as if they must be buried by each one. From Beer
Head there is a splendid view of the coast; to the east, beyond Seaton,
the landslip, and Lyme Regis, the line stretches grey and dim in the
distance towards Portland; westwards, beyond Sidmouth's red cliffs, one
sees how the land bends southward to Budleigh Salterton, and still
further south towards Exmouth.

The little inobtrusive haven of Beer was in every way convenient for
smugglers, and was naturally much beloved by them. Not more than seventy
or eighty years ago, all the people in the village were supposed to take
a share in the perils and joys of the ventures whenever they got the
chance. The greatest of their number was a certain Jack Rattenbury, who
began his life at sea when he was nine years old. Five years later he
had already decided, 'I wished to make a figure on the stage of life,'
and joined a privateering expedition. The ship was captured by the
French, and Rattenbury taken prisoner. He escaped from prison, but not
from Bordeaux, where for more than a year he was forced to stay, and he
then sailed on his own account to America, and back to Havre,
Copenhagen, and Guernsey. By the time he reached home again he was only
sixteen! His life was an unceasing turmoil: smuggling, privateering,
being impressed for the navy, and devising wiles for slipping away
again, with the variation of being taken prisoner by French or
Spaniards.

A steep road runs through lovely scenery from Ottery to Seaton. At
intervals it passes through woods, or looks down into the misty, green,
undulating country northwards; then, climbing a ridge, the sea, framed
in woods, is seen over little hollows in the distant cliffs to the
south. The road crosses a common with a few knots of wind-swept
fir-trees, and runs steeply down to Seaton. On the west side of the bay
the cliffs are a creamy white; eastwards, the shades are chiefly buff
and pale brown. The variety of their strata make the cliffs interesting
to geologists, for here are found layers of different kinds of chalk,
limestone, greensand, marls, chert, and interspersed lines of flints.

Seaton is a pleasant little town without any remarkable feature. In the
church is this curious epitaph with the date 1633 A.D.:

JOHN STARRE
. . . . . .
Starr on hie!
Where should a starr be
But on Hie?

On the east side of Seaton is the flat wide Valley of the Axe. The river
is broad and rather important