[Illustration:  EGGARDON HILL.]

Our present goal—­Bridport—­is one of those pleasant old English towns, cheerful and bright, and to outward seeming entirely prosperous, which make the average Londoner who has to earn his living long for the chance to try his fortune there.  For the traveller on his first visit a great surprise is in store; with a name such as this one pictures in advance a place of quays on a sluggish river, fairly wide and very muddy, opening to the sea, with the conventional loungers, tarry and fishy scents and a fringe of lodging houses.  But nothing could be farther from the truth.  Here is no evidence of the sea at all, and although West Bay, the real “quay” of Bridport, is less than two miles from the High Street, the town seems to be surrounded by hills and to be solely concerned with the neighbouring farmers and their interests.  The only direct relation with marine affairs is the important manufacture of fishing nets and “lines” for which Bridport has been noted for many years.  To say “he was stabbed with a Bridport Dagger” was a polite way of breaking the news that your acquaintance had been hung!  Leland was quite deceived by this old joke, probably ancient in his time—­the sixteenth century, and refers to the dagger industry in perfect good faith.  The arms of the town are three spinning hooks behind a castle; this proves that the industry is no modern one and until lately hemp was one of the staple products of the country immediately around.

Ten pounds only were spent on the defences during the Civil War and the inhabitants seem to have made as half-hearted an attempt in opposing the Royalist besiegers as in the preliminaries of warfare.  Charles II arrived here in his flight towards Sussex and rested at the George Inn, but the identity of this hostelry seems in doubt.  There is a “George” at West Bay that claims the honour of sheltering Charles.  The one in High Street has been pulled down save a small portion incorporated in a chemist’s shop.  When leaving, the party of fugitive Royalists turned northwards down Lee Lane, their pursuers continuing along the Dorchester road.  A memorial stone by the wayside records the escape of the King, who was in his groom’s dress with Mrs. Coningsby riding pillion behind.

[Illustration:  BRIDPORT.]

A skirmish in which the Duke of Monmouth’s officers, with the exception of Colonel Wade, emerged with but small credit to themselves took place on the morning of June 14, 1685.  After marching through the night from Lyme the unfortunate yokels who made up the Duke’s “army” displayed much coolness and bravery in the fight recorded on a memorial in the church to “Edward Coker Gent, second son of Robert Coker of Mapowder, Slayne at the Bull Inn at Bridpurt, June the 14th An.  Do. 1685, by one Venner, who was a Officer under the late Duke of Monmouth in that Rebellion.”