Part 6 (1/2)

Beside the great central keep a labyrinth of crumbling walls, towers and arches, mainly of Edwardian date, cl.u.s.ter together in 'most admired confusion.' Here are pointed out the remains of the chapel of St.

Nicholas, given by Montgomery to the Norman abbey of Sayes. A chamber is usually pointed out, in the building called the Exchequer, as that in which Henry VII. first saw the light; but Mr. Cobb suggests a room in the tower overlooking Westgate Hill. Unfortunately, the arms and badges noticed by Leland no longer exist to mark the scene of that interesting event.

Clambering down a flight of broken steps in an obscure corner of the North Hall, we enter the vast cavern known as the Wogan; a very curious and characteristic feature of Pembroke Castle. As we ramble over the damp and slippery floor, by such light as can struggle in through the huge sally-port and a narrow, pointed window, we find ourselves in a s.p.a.cious, natural vault sunk deep in the living rock; its rugged walls and roof festooned with hartstongue fern, and stained by oozing moisture--a weird, fantastic spot, such as the shade of the primaeval cave-dweller might frequent, should he elect to revisit the glimpses of the moon.

Sheer from the 'main Rokke' upon which the castle is founded, rises the vast, circular keep or donjon tower, which formed the central stronghold of the fortress. This is undoubtedly one of the most ancient parts of the castle, having been erected by William Strongbow the elder, 'Rector Regis et Regni,' as he proudly styled himself; who was Earl Mareschal of Pembroke during the reigns of Richard Coeur-de-Lion and John.

This imposing structure impresses every beholder by the vast proportions and stern simplicity of its mighty bulk. The ma.s.sive walls rise to a height of more than 75 feet, and are of amazing thickness and solidity; a spiral staircase, set deep within the wall, gave access to the several floors and to the rampart around the summit, which commands a wide sweep of the circ.u.mjacent landscape, with a glimpse of the winding Haven. The floors have long since fallen away, though the holes for the beams that supported them may still be seen, and two huge fireplaces with yawning archways of enormous size. Lancet-windows and loops for the archers open out here and there; one of the former, high up the wall (which appears in our sketch), retaining some touches of ornamentation.

'The Toppe of this round Towr,' as Leland quaintly puts it, 'is gatherid with a Rose of Stone;' and, despite seven centuries of rough weather and hard usage, the huge fabric appears intrinsically little the worse for wear, and capable still of making a stand ''gainst the tooth of time and razure of oblivion,' for many a long year to come.

A stroll around the outer walls, and a peep at the Monkton Tower, completes our perambulation of Pembroke Castle. With its neighbours of Manorbere, Tenby and Carew, Pembroke formed a quadrilateral, planted to guard this exposed district against attack from without: moreover, as Professor Freeman has pointed out, this time-honoured fortress has a special interest for the antiquarian student, as affording an unusually complete example of a mediaeval castle protecting a civic settlement.

In the course of a ramble around the town, we turn into old St. Mary's Church, a handsome edifice containing some curiously sculptured tombs and a brand-new reredos. A low, ma.s.sive tower rises at one end of the church; and hard by it stands the quaint cupola of the old market-house, which, adorned with a clock, and little figures of boys by way of pinnacles, makes a pretty show in the view along the High Street. Many of the older houses have an unpretentious charm about them, with their antiquated bow-windows and wide oak staircases with twisted bal.u.s.ters.

Not a few of the better sort have old-fas.h.i.+oned gardens to the rear, abloom in summer days with homely flowers, and redolent of honeysuckle, lavender and jasmine.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE OLD WEST GATE. PEMBROKE.]

Of the three town gates described by Leland, a scanty remnant of the West Gate is all that now survives. Proceeding down the main street, with the castle walls upon our right hand, we pa.s.s a group of cottages jumbled all together upon a rising bank beside the highway, whence they are approached by flights of crazy steps. A glance at our sketch of these picturesque old structures (which have already been partially 'restored' since this view was taken) will show the broken arch of the demolished West Gate, and the castle walls frowning across the roadway, which has been widened out since the gate was removed.

At the bottom of the hill we skirt the salt waters of a creek, or 'pill,' to use the local term, that 'gulfith in' beneath the s.h.a.ggy bank upon which the castle stands. Traversing the bridge, we mount upwards again, and turn aside into a hollow way where a cl.u.s.ter of thatched cottages, half hidden beneath embowering woodbine, stands high above the roadway; whence time-worn steps clamber to their lowly porches.

But, _vis-a-vis_ across the lane, rises a building whose unfamiliar aspect at once arrests our attention. This is Monkton Old Hall, whose ma.s.sive front of dark-hued stone is pierced with narrow windows, set beneath a low browed archway. Upon pa.s.sing to the rear we stumble upon a real old-world nook, where a crazy old 'Flemish' chimney rears above a curious medley of weather-stained roofs and gables.

With the courteous a.s.sent of the proprietor, we now take a glance round the interior. Pa.s.sing through a low, pointed doorway, we thread our way amidst tortuous pa.s.sages, and enter a lofty apartment.

A large stone arch in the wall at one end encloses two quaint little slits of windows (or peepholes, rather), with a similar opening lower down, overlooking the approach from the outer entrance. A tortuous stairway gives access to the upper regions, which contain various small chambers, one of them having a fine old stone chimney-piece.

But the most notable feature of the place is a large, oblong chamber cut out of the rock, with vaulted roof of Norman date supported by ma.s.sive ribs, which occupies the lower part of the house. It has a separate entrance from the road, and a big fireplace opening to the circular chimney-shaft above mentioned.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE PRIORY DWELLING MONKTON.]

Monkton Priory, of which this old hall appears to have been the hospitium, or Prior's dwelling, was founded in 1098: and was subordinate to St. Martin's Abbey at Seez, in Normandy.

Resuming our ramble, we turn through a wicket at the top of the road, and follow a narrow path that leads to the great south porch of Monkton Priory Church. The venerable edifice has a picturesque appearance; with the ruined walls and traceried windows of an ancient chapel beside the chancel, and the Norman porch breaking the line of the nave roof. Upon pa.s.sing around to the north side, we are struck by the archaic simplicity of the long, Norman nave, strengthened with vast rugged b.u.t.tresses and lighted by narrow, round-arched windows, set few and far between. The chapel above mentioned projects upon this side; and the ground is broken by traces of buildings that formed part of the precincts of the ancient priory.

The lonely dwelling to the westward was until lately used as the rectory house; an unpretending edifice, whose weather-stained coating of rough-cast partially conceals rows of old corbels, and other half-obliterated features. Looking hence across Monkton Pill we have a fine view of the castle, with its picturesque array of broken towers and bastions, and a quaint old stone pigeon-cot down in the valley which formed an appendage to that lordly _menage_. While enjoying this goodly scene, a summer shower sweeps up from the sea, and robs us for a time of the enchanting prospect: but ere long the old fortress reappears beneath a brilliant arc of rainbow, glowing in borrowed splendours under the warm rays of the declining sun.

'Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund Day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain-tops,'

as we fare cheerily forth, on the morrow's morn, to explore the remoter recesses of that secluded district ycleped the Stackpole Country.

Our footsteps echo loudly as we trudge through Pembroke's deserted street, where as yet a few half-awakened housemaids, and labouring men going to their day's work, are the only signs of life.

Nearing the railway-station we turn aside into a narrow, tortuous lane; cross the stream that fed the old town moat and, pa.s.sing a water-mill beside a disused limestone quarry, we strike up the steady ascent of Windmill Hill; catching _en route_ a glimpse of the time-worn steeple of St. Daniel's Church, now used merely as a cemetery chapel.

Upon winning the crest of the ridge the country opens out ahead, showing a cl.u.s.ter of tall church towers clear against the skyline; and then we drop sharply down one of those short, steep 'pinches' that make such heavy work for the horses hereabouts.

Groups of country-folk jaunt by to market in carts of primitive build, propelled by strong, well-cared-for looking donkeys; and thus, _a poco a poco_ as they say in Italy, we work our pa.s.sage through quiet, unfrequented byways startling a shy rabbit here and there, or flus.h.i.+ng a buxom partridge and her brood from beneath our very feet.