He had formed the
acquaintance of a young gentleman on board who was noting every object
of interest in a diary, and who, like my brother, was greatly surprised
at the white cliffs with the clear blue sky overhead. Presently the
captain came along, and the young man asked him why the rocks were
white. "Well, sir," said the captain, "the sea is as deep there as the
rocks are high, and they are so dangerous to ships in the dark that the
Government has ordered them to be whitewashed once a month to prevent
shipwreck." Out came the pocket-book, and as the captain watched the
passenger write it down, my brother looked hard in the captain's face,
who never moved a muscle, but a slight twinkle in one of his eyes showed
that he did not want to be asked any questions!
The Devon red sandstone was not very durable, and the action of the sea
had worn the outlying rocks into strange shapes. Before reaching
Teignmouth we had some good views of the rocks named "the Parson and the
Clerk," the history of which was by no means modern, the legend being
told in slightly different ways:
A great many years ago the vicar of Dawlish and his clerk had been to
Teignmouth to collect tithes, and were riding home along the cliffs on a
dark wet night when they lost their way.
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