A MIDNIGHT VISIT TO THE SEAL-CAVES
THE wildest of British wild sports is the pursuit of the seal in the
almost inaccessible cliff-caves to which it at times resorts. Of its
haunts along the north coast of Cornwall—it is but rarely seen on the
south—from the Land’s End to Tintagel, the caverns of Hell’s Bay are
perhaps those which it most frequents. More secluded or safer fastnesses
it would be difficult to imagine, yet in these it may be surprised by
those who do not shrink from the peril the pursuit involves. The nearest
homestead to the Black Cliffs, as those skirting Hell’s Bay are named,
is Reskageage; and to its occupant, Mr N., who has led many expeditions
against the seals, I owed the opportunity of sharing a bit of sport the
wildness of which it is beyond my power to declare.
He had promised to send me word when circumstances seemed favourable to
our purpose, and one morning towards the end of September 189-, whilst
staying at St Ives, I received the following message from him:—“Come if
possible to-morrow (Thursday) afternoon. I have just seen three seals
under the cliffs, and the chances are we shall find some in the caves,
as they have not been disturbed for a long time. One of the
light-keepers of Godrevy tells me that he has not seen so many playing
about the reef for years. If you sail across the bay and the water is
smooth, land on the north side of the Red River.”
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[Illustration: A STREET AT ST IVES. [_Face page 168._]
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After sending a wire that I should come without fail, I made
arrangements with a boatman to take me across the bay. It was close on
three o’clock the following afternoon when we rounded the pier head and
set the bow of our little craft for Gwithian beach. A fair wind filled
the brown sail and drove us at a merry pace over the waves of this
loveliest of bays, where the Cornish sea displays its vividest hues in a
setting of silver sand. Landing was practicable, and the boat was
beached near where my friend was awaiting me on the shore.
“You’re rather late,” said he, as we shook hands.
“Well now, you had better go and have a good look at the cliffs whilst
it’s light. You’ll see where I’ve been whitewashing the rocks. Get the
twists and turns of the way down fixed in your mind: that will be
helpful later on. In the meanwhile I’m going to overhaul the whole of
the gear.”
I took the direction he indicated and, stepping out briskly across the
intervening neck of rising ground between the two bays, soon reached the
dizzy edge of the cliffs. A little on my left hand, zigzagging down the
steep descent and almost to the edge of the foam, lay a white dotted
line that was to guide us in the darkness. The mouths of the
caves—there are four—frequented by the seals were some two or three
hundred feet below me, but I could not see them.
Bleak and lone are these Gwithian cliffs, merciless the winds that sweep
them. Not a tree or a bush is to be seen, and even the heather is
stunted. No note of songbird meets the ear, nor scream of seafowl, only
the sullen boom of the Atlantic groundswell in the caves so far below.
Along the coast towards Newquay sunlit headlands stretched out into the
ocean; and the low promontory of Trevose, dim and unsubstantial-looking,
lay on the far horizon. The mellow rays of the sun now and again caught
the snow-white plumage of some bird along the coast, and lit up the surf
at the foot of the distant cliffs.
Not a gull floated over the bay below me; but a string of cormorants,
with black flight, skimmed the heaving surface just beyond the dark
shadow of the coastline, and disappeared round a jagged point.
I was following the last of these birds with my eyes, when my gaze was
arrested by the appearance of a seal below me, and as far as I could
judge, not twenty yards from the mouth of one of the caves. It carried
its head, which looked as black as jet, clear of the surface, and
betrayed not the least sign of alarm. After about a minute it sank—it
did not dive—out of sight. I remained watching, in the hope that the
quaint-looking creature would show itself again; but, as it gave no sign
and the sun was nearing the horizon, I left the cliff and made my way
across the heather and stubble to Reskageage.
I found my friend in the barn. The light of a candle stuck against the
wall fell on the sun-browned faces of the farmhands, who watched him as
he overhauled the equipment for our expedition. The various details were
displayed on the lid of a big wooden chest that had once held the
tin-ore between “ticketing” days at Wheal Margy. There lay some dozen
torches, consisting of small branches of elm, about three feet in
length, with pieces of white rag wound round one end and secured by bits
of string; three small bottles containing oil, a rather heavy hammer
with a new haft about three and a half feet long, a powerful gaff, a
long-bladed knife, a revolver and cartridges. Near a big coil of rope
was a sack of very bulky appearance, which somewhat excited my
curiosity. Undoing the string round the neck of it, my friend drew out a
rope-ladder ten inches in width and between fifty and sixty feet long.
The rungs were of iron, about three-eighths of an inch in diameter, and
perhaps fourteen inches apart. The strength of the ladder had previously
been tried by the tug-of-war test, but now my host carefully examined
the rope where it passed through eyes in the rungs, to make sure that it
had not been weakened by friction or by rust. No defects being found,
the free ends of the ropes were tied together, forming a triangle with
the top rung; and the ladder was again stowed away in the sack. The big
coil of rope was next overhauled. It was knotted at intervals of about
three feet.
“What’s that for?” I asked.
“We keep that up in the adit, in case anything goes wrong with the
ladder.”
“And the knots?”
“They make swarming up easier.”
A vague idea of the mode of approach and of egress from the cave began
to dawn upon me. “There’s only one way out?” I inquired.
“By the adit is the only way, unless you swim for it before the tide
covers the mouth of the cave.”
“There’s some ledge out of reach of the tide, where you can wait till it
falls?”
“No, there’s scarcely foothold for a shag or a cliff-owl on the walls of
the big cave.”
I confess to feeling slightly unnerved at the prospect, the perilous
character of which was now evident. However, I meant going through with
the business, which was of my own inviting; but though I had the utmost
confidence in my friend, it seemed to me it would be safer, in the event
of accidents, that three rather than two should descend into the “big
cave,” as he had called it. It is trying enough to a novice to be let
down over a cliff in broad daylight to reach a peregrine’s or raven’s
nest, but I could see that was nothing in comparison with the night
expedition before me. In the circumstances, it is natural that the idea
of sending for the Earthstopper should have occurred to me. Not only was
he accustomed to the cliffs at night, but he was of firm nerve and of
ready resource. I lost no time in suggesting it; already I feared it was
too late.
“Very well,” replied my friend, “in case of accident—not that I expect
any, mind you—we couldn’t have a better man. Fill in a form—you will
find some on my table—and Tom there shall take it at once. There isn’t
a moment to lose.”
A few minutes later the lad was cantering down the lane between the
sand-dunes with this message: “Be here by midnight. Ride or drive. Seal
hunt between twelve and one. T——, Reskageage, Gwithian.”
My friend was extinguishing one of the torches as I re-entered the barn.
Evidently he was not content until he had tested everything, even the
oil. I could not but remark to him on the extreme care of his
preparations.
“I like to see to every detail myself in a ticklish job of this sort,”
he said, as he laid the torch down by the side of the gaff: “a weak spot
in the rope, a flaw in the haft of the hammer, bad cartridges or wet
matches, may mean more than spoiled sport.”
Leaving the barn, we made our way across the rickyard to the house.
A cold wind was rustling the leaves of the wind-clipt elm that had
supplied handles for our torches; and, as the air was chilly, I was glad
to get indoors. After supper we withdrew into my friend’s sanctum and
pulled our chairs up to the furze fire which blazed on the wide hearth.
Cases of rare birds and curious relics hung against the walls, and the
floor was covered with sealskins.
In reply to some questions about the seals, my host told me it was an
old man that spent most of his time about the cliffs, egg-collecting,
and looking for things cast up by the sea, who had first called his
attention to them. This had led to his finding a way to the caves—for
the secret had died with the smugglers who used them—and eventually to
the animals themselves. The greatest number of seals he had killed at
one time was seven, he said, and the heaviest carcase would weigh five
or six hundredweight. His opinion was that at least some of the seals
remain on the coast all the year round, and that they do not go far out
to sea to fish. They fed chiefly on the herring, but he had seen one
rise in Hell’s Bay with a big flat-fish of some sort, probably a turbot,
writhing in its mouth. Then, suddenly jumping up in the middle of an
explanation why the eye of the seal is big and the otter’s small—“He’s
coming,” said he.
We went to the garden gate and looked down the road and, sure enough, a
light was coming towards us.
“How on earth did you know he was close at hand?” I asked in surprise.
“You didn’t hear anything, did you?”
“No, I did not hear the horse neigh nor the sound of its hoofs, for they
fell and are still falling on sand; but the dog must have heard, for I
noticed him prick his ears and listen. You see, Andrew’s time was all
but up; and, putting the two together, I didn’t hesitate to say he was
coming.”
More and more distinct grew the light; then we heard the thud of hoofs
where the track is clear of sand; and at last Andrew, seated on a rough
pony, and holding the lantern in his left hand, emerged from the
darkness.
“Good evening, gentlemen. I was afeerd I was too late, though I’ve
shogged on as fast as I could.”
The old shepherd having taken charge of the steaming pony, we soon had
the Earthstopper before the furze fire.
“That looks cheerful after the black night, tho’ et do make ee blink
like a cat at fust.”
“You’ve had a lonely ride, Andrew?”
“No, sir, I’m never lonely, unless maybe when stopping the Land’s End
cliffs on a wild night. Why, Lelant flats was all alive with curleys and
seabirds as I crossed the Caunsway. Niver heerd such whistlin’ in all my
born days. Et must be gettin’ on for low water.”
“Well now, drink up that glass of toddy and we’ll be on the move. It’s
half an hour to low water, and it’s time we were on our way.”
Whilst my friend was saying this, I looked at the hands of the clock in
the corner. It was seven minutes past twelve. Our equipment having been
divided among us, we set out across the fields for the cliffs.
“We’ve forgotten the sack,” I said, as we crossed the stubble.
“That’s all right,” replied my friend.
It was indeed a black night, as the Earthstopper had remarked. A great
bank of cloud hung like a curtain before the western heaven, and shut
out the light of half the stars. On our left Godrevy shot out its
warning beams at regular intervals, and far away up channel Trevose
light shone bravely in the gloom. The keen, salt wind blew straight in
our faces as we breasted the high ground near the sea. By-and-by the
sullen roar which reached our ears made us cautious, for we had neared
the edge of the cliff; and, when we had roped ourselves together, our
guide took the lead and we began the steep descent.
The otter excepted, there is no more wary animal than the seal; so we
climbed down past the stones, ghost-like in their white shrouds, as
noiselessly as possible, and at length arrived at the foot of the cliff.
There was no beach, only huge wet boulders, between which the tide
gurgled. We had scrambled—it was rough going—some distance over these
rocks before I felt a pull on the rope, and then, peering through the
darkness, I saw that our guide was standing at the entrance to a tunnel
that proved to be the way into the seals’ cave, the mouth of which is
unapproachable except by boat. Here we met with an unexpected
impediment. The mast of a ship had got wedged into the passage, leaving
only a narrow space between its splintered surface and the rocky walls.
“Hand over your lantern, Andrew,” said my friend, as he struck a match
on his trousers.
“It’s all right,” said he, holding the light against the mouth of the
tunnel; “I think we can get through. Now, undo the rope, and follow me
as quiet as mice. You’ve got the hammer, Andrew?”
“Yes.”
This in whispers; and then we squeezed through the cramped space. The
passage was some five feet in height and four in breadth. The floor was
very irregular, and covered with water lying in pools of varying depths.
At the further side of a deep pool our guide paused, and held a light
over the water. This enabled me to avoid the holes between the loose
rocks at the bottom, and I managed to get through by wading thigh-deep.
The old Earthstopper in his fur cap and velveteen coat followed, trying
the depth with the long, white haft of the hammer he carried. I noticed
that he left the water as noiselessly as an otter would have done. The
increasing noise of the waves warned us as we progressed along the
tunnel, that we were getting near the seals’ retreat. In the great cave
in which we soon stood, the roaring at its mouth and the reverberations
within produced a noise that was deafening. Three torches were lit; and
we advanced over some loose rocks and shingle to a shelving bed of white
sand, on which the seals are generally found. Down this, when surprised,
they shuffle to face their enemies and meet death. It was disappointing
to find none at home.
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[Illustration: HELL’S BAY. [_Face page 178._]
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We then proceeded to explore the inmost recesses, to reach which we had
to scramble on all fours between the descending roof and the ascending
floor of the cave. In one of these, that reminded me of a chapel in
Westminster Abbey, was a baby seal, which, judging from its plaintive
bleats, seemed to know the danger it was in. It was about a foot and a
half long, of a creamy colour, with big, pleading eyes. Leaving the
little creature we returned to the rocky part of the floor, and held the
torches high above our heads to try to illuminate the cave. We could see
the great walls of rock for perhaps twenty or thirty feet, but the light
failed to scatter the gloom which ever shrouds the lofty roof. Here and
there in these darker heights projections of rock were dimly visible,
looking like spectral faces craned forward to peer at us. It was a weird
scene that this great, resounding ocean-hall presented, and one that
haunts the memory. There is little wonder that legends and superstitions
cluster round these caves.
“Come,” said our guide, “there’s no time to be lost,” and in a few
minutes we were again scrambling between the mast and the rock. I was
glad to get a glimpse of the stars again. Out at sea, I could discern
the light of some vessel going up towards the Bristol Channel. As I
climbed the dusky cliff-side on the heels of our guide, and with Andrew
behind me, I tried to brace my nerves for the ordeal that lay before us.
The approach to the cave for which we were making is fraught with peril.
Few attempt it, and of those few scarce one makes the descent a second
time. This cave is the securest stronghold of the seals along the wild
coast of Cornwall.
We might have made our way up some seventy feet when the guide struck a
rude track on the cliff-side, and this we followed until the light of
the lantern fell on the old shepherd sitting with the sack containing
the rope-ladder. We had arrived at the entrance to the adit for which we
were making, and along this we all proceeded in single file. It was a
strange way of reaching a cave the mouth of which lay sixty feet below.
We had not advanced thirty yards before we could hear the hollow roar of
the waves.
“Be careful here,” said the guide, as he held his torch over a chasm.
For some reason, a piece of the partition-wall between the adit and the
cave has been destroyed, and with it half the narrow footway. It was a
dangerous spot to pass in the lurid, unsteady light; but the shepherd
made nothing of it, and as the projecting part of the sack on his back
lay over the chasm when he skirted it, he was able to hug the wall on
his right. Some thirty yards farther in, the tunnel pierced the wall of
the cave, and again the hollow roar of the sea reached our ears. Whether
the adit was driven on a vein of copper is uncertain, but there is no
doubt that at one time it was used by smugglers. Kegs of brandy, lace
and silk goods were probably taken to the mouth of the cave in boats,
and afterwards hauled up to the tunnel and, as opportunity offered,
distributed thence over the countryside amongst the smugglers’ clients,
to wit, the magistrates, landlords, and tenant farmers.
Projecting from the wall of the cave, about a foot above the level of
the adit, is a stout iron bar, over which our guide, by leaning forward,
placed the end of the ladder so that the ropes which had been knotted
together lay on each side of it, in the acute angle between the bar and
the wall. The ladder was then dropped in the chasm. Clink, clink,
clink—clink—clink. The seals must surely have been startled by the
unusual noise made by the iron rungs striking against the rocky wall of
their wild retreat. Vain warning! for some of the big boulders which
cover part of the floor of the cave are dry at low water, and
effectually prevent their escape. Our guide was the first to descend. I
followed him into the dark abyss. The descent down the wooden ladders of
a tin-mine is child’s play to going down a rope-ladder which lies
against a sheer wall. Twice my feet lost grip of the slender staves, and
the second time, failing to recover the rung, I had to go down hand over
hand to the point where the ladder hung clear of the rock. Here it
twisted and turned, adding a little variety to the difficulties of the
descent. The Earthstopper, with the hammer slung across his back,
followed, coming down hand over hand nearly the whole way.
“That ladder’s a rum un!” he shouted in my ear, as we stood on the rock
near the foot of it.
Two lighted torches were then fixed in crannies in the walls; and after
lighting three others, we moved forward, each holding one in his left
hand. Beyond the slippery boulders over which we were creeping, the
flare of the torches fell on the heaving surface of a deep, rocky pool.
“Look out!” shouted my friend, “they’re in.”
We drew a little nearer to the water, now lashed into foam as a seal
rushed up and down. Two shots were fired as its glistening head showed
above the water, but the only effect as far as I could see was to enrage
the creature, and make it more aggressive than at first. For, when it
reached our end of the pool again, it threw itself out of the water on
to a rock, where it rested momentarily, looking more like some
antediluvian creature sculptured in black marble than a living seal.
Then with a hoarse roar it slid down the face of the rock and shuffled
towards us in a most menacing manner.
“Stand clear, and don’t fire again!” shouted Andrew as he swung the
hammer preparatory to delivering a blow. My friend jumped aside; and, as
the huge brute came within striking distance, the hammer caught it full
on the head and felled it to the ground. A tremor passed over the body;
the seal was dead.
Whilst the battle lasted, angry bellowings came from the shelving beach
beyond, where other seals—blurred, restless forms—awaited our attack.
But wholesale slaughter was not our object; not another shot was fired.
I would have liked to get nearer to the herd, but the danger of crossing
the pool was too great.
“For God’s sake, don’t think of it!” shouted my friend; “we’ll light
more torches.” This done, Andrew picked up the one he had laid on the
rocks, and we advanced to the edge of the water with a torch in each
hand, holding them well up, and forward at full arm’s-length. It was the
sight of a lifetime. Five huge beasts, two grey, the rest a dirty
yellow, mottled with black spots, lay swaying on the sand, prepared to
make a rush—they can shuffle down a slope at a great pace—if we
entered the pool; and these were not all, for in dark recesses beyond I
saw indistinct forms move, and once I thought I caught the gleam of
liquid eyes. For several minutes we stood fascinated by the wild scene,
but it behoved us not to linger. Once or twice I noticed my friend turn
his face towards the mouth of the cave. In the excitement he had not
forgotten that the tide had turned. There was not time to skin the dead
seal and remove the blubber; so my friend, who meant coming for this
purpose at next low water, went to the foot of the ladder and shouted to
the shepherd to throw down the rope. With some difficulty he made
himself understood, for the roar of the waves was now greater than ever;
and a few moments after the shepherd had shouted “Stand clear!” down
came the coil on to the boulders. One end of the rope was tied securely
to one of the flippers of the dead seal—a huge beast—and the other
round a rock on which a bigger one rested. Andrew and I were taking a
last look at the seals when our guide called out that there was no time
to lose; and, indeed, the tide was washing the boulders at the foot of
the ladder when we got there.
“Take your time, sir,” said Andrew as he held the bottom of it, “and
higher up, press your knee against the wall, thet’ll clear the staave
above.”
When a third of the way up, I looked towards the inner part of the cave.
Profound gloom shrouded it, though the lights still flickered on the
walls; and the seals, as far as I could hear, had ceased their angry
challenges. Having reached the adit, I held a torch over the chasm to
light the Earthstopper in his ascent. When he was near the top of the
ladder, I saw that his face was spattered with blood. My friend having
also reached the adit, the ladder was hauled up and put into the sack,
and we made our way again into the open air. Scarcely a word was said as
we climbed the cliff and crossed the heather and stubble to the
farmhouse. After a wash and a hurried supper, the Earthstopper attached
his lantern to the saddle and rode down the track towards Gwithian
Churchtown. I could hear him jogging along until he reached the place
where the road lies under feet of driven sand. The black clouds had
lifted a little, and Crobben Hill was dimly discernible against the
stars.
“Pity we can’t have spoart without killin’,” were the Earthstopper’s
words as we had stood near the dead seal, and I thought of them as I
turned to go indoors.