descended on it in 1001, they found there a town and a castle, and
being 'valiantly repelled by the guardians' of the latter, they revenged
themselves by burning the town.

In the reign of King John, Exmouth was a port of some consequence, and
when Edward III was at war with France it was able to contribute no
fewer than ten ships for an attack on Calais. Risdon says there was
'sometime a castle, but now the place hath no defence than a barred
haven and the inhabitants' valour.' It is a little puzzling that both he
and Westcote, writing about the beginning of the seventeenth century,
should imply that the old fortress had no successor, for a very few
years later Exmouth was garrisoned for the King. Either a fort must have
been erected in the short interval, or some building turned into a
tolerable substitute, for in the spring of 1646 'Fort Exmouth' was
blockaded by Colonel Shapcote, and defended with great courage by
Colonel Arundell. It capitulated less than a month before the surrender
of Exeter.

CHAPTER III

The Otter and the Axe

'Dear native brook! Wild streamlet of the West!
How many various fated years have past,
What happy and what mournful hours, since last
I skimmed the smooth thin stone along thy breast,
Numbering its light leaps! yet so deep imprest
S