"Ah, John Pearce," said Palk, "I tell thee that the Warren Inn is the highest public-house in all England, and one must live up to one's elevation."
On his return to Tavistock he would as likely as not appear on a platform and harangue on total abstinence.
The story is told, I believe, of Captain Palk, that on his marriage he opened a drawer, drew out a pair of breeches, flung them to his wife with, "Molly, put them breeches on."
"Why, John, be thou mazed?"
"I tell thee, thou hast sworn to obey. Put them on this moment."
After some further remonstrance and hesitation, the wife complied.
"How dost thou think they fit thee, Molly?"
"Why, John, not at all."
"Then, Molly, never thee try to wear 'em, as long as we are together. The breeches pertain to me, and to me only."
In driving to Vitifer one winter's day, the snow came on, and on mounting Merripit Hill he and his horse were exhausted, and could no longer face the snow-laden blast, and he drew aside into a sand-pit that opened on to the road. The snow accumulated, a drift was formed, and they would have been buried, had not some miners passing come to the rescue and extricated him and his trap and horse.
He had some stout Moor men working under him. Joe Hamlyn had mined at Birch Tor for seventy-five years in 1864. Jacob German had been on the same works for sixty years, and had left them only once, and that for a single month to do navvy's work on the line to Moreton from Newton Abbot.
Palk liked a hare, when he could get one, and Jacob could generally provide him with one.
