Here was no sign of war. As far as this portion of the
Devon coast was concerned, that seemed to have been over for
many years, but neither were there any people. Yet I could
not find it within myself to believe that I should find no
inhabitants in England. Reasoning thus, I discovered that
it was improbable that a state of war still existed, and
that the people all had been drawn from this portion of
England to some other, where they might better defend
themselves against an invader.

But what of their ancient coast defenses? What was there
here in Plymouth Bay to prevent an enemy landing in force
and marching where they wished? Nothing. I could not
believe that any enlightened military nation, such as the
ancient English are reputed to have been, would have
voluntarily so deserted an exposed coast and an excellent
harbor to the mercies of an enemy.

I found myself becoming more and more deeply involved in
quandary. The puzzle which confronted me I could not
unravel. We had landed, and I now stood upon the spot
where, according to my map, a large city should rear its
spires and chimneys. There was nothing but rough, broken
ground covered densely with weeds and brambles, and tall,
rank, grass.

Had a city ever stood there, no sign of it remained. The
roughness and unevenness of the ground suggested something
of a great mass of debris hidden by the accumulation of
centuries of undergrowth.