One of the notables of Paignton was William Adams, one of the many prisoners in the hands of the Turks or Saracens in the time when the English Liturgy was compiled.  It was said that the intercession “for all prisoners and captives” applied especially to them, and every Sunday during the five years he was a prisoner at Algiers, William Adams’ name was specially mentioned after that petition.  The story of his escape was one of the most sensational of its time.  Adams and six companions made a boat in sections, and fastened it together in a secluded cove on the seacoast; but after it was made they found it would only carry five of them, of whom Adams was of course one.  After the most terrible sufferings they at length reached “Majork,” or Majorca Island, the Spaniards being very kind to them, assisting them to reach home, where they arrived emaciated and worn out.  The two men left behind were never heard of again.  We had often heard the name “Bill Adams,” and wondered whether this man could have been the original.  The county historian of those days had described him as “a very honest sensible man, who died in the year of our Lord 1687, and his body, so like to be buried in the sea and to feed fishes, lies buried in Paignton churchyard, where it feasteth worms.”

[Illustration:  PAIGNTON OLD TOWER]

We could see Paignton, with its ivy-covered Tower, all that was left of the old Palace of the Bishops of Exeter, but we did not visit it, as we preferred to cross the hills and see some other places of which we had heard, and also to visit Berry Pomeroy Castle on our way to Totnes.

Behind Torquay we passed along some of the loveliest little lanes we had ever seen.  They must have presented a glorious picture in spring and summer, when the high hedges were “hung with ferns and banked up with flowers,” for even in November they were very beautiful.  These by-lanes had evidently been originally constructed for pedestrian and horse traffic, but they had not been made on the surface of the land, like those in Dorset and Wilts, and were more like ditches than roads.  We conjectured that they had been sunk to this depth in order that pirates landing suddenly on the coast could see nothing of the traffic from a distance.  But therein consisted their beauty, for the banks on either side were covered with luxuriant foliage, amongst which ferns and flowers struggled for existence, and the bushes and trees above in many places formed a natural and leafy arch over the road below.  The surface of the roads was not very good, being naturally damp, as the drying influences of the wind and sun could scarcely penetrate to such sheltered positions, and in wet weather the mud had a tendency to accumulate; but we did not trouble ourselves about this as we walked steadily onwards.  The roads were usually fairly straight, but went up and down hill regardless of gradients, though occasionally they were very crooked, and at cross-roads, in the absence of finger-posts or any one to direct us, it was easy to take a wrong turning.  Still it was a real pleasure to walk along these beautiful Devonshire lanes.