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WILD LIFE AT THE LAND’S END
[Illustration: Andrew Stevens]
WILD LIFE
AT THE LAND’S END
OBSERVATIONS OF THE HABITS AND
HAUNTS OF THE FOX, BADGER, OTTER
SEAL, HARE, AND OF THEIR PURSUERS IN
CORNWALL
BY J. C. TREGARTHEN
LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET
1904
PREFACE
THE sports described have led me to some of the wildest and weirdest
spots of West Cornwall. There are few tracts in England more rugged than
the northern part of the peninsula that lies between the Land’s End and
St Ives. It is possible to travel across the moors from Crobben Hill to
Chapel Cairn Brea without setting foot on cultivated ground. It is a
boulder-strewn waste, void of trees, where the grey of the granite
mingles in spring and autumn with the gold of the gorse that, with
heather and bracken, clothes the undulating surface.
To the lover of nature the wild aspect of these breezy uplands is not
without its charms; but the glory of the promontory is the ocean in
which it is set. The great rampart of cliffs that holds back the
Atlantic is broken here and there by beaches of white sand or minute
shells, or by coves into which fall the trout-streams that rise in the
granite hills above. Along the tangled valleys they water, many an
interesting picture arrests the eye; but whether it be a holy well, an
old mill, a grove, a rustic bridge or fishing-hamlet, all is in tender
miniature, like the streams themselves or the modest hills where they
bubble to the light.
In these valleys bird-life is rich. On a spit of sand you may chance on
the footprints of an otter, whose harbour by day is some rocky holt
along the cliffs; where the blackthorns are densest you may come across
a badger’s earth, and see the paths he has trodden in going to and fro.
This creature is very plentiful—as plentiful indeed as the hare is
scarce. Generally he shares the same earth with the fox. On the north
coast the seal shows no sign of decrease; thanks to its tireless
vigilance, and the inaccessible caves it frequents.
These surviving mammals add to the attractions of a coast and
countryside over which broods the silence of a mysterious past. The
fascination which these creatures have for me dates from boyhood, when I
once caught a glimpse of a badger stealing over a cairn in the grey of
early dawn; and the Earthstopper, wandering with dog and lantern over
the moors, presents a picture that has often appealed to me.
If the descriptions, however crude, serve to awaken old associations in
some readers, or to excite the interest of those who have never visited
the sunny “land of the three shores”; above all, if the sketch of the
Earthstopper helps to preserve the memory of a master of his craft, my
hopes will be fully realised.
ROSMORRAN, SIDCUP.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. THE EARTHSTOPPER UNDER THE STARS 1
II. THE FOX-HUNT 14
III. FOX-HUNTING, AS IT WAS IN THE DAYS OF
QUEEN BESS, quoted from _Carew’s
Survey of Cornwall_, 1565 34
IV. THE OTTER—TRACKING THE WILY VARMINT 36
V. THE OTTER, _continued_—THE
EARTHSTOPPER’S VIGIL 48
VI. THE OTTER, _continued_—THE OTTER AT THE
LAKE 64
VII. THE OTTER, _continued_—THE HUNT 71
VIII. THE WHITE BADGER OF CAIRN KENIDZHEK—THE
EARTHSTOPPER IN DOUBT 85
IX. THE WHITE BADGER OF CAIRN KENIDZHEK,
_continued_—THE EARTHSTOPPER ANGRY 100
X. THE WHITE BADGER OF CAIRN KENIDZHEK,
_continued_—THE BADGER’S CAPTURE AND
ESCAPE 112
XI. THE HARE—LIFE STORY OF THE JACK OF
BARTINNEY 130
XII. THE HARE, _continued_—DIGORY STROUT AND
FARMER PENDRE 145
XIII. THE HARE, _continued_—THE COURSE 152
XIV. A MIDNIGHT VISIT TO THE SEAL-CAVES 167
XV. REMINISCENCES OF BOYHOOD’S DAYS 186
XVI. BASS FISHING AT THE LAND’S END 206
XVII. NED’S TALE OF THE BIRDS 221
GLOSSARY 235
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
ANDREW THE EARTHSTOPPER
(_Photogravure_). (_From a photograph
by Richards, Penzance_) _Frontispiece_
_Face page_
THE EARTHSTOPPER ON TRENGWAINTON CAIRN.
(_From a photograph by Richards,
Penzance_) 12
THE FOX. (_From a photograph by C.
Reid_) 26
FOX-CUBS. (_From a photograph by C.
Reid_) 34
TOL PEDN PENWITH. (_From a photograph by
R. H. Preston, Penzance_) 38
LAMORNA MILL. (_From a photograph by R.
H. Preston, Penzance_) 44
LAMORNA, SHOWING CAIRN DHU HEADLAND.
(_From a photograph by R. H. Preston,
Penzance_) 52
THE OTTER. (_From a photograph by
Quatremaine, Stratford-on-Avon_) 64
A HAUNT OF THE OTTER. (_From a
photograph by R. H. Preston,
Penzance_) 82
CAIRN KENIDZHEK. (_From a photograph by
Gibson & Sons, Penzance_) 88
THE BADGER. (_From a photograph by C.
Reid_) 110
ST BURYAN CHURCH. (_From a photograph by
R. H. Preston, Penzance_) 130
STONE CIRCLE AT BOSCAWEN-UN. (_From a
photograph by Gibson & Sons,
Penzance_) 138
SANCREED CHURCHTOWN. (_From a photograph
by Gibson & Sons, Penzance_) 150
CHAPEL ST UNY WELL. (_From a photograph
by Gibson & Sons, Penzance_) 156
ZENNOR CHURCHTOWN. (_From a photograph
by R. H. Preston, Penzance_) 166
A STREET AT ST IVES. (_From a photograph
by R. H. Preston, Penzance_) 168
HELL’S BAY. (_From a photograph by W.
Cooper, St Ives_) 178
NEST OF SEAGULL. (_From a photograph by
Gibson & Sons, Penzance_) 190
ST MICHAEL’S MOUNT. (_From a photograph
by R. H. Preston, Penzance_) 194
SENNEN COVE. (_From a photograph by
Gibson & Sons, Penzance_) 206
PORTHGWARRA. (_From a photograph by R.
H. Preston, Penzance_) 210
A HAUNT OF THE RAZOR-BILL. (_From a
photograph by Gibson & Sons,
Penzance_) 220
THE HOME OF THE CORMORANT. (_From a
photograph by Gibson & Sons,
Penzance_) 226
THE LAND’S END. (_From a photograph by
R. H. Preston, Penzance_) 232
WILD LIFE AT THE LAND’S END
CHAPTER I
THE EARTHSTOPPER UNDER THE STARS
IT was an hour after midnight when the Earthstopper of the Penwith Hunt
left his cottage on the outskirts of Madron. He carried a lantern and a
rough terrier followed at his heels. His track led, by lanes in the
heather, over a cairn to the furze-clad downs overlooking the lake.
To the West, sombre hills rose against the jewelled vault where the
stars in the depths of the frosty sky kept watch over the slumbering
earth. Half-way over the downs, beneath the roots of a stunted pine, was
a fox-earth. The old man knelt down and stopped it with faggots of
furze. The light of the lantern lit up his strong and kindly face, and
fell on the heap of sandy soil at the mouth of the earth.
Leaving the downs he turned towards Penhale, skirting the marshy ground
in the trough of the hills, and climbing a steep rise made for a
crag—playground of many litters—beneath which lay the next earth.
Furze bushes screened the entrance and hung like a pall on the slope.
The wind wuthered round the rocks and stirred the rushes in the fen
below; but the Earthstopper gave no heed to these whisperings of the
night, and paused but for an instant, as he bent over his work, to
listen to the bark of a fox in the pitchy darkness beyond. His way now
lay across a bleak waste. Rude monuments of a grey past dot its surface
and a solitary cottage overlooks its desolation. No path led along the
line he was taking: cromlech and monolith in ghostly outline guided his
steps.
The Earthstopper’s progress was slow, for the surface was rough and the
bogs treacherous, but yet he was getting nearer and nearer to Cairn
Galver, which rose like a cliff from the moor, its crest silhouetted
against the deep sapphire of the heavens.
“Good God, what’s thet?” said he, as a fiendish scream awoke the echoes
of the rugged hills. “Don’t sound like et, but et must a’ come from thet
cottage over theere. Iss sure, theere’s a light in the winder. Semmen to
me ’tes uncommon like murder.”
He had taken but a few stumbling steps along a track into which he had
turned, ere the faint thud of hoofs fell on his ear. More and more
distinct through the night came the sound, broken at times by a shout. A
rocky hollow lay in front of him; down which rider and horse came at a
furious pace, splashing the water as they dashed through the stream
below. Breasting the rise at the same frantic speed they were over the
brow and almost upon the Earthstopper before he was aware, and scarcely
had he jumped aside when they galloped past him.
Merest glimpse though he got of the man, he recognised him, for his face
was turned towards the light as it lay over the horse’s neck. It was
Jago the miner.
“Good Lor’, what’s the maanin’ of et? Why don’t eh stop the hoss?”
“Don’t take me for a Jack-o-Lantern, s’pose?”
Some distance along the stony track the clatter of the hoofs ceased. The
Earthstopper ran towards the spot.
“Where are ee, why don’t ee spaake?”
“Heere, An’rew, quick as you can.”
A minute later the Earthstopper, with one hand resting on the mane of
the heaving horse, was looking up at the miner’s blanched face.
“What’s the matter wi’ ee, Jago? you looked skeared.”
“Steve es killed by a faal o’ ground. We brought un hoam an hour agone.
Et wor moore nor Mawther could stand. Her rason’s clane gone.”
“Can I help ee?”
“No thank ee, An’rew.”
In breathless haste he spoke, and with a shout he was gone, his path
picked out in sparks, as the good horse without bridle or rein covered
the ground to the slumbering village.
Andrew stood peering through the night till the tiny fires died away and
the beat of the hoofs struck faint as the footfall of a child.
This incident had unnerved the lonely Earthstopper.
More than once as he ascended the Galver he turned his head, though
without staying his steps, to see that it was but the terrier that
followed him. Panting from the hurried climb he rested on a boulder of
the cairn and set the lantern down on the turf at his feet. The bitch
nestled between her master and the flickering flame.
The stars shone in all their splendour, but it was the glow-worm light
that crept through the gloom below which riveted the Earthstopper’s
gaze.
“Well, Vennie me beety, theere’s death and worse nor death in thet
theere cottage, and et’s shook me tar’ble, but our night’s work must be
got through somehow or theer’ll be no spoart to-day. With this wind a
fox es moast sure to make for Zonnor Cliffs.
“Come, me dear, ’tes cold up heere, two mile waan’t see us to cliff, and
thee must furst run through the radgell on the Little Galver.”
So, taking up the lantern, he went to the clitter of rocks and sent the
bitch in. He could follow her by the patter of her feet as she ran
through the cavernous hollows. On coming out at the far end of the rocks
she awaited her master and, when he came up, took her place at his
heels. Before leaving the high ground the Earthstopper stood listening
for a few moments with his face towards Madron, whither Jago had ridden
to summon the doctor. Hearing nothing, he made his way down the slope of
the cairn to the rugged waste that stretches away to the Northern coast.
Their work was now done till they reached the cliffs. He seldom spoke to
his dog in going from one earth to another, and to-night he had enough
to think about.
Thirty years of wandering under the stars had matured the philosopher
within him.
“Mine’s a wisht kind of a life, mine es; but so long as health and
strength do laast ’tes grand to traapse the moors and circumvent the
varmints. I know evra inch o’ thes eere country, evra patch o’ fuzze,
and evra pile o’ rocks, and the stars be moore to me nor to moast folks.
The eearth es beetiful, ’tes a pity to laave et, and when we do wheere
do we go to? The ways o’ the birds, the enstincts of evra wild crittur,
the min’rals I’ve blasted in the bal under the saa, the dimants up
theere, tell me plain enuf theere’s a Maister-hand behind et all. All of
ee say theere’s a God, but why are ee quiate as the grave about the
Better Land?”
The distant stars glittered in the silent vault, the wind was heedless
as the moor it swept, and there was no answer in the far-off mystic
murmur of the sea.
His sinewy strides soon brought him to the edge of the cliff. Two
hundred feet below, the Atlantic lashed the rocks and raged in the
caverns.
“Well, auld Ocean, I can hear ee ef I caan’t see ee. Hope theest heaved
up no dead thes tide. Lor’, how the gools do scraame, to be sure! but
’tes moosic and ’tes company to thet scraach on the moor”; and he
shuddered at the thought. Half trusting to the tussocks of coarse grass
but with muscles all alert he clambered down the steep zigzag his own
feet had traced, towards the adit of Wheal Stanny situate near the line
of the foam. Shrinking from the seething waters below he crept along a
narrow ledge and with scanty foothold reached the mouth of the adit,
where he brushed the sweat and salt spray from his face.
Then on hands and knees, his finger-marks effacing the footprints of
marauding fox, he entered the narrowing chasm and stopped the hole as
best he could, with pieces of quartz.
Drippings from the moist roof—retreat of trembling fern—blurred the
lantern’s light and dimmed the sparkle of the crystals.
Leaving the cliffs he made for the uplands, for a few earths lay in the
gullies that seamed them, and here and there a disused mine-work offered
a safe retreat to fox and badger. Carefully the Earthstopper picked his
way in the murky hollows, the lantern’s light awaking the frown of the
granite and falling bright on the gold of the bracken that fringed the
treacherous shaft. On the weird countryside above, the array of boulders
loomed like phantoms in the sombre heather.
Threading in and out among them as he rose and sank with the undulating
surface, the Earthstopper might have been a spy stealing from camp to
camp of spectral hosts bivouacking on the dusky slopes.
On the furthest ridge he stood peering into the darkness that shrouded a
moor over which he must pass. The level expanse might have seemed to
invite him as smooth water invites a swimmer wearied by the waves, but
superstitious fear held him there irresolute. For an eerie legend clung
to the heart of the moor. Crofters would draw closely round their bright
furze-fires as they listened to the harrowing tale. Little wonder that
the old man paused in his forward path, for the last earth on his round
was near a cairn that partly screened a haunted pool, and the moor
compassed it round.
Seeing a light—it was a mere glimmer—in a lone homestead on the low
ground between him and the cliff, he resolved to make his way down to it
and await the dawn. With difficulty, for the hillside was covered with
furze, he reached the byre where a candle burned on the ledge inside a
small window. Peeping through a cob-webbed pane, he was able to
recognise the farmhand at work inside, though the man’s back was turned
towards him.
Unfortunately for the labourer, the noise made by the turnip-chopper he
was working drowned the sound of the approaching footsteps, and Andrew’s
voice at the half-open door was the first intimation he had of the
Earthstopper’s presence.
“Mornin’, ’Gellas.”
“Lor’, you ded maake me joomp, An’rew. . . . Wisht news about Steve
Jago, edna?”
“Bra’ an wisht. I do hear the poor auld woman’s gone clane out of her
mind. ’Tes foolish like, but her scraachin’s thet unnarved me, I’m moast
afeered to go and stop thet theere eearth touchin’ Deadman.”
“Laave un be, noathin’ eearthly waan’t go anighst un for thes day. A
sinkin’ fox would raither die in th’ open nor maake for un. They do say
when any man or woman o’ thes heere parish, and ’tes a bra’ big wan too,
do die a vilent death like as ’ow” . . .
Andrew’s upraised palm had checked him.
“Then thee dost know all ’bout un?”
“Iss, iss, worse luck, I’ve heerd about the wisht auld thing.”
“Look here, An’rew,” said Tregellas under his breath as he drew close to
him, “I don’t knaw how fur may be fancy like, for I’d bin thinkin’ ’bout
un, but semmen to me I heerd a scraach from thet quarter about an hour
agone and theere—theere edn any housen to moore nor a mile” . . .
Andrew had heard more than enough and, before Tregellas could add
another word, he hurried through the open doorway, crossed the brook
that ran through the mowhay, and was soon breasting the rugged hill
leading to the Deadman.
On the edge of the moor he paused to listen. From out the distance came
the cry of some bird: the sea called faintly behind him. He looked
towards the East. There was no sign of dawn.
“I’ll faace un, come what may. Be quiate, stop thet theere whinin’ will
ee.”
Then he trimmed the wick of the lantern, pulled his cap well on to his
ears and, stepping from tuft to tuft of the silent heather, set out
across the moor. He made straight for the cairn and with trembling hands
stopped the earth; but though he heard the wind sighing in the reeds he
feared to turn his eyes towards the tarn.
Hurrying from the eerie spot he set out on his way homewards, staying
his steps a moment near a pool to look at the clean-cut footprints of a
fox. Water was oozing into them, for the ground was very marshy. And so
he came to the gaunt ruin of Ding Dong Mine which serves as a mark to
the long-line fishermen of Mount’s Bay. Only the walls and end timbers
of the lofty roof are left for the gales to whistle through; and in the
grey dawn a kestrel perched on the gable was preening its feathers. From
the mine-burrows hard by, the wayfarer overlooks headland and harbour,
the surf round St Michael’s base and the waters of the sail-flecked bay.
Well might the Earthstopper, whose soul, like that of many a toiler, was
far above his lowly work, dwell on the awakening beauty of land and sea
below him.
The stars had paled their fires and crimson streaks in the throbbing
east heralded the sun. Lighting first the hungry Manacles the gladdening
orb rose over the serpentine cliffs of Lizard, bathing with its rays the
sea and circling hills, and touching with gold the battlements of the
castle and the pinnacles of the westward churches.
“No wonder thet furriners do bow their knees on desert sands and wusshup
ee. Don’t knaw when I’ve seed ee lookin’ so beetiful missel.” The hawk,
now hovering over its prey, disturbed his simple reverie. “Come, me
dear”—but Vennie had slipped away—“’tes nigh breakfust time, and the
cheeld will be ’spectin’ us.” So down the hill he hurried, the smoke
from his own hearth cheering him and turning his thoughts to his
peaceful home. He pictured the little room neat and clean, the
breakfast-table with his chair drawn up to it, the sanded floor and the
kettle on the brandis amidst the glowing embers. He forgot his fatigue;
his steps were lightened as he thought of the child who looked after his
few comforts and always welcomed his home-coming. At a turn in the track
by some stormbent hawthorns he came suddenly upon her, come out to meet
him. What a change comes over the old man’s face at the sight of her!
How his eyes brighten as she runs to greet him!
“I knawed thee couldna be fur away, granfer, for Vennie’s been home
these ten minits or moore.”
He looked behind him, but the bitch was gone.
“Ah, I can guess what’s drawed her theere.”
The girl took the lantern from his cramped hand and, side by side, her
arm linked with his, they made their way towards the cottage. Two
minutes later the clatter of hoofs behind them made her look round.
“Someone’s comin’ down the Forest Cairn, granfer.”
“Iss, me dear, ’tes Dobbin’s step thee canst hear. Now run home along
whilst I have a word with the doctor.”
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE EARTHSTOPPER ON TRENGWAINTON CAIRN.
[_Face page 12._]
* * * * *
The girl was barely a stone’s throw away when the doctor cantered up to
where the Earthstopper awaited him.
“Mornin’, Andrew, another touch of rheumatism?”
“No, sir, never felt better in my life; no, tedn thet: I wanted to ask
ee about Mrs Jago.”
“You’ve heard about it?”
The Earthstopper nodded assent.
“It’s all over with the poor woman, Andrew.”
. . . “May be ’tes best so, sir.”
“Yes, best so,” repeated the doctor, as he rode away.
Andrew overtook his grandchild near the cottage, and was following her
through the open door, getting a glimpse of Vennie and her puppies on
the badger skin before the turf fire, when the bells rang out a joyous
peal as if to remind him of the festive day. He turned and listened: the
grey tower rose above the patched roofs of the cottages, the notes
struck clear through the crisp air.
A smile rose to the weather-beaten face, the lips moved, and cheerily
came the words:
“Ring out your best, auld bells, for ’tes Maddern Feasten Monday.”