CHAPTER XIV CONCLUSION 178

LIST OF BOOKS REFERRED TO 185

INDEX 187

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

CROMWELL’S CASTLE, TRESCO _Frontispiece_

THE OLDEST INHABITANT 14

ST. MARY’S POOL 20

THE GARRISON GATEWAY, ST. MARY’S 32

CROMWELL’S CASTLE, FROM CHARLES’S CASTLE 36

A GREY EVENING IN SCILLY 44

A FIELD OF ARUMS 52

A COTTAGE FLOWER-GROWER, TRESCO 58

THE GIANT’S PUNCH-BOWL, ST. AGNES 66

ST. MARTIN’S PIER 74

A FLOWER-BARROW, HUGH TOWN 82

DAFFODILS ON ST. MARTIN’S 90

OLD CHURCH, ST. MARY’S 98

SUNSET OVER SAMSON 104

A SHAG PARLIAMENT 110

THE ENTRANCE TO HUGH TOWN, FROM THE OLD PIER 118

PICKING FLOWERS BY THE CASTLE ROCKS 128

MONK’S COWL ROCK, ST. MARY’S 134

GIMBLE BAY, TRESCO 148

ARMOREL’S COTTAGE 156

A FLOWER-HOUSE ON ST. AGNES 162

CRAB-POT-MAKING BY ST. AGNES CHURCH 166

ROUND ISLAND, FROM ST. HELEN’S 174

OFF TO ST. MARTIN’S 180

MAP OF THE ISLES OF SCILLY 10

[Illustration: MAP OF THE SCILLY ISLES _George Philip & Son Ltd_]

I

INTRODUCTORY

A “colour-book” on Scilly needs no apology, so far as the subject is

concerned, for there is no corner of Great Britain which more demands

or deserves a tribute to its colour than do these little islands,

scattered about in the Atlantic twenty-eight miles from the Land’s

End.

For they are all colour; they gleam and glow with it; they shimmer

like jewels “set in the silver sea.” No smoke from city, factory, or

railway contaminates their pure air, or dims the brilliancy of their

sunshine. They are virgin-isles, still unspoiled and inviolate in this

prosaic age, when beauty and charm are apt to flee before the path of

progress.

And though their compass is but small, the same cannot be said of

their attraction, which seems to be almost in inverse proportion to

their size. Scilly exerts a spell over her lovers which brings them

back and back, again and yet again, across that stretch of the “vasty

deep” which separates her from Cornwall. In this case it might almost

better be called the “nasty deep,” for very nasty this particular

stretch can be, as all Scillonians know!

Nor do the islands lack variety. There are downs covered with the

golden glory of the gorse, with the pink of the sea-thrift, with the

purple of the heather; there are hills clothed with bracken

breast-high in summer, and changing from green-gold to red-gold as the

year advances; there are barren rocks on which the sea-birds love to

gather; there are lovely beaches of white sand, strewn with

many-coloured shells and seaweed; there are clusters of palm-trees

growing with Oriental luxuriance, next to fields and pastures where

the sheep and cattle feed; there are bare and dreary-looking moors,

“the sad sea-sounding wastes of Lyonnesse”; there are stretches of

loose sand, some planted with long grass to keep the wind from lifting

it, some with a mantle of mesembryanthemum, which here grows wild like

a weed;--and all of them seen against a background of that wonderful

and ever-changing sea, which is sometimes the pale blue of the

turquoise, sometimes the deepest ultramarine, sometimes again

shimmering silver or radiant gold. And then in spring there are the

famous flower-fields. Let us visit the islands on an April day, and

see for ourselves this harvest of gold and silver. For once we will

be day-trippers in fancy though we would scorn to be in fact.

Here in Scilly we find land and sea flooded with spring sunshine,

while on the “adjacent island” which we have just left every one is

lamenting the cold and the rain. The flower-harvest is nearly over,

yet still there are wide fields of dazzling white and yellow, and many

hundreds of boxes will yet leave the quay for the mainland. The

sweet-smelling Ornatus narcissus is now at its best, and its perfume

fills the air. Arum-blossoms, thousands of them in a single field,

stand stiffly waiting to be cut, while in the more exposed places late

daffodils linger, nodding their yellow heads in the breeze that comes

in from the sea. Everywhere there are flowers, flowers, flowers--such

a wealth of flowers as one never saw before; and every one is either

picking flowers, tying flowers, packing flowers, selling flowers,

buying flowers, or talking of flowers. Even the tiny children can tell

you the difference between a ”’natus” and a “Pheasant Eye”; and will

talk wisely in a way to awe the less enlightened visitor of

“Cynosures,” “Sir Watkins,” and “Peerless Primroses.”

It is barely thirty years since these sweet flower-fields first began

to cover the islands. The “oldest inhabitant,” a great-grandmother of

ninety-six (she died in 1913), would call to mind the kelp-making

industry which occupied the people in her young days. “Eh,” she would

say, “it was not a nice employ; things are better as they are.” And we

can easily believe that she was right; for instead of the fragrance of

the flowers the air was then filled with the thick and acrid smoke of

the burning seaweed; and it was but a poor living at the best that

could be made out of it.

There is now hardly a boatman in the islands who does not add to his

income by having a patch of ground planted with the “lilies,” as they

call them, and sending his boxes of blooms to market during the

season.

But flower-growing is not the only industry of the islands. If you ask

your boatman to name others as they affect himself, he will probably

answer naïvely, “Fishing and visitors”; and he may also add that

sometimes he is employed as a “potter.” Although the dictionary allows

no other meaning to this word than “a maker of earthen vessels,” let

not your imagination be betrayed into picturing a lump of wet clay and

a flying wheel! It is crab and lobster pots that are in question, and

quantities of these crustaceans are caught round the islands and sold

to French merchants.

[Illustration: THE OLDEST INHABITANT]

Then there is the mackerel fishery, which is at its height in May and

June, when St. Mary’s Pool is full of the picturesque, brown-sailed

fishing-boats from Mount’s Bay.

The other “industry” mentioned by the boatmen, that is to say

“visitors,” is carried on intermittently all through the year, but is

naturally most active during the spring and summer months.

In the summer there are cheap day-excursions from the mainland, and

crowds of trippers arrive at St. Mary’s by steamer to spend a few

hours on the islands. Some of them land in such a woebegone condition

that they are fit for nothing but to lie about on the benches in the

“Park” until the hoot of the steamer rouses them to crawl back to the

quay. Others, more courageous in spite of having had a “sick transit,”

will only stop to snatch a morsel of food before rushing off to the

steam-launch for Tresco, where they will make the round of the famous

gardens, walk perhaps to Cromwell’s Castle, and return to St. Mary’s

dead-beat, just in time to go on board for the homeward journey. And

they call that a day’s holiday! But these are not the visitors to

bring grist to the boatman’s mill. The kind he wants are those who

come to stay, those who come again year after year, and who delight in

sailing about amongst the islands and learning to know and love them

well. They do not come looking for “Entertainments,” with a capital E.

They are quite content with the magical music of the wind and the

waves, and with the natural beauties that surround them on every side.

These visitors are neither so many nor of such a kind as to take away

from the peaceful charm of the place. You can always get peace and

quiet in Scilly, even in the most “tripperish” season, for the

trippers follow a beaten track which it is easy enough to avoid. And

the islands are, fortunately, quite unspoilt by any efforts to cater

for their supposed wants. Not a single penny-in-the-slot machine

flaunts its vermilion and yellow in your face; there are no niggers on

the beach, nor brass bands, nor cinematographs; no dancing on the

pier; no “marine parades” or “esplanades”; above all, here are no

artificial “natural attractions” (most hateful of paradoxes), no

manufactured show-places to pander to perverted taste. If you come

hoping for these things, you will go away (and the sooner the better

for all concerned) disappointed. You would only be an alien in this

little Paradise.

There are many who will sympathise with this description of the

islands taken from a visitor’s book: “A Paradise surpassing Dante’s

ideal, but alas! only to be attained by passing through three and a

half hours of Purgatory.” For the voyage from Penzance to Scilly is

not one to be treated lightly. Looked upon as a pleasure trip, it may

be enjoyable or the reverse, according to the weather and the

constitution of the passenger; but considered in the light of a test

of “good-sailor”-ship it is, I think, without a rival. Do not be set

up because you have travelled unscathed to Australia and back, or

crossed to America without turning a hair. This little bit of the

Atlantic may yet humble you! There seems to be something in the

cross-currents between Scilly and the Land’s End which tries the

endurance of even the most hardened sailors. How often does one hear

it said in Scilly, “I used to think I was a good sailor, but----”; and

that “but” speaks volumes! Even sea-captains, regular old sea-dogs who

have spent a lifetime afloat, have been known, to their shame and

disgust, to fall victims to Neptune on the Scilly passage. I never

made a voyage in which less (or should I say more?) was expected of

you. The steward gives you a friendly peep at intervals. “Feeling all

right, I hope?” You never felt better in your life, and say so. “Well,

please hold out as long as you can; my supply is limited.” And you

almost feel that it would be ungenerous to disappoint his evident

expectations by “holding out” to the end!

But what matters three and a half hours of Purgatory when once one has

attained to Paradise? And the passage weighs as nothing in the scale

against the charms of Scilly.

In the “good old days” things were very different from what they are

now. You could not then make a return journey in the same day.

Sailings were few and far between, and people prepared for going to

Scilly as for a long voyage.

In Lieutenant Heath’s time (1744) the passage was seldom made more

often than once a month or six weeks in summer, and not so often in

winter; and he says that as it was made “in small open fisher-boats

amidst the running of several cross-tides, the passengers are forced

to venture at the extreme hazard of their lives when necessity or duty

calls them.” And these passengers “should be qualified,” he continues,

“to endure wetting or the weather like so many Ducks; however, the

Boatman undertakes to empty the water with his Hat or what comes to

Hand without the least Concern.” Half a century later Troutbeck writes

that the inhabitants “want a constant, regular, and even monthly

communication with England,” chiefly for the sake of getting food. A

strong proof of the uncertainty that attended the journey in those

days is that in 1793 the “Prudence and Jane,” coming from Penzance to

Scilly with necessaries, was driven by a contrary wind to Cherbourg in

France! Nowadays it may happen in very exceptionally stormy or foggy

weather that a Scillonian’s Sunday dinner does not arrive till Monday,

but at least it never goes to France!

When Woodley wrote in 1822, the crossing was made every week, but even

then a “good passage” took eight or nine hours, and sometimes the

vessel was delayed at sea for thirty-six to forty-eight hours, without

any provision of food for the passengers. There is an old lady now

living on St. Mary’s who told us that the first time she visited the

mainland the crossing took twenty-four hours, and then they were

landed at the Mousehole and had to walk the three miles into Penzance.

It was not until 1859 that the sailing-vessels were replaced by a

small steamer.

Now the Royal Mail Steamer “Lyonnesse” makes the return journey every

day in the summer; and although she may not be perfection, she is

reckoned absolutely safe. The distance from Penzance is generally

covered in about three and a half hours; but the proprietors reserve

to themselves the right to “tow vessels in distress to any other port

or place without being chargeable with any deviation of the voyage,

or being liable to make compensation to any Passenger”; so if under

these circumstances you were taken to Kamschatka you would have no

right to complain!

I know of one passenger who was taken out nearly to the Bishop

Lighthouse on account of a vessel in distress. Far from complaining,

she enjoyed the excitement of the adventure; but such happenings are

rare and need hardly be taken into account.

The notice posted on the quarter-deck of the “Lyonnesse” leaves one in

a happy state of doubt as to whether passengers or merchandise are the

least acceptable: “This Quarter Deck contains 1,014 square feet and is

certified for 112 passengers when not occupied by cattle, animals,

cargo, or other encumbrance.”

But that passenger would be churlish indeed who had any fault to find

with the way in which he was treated by the officials, whether on sea

or land. From the highest to the lowest they are as courteous as one

could wish--unless, of course, they are provoked to turn, like the

proverbial worm.

There is a stoker on the “Lyonnesse” with a portly and majestic

figure; but woe to the ill-bred passenger who tries to raise a laugh

at his expense! Once such a passenger saw the stoker looming across

his field of vision, and, in spite of being curled up and woebegone

with sea-sickness, he aimed at him a feeble joke.

[Illustration: ST. MARY’S POOL]

“You’d make a splendid advertisement for Mellin’s Food.”

The stoker stopped, and let his eye travel slowly over the speaker.

Then came his retort, with withering scorn.

“Well, and you’d make a first-rate advertisement for Keating’s Powder;

for anything more like a _dying insect_ I never did see in all my

life.”

Whereupon the “dying insect” looked his part more than ever, and was

silent.

The Great Western Railway Company once offered to run a fast service

of steamers in connection with their trains on condition that they

might build a luxurious hotel on St. Mary’s; but the Governor was too

wise to consent. Scilly does not need to be revolutionised and

popularised and advertised. She is so very charming as she is.

So blessed be the “Lyonnesse,” and long may she continue to reign

supreme over that part of the Atlantic--perhaps until the time when we

shall be flying across from Penzance, and looking back with horror on

the days of sea-passages, even as we now look back to the days of the

sailing-vessels.

II

HISTORICAL

A Well-known writer has spoken of the Scilly Isles as “patches of

rock, dignified by historical and political associations”; and one is

surprised to find, considering their small size and their isolated

situation, how very frequently they do figure in the pages of history.

They were included with the mainland when the Romans took possession

of Britain, and possibly their conquerors introduced Christianity here

as elsewhere after they themselves had been converted. This is only

guesswork. Strangely enough the first Christians whom we actually know

by historical records to have landed in Scilly were heretics, sent

there into exile by the Emperor Maximus for their unorthodox opinions.

These were Bishops Instantius and Tiberianus, who were convicted of

the Priscilline heresy in A.D. 384 and sent to “insula Sylina, quæ

ultra Britannias est,” as we learn from Sulpicius Severus, who wrote

only twenty years after the event.

After the Romans had left Britain (A.D. 410) the islands probably

remained, like West Cornwall, independent of the Saxons; and when four

centuries later the Northmen came to harry the country, they were

joined by Welsh and Cornish Celts, glad of the chance of a blow at

their common foe the Saxon. Scilly was then used by the Northmen as a

sort of “naval base,” from which expeditions were made against the

mainland. King Athelstan sent a fleet to oust them in 927, and left a

garrison on the largest island; afterwards, in fulfilment of a vow, he

founded a collegiate church at St. Buryan in Cornwall to commemorate

his conquest.

It is uncertain at what date the Benedictine monks first came to

Scilly. Some say it was in 938.

According to the Saga of King Olaf Tryggwason there was on Tresco in

his time “a famous abbot, the head of a great cloister.” The story

goes that the young Viking, in about the year 993, came harrying the

coasts of England with a fleet of ninety-three ships, and was driven

by contrary winds to the Isles of Scilly. Here he heard of a wonderful

Christian hermit, who lived in a cell among the granite rocks and was

said to possess the power of prophecy.

Olaf was then in the position of a seeker after truth. He was

inclined towards the religion of the Christians, but he had never

acknowledged himself as one of their number.

He was seized with curiosity to test the powers of the hermit, so he

dressed up one of his tallest and handsomest followers in his own

armour and bade him go to the cell and pretend he was the King. The

disguise was quite useless. “You are no king,” said the hermit, “and I

advise you to be faithful to your King.”

On the strength of this proof, Olaf went himself to the cell to make

inquiries concerning his own future. The hermit foretold that he

should not only become a renowned king and perform many famous deeds,

but that (far greater honour!) he should lead many into the true

Christian faith. And for a sign he told him that on returning to his

fleet he would meet with foes, a battle would be fought, he would be

wounded severely and be carried on a shield to his ship, but would

recover after seven nights and would soon after be baptized.

Events happened just as had been predicted, and Olaf was so much

impressed that as soon as he had recovered from his wound he put

himself under the hermit’s instruction, and enrolled himself as a

servant of the God of the Christians.

Afterwards he went to Tresco, where was “a famous abbot, the head of

a great cloister,” who with his brethren came down to the shore to

meet the King and welcome him with all honour. They gave him further

instruction in the Christian faith, and finally he and all his company

were baptized.

He appears to have spent several years in Scilly; and when he returned

to Scandinavia, it was to devote his energies to preaching, in his

native land and in Iceland, the Gospel which he had learnt to love in

these remote islands.

Such is the story as told by Snorri Sturluson, the Icelandic

historian, in 1222. We must not rely on the accuracy of his details;

for example, the “great cloister” to which he refers was probably only

a cell of two Benedictine monks. But there is little doubt that he

followed a trustworthy Scandinavian tradition in placing the

conversion of their hero Olaf in such an out-of-the-way and

little-known spot as Scilly.

So in these little islands there was lighted a torch which kindled the

flame of Christianity in far-distant lands.

The Abbey on the island of Tresco was appropriately dedicated to St.

Nicholas, the patron-saint of mariners. By the reign of Edward the

Confessor (1042-1066) the monks had acquired the tithes of all the

islands, and the exclusive ownership of St. Elid’s (St. Helen’s), St.

Sampson, St. Teon (Tean), Reutmen, and Nurcho, the two last of which

cannot be identified.

Scilly is not mentioned in Domesday Book; but we find King Henry I.

granting to the Abbot of Tavistock “all the churches of Sully with

their appurtenances.” Later, Reginald Earl of Cornwall confirms this

grant, with all wrecks “except whale and a whole ship.”

In another grant all the tithes of Scilly (and particularly of

rabbits!) are given to the monks by Richard De Wich “for his soul, and

the souls of his parents, and of Reginald Earl of Cornwall his lord.”

There is something pitifully ludicrous in this special inclusion of

tithes of _rabbits_ in the price paid for the salvation of human

souls.

The right of the Abbots of Tavistock to the shipwrecks was challenged

by King Edward I. in 1302, and upon inquiry the jury found that the

Abbot and all his predecessors had “enjoyed” from time immemorial all

the wrecks that happened in Scilly, except gold, whale, scarlet cloth,

and fir or masts, which were reserved to the King.

An author of the last century says, with a cheerful belief in human

nature: “Perhaps the right of wreck was given to the convent for the

purpose of attaching an increased degree of merit to their prayers in

favour of ships likely to be dashed against those rocks.” But surely,

from another point of view, it was putting rather an unnecessary

strain upon their virtue!

Of the secular government of Scilly, there are from time to time

fragmentary records.

In 1248 Henry III. sent a Governor, Drew de Barrentine, with command

to deliver every year seven quarters of wheat to the King or his

agent.

King Edward I. in 1306 granted the Castle of Ennor in Scilly to

Ranulph de Blankminster, in return for his finding and maintaining

twelve armed men at all times for keeping the peace in those parts.

This Castle of Ennor is identified with Old Town Castle on St. Mary’s,

of which only the smallest vestiges remain.

Ranulph de Blankminster also held the islands for the King, paying

yearly at Michaelmas three hundred puffins, or six shillings and

eightpence. Puffins must have been cheap in those days! In 1440 we

find the rent is still six and eightpence, but fifty instead of three

hundred puffins are reckoned the equivalent. Poor puffins! had their

numbers really dwindled so much in 134 years by their constant

contribution to the rent-roll that they were six times more difficult

to obtain? I hope it was only that they had become more wary and

expert in the art of being “not at home” when the rent-collector

called.

In this same reign, Edward I., the monks of Tresco Priory made an

appeal to the King representing their need of proper defence from the

attacks of foes. The King granted them letters of protection, which

were particularly addressed to “the Constable of the Castle in the

isle of Ennor,” who seems, therefore, to have been the chief secular

authority in the islands at the time.

Ranulph de Blankminster appears to have fulfilled but ill his half of

the compact with the King, for only two years after it was made we

find William Le Peor, Coroner of St. Mary’s, making complaint of him

that instead of keeping the peace he entertained rogues, thieves, and

felons, and with their help committed many abuses. The King appointed

a commission to inquire into the matter; but we do not learn that

anything was done. The practical result of the complaint was that

William Le Peor was thrown into prison by Blankminster at Le Val

(supposed to be Holy Vale on St. Mary’s), and made to pay one hundred

marks. So it is to be feared that he had plenty of leisure to regret

his interference in the cause of justice. Judgment was rough and ready

in those days. An old record of the twelfth year of Edward I. tells

of the drastic treatment of felons. “John de Allet and Isabella his

wife hold the Isle of Scilly, and hold there all kind of pleas of the

Crown, throughout their jurisdiction, and make indictments of

felonies. When any one is attainted of any felony he ought to be taken

to a certain rock in the sea and with two barley loaves and one

pitcher of water upon the same rock they leave the same felon, until

by the flowing of the sea he is swallowed up.”

At the height of the French Wars of Edward III., the two monks of

Tavistock who lived on Tresco must have found their position

uncongenial, for they sought and obtained from the King permission to

hand over their duties to two secular chaplains, who should perform

Divine service daily and celebrate the Mass, while they themselves

retired to the more peaceful cloisters of Tavistock.

More than a century later, we get another proof that the islands were

not always an “eligible situation.” Richard III. ordered an

inquisition of them to be taken in 1484, when it was shown that they

were worth 40s. a year in peaceable times, and in times of war

_nothing_!

The next important record of the islands comes from John Leland,

library keeper to King Henry VIII., and the greatest antiquarian of

his time; also the greatest “tourist,” for he was empowered by the

King to search for objects of antiquity in the archives and libraries

of all cathedrals, abbeys, and priories; and he spent six years

travelling the country to this end: his “Itinerary” began in 1533. His

notes on Scilly are so interesting that I cannot refrain from quoting

them in full:--

“There be countid a 140 islettes of Scylley that bere gresse, exceding

good pasture for catail.

“St. Mary Isle is a five miles or more in cumpace; in it is a poor

town, and a meately strong pile; but the roves of the buildings in it

be sore defacid and woren.

“The ground of this isle berith exceeding corn; insomuch that if a man

do but cast corn wher hogges have rotid, it wyl cum up.

“Iniscaw longid to Tavestoke, and ther was a poor celle of monkes of

Tavestoke. Sum caulle this Trescaw; it is the biggest of the islettes,

in cumpace a 6 miles or more.

“S. Martines Isle.

“S. Agnes Isle, so caullid of a chapel theryn.

“The Isle of S. Agnes was desolatid by this chaunce _in recenti

hominum memoria_. The hole numbre of v. housoldes that were yn this

isle cam to a mariage or a fest in S. Mary Isle, and going homewarde

were al drownid.

“Ratte Island.

“Saynct Lides Isle wher yn tymes past at her sepulchre was gret

superstition.

“There appere tokens in diverse [of] the islettes of habitations [now]

clene doun.

“Guiles and puffinnes be t[aken in] diverse of these islettes.

“And plenty of conyes be in diverse of these islettes.

“Diverse of [these] islettes berith wyld garlyk.

“Few men be glad to inhabite these islettes, for al the plenty, for

robbers by the sea that take their catail by force. The robbers be

Frenchmen and Spaniardes.

“One Davers a gentilman of Wilshir whos chief house at Daundesey, and

Whitington, a gentilman of Glocestreshire, be owners of Scylley; but

they have scant 40 marks by yere of rentes and commodities of it.

“Scylley is a kenning, that is to say about xx. miles from the very

westeste pointe of Cornwalle.”

The following additional notes on Scilly are also found amongst

Leland’s papers:--

“Ther be of the Isles of Scylley cxlvii. that bere gresse (besyde

blynd rokkettes) and they be by estimation a xxx. myles from the west

part of Cornewale.

“In the biggest isle (cawled S. Nicholas Isle) of the Scylleys ys a

lytle pyle or fortres, and a paroch chyrche that a monke of Tavestoke

yn peace doth serve as a membre to Tavestoke Abbay. Ther be yn that

paroch about a lx. howseholdes.

“Ther is one isle of the Scylleys cawled Rat Isle, yn which be so many

rattes that yf horse, or any other lyving best be browght thyther they

devore hym. Ther is a nother cawled Bovy Isle.

“Ther is a nother cawled Inisschawe, that ys to say the Isle of Elder,

by cawse yt berith stynkkyng elders. Ther be wild bores or swyne.”

Leland appears to have jotted down his notes as the information was

given him on the spot; and the fact that his informants were not

always agreed would account for some discrepancies and repetitions. He

did not live long enough to arrange his notes. A very short time after

his visit the “poore celle of monkes” ceased to exist. With the

dissolution of monasteries in 1539, the Abbey of Tavistock fell, and

its lands in Scilly passed to the Crown.

Another ten years, and we find the islands being used as a pawn in the

game of a man of high ambitions. Lord Admiral Seymour, the brother of

the Lord Protector, was accused, in a bill of attainder brought

against him in 1549, of having entered into relations with the

pirates of the Channel, forged cannon, collected money and munitions

of war, and “gotten into his hands the strong and dangerous isles of

Scilly.” On these and other charges he was put to death.

[Illustration: THE GARRISON GATEWAY, ST. MARY’S]

In the same year, 1549, the name of Godolphin occurs for the first

time in the annals of the islands, as that of the captain of the

group; and in 1571, Queen Elizabeth leased the islands to Frances

Godolphin at a yearly rent of £10, “with power and jurisdiction to

hear and finally to determine all plaints, suits, matters, actions,

controversies, contentions, and demands whatever, which shall happen

to be depending between party and party within any of the said isles,”

heresies, treasons, matters of life and limb and land, and Admiralty

questions alone being excepted. At the same time he was ordered and

encouraged to keep the islands in a proper state of defence. To this

end many batteries were erected on St. Mary’s, and Star Castle was

built on the summit of the “Hugh” in 1593.

The next grant of Scilly was to Sir William Godolphin, for fifty years

from 1609 to 1659; he was to pay £20 a year and to receive one last of

gunpowder every year for their defence, with the condition that he

should not “give or bequeath any of the said isles unto any of his

daughters,” because they were considered incapable of defending them.

Later on the possession of an able-bodied husband seems to have been

sufficient to qualify a daughter to inherit.

In the struggle between King and Parliament, Scilly more than once

afforded a refuge for the Cavaliers, and was finally their last

retreat.

In March, 1646, when General Fairfax had defeated the King’s forces in

Cornwall, Prince Charles fled from the Castle of Pendennis to Scilly,

and was lodged in Star Castle. The chair on which he sat there may

still be seen in Holy Vale, to which place it has been removed.

Two days after his landing he sent Lord Colepepper to France to

acquaint the Queen “with the wants and incommodities of the place,”

and to desire “a supply of men and moneys.”

We get a glimpse into the “incommodities of the place” from the

_Memoirs of Lady Fanshawe_, whose husband was in attendance on the

Prince. She was set on shore almost dead after having been robbed by

the seamen with whom they sailed from the Land’s End.

She writes: “When we had got to our quarters near the Castle where the

Prince lay, I went immediately to bed, which was so vile that my

footman ever lay in a better, and we had but three in the whole

house, which consisted of four rooms, or rather partitions, two low

rooms and two little lofts, with a ladder to go up: in one of these

they kept dried fish, which was his trade, and in this my husband’s

two clerks lay, one there was for my sister, and one for myself, and

one amongst the rest of the servants. But when I waked in the morning

I was so cold I knew not what to do, but the daylight discovered that

my bed was near swimming with the sea, which the owner told us

afterwards it never did so but at spring-tide.”

Poor comfort to be told this when it happens to be the season for the

highest spring-tides! Nor was this all that the poor lady had to

suffer, for she goes on to say: “With this, we were destitute of

clothes; and meat and fuel for half the Court, to serve them for a

month, was not to be had in the whole island; and truly we begged our

daily bread of God, for we thought every meal our last. The Council

sent for provisions to France, which served us, but they were bad, and

a little of them.”

These privations had to be endured for six weeks, at the end of which

time the Prince, despairing of receiving reinforcements, embarked for

Jersey and thence to France.

The islands were left under the governorship of Sir John Granville,

who held them in the King’s name till 1651, harassing the

merchant-shipping, and capturing English and Dutch vessels that passed

that way.

With the avowed object of demanding satisfaction for acts of piracy,

the Dutch Admiral, Van Tromp, descended on Scilly with twelve

men-of-war; but he had private orders to treat with the Governor for

the handing over of the islands to the Dutch. Sir John was too loyal

to listen to these proposals, whereupon Van Tromp tried to disguise

the real nature of his overtures by pretending he had only wanted to

get possession of the islands in order to restore Charles II. to his

rights.

* * * * *

At length in 1651, after frequent complaints of the “pirates” of

Scilly had been laid before Parliament, a fleet was sent under the

command of Admiral Blake and Sir George Ayscue (Ascue, Ayscough, or

Askew, I have never seen it spelt twice alike) to bring the islands

into subjection. After the fleet had arrived within the roadstead, a

day was lost through the treachery of a pilot called Nance, who,

although “the most knowing pilot” of the place, led them to Norwithel,

“affirming on his life” it was Tresco. Surprised, and exposed to the

enemy’s fire, the Parliament men retreated to Tean, effecting a

landing on Tresco the following day.

[Illustration: CROMWELL’S CASTLE FROM CHARLES’S CASTLE]

Here they took possession of an old breastwork on Carn Near, and

erected an advanced battery to command Broad and Crow Sounds. It could

reach any ship that went into or came out from St. Mary’s Harbour, and

generally with effect, for ships must often pass very near in order to

avoid rocks or flats. The King’s party in consequence soon became so

distressed that a messenger was sent for orders to the Prince in

Holland, and brought back permission from him for the Cavaliers to

surrender and make the best terms they could for themselves. Eight

hundred soldiers were taken prisoner with Sir John Granville, and

officers “enough to head an army.”

Soon after the reduction of the islands, a strong circular tower, now

known as Oliver Cromwell’s Castle, was built on Tresco. It was so

placed, low down on the shore, that its guns could sweep the surface

of the water for a great distance. It was constructed in part from the

materials of a much older fortress on the hill above, called Charles’s

Castle, a building of great strength, but in an unfavourable situation

for defence.

After the Restoration, when the Godolphins were again in power in

Scilly, Duke Cosmo records that the garrison on St. Mary’s was reduced

from six hundred to two hundred men. He mentions also that twenty

soldiers were employed to guard Cromwell’s castle (or “the Castle of

Bryer,” as he calls it). Later this fortress was allowed to fall into

decay, for in 1740, when England was at war with Spain, it had to be

“put into a state of good defence,” but apparently no garrison was

kept there for long, and it again suffered from neglect.

During this same war with Spain, many batteries were erected on the

Hugh of St. Mary’s (now known as Garrison Hill), and a strong entrance

gateway to the fortifications was built in 1742.

Since then the military establishment seems to have been gradually

reduced. In 1822 it consisted only of a Lieutenant-Governor, a

master-gunner with four others under him, and two or three aged

sergeants. In 1857 “five invalids” manned the fortifications, and in

1863 the fort was dismantled.

Seeing that the guns removed at that date were chiefly salvage from

the wreck of the “Colossus,” lost near the western rocks in 1777, and

had been lying under water for fifty-four years before they were

placed on the batteries, it is perhaps just as well that they were

never required for active service!

Within recent times the Government decided to make of Scilly a naval

base, but after spending five years and a quarter of a million of

money in constructing new batteries they discovered in 1905 that the

firing of the guns would bring down the houses of Hugh Town. So again

the fortifications have been abandoned, and the history of Scilly as a

centre of warfare appears to have come to an end.

Peace has reigned there since the days of Cromwell, but it has not

always been peace with plenty as it is nowadays. The islanders have

passed through hard times before arriving at their present state of

prosperity; the history of these vicissitudes, however, belongs to

another chapter.

III

FORMER INDUSTRIES

For many years the condition of the people of Scilly was not an

enviable one. Their isolated situation, without any regular

communication with the mainland, threw them for long periods upon

their own resources, which were very limited. They lived by

agriculture, fishing, “kelping,” and piloting, with some admixture of

smuggling; but sometimes their services as pilots would not be

required for months together; their crops, their kelp, and their

fishing would fail, and their smuggling ventures miscarry, and then

they would be in a sorry plight, and in danger of famine.

Under these circumstances we cannot wonder at an Order of the Council,

issued in 1740, forbidding the exportation of corn; for the islanders

used to sell everything they could to passing ships, and not keep

enough for themselves.

Another order is more puzzling. It prohibited all masters of ships or

boats “to import any stranger to settle here, or to carry any person

from the islands” under penalty of a fine of ten pounds. It is easy to

understand why strangers might not be imported; but since Scilly was

supposed to be over-populated at that time, why were the islanders not

allowed to leave? This was indeed turning the islands into a prison,

and giving a real ground for Heath’s quaint supposition:--

“Here is no prison,” he writes, “for the confinement of offenders,

which shows that the people live upright enough not to require any,

_or that the place is a Confinement of itself_.”

Smuggling was a very popular employment. It was so easy to slip over

to France and return with a cargo of contraband goods, which could be

dropped overboard attached to a buoy if the revenue-officer

inconveniently appeared. Even the clergy engaged in the traffic. It is

said that Parson Troutbeck, who speaks feelingly of the drunkenness

occasioned by smuggling, was himself obliged to leave the islands from

fear of the consequences of having taken part in it. The Parsonage on

Tresco was originally built in a spot especially convenient for this

trade, although not otherwise suitable; and one of its tenants had

also to run away because he was mixed up in some smuggling affair.

In 1684 a new industry had come to the aid of the people. Kelping was

introduced by a Mr. Nance from Cornwall, and for nearly one hundred

and fifty years formed one of their chief employments.

Kelp, as every one knows, is an alkali, of value to glass-makers,

soap-makers, and bleachers, and obtained by burning seaweed, or

“ore-weed,” as they call it in Scilly.

I am tempted to commit a bold piracy and quote in full the vivid

description of the kelping given by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch in _Major

Vigoureux_, for I could never hope to rival that description in its

force and picturesqueness. It occurs in a romance, but all its facts

are based on contemporary records, and are strictly true to life.

“All the summer through, day after day, at low water, the islanders

would be out upon the beaches cutting the ore-weed, and, as the tide

rose, would drag it in sledges up the foreshore, and strew it above

high-water mark, to dry in the sun. On sunny days they scattered and

turned it; on wet days they banked it into heaps almost as tall as

arrish-mows.

“From morning until evening they laboured, and towards midsummer, as

the near beaches became denuded, would sail away in twos and threes

and whole families, to camp among the off-islands and raid them;

until when August came and the kelping season drew to an end, boat

after boat would arrive at high water and discharge its burden.

“These operations filled the summer days; but it was at nightfall and

a little earlier that the real fun began. For then the men, women, and

children would gather and build the kilns--pits scooped in the sand,

measuring about seven feet across and three feet deep in the centre.

While the men finished lining the sides of the kiln with stones, the

women and girls would leap into it with armfuls of furze, which they

lighted, and so, strewing the dried ore-weed upon it, built little by

little into a blazing pile. The great sea-lights which ring the

islands now make a brave show and one which the visitor carries away

as the most enduring, most characteristic recollection of his sojourn;

but (say the older inhabitants) it will not compare with the

illuminations of bygone summer nights, when as many as forty kilns

would be burning together and island signalling to island with

bonfires that flickered across the roadsteads and danced on the wild

tide-races. From four to five hours the kilns would be kept burning,

and the critical moment came when the mass of kelp began to liquefy,

and the word was given to ‘strike.’ Then a dozen or fourteen men

would leap down with pitchforks and heave the red molten mass from

side to side of the kiln, toiling like madmen, while the sweat ran

shining down their half-naked bodies; and sometimes--and always on

Midsummer Eve, which is Baal-fire night--while they laboured, the

women and girls would join hands and dance round the pit. In ten

minutes or so all this excitement would die out, the dancers would

unlock their hands, the men climb out of the pit, and throw themselves

panting on the sand, leaving the kelp to settle, cool, and vitrefy.”

The kelp was ready to be exported as soon as it was cold; and the

sooner the better, for it was apt to deteriorate with keeping. A

single mass, formed in a kiln of the size above mentioned, would weigh

from two and a half to three hundredweight. When the industry first

began, the price obtained by the islanders was only eighteen to twenty

shillings for every ton. This afterwards rose to forty-four shillings

a ton; but for a long time the steward of the islands, who represented

the Godolphins, insisted on acting the part of middleman, paying only

twenty shillings, and threatening to turn any one out of his holding

who sold it elsewhere for a higher price. Later, when the islanders

had broken free from this tyranny, they were able to get from the

merchants of Bristol and London as much as five pounds per ton of

twenty-one hundredweight. But the amount of labour involved was

colossal. It has been estimated that more than three tons of seaweed

were required at a burning, in order to produce three hundredweight of

kelp. This huge mass of weed had all of it to be cut from the rocks,

carried, scattered, dried, and stacked, before it was ready for

burning; and many times must the entire operation be repeated during

the season.

[Illustration: A GREY EVENING IN SCILLY]

Chief amongst summer resorts for the kelp-making families were the

Eastern Islands, where, as Woodley tells us, they would reside “during

the whole of the kelping season--not forgetting, however, with their

characteristic attention to religious duties, to repair to the church

of the nearest inhabited island on Sundays!”

Each island had its limits for gathering the ore-weed, and seldom a

year passed but some offenders were brought before the Council and

punished for encroaching on the territories of other islands. The

distant ledges were free to all.

Great skill was required in burning, especially in knowing the exact

moment when to “strike,” and in keeping the sand from getting into the

kiln and spoiling the kelp.

The smell of the burning weed was peculiarly offensive and very

penetrating. Even in the height of summer doors and windows had to be

barred to keep out the smoke, the odour of which would cling to

clothes and furniture long after the kelping season was over.

It was never an industry that paid well. In some years it brought into

the islands as much as £500 to £700, but each family could seldom by

much hard work earn more than £10 in a season. Still, that was better

than nothing, and it was a great blow to the islanders when, owing to

increased competition, they could no longer find a market for their

kelp, especially since only a short time before effective measures had

been taken to put a stop to smuggling.

In 1819 the distress was very great, and in order to alleviate it

£13,000 was collected on the mainland for the purpose of starting a

mackerel and pilchard fishery. Fish-cellars were built on Tresco, and

boats and nets were provided; but the success of the enterprise was

only short-lived, owing to the want of capital to fall back upon.

At last, when matters were so bad that it seemed as if they could get

no worse, a new means of earning a livelihood was discovered by some

enterprising Scillonians. They found that by exporting to the shores

of the Mediterranean their surplus produce (which consisted chiefly of

potatoes), in ships of their own building, and bringing back cargoes

of fruit to England, they could get a good return for their outlay.

This discovery gave a great impetus to agriculture and to

shipbuilding, and many a trim schooner was turned out from Scillonian

shipyards. At that time there was a duty levied on all vessels of 60

tons and over, so the shipwrights strictly limited the tonnage of

their vessels to fifty-nine and a fraction.

And now, while this industry was still young, a great change befell

the islands. In 1831 the lease of the Duke of Leeds, who was then the

representative of the Godolphin family, expired, and he declined to

renew it. For a few years the islands remained in the hands of William

IV., and some attempts were made during that time to improve their

condition. But what they really wanted was a thorough reorganisation.

They had been too long under the management of stewards, who had been

either unwilling or unable to make the necessary changes, and who had

on some occasions used their power for purposes of extortion.

Moreover, there had been very little encouragement to the people to

make improvements on their land, for short leases had been the rule.

The advent of a new Governor changed all this. In 1835 Mr. Augustus

Smith, having taken up the lease from the Crown, arrived in Scilly to

inspect his new property, and before long the islanders discovered

what it was to have an energetic and far-seeing Governor resident

amongst them, instead of an inapproachable and preoccupied absentee

landlord.

At first his acts were considered arbitrary; the ne’er-do-weels were

dispatched to the mainland; sons were not allowed to remain at home on

the farm if there was not sufficient work for them; schools were

opened, and education made compulsory long before it was so in

England. The people covertly resented what they considered to be the

loss of their freedom, but the islands are still reaping the benefits

of this autocratic rule.

Under it the shipbuilding grew into an important industry, and only

declined with the introduction of steam.

In those days the services of pilots were still much in request. The

“Road” was often full of merchantmen, who had put in for repairs or

supplies, or to wait for orders; and since every harbour in Scilly has

its reef of rocks at the entrance, and around the islands the sea

hides many a sunken ledge, a pilot was always signalled for at the

earliest opportunity. A busy trade also was done in supplying these

vessels with food, and executing necessary repairs. During the

Franco-German War (1870-71) the frequent presence of German vessels in

the harbour brought quite a little fortune into Scillonian pockets.

An old lady of my acquaintance well recalls putting into Scilly in

those days, on her way back from Australia. She remembers how the

islanders boarded the vessel with supplies of vegetables, fowls, and

eggs, and what fine and handsome men they were; and she has never

forgotten the taste of the eggs, with their fine flavour of oranges!

An orange-ship had been wrecked off the islands a short time before,

and the hens had evidently failed to hand over the salvage to the

Receiver of Wreck.

With the advent of steam all these various employments have vanished;

and the building, piloting, provisioning, and repairing of ships no

longer form part of the daily routine of Scilly.

Instead there has arisen the flower industry, which was started about

thirty years ago. Improved communication with the mainland gives to

Scillonians a ready market for their flowers during the first quarter

of the year, and the exporting of early potatoes follows close on the

heels of the flower-season.

With these sources of revenue, and with relays of visitors who are

beginning to appreciate the climate and the many charms of Scilly,

the islands are now more prosperous than at any former time.

On the death of Mr. Augustus Smith in 1872 they passed into the hands

of his nephew, Mr. T. A. Dorrien-Smith, who still carries on the

traditions of his predecessor, and takes a keen interest in all that

concerns the welfare of the people.

IV

THE FLOWER INDUSTRY

It is barely thirty years since first the sweet flower-fields began to

cover the islands; but it is possibly nearly a thousand years since

the original bulbs were introduced.

There are several reasons why it is thought likely that Scilly owes

her semi-wild narcissus to the Benedictine monks, who brought some

with them, so it is supposed, from the South of France, and planted

them on this alien soil to which they have taken so kindly.

For although several varieties of the polyanthus narcissus have been

found growing wild, it is in or near the gardens and orchards that

they have always been most plentiful. A narcissus similar to the

Scilly White has grown round St. Michael’s Mount from time immemorial;

and it has been noticed that elsewhere also they have seemed to spring

up in the footsteps of the old monks.

The Scilly White bears a very close resemblance to the Chinese

joss-flower, which is held as sacred; and it would be a strange

coincidence if here in England we have cause to associate it with

consecrated ground.

It was long before Scillonians discovered what a gold-mine lay hidden

for them in these simple flowers. On the other hand, it may be that

they found the gold-mine as soon as it existed, for it is only

comparatively recently that flowers have become as remunerative and as

popular as they are to-day.

The pioneers of the flower industry were Mr. William Trevellick of

Rocky Hill and Mr. Mumford of Holy Vale, who sent two boxes of

flowers, gathered from the gardens and orchards, to Covent Garden

Market, and received for them a sum of money far exceeding their

expectations.

From that time onward they began to grow flowers systematically for

the market, and, encouraged by their success, others soon followed

their example.

In 1883 the Governor made a special journey through Holland, Belgium,

and the Channel Islands for the purpose of making observations on the

flower industry. He saw that Scilly was well able to forestall the

Continental supplies, and accordingly he made extensive purchases

of bulbs, and has ever since been one of the largest growers.

[Illustration: A FIELD OF ARUMS]

At first only those kinds that were already well known in the islands

were cultivated--Scilly Whites, Soleil d’Ors, Grand Monarques,

Pheasant Eyes, and the Yellow Daffodil; but now many of the newest and

most valuable varieties may be seen.

It is no sinecure to be a flower-farmer nowadays. The heaviest work

is, of course, during the harvest; but transplanting the bulbs,

clearing the ground, and trimming the shelters keep the farmers very

busy during the summer; and those who force bulbs in glass-houses have

hard work to get everything done before the winter sets in.

The bulbs increase very rapidly in the ground, and are now exported as

well as blossoms. Some sorts need to be transplanted and divided every

few years; but Scilly Whites may be left in the same place for twenty

years without, apparently, taking any harm.

The dead leaves of the bulbs are raked off in summer when they are dry

and sere, and are used as fodder for the cattle instead of hay. They

were originally used for litter, to supply the scarcity of straw; but

it was noticed that the cattle ate their bedding with great gusto, and

seemed to flourish on it, although the green growing leaves are

poison to them. So now ricks of lily-leaves may be seen side by side

with the hay-ricks.

Every one who has a yard of ground to spare grows flowers. The harvest

sometimes begins as early as the middle of December, and is not over

until June, but the real press of the work is during February and

March. Then every “steamer-morning,” that is to say every other

week-day, from six o’clock to half-past nine you may hear a continuous

rattle and rumble of carts, barrows, and trucks, laden with wooden

boxes of flowers, making their way to St. Mary’s Quay. They come from

all parts; from the large fields by Old Town, from the sheltered

valleys “back of the country,” from the sunny slopes of Porth Hellick,

from the little gardens on Garrison Hill. The off-islands also send

their share; Tresco, St. Agnes, and St. Martin’s in flat-bottomed

barges towed by the steam-launch that brings their mails, while

heavily laden sailing-boats put in from Bryher, until one wonders how

it is possible that all these contributions can ever be stowed away in

the hold of the “Lyonnesse.”

The children of St. Mary’s have three weeks’ or a month’s holiday from

school during the busy season, the boys for picking flowers and the

girls for tying. Sometimes the girls will beg for leave to go into

the fields for a change; but it is backaching work, and wet work too,

very often. The men and boys usually wear leggings to protect

themselves from the long, dripping wet leaves.

As soon as they are picked the flowers are put in water in the

glass-houses. The bunching and tying is chiefly done by the women and

children, and is paid for at the rate of threepence for a hundred

bunches. A quick worker can make fifteen to twenty shillings a week.

Some of them tie them in their own homes, and you may see cartloads

and barrowloads of flowers, in boxes or baskets, being delivered at

the cottage-doors loose, and fetched again later on, neatly tied,

twelve in a bunch, and ready for packing. The flower-houses on the day

before the steamer leaves are a sight to behold--banks of daffodils

and narcissi, wallflowers and anemone fulgens, tier upon tier.

Afterwards they are packed in shallow wooden boxes, each containing

three, five, or six dozen bunches; and at busy times the lights of the

houses burn far into the night, showing that packing for next day’s

steamer is still going on within. And the tap, tap of the hammer of

the box-maker is constantly heard at all hours throughout the

flower-season.

The weather is of course a very important factor in the success or

failure of the flower crop. A wet summer may prevent the bulbs from

ripening; a strong gale in early spring may ruin thousands of flowers.

The salt spray in a storm is swept right across the islands, spotting

and blackening the blossoms so that they are unfit for the market; and

although at a little distance a field may look delightful, it may

prove on examination to be worthless, full of damaged flowers. So it

is easy to understand why the growers prefer to pick the buds

half-blown than to run the risk of their destruction.

There is a great difference between year and year in the abundance of

the harvest. To give two examples: In the season 1908-9 there was no

great show of flowers, but picking began about the middle of December,

and went on continuously for four or five months. Prices kept up

particularly well, owing to late frosts in the Riviera, and

Scillonians were well content. They were proud to boast of having

supplied the Battle of Flowers at Nice when the French gardens were

under snow, in spite of the heavy protective duty that has to be paid.

The following season, 1909-10, was quite a contrast. It was a record

year for quantities, but the harvest began much later. The flowers

came on with a rush in February, and all kinds seemed to be in bloom

at the same time, and to bloom as they had never bloomed before. They

were, in fact, too plentiful. “There’s a boolk o’ flowers,” as one man

put it, “but they ain’t fetching no such tremendous price.” It was

thought that the floods in Paris also helped to bring down the prices,

for people were in no mood for buying flowers there, and the surplus

supplies were shipped to England.

Every one in Scilly was kept hard at work from morning to night, and

even so it was impossible to keep pace with the flowers. Usually, as I

have said, they are picked in bud to save them from sudden storms, and

put in water in the glass-houses, where they will open under better

protection and more quickly than out of doors. But this month of March

they opened faster than they could be picked. It was a race between

the animal kingdom and the vegetable; and the vegetable won!

Wallflowers also were coming on apace, and had to be neglected until

the masses of daffodils and narcissi had been attended to.

This exceptional crop was attributed to the warm, dry summer of the

year before, which had ripened the bulbs to perfection, and made the

fields thus bring forth “an hundredfold.” Bad weather kept back or

spoilt the earlier flowers, and so complicated matters by

concentrating the bulk of the work for the season more than ever into

two short months.

Three times a week at the height of the harvest, fifty tons of flowers

were leaving St. Mary’s Quay for Penzance, en route for London,

Liverpool, Manchester, Glasgow, and other of our large cities. Fifty

tons! That means, roughly speaking, three and a half million blossoms;

and so we may reckon that at least one and a half million of flowers

were being picked in Scilly every day!

And yet the islands did not look despoiled. Far from it. The fields

were a glorious sight, sheets and waves of silver and gold,

representing to their owners the silver and gold of hard cash.

But such a wealth and abundance of flowers is of less advantage to the

grower than to the purchaser. So many tons poured into the market in

the course of a single week bring down prices with a run. “More than

double the usual crop and less than half the usual price” is not a

satisfactory state of affairs, for there are all the expenses of

picking, tying, and carriage to be considered; and the cost of sending

to London is no trifle--something like £6 a ton. An additional charge

is the 10s. per ton which is paid to the Governor on all flowers that

leave the islands, to recoup him for the lengthening of the pier

twenty years ago. Prices were so reduced that the narcissus Soleil

d’Or would only fetch 2s. for 36 bunches, when the year before they

had been 5s. 6d., and Princeps had fallen to the same price from 4s.

6d.

[Illustration: A COTTAGE FLOWER-GROWER, TRESCO]

But what a year it was for seeing the fields! I must say it again even

if you are tired of hearing it. You must not imagine squares of

flowers, flat as pancakes, prim and orderly and uninviting such as you

see in Holland. In Scilly no two fields are alike, and it is difficult

to find one that is flat and uninteresting. They cover the slopes

facing to the west and south; very often they run down almost to the

edge of the sea, with only a low stone hedge to divide them from the

shore. What would Wordsworth have felt, I wonder, to see these waves

of dancing daffodils? Perhaps he would have preferred the scattered

groups and clusters that spring up of themselves in the hedges by the

wayside, or even on the beach itself.

For the wise Scillonian soon discovers which of his bulbs are the best

and most profitable; and, weeding out from his fields those that

promise least, he “heaves them to cliff,” where, if they light on any

sort of soil, and out of reach of the waves, they will blossom even at

the water’s edge, till some unusually high tide washes them away. In

the meantime they delight the eye of the passer-by with unexpected

splashes of gold, drops from the gorgeous seas that cover the

island-flanks.

So lovely are the flowers that one would like to imagine the industry

as “roses, roses all the way”; but of course that cannot be the case.

Besides the drawbacks I have mentioned already--damage to crops from

sudden storms, and gluts in the market from excess of supply--there

are other risks to run. It has happened that in rough or foggy weather

the off-islanders have sent quantities of flowers to St. Mary’s by the

launch, and they have been duly stowed away in the hold of the

“Lyonnesse.” The weather has got worse and worse, and it has been

considered unsafe to make the journey to Penzance. But the

flower-boxes are in the hold, and there they have to stay; and

eventually they reach their destination on the mainland. By that time

their contents are dead and worthless, and so the grower has lost his

flowers, his time, and his trouble, and yet he must pay the carriage,

and for the return of the empty boxes if he wants them.

To any one who has paid a visit to Scilly during the flower-season,

the always-welcome sight in the London streets of the first daffodils

of the season will be more than ever welcome; for these children of

the spring will recall the blue seas and sunny skies of the

flower-islands where they were reared.

V

DESCRIPTIVE AND ARCHÆOLOGICAL

How many islands are there? That is a difficult question to answer

until we know how big a rock must be in order to be dignified with the

name of island. One writer tells us there are over 300, another says

nearly 200, a third has counted 140 on which grass will grow, and a

fourth makes his estimate (how, I know not) as low as 17. Three

hundred must include a great many “blynd rokkettes,” as the old

chronicler Leland delightfully calls the little barren rocks.

One point at least is certain, that nowadays there are only five

islands which are inhabited: St. Mary’s, Tresco, Bryher, St. Agnes,

and St. Martin. Sixty years ago there were six, but Samson has since

been vacated.

There is reason to suppose that some of the islands were formerly

joined together, and that they have been separated by the encroachment

of the sea. Even now at low water of a spring-tide it is possible to

walk from Samson to Bryher, from Bryher to Tresco, and from Tresco to

St. Martin’s, across the sand-flats, if one does not mind the risk of

getting wet; and to wade across Crow Bar between St. Martin’s and St.

Mary’s. Ruins of houses and stone walls have been found six feet under

the sand, the walls descending from the hills of Bryher and Samson,

and running many feet under the level of the sea towards Tresco; and

it is said that there was once a causeway from the abbey church at

Tresco across the downs to the church on St. Helen’s Isle.

There is a tradition that long ago the islands were all connected with

the mainland, and that they are the only remnant of a tract of land

called Lyonnesse, which contained 140 churches, but over which the

Atlantic now rolls. On the spot where now the water swirls round the

dangerous “Seven Stones,” there is said to have stood a city called

the City of Lions, and that region is even to-day known to fishermen

as Tregva--the “town” or “dwelling.”

The story goes that when King Arthur, of glorious renown, had fought

his last fight and lay dead on the field of battle, his followers fled

in confusion, pursued by Mordred, the rebel knight; and the course

they took brought them to the extreme west of Cornwall.

“Back to the sunset-bound of Lyonnesse--

A land of old upheaven from the abyss

By fire, to sink into the abyss again;

Where fragments of forgotten peoples dwelt,

And the long mountains ended in a coast

Of ever-shifting sand, and far away

The phantom circle of a moaning sea.”

Pursuers and pursued were still pressing on when suddenly there arose

a mighty tempest. The earth rocked, heaved, and was rent; and in

between the two bands of warriors burst an angry flood of surging

waters, swallowing up Mordred and his men before they had time to

escape. But Arthur’s followers were marvellously preserved; the sea

did not overtake them. Like the Israelites of old, they saw the

destruction of their enemies while they themselves stood in safety on

dry ground. And that ground was Scilly, all that is left of the lost

land of Lyonnesse, over which the sea still swirls and eddies with

unabating violence.

In the names of two of the eastern islands of Scilly, Great and Little

Arthur, are found a reminiscence of the followers of the “Flower of

Kings,” who are said to have lived and died on the islands where they

had been so strangely (and mercifully) cut off from the rest of their

kind.

So runs the legend, which sober, unromantic people spend their efforts

and waste their breath in trying to disprove. They prefer to think

that the sea between Scilly and Cornwall is called in Cornish

Lethowsow (_i.e._, lioness) on account of its violence and turbulence,

and that King Arthur’s followers escaped by boat--or not at all!

There is a tradition of the house of Trevilian that one of their

ancestors had great possessions in Lyonnesse, and saved himself at the

time of the inundation by swimming to shore on a white horse; in

memory whereof the crest of the family is still a white horse.

Whether or not these stories have a foundation of truth, no one can

say; but there is certainly a general resemblance in character and

formation between Scilly and the Land’s End.

The whole of the islands are composed of granite, which is seen

cropping up everywhere through the soil. Huge blocks and boulders of

it lie scattered all along the coast, many of them of weird and

fantastic shapes. The strangest have been given special names, more or

less appropriate. On the peninsula of Peninnis, St. Mary’s Island,

there is the “Tooth,” a slender conical rock 30 feet high; also the

“Pulpit,” with its flat sounding-board, a fine specimen of horizontal

decomposition.

Then there is the remarkable “Giant’s Punch-bowl” on St. Agnes,

consisting of two large masses of rock--the “Bowl” itself, and the

base on which it stands. The base is over 10 feet high, the Bowl more

than 8 feet, and the entire height of the top of the Bowl from the

ground is nearly 20 feet. The Giant could have indulged in a hogshead

of punch at a time, for that is the capacity of the natural basin. In

former days the Bowl was a “logan-stone,” and could easily be rocked

by two or three men with a pole, but now it rests on its base at two

points.

Another strangely shaped rock on St. Agnes is known as the “Nag’s

Head”; but there certainly never was on sea or land a _horse_ with a

head of that shape, whatever other strange beast it may resemble. It

is thought to have been worshipped in ancient times, for there is a

circle of stones round it.

It is not a hard rock, this island granite, and is easily worn away by

the action of the wind and water. At many points the sea has eaten out

large caves in the cliffs, and bellows in them, with the sound of

thunder, in rough weather.

The wildness and grandeur of the coast scenery form a great contrast

to the peaceful farms lying but a short distance away. The flowers are

sheltered from the boisterous winds where necessary by high hedges of

euonymus, veronica, and escallonia. Evergreen shrubs are naturally

chosen, for at the time when they are most needed no others are in

leaf. The escallonia and veronica grow with great luxuriance, and send

forth a glow of bright pink bells and purple spikes against the dark

background of their glossy leaves. Of trees the islands can make but

little boast; they are too much exposed to the violence of storms. The

only really large trees are at Holy Vale and Newford on St. Mary’s,

and there are no others of any size, except in the gardens.

Dracæna palms flourish particularly well, and when one sees a group of

them against the deep blue of the sea it is difficult to believe that

one is still in the British Isles, and not on the shores of the

Mediterranean.

Duke Cosmo III. of Tuscany says that the only trees he saw growing in

1669 were apple and cherry-trees, planted by the then Governor, but

that thick stumps of oak were found in many places in digging the

ground. So it seems that the islands were once better wooded than they

are now. The tradition of an Abbey Wood on Tresco confirms this

supposition.

Apple and other fruit-trees are often seen growing in the midst of the

flower-fields; or, to put it the other way round, the orchards are

often thick with daffodils.

[Illustration: THE GIANT’S PUNCH-BOWL, ST. AGNES]

Geraniums and fuchsias reach a great height, climbing to the eaves of

the houses, and sometimes blossoming all the year round. It is said

that an islander once replied with indignation to a stranger’s

tactless comment on the scarcity of wood, “Indeed, _we_ can heat our

ovens with our geranium-faggots!” Any one who knows the Scillonians

and their sense of humour will guess there was a twinkle in his eye as

he said it.

Marguerite-daisies also grow into large woody shrubs, in perpetual

bloom, and are often seen bordering the fields of daffodils.

In his _Observations on the Ancient and Present State of the Isles of

Scilly_, published in 1756, Dr. Borlase strongly recommends the

planting of “shelters of Elder, Dutch elm, Sycamore, and the like, in

clumps and hedgerows,” for he notices that everything which rises not

above the hedges does very well; “but to tell you the truth,” he

continues, “the true spirit of planting either has never reached here,

or has been forced to give way to more necessary calls.”

It may be that the fine trees at Holy Vale owe their origin to this

advice, and certainly it has been followed so far as the hedges are

concerned.

The highest hill in the islands is little more than 160 feet above the

sea-level; but when, as in the case of St. Martin’s Head, the hill

rises to this height straight from the sea instead of by gradual

degrees, there is no lack of grandeur and impressiveness, especially

from the seaward side.

Scilly has not a single river; and no wonder, for where would there be

room? But neither does it abound in brooks and rivulets. I can only

recall one tiny stream. The islanders depend for their water on wells,

and on the rainfall, and only in very exceptional seasons do they run

short. There are fresh-water ponds on St. Mary’s, Tresco, Bryher, and

St. Agnes, but most of them are near enough to the sea to have been

spoiled occasionally in times past by the entrance of the waves and

spray during storms. In the summer of 1909 the ponds on Bryher and St.

Agnes dried up for the first time within the memory of man.

The inhabitants of St. Mary’s are wont to say that though they have no

rivers they have two bridges! One of these spans the fosse of Star

Castle, and the other is thrown across a corner of the beach to make a

short cut to the lifeboat-house.

In spite of the scarcity of trees and the absence of streams and

rivers, I cannot agree with Parson Troutbeck, who writes: “Here, upon

the whole, the poet would have a bad time of it, and might sigh alike

for the purling stream and the shady grove.” I fear I should feel but

scant respect for any poet who found cause for sighs and regrets in

Scilly.

And this is a paradise without even a serpent, for the islands are as

destitute of snakes and vipers as is the blessed isle of Saint

Patrick. Hence arose an old saying that when the Almighty had finished

creating Ireland there were a few handfuls of mud (_sic!_) left,

which, being cast into the sea, became the Scilly Isles. I think this

saying must have originated with an Irishman--and that is the only

excuse I can find for it!

Rats there are, whose ancestors are said to have all arrived in a ship

from Shields. And in Troutbeck’s time there were cockroaches--such

cockroaches! His very description of them makes one shudder! “A large

sort of flies, sometimes several inches long, but not so large here as

in some other places; esteemed great curiosities and scarce known in

any other part of the world.”

Fortunately these “curiosities” seem not to be so much in evidence

now.

The Scillonians are a mixed race. They are thought to be descended

partly from the ancient Iberians, that small and swarthy people, of

whom so little is known and so much conjectured. No doubt they have

also much Celtic blood in their veins, but they have never had any

distinctive language, like others of the “Celtic fringe,” and the

English that they speak is remarkably pure. Their descent has likewise

been traced from the Scandinavians who once frequented the islands;

and doubtless other strains as well have mingled with their blood.

There is a tradition that a ship of the Armada was wrecked off the

coast of St. Agnes (at how many points of the British coast is there

such a tradition!), and it is said that some of the Spaniards who

escaped with their lives made that little island their home. According

to the old chronicler Leland, St. Agnes was entirely depopulated

somewhere about the beginning of the sixteenth century, the five

families who lived there being all drowned on their way back from a

marriage feast at St. Mary’s; so it is possible that if the Spaniards

landed here they found a free field.

The present inhabitants of St. Agnes are a fine race, but quite

distinct in character from the rest of the islanders; and I have heard

it said that when they get excited or angry “you can see the old Moor

coming out as plainly as anything.”

St. Martin’s men are tall and fair and handsome, and seem to show

signs of Scandinavian descent.

That a purer English is spoken on the islands than on the mainland has

been explained by the fact that a Bedfordshire company of soldiers was

left behind in garrison here during the Commonwealth, and in time was

completely forgotten. The soldiers intermarried with the island women

when they had given up all idea of being recalled. I do not think that

any one who has ever heard the true Bedfordshire twang could credit

this story as an explanation!

But there is little doubt that fresh blood has been introduced into

the islands by such intermarriages. Duke Cosmo III. of Tuscany was

driven by contrary winds to put into St. Mary’s Harbour in 1669, and

he reports that “corn of late began to be scarce, in consequence of

the increase of the population produced by marriages of the soldiers

of the garrison with the islanders, but this has been remedied for

some years past by forbidding them to marry!”

The isolation of the islanders led in past times to intermarriage

between the same families again and again, but the results do not

appear to have been as unfortunate as might have been expected.

There is this result, on the off-islands especially, that the same

surname is repeated over and over again, so that nicknames have to be

resorted to, to distinguish one man from another. On St. Agnes every

man is a Hicks, unless he is a Legge. On Tresco, Bryher, and St.

Martin’s, Jenkins, Pender, Ashford, and Ellis are the typical names.

It happened once on St. Agnes at the signing of the parish books that

the names of the four signatories (the churchwarden, the two

overseers, and the auditor from London) were all the same--Hicks!

There are traces of prehistoric man in nearly all the

islands--kitchen-middens, with heaps of limpet-shells and other

refuse, and great numbers of sepulchral barrows of the Neolithic and

Bronze Ages.

At the foot of Hellingy Downs on St. Mary’s the remains of a primitive

village have been discovered, with the foundations of many circular

huts, some of which have now been washed away by the sea. There was a

kitchen-midden close by; and an ancient stone hand-mill, about four

thousand years old, and some very crude pottery of the same period,

were unearthed from among the foundations.

When digging near Garrison Hill, St. Mary’s, some of the islanders

have come across layers of limpet-shells four feet in depth; and on

the desolate island of Annet, now sacred to sea-birds, there has

recently been found a midden with quantities of the peculiarly shaped

and unmistakable pharyngeal bone of the wrasse, as well as the

inevitable limpet-shells, showing that in this case prehistoric man

had endeavoured to vary his diet. Dr. Borlase, the antiquarian, thus

describes the barrows:--

“The outer ring is composed of large stones pitched on end, and the

heap within consists of smaller stones, clay, and earth, mixed

together. They have generally a cavity of stonework in the middle,

covered with flat stones; but the barrows are of various dimensions,

and the cavities, which, being low and covered with rubble, are scarce

apparent in some, consist of such large materials in others that they

make the principal figure in the monument.”

These funeral mounds were formerly called “Giants’ Graves,” and it was

believed that terrific storms would follow their disturbance. Dr.

Borlase got into some trouble with the people because his

investigations were followed by a storm which ruined their crops. And

yet, unfortunately, many of the stones have been removed by the

inhabitants from time to time for building purposes. The present pier

on St. Mary’s is said to be partly built with stones from these old

sepulchres.

Dr. Borlase found “no bones, or urns, but some strong unctuous earth

which smelt cadaverous.” Other searchers have been more fortunate. On

the Gugh of St. Agnes barrows have since been opened, containing

coarse earthen pots with cinders and ashes inside, sepulchres no doubt

of the Bronze Age when cremation was the usual practice. In recent

times Mr. Bonsor opened another, of very great interest, on the same

peninsula. Inside were urns and skeletons in layers, one above the

other, the same grave having been used apparently by two different

peoples, those who cremated their dead and those who followed the

later custom of inhumation. The later generations seem often to have

turned out the earlier.

One of the most perfect kistvaens or cists in Cornwall was found by

Mr. Augustus Smith in a tumulus on the northern hill of Samson in

1862. It contained the lower and upper jaw of a man, and the remains

of human teeth, all of which had been subjected to the action of fire.

On the top of the hill above the Clapper Rocks, on the east coast of

St. Mary’s, is a barrow which was opened by Mr. Bonsor in 1903, and in

his opinion it is the finest specimen in the West of England.

Altogether in Scilly there must be nearly a hundred examples, and no

doubt many have been destroyed. The built graves lined with stones

are thought to be of earlier date than those formed of only one

large block. Very often there is a double circle of stones round the

mound, an inner and an outer, the covering slabs being in some cases

eight or nine feet long.

[Illustration: ST. MARTIN’S PIER]

On the summit of nearly every hill these desolate green barrows are to

be seen, reminding us of that far mightier barrow, the “great and

shapely mound” to Achilles, “raised on the high headland, so that it

might be seen from afar by future generations of men.”

For long the islands have been identified with the Cassiterides, or

tin-producing islands, mentioned by ancient writers. But there does

not seem to be sufficient evidence to prove this indisputably, and

experts are not satisfied that tin was ever worked in Scilly. Not only

so, but they go farther, and prophesy that it never will be--in fact,

to parody the Spanish proverb, that it would require a gold-mine to

work a tin-mine in the islands!

There has been much heated controversy on this subject of late; but

then, there were warm discussions concerning the tin trade as far back

as the second century B.C., so what can be expected nowadays? When

there are many different opinions, put forward by as many different

writers, all learned and all firmly convinced that the “other fellow’s

a fool,” what course is left for the unlearned multitude, after

hearing all that has to be said, but to retain an “open mind” on the

subject? To prove my open-mindedness, I will not omit to quote the

story about the Cassiterides which has usually been taken to refer to

the Islands of Scilly.

Strabo, who lived at the end of B.C. and the beginning of A.D., tells

us that the inhabitants of the Cassiterides obtained from their mines

tin and lead, which they used to barter for earthen vessels, salt, and

instruments of brass; that the Phoenicians found commerce with them

so lucrative that they kept it a secret from all the world, but the

Romans sent vessels to follow a trader on his voyage. To deceive them,

he ran his ship ashore elsewhere, and the whole crew nearly perished.

For this public-spirited act he was rewarded from the common treasury,

besides receiving the value of his lost ship and cargo.

But, according to Strabo, the Romans found out the trade at last.

Publius Crassus (whoever he may have been) sailed across to the

islands, ascertained that tin was near the surface, and indicated the

route for the benefit of traders, “although the passage was longer

than that to Britain.”

If we do not admit the identity of Scilly with the Cassiterides, we

have no proof that the Romans had dealings with the islands before

their occupation of Britain.

[Illustration: CRAB-POT-MAKING BY ST. AGNES CHURCH]

The origin of the name “Scilly” is wrapped about with mystery. Not

that there is any lack of suggestions; on the contrary, there is such

a plethora of them that one feels no “forrader” after having heard

them all.

One learned writer says with confidence, “The islands take their name

from the old Silurian inhabitants to whom they served as a last

refuge.” Other ideas are that the name is derived from “Sulleh,” a

British word meaning “rocks consecrated to the sun,” or from a Cornish

word signifying “divided.”

The inhabitants themselves seem to favour most the notion that the

conger-eels, locally called “selli,” have given their name to the

islands.

There are other suggestions; but as to which of the many is the most

probable we must leave antiquarians and topographers to fight it out

between them, and when they are all agreed we may conclude we have

arrived at a certainty of the truth; and that is, perhaps, only

another way of saying that we shall never know!

Most of the names of places in Scilly are Cornish, but the principal

islands were named after the saints to whom their churches were

dedicated. Tresco was at one time called St. Nicholas, from the

Benedictine Abbey which used to be there. The harbours of Old and New

Grimsby on Tresco may, like their namesake in England, owe their name

to the visits of the Northmen who were here in the tenth century.

The most common Cornish words found in the place-names of Scilly

are:--

Bre, a hill, as in Bryher, formerly called Brefar.

Carn, a pile of rocks, as in Carn Friars, Carn Near, etc.

Creeb or Creb, a crest, as in Crebawethan, the Creeb Rocks, etc.

Innis, an island, as in Peninnis, Innisidgen, Iniscaw.

Men or Min, a rock, as in Menawethen, Menavawr, Mincarlo, etc.

Pen, a head, as in Peninnis.

Porth or Per, a bay, as in Porth Cressa, Permellin, Perconger, etc.

Scaw, an alder, as in Tresco, Iniscaw.

Tre, a homestead, as in Tresco, Trenemen.

Vear, great, as in Rosevear, Holvear.

Vean, little, as in Rosevean, Cove Vean.

Unfortunately, the islands have no coat-of-arms; but if they had, it

ought to be all “or” and “azure”; for those are the “tinctures” that

seem to represent them best. An azure sea lying under an azure sky;

golden gorse and golden daffodils; rocks turned to gold in the

sunlight, bordered with golden sand, or covered with golden lichen.

Even the fishermen and farmers put on azure! especially those on St.

Agnes, whose blue linen blouses are quite distinctive of the island.

VI

THE ISLAND-FOLK: THEIR WAYS AND CUSTOMS

Here in Scilly, where so many of the place names are Celtic and there

is certainly some Celtic blood, one would expect to find abundant

traces of folk-lore and superstition. But these are very few, and any

that remain are fast dying out.

The people have been educated out of any old fancies they may have

had, for education, as is well known, has a way of killing

imagination. If it would but kill only the hurtful superstitions, and

leave the wayward play of fancy, and the poetical way of looking at

things!

It used to be said that once the fairies danced on Buzza Hill; but if

so they must have fled when the windmill was built, for they have

never been heard of since. And this is the only vestige of a

fairy-tale that clings about the islands.

Just a few old fancies linger amongst the older folk. Thus, a cat

lying in front of the fire with its tail turned to the north is said

to be a sure sign of a gale of wind.

And there are weatherwise proverbs among the fishermen, such as

“Southerly wind and fog;

Easterly wind, all snug”;

and “You may look for six weeks of weather in March” is a hit at the

variable character of that month.

A few of the ancient customs also linger. Up to the last century the

old feast known as Nikla Thies was still celebrated when the last load

of grain was brought in, and they “used to dance and polka till all

was blue, to the tune of ‘Buffalo Girls.’” But now hardly any grain is

grown in the islands.

At Christmas there used to be the “goose-dancing” (_i.e._,

“guise-dancing”) in masquerade, when “the maidens dressed up for young

men, and the young men for maidens, and danced about the streets.”

This custom is still kept up in a modified form.

Midsummer night was celebrated by the lighting of bonfires and the

letting off of crackers. When the shipbuilding was in full swing there

was abundance of material for amusement in this direction.

Tar-barrels would be set afire and rolled blazing along the streets,

and lighted torches swung round on chains, high above the heads of

those who carried them.

The custom of going limpeting on Good Friday still exists, but more

for the sake of the fun of securing the limpet before he glues himself

tight than for the sake of eating him when cooked, as no amount of

boiling could make him palatable.

“Tough and elastic, like a piece of india-rubber, and if you don’t

mind, when you’re trying to bite it, it will fly back in your face and

give you a black eye.” So limpet-eating was described to me by one who

_had_ tried.

The crowning of the May Queen, which takes place every May Day, is a

very old custom in Scilly. The May-pole is now set up in the “Park” of

Hugh Town, and the children dance round it dressed in white and

garlanded with flowers.

There are still people who seem to think that the Scillies are almost

desert islands, where it is not easy to obtain good food and lodging.

But this is very far from the truth, for in Hugh Town there are two

comfortable hotels--Tregarthen’s, with its garden of tropical plants,

at the foot of Garrison Hill; and Holgate’s, overlooking St. Mary’s

Pool, at the other end of the town. There are besides a number of

good boarding-houses, and “apartments to let,” and one can also stay

at some of the flower-farms.

[Illustration: A FLOWER-BARROW, HUGH TOWN]

G. H. Lewes writes amusingly of his experiences in the matter of food

in 1857:--

“Beef _is_ obtainable, by forethought and stratagem, but mutton is a

myth. Poultry, too, may be had--at Penzance; and fish--when the

weather is calm, which it never is at this season. But market there is

none.

“Twice a week a vegetable-cart from ‘the country’ (which means a mile

and a half distance) slowly traverses the town, and if you like to

gather round it, as the cats and dogs do round the London cat’s-meat

man, you may stock yourself with vegetables for three days.”

His landlady appeared to think him most unreasonable because he

objected to doing without meat for an entire day.

“Spiritually-minded persons, indifferent to mutton, may disregard this

carnal inconvenience, and take refuge in the more ideal elements of

picturesqueness, solitude, and simplicity; and I cannot say that the

inconvenience weighed heavily in the scale against the charms of

Scilly--the more so as an enlarged experience proved the case not to

be quite so bad as it seemed at first.”

Nowadays things are very different; but still if you decide to board

yourself, “forethought” if not “stratagem” is required for obtaining

meat, which in part comes from Penzance, and is exhibited for sale on

the ground-floor of the Town Hall--the only “butcher’s shop.” Once in

the fishing season I followed a group of Lowestoft fishermen all the

way down the street, and could tell from their talk that they were in

search of the butcher’s. “Not one in the whole blessed place!” I heard

them say in astonishment, which was not lessened when they were

presently directed to the Town Hall.

In Woodley’s time the “gentry” used to bespeak the different portions

of an animal before it was killed, so that the farmer was insured

against risk; just as nowadays in Egypt the would-be purchaser of

camel-flesh will chalk out in white his private mark, on neck or thigh

or shoulder, of the living beast, to show which is the joint he

desires to have when it has become meat.

Fresh fish is to be had when there has been a good catch, and is

hawked round in sixpenny strings. Milk and new-laid eggs seem to be

obtainable to any extent. Cornish cream, alas! with the advent of the

separator, is threatening to disappear.

I must not forget to mention one article of food which shows decided

originality--a twopenny loaf of bread, one half of which is brown and

the other half white!

In the old days the people lived almost entirely on scads (_i.e._,

horse-mackerel), dried and salted, and potatoes; and this gave rise to

the couplet--

“Scads and taties all the week

And conger-pie on Sundays.”

There is a story that a pilot was once asked “What is the population

of Scilly?” Now this was before the days of compulsory education, and

he had not the faintest idea what “population” meant; but he was not

going to confess ignorance to a stranger, so he made a random shot at

the meaning, and replied, “Scads and tates, sir!”

To this day there are islanders who say they would not exchange a good

conger-pie for a round of beef, and who regret that scads are no

longer caught. They are rich, oily fish, and used to be caught in

great quantities in the Cove of St. Agnes, which was hauled in turn by

the inhabitants of St. Mary’s, St. Agnes, and Bryher, while the men of

St. Martin’s and Tresco would spread their seines out amongst the

eastern islands. Ling and conger were also caught, and dried on the

stone hedges, or salted for winter use.

When smuggling was rife in the islands, intemperance was common; but

nowadays things are changed for the better. This is in spite of the

fact that no licences are required for selling beer and spirits.

Anybody who likes may keep an inn, with the permission of the

Governor. The same rule applies to the keeping of dogs, carriages, and

men-servants, the selling of tobacco, and the carrying of a gun:

licence duties do not exist.

No notes on Scilly would be complete if they failed to take account of

the character of the people, for their kindness, courtesy, and ready

good-humour add much to the attraction of the islands. Tribute has

been paid to them by many an old writer, and so far as I can learn, by

report and by experience, everything that has been said in their

praise is true to this day.

“I doubt not,” writes Heath, “but every stranger that visits the

islands will see honour, justice, and every social virtue exercised

among the inhabitants ... though there is never a lawyer and but one

clergyman in all the islands.”

Troutbeck quotes this sentence fifty years later (but without a word

of acknowledgment, as is his way), merely changing “one” clergyman to

“two,” to suit the altered times. He says elsewhere, “The present

islanders are commonly civil to strangers.” It would be quite as true

to say they are _un_commonly civil!

Doctor Borlase in 1752 speaks of “the civility natural to these

islanders,” and Woodley tells the same story.

Then there is the testimony of G. H. Lewes in 1857: “Not an approach

to rudeness or coarseness have I seen anywhere.”

Woodley most unreasonably accuses them of curiosity, but what respect

should we have for the members of any small community who did not take

a friendly interest in each other’s concerns? I am quite sure that by

the time Woodley had finished collecting material for his book of 338

pages he must himself have acquired a terrible character for asking

questions!

The desire for local bits of news must have been very much fostered in

the islands by the difficulty there used to be in obtaining any from

the outside world. It is said that Queen Elizabeth had ascended the

throne for several months before the news of the death of Queen Mary

arrived in Scilly! Nowadays the telegraph keeps them well in touch

with everything that is going on, and acquaints them with the state of

the markets for their produce.

I think the most prominent trait in the Scillonian character is a

cheerful kindliness of disposition, which makes the visitor feel on

his first arrival he is welcome, and soon makes him feel quite at

home. This kindliness is shown in many little ways, even when there

would be much excuse for contrary behaviour. A visitor and his wife

were once trying to scale a stone hedge--with no evil intent, but all

the same it was trespassing. An islander who was working in the field,

instead of stopping them, offered to take off the top stones of the

wall, “to make it easier for the lady,” and to replace them when they

were safely over. That is true Scillonian courtesy!

I have seen a tourist rush with his camera through a field of

daffodils, crying to the owner and his men, “Please keep on picking

and take no notice of me!” And they have done it, when anywhere else

he would have been requested, either politely or forcibly, to keep to

the footpath.

Another characteristic is the delightful Celtic leisureliness. One

kindly housewife only voiced the general feeling when she said,

“Where’s the need of hurry? What is not done to-day will be done

to-morrow.” We had sought shelter in her cottage from the torrents of

rain and were terribly interrupting her spring-cleaning; yet she not

only insisted on drying our clothes, but came and entertained us in

her best parlour with stories of the wrecks, and soothed our scruples

with the words I have quoted.

An American girl-visitor once noticed this trait. “You haven’t learnt

to hustle here,” said she to her boatman. “If the islands belonged to

_us_ we’d soon make things spin.”

“Could you hustle the tide in and out?” was the quietly humorous

retort. “Or could you hustle the fish into the nets, and the lobsters

into the pots?” And what a blessing it is that Nature cannot be

hustled, but will take her own time over her own work, however much

money-grubbing man may try to hurry her up: it is but little he can

do, with all his forcing-houses and schemes for premature development!

* * * * *

Scillonians have no lack of humour--that saving sense of humour which

helps one over the roughnesses of life, little and big, and turns each

tumble on life’s journey into an occasion for a smile at one’s own

expense.

There are no “yokels” or “boors” in Scilly, such as one meets in parts

of rural England, who are rude or tongue-tied if one asks them a

simple question. They have a delightful way here of saying “Please?”

with a special intonation, if you say something to them which they do

not quite hear or understand. It sounds very pretty from the little

children.

The children, on the whole, are quite charming and very friendly

without being rude or troublesome. They used to crowd round sometimes

when I was painting, but they never got in the way. Occasionally they

would plant themselves in the middle distance under the impression

that my eye was like a photographic lens, and that so long as they

came within the field of vision they must infallibly appear in the

picture!

In the spring they make chains and garlands of daffodils and narcissi,

with which they deck themselves: for to them these are the commonest

of common flowers, and on a par with buttercups and daisies.

Honesty may almost be taken for granted in the islands. Heath’s

statement is still true: “There are no robbers, housebreakers, or

highwaymen.” For there is no real poverty, and no one who has not got

a character to lose. Once when visiting St. Agnes we were advised to

leave our luggage by a lonely road-side while we went round to look

for rooms. “We are all honest people on St. Agnes,” they told us, “so

it will be quite safe.” And so it was.

They have been accused by one or two writers of being grasping and

exorbitant in their charges, and altogether too fond of money; but I

can only say that I have never seen the slightest sign of this, and I

have had strong evidence to the contrary. But I have been told that if

you rub them up very much the wrong way they will take it out of you

by raising their charges.

[Illustration: DAFFODILS ON ST. MARTIN’S]

“Neatness of dress,” says Woodley, “particularly on the Sabbath day,

is in many instances carried to an extreme, especially amongst the

younger females.” And he describes how those who on one day have been

scrambling, shoeless and stockingless, over the rocks, gathering and

drying ore-weed for kelp, may be seen on the next day dressed in

white, with straw hats and flying ribbons. I have always thought that

neatness of dress had no extreme, but represented the Aristotelian

mean between slovenliness and excess of finery! So in my eyes this

statement is one of unmixed praise. A local wag once made a hit at

this excessive love of “neatness” by parodying the lines I have quoted

above. He chalked up on the pier:--

“Scads and taties all the week

And _a green veil_ on Sundays.”

The days of scads and tates and scrambling for seaweed have now been

long past; but prosperity does not seem to have spoilt the islanders

any more than adversity. They keep their simplicity, and kindliness,

and freedom from vulgar display.

There is a delightful spirit of toleration in the little islands

amongst the members of the different religious denominations. Those

represented are Church of England, Wesleyan, and Bible Christian, with

a sprinkling of Plymouth Brethren. But all those who profess and call

themselves Christians seem to have learnt better than their fellows on

the mainland the art of sinking their religious differences.

A simple and kindly soul, whose acquaintance I made, gave homely

expression to the feeling which seems to be general; and I will repeat

the words as nearly as possible as I heard them:--

“This is the way I looks at it. Heaven is like that Castle on the

hill; there’s a many ways of getting there, and no two of us will ever

go quite the same way. Why, to begin with, we don’t start from the

same point.

“But this much I do know: you won’t get there any sooner by throwing

brick-bats at your neighbour who’s coming along another road; and if

you begin to do that, you may be pretty certain you’re off the track

yourself.

“If only we’d all take hold on Christ and follow close to Him, we

shouldn’t go far wrong then; and we’d be so busy loving our neighbour

we’d quite forget he didn’t think just the same as us.

“I’m a Church-body myself; I was born a Church-body, and I mean to

remain one till I die; but I don’t see that’s any reason for thinking

hard things of the chapel-folk just because they likes to go to heaven

another way.”

A crude confession of faith, do I hear you say? But you will admit

that through it breathes a spirit of love and kindliness. And

more--that it embodies, in homely words, a great spiritual truth; for

is it not only by many different ways, and yet by the one Way, that we

can all arrive at our goal?

* * * * *

The islands were for many years, as we have seen, under the abbots of

Tavistock, who held spiritual jurisdiction under the bishops of

Exeter. But not a single bishop ever set foot on them until 1831!

In a letter written by John Grandison, Bishop of Exeter, to the Pope,

in the reign of Edward III., he says that no bishops in person ever

visited these islands, but were wont to depute friars for that

purpose.

Bishop Phillpotts of Exeter came in 1831, and again in 1838 to

consecrate the new church on St. Mary’s. The islands since then have

come under the diocese of Truro.

Troutbeck, writing of St. Mary’s in 1794, says: “The clergyman who

officiates has neither institution nor induction to this benefice, nor

visitation nor a licence from the Bishop of Exeter, but holds his

preferment at the will of his patron, the Lord-proprietor. Formerly he

was the only clergyman upon the islands; and children were brought

from the off-islands to be baptized, often at the risk of their lives;

but as the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge has sent an

assistant minister who resides at Tresco, and visits all the

off-islands occasionally in fine weather, the inhabitants are not only

benefited by his instructions and exemplary conversation, but freed

from the inconveniences under which they formerly laboured.”

The other off-island churches were only supplied by native fishermen,

who were appointed by the agent to read prayers and sermons agreeable

to the doctrines of the Church of England.

Bryher is now the only inhabited island on which there is no resident

clergyman; but a service is held every Sunday afternoon, and one

evening during the week by the clergyman from Tresco. On Sunday

mornings and evenings there is a service in the chapel, conducted by

one of the fishermen-farmers, at which, I was told, Spurgeon’s sermons

are read. “We’ve been having them forty years, and we aren’t tired of

them yet.”

I inquired whether the attendance was greater at the church or at the

chapel.

“Well, you see, it’s like this: the people as goes to church is the

people as goes to chapel; and the people as don’t go to both don’t go

anywhere at all. Church and chapel aren’t ever open at the same time,

so there’s no rivalry.”

We once told a little girl on St. Agnes we were going to see the

church. “Oh, but you must go and see the chapel too,” said she. I fear

she would think it mere blind prejudice on my part that I have

included views of two churches in this series, and not a single

chapel!

Woodley writes that in his day the people would repair to the

meeting-house in the morning, to church in the forenoon and afternoon,

and again to the meeting in the evening.

Tresco is the only inhabited island on which there is no chapel. For

many years the chapel-meetings were held every Sunday afternoon in the

Church-room, with the approval of the Bishop of Truro, as well as of

Mr. Augustus Smith, the Governor, who gave his consent willingly on

condition that those who attended should be regular at Church in the

morning and evening. The Plymouth Brethren now meet there in each

other’s cottages.

John Wesley visited the islands in 1743. His followers have a large

chapel and a resident minister at Hugh Town, and meeting-houses at Old

Town and Holy Vale.

The Bible Christians have chapels on St. Mary’s, St. Martin’s, and St.

Agnes, and three ministers, who do duty on each island in turn.

VII

STORIES OF THE WRECKS

Scillonians revel in a wreck, just as the soldier loves a battle and

the fireman loves a fire. But theirs is a happier case than the

soldier’s, for their duty calls them to save life instead of to

destroy it.

I remember hearing of a girl near the Land’s End who had been

describing a wreck and how she had taken the little babies from the

arms of the rescuing seamen, and carried them up the shore, two at a

time, to where they could be warmed and cared for. “A wreck is

lovely,” said she; “I’d go miles to see one. Of course I’m very sorry

for the poor people, but oh, I do love to be there when there’s a

wreck!”

Here spake a true daughter of the sea, and the spirit that inspired

her is the same that animates the brave fellows who man our

life-boats. And it is the spirit of the Scillonians. The love of

wrecks is in their island blood. Centuries of wrestling with the sea,

and wresting from it the treasures it had stolen or was threatening

to steal, have made this a part of their very nature. And how much

better that it should be so; that the cry of “A wreck!” instead of

inspiring them with horror and paralysing their efforts, should fill

them with a kind of fearful joy, and nerve them to work wonders in

saving life and property.

There is no need to say that to save human life is always their first

consideration. If efforts in this direction are unsuccessful or only

partially successful, a gloom falls over the islands, and the

salvage-seeking loses much of its zest; but when all lives are saved

the joy is unmixed, and no pity is wasted on the insurance companies,

who are usually the chief sufferers.

There may or there may not be any truth in the stories that long years

ago Scillonians used to show their love of wrecks by doing their best

to cause them. Nowadays it is certainly true that they make every

effort to prevent one when they get the chance. But it too often

happens that the vessel is on the rocks before there is any

consciousness of danger or signalling for help.

Now that the great sea-lights encircle the islands, and warn all

vessels away from the danger-zone, it is seldom that any wrecks occur

except during a continued fog. Fog was the cause of the great

disaster in 1707, in which Sir Cloudesley Shovel lost his life, when

four ships of the British fleet were wrecked on the western rocks.

Fog, again, occasioned the loss of the “Schiller,” the German

mail-steamer that struck on the Retarrier Ledges in 1875, and went

down, with a death-roll of three hundred and ten. There are many who

remember the terrible gloom that hung over the islands at that time,

and the making of that sad array of nameless graves in the little

burial-ground of Old Church.

[Illustration: OLD CHURCH, ST. MARY’S]

And it was fog that caused the wreck of the “Minnehaha,” in April,

1910, when that great Atlantic liner, 600 feet long, and drawing six

fathoms of water--the largest vessel that has ever been wrecked at

Scilly--struck upon the Scilly rock. She was bound from New York to

London, and for three days it had been quite impossible to take

observations on account of fog. The look-out was searching eagerly for

the “Bishop” light when suddenly rocks loomed up close to the vessel

and the next moment she struck. The passengers, awakened by the shock,

rushed on deck in great alarm, but being reassured by the captain,

they went below again to dress. In a very short time boats arrived

from Bryher, and the passengers, who were already in the ship’s boats,

were safely piloted to that island, where they were treated with all

possible kindness. Provisions ran short, but fresh supplies were

fetched from the ship. So little inconvenience did the passengers

suffer that some of them declared that the nicest way of arriving in

England was to be wrecked! They could not speak highly enough of the

way in which they were treated by every one--and of the care that was

taken, not only of themselves but of their personal belongings, many

of which had been left lying about in their cabins.

This was just the right kind of wreck, from the Scillonian point of

view, for not a single life was lost, and there was a tremendous

amount of salvage-work to be done in the weeks that followed. For

further details I cannot do better than quote some letters I received

from a friend who was there all the time.

* * * * *

“ST. MARY’S, _April 18th._

“The gun went last night or very early this morning. Of course I flew

out of bed, and if it had not been for my landlady’s nerves I would

have flown out of doors. The noise of the gun had hardly ceased to

vibrate when men came out of the houses and began to run, and it has

puzzled me ever since to know if the Scillonians sleep in their

clothes, for they had them on, and how they got into them passes my

comprehension.

“The life-boat I heard launched with a cheer about ten minutes after.

“It was a thick fog, and the boat, as you will see by the papers, is

the ‘Minnehaha,’ with a crew of 100, 64 passengers, and 300 cattle.

She struck on the Scilly Rock, near Bryher; and I believe everybody is

safe on Bryher by now. They hope to float the vessel off at full tide.

They have wired to Penzance for the ‘Lyonnesse’ to come and fetch the

passengers, so I don’t think she will worry about such trifles as our

mails to-day.

* * * * *

(_Later the same day._)

“‘Wrecking’ is delightful work. I feel quite capable now of tying a

lantern to a cow’s-horn. All morning I have been out in the damp fog,

and all St. Mary’s also. The policeman had to _shoo_ the children into

the school.

“They are now landing the passengers’ luggage, and a cheer went down

the quay on the arrival of a large teddy-bear. The purser of the

vessel says they have been in fog three days. They struck just where

the cocoanut vessel struck before.

“All the boats rushed across to the wreck this morning, but the

captain stood with a pistol in his hand and dared the men to come on

board. When the vessel is proclaimed hopeless there _will_ be a

rush--thousands of tons of cargo on board, and they are throwing heaps

overboard to try and get her off, but the universal prayer is that

they won’t, as it will be a harvest for Scilly. All the same, there is

much sympathy with the captain.

* * * * *

(_Later still._)

“The passengers have just arrived from Bryher, and considering they

were wrecked whilst in their beds, they look intensely respectable.

They were chaffing and joking as they came up from the quay. The crew

also are here, and sleeping, I think, in the Town Hall. Everybody is

half crazy with excitement. Tons of stuff are being thrown overboard,

and grand pianos and motor-cars are floating in Hell Bay. (Nice for

your sketch!)

* * * * *

“_April 20th._

“Between one hundred and two hundred men have come over from the

mainland to help with the salvage, and they are sleeping in the Town

Hall, Church Hall, Rechabite Hall, etc. Most of the crew leave

to-morrow; the passengers got off yesterday, and will have reached

London last night.

“What with the custom-house officers, salvage men, and police it is

very difficult to smuggle anything, and so far I have only managed a

pencil, not from lack of zeal but from lack of opportunity. Motor-cars

and grand pianos are towed in--in cases. I believe a grand piano loose

is of a sulky nature when in the sea, and instead of allowing itself

to be towed it does its best to settle down comfortably at the bottom,

and takes the boat with it if the rope is not quickly cut--at least,

that is one experience of which I was told. The boats arrive laden

with everything under the sun--clocks, and food, and anti-pain

tablets, squirts, dress-lengths, wheels, typewriters, sewing-machines,

phonographs, boxes of jewellery, boxes of oranges, barrels of apples,

pencils, meat-skewers, and lots of tobacco and cigarettes. The

policeman is kept quite busy trying to puzzle out the contents of the

different boxes. One lady has lost a £1,500 motor-car. They say the

value of the cargo is greater than that of all Scilly and Penzance put

together. It is all insured, but unfortunately the vessel is not.

“The cattle are on Samson. The poor dears had to leap off the wreck

into the water--a height as great as from the top of the church tower.

To-day one could see the vessel quite well from here; it was not so

foggy. I am hoping to get out to her soon, but it would mean paying

pounds at present, as the men are all so busy.

“I think most of the boys have been bad from smuggled cigarettes, and

everybody is having a fine time.

* * * * *

“_April 26th._

“I have just come in from the wreck; we went to Bryher this afternoon.

The ‘Minnehaha’ is this side of the Scilly Rock, resting on a plateau

of rock not far from Hell Bay. She does not look a bit as if she were

wrecked. I believe they are putting bags of air under her in hopes of

raising her to float her off on some high tide. The divers are at

work, but many do not expect to get her off unless they cut her in

halves. One diver landed on an old wreck--one that had struck on

Scilly some time ago.

“There is indignation amongst the men, as they have only been offered

£2 a head for the cattle they saved, and last time they had £5; and

they say these are larger and were more difficult to save.

“Wrecking is still the only topic with everybody. The goods are now

being taken out of the stores and shipped to London. There were

twenty-six carts working on Saturday, and they stretched from the Post

Office to the quay. Fifty tons of coffee was only one little item

of salvage amongst many others.”

[Illustration: SUNSET OVER SAMSON]

Later came the welcome news that the “Minnehaha” had been successfully

floated off. The rock was cleverly blasted away from inside of her,

and with the help of several tugs she got clear away. Finally, with

the pumps going all the time, she was able to make the journey to

Falmouth by her own steam-power.

Quite another kind of wreck was that of the “Thomas W. Lawson,” which

occurred at Christmas-time in 1907, and made a great and painful

sensation in the islands. She was a seven-masted sailing-vessel, one

of the largest in the world. Her sails were named after the seven days

of the week; they were worked by electricity, and could all be set in

three minutes. Her anchor was also raised and lowered by electricity.

She was bound for London from Boston, and carried a cargo of oil, many

thousands of gallons of oil, in tanks.

There was a heavy gale blowing, and she signalled for a pilot to bring

her into harbour. Pilot Hicks on St. Agnes was busy planting potatoes,

but he threw down his spade at once, and went aboard of her. She was

then out beyond Annet amongst the western rocks. A graphic

description of what followed was given to us by an islander:--

“We stood at the door and watched her; we could see her lights still

in the same place when we went to bed between ten and eleven o’clock,

but in the morning she was gone. It is supposed she dragged her anchor

in the night, or that the heavy seas broke both the anchor-chains. St.

Mary’s life-boat had been out to her, but their mast was broken, so

they went back to repair it. Otherwise they would have stayed by her

all night, and would probably have sunk with her when she went down.

It was agreed that a flare should be sent up from the vessel if help

was wanted from St. Agnes during the night, but no signal came. The

gale increased in fury, and the vessel went down, and the pilot and

nearly all on board were drowned.

“When she was knocked to pieces on the rocks, the tanks of oil escaped

from her hold and burst open. The oil floated upon the waves; we could

see it washing up here on the shore. At first we could not think what

it was--it made the water look black; but soon we learnt from the

smell--in fact, we were almost driven away by the smell. They say if

it had caught fire it would have cleared the islands, it would have

been like a sea of fire, and the smoke would have suffocated all the

islanders. As it was, many of the rabbits and birds on Annet were

killed by the oil, and lay dead upon the shore.

“It was a horrible time. Everything seemed to reek of the oil. The

very spray on the windows ran down in oily blue streaks for long

after, and even now, when eighteen months have passed, we can still

smell it at times.”

The pilot’s son went off in a boat with some hope of finding his

father, and then swam through the boiling surf with a rope round him

and succeeded in rescuing two men, the captain and the engineer. They

had been washed all along the west coast of Annet to Hellweathers,

where they were picked up. A third man was saved, but he lost his

reason and died. All of them were simply saturated with the oil,

besides being terribly beaten about, and with limbs broken.

The pilot’s son had two magnificent gold watches sent him from

America--one from the President of the United States, and the other

from the owners of the vessel; and he was also awarded a silver medal

for his bravery.

Sometimes great risks are run in doing salvage work. In August, 1909,

there was a thick sea-fog, which lasted from Friday night to Sunday

morning, and stopped the “Lyonnesse” from sailing. A grain-boat lost

her bearings and struck on Lethegus’ Ledge, off St. Agnes. The crew

were all saved; but a man and a boy from Hugh Town who were at work on

the cargo went down with the vessel when, without warning, she sank.

If she had lasted a little longer, forty or fifty islanders would have

been occupied in saving the bags of grain, and must infallibly have

been drowned. This tragedy attached a sad import to the notice which

was posted up on the warehouses for weeks afterwards--“Maize for

sale.”

VIII

ANNET AND THE SEA-BIRDS

The sea-birds are everywhere in Scilly. All the year round the gulls

fill the air with their cries, and cormorants and shags skim the water

and dive beneath its surface.

No “Scilly-scape,” if I may use the word, seems complete without a few

gulls. We see them circling and wheeling high above us; dropping,

suddenly, to rest upon the dancing waves; chasing each other in turn

from the tops of the chimneys; sitting in rows on the ridges of the

roofs; quarrelling for fish over St. Mary’s Pool; following the plough

or harrow in greedy quest of worms; or standing stock-still on the

rocks or sands, at equal distances from each other, and all primly

facing the same way.

Herring-gulls, black-headed, and great and lesser black-backed are all

plentiful.

The black-backed gulls are fierce and savage fellows. They will carry

off young guillemots and kittiwakes in their powerful beaks when the

parent-bird is out of the way, and kill and eat them; and they are

ruthless robbers of eggs.

The great cormorant, or sea-crow (from the French of which latter

name, “corbeau marin,” his ordinary name is taken) is not so common in

Scilly as the smaller kind, the green or crested cormorant, or shag.

Shags may be seen in great numbers round the islands, swimming so low

in the water that they look only like the tops of walking-sticks above

the waves; and propelling their thin and keel-shaped bodies forward by

using their wings as oars. Suddenly they disappear head first into the

water, reappearing after what seems a very long time, in quite a

different direction, and some distance away.

All cormorants are voracious (is not their very name a by-word for

greed?), and they consume great quantities of fish, so they are no

friend to the fisherman.

Shags are amongst the earliest breeders, and they are worth watching

during their love-making, rubbing their snaky heads together and

performing strange, ungainly antics. They make rough, untidy nests,

with three or four eggs, on many of the uninhabited islands. If you go

near them when they are sitting on their eggs, they will hiss at you

like geese.

[ Illustration: A SHAG PARLIAMENT]

In spring tens of thousands of visitors arrive in flocks, for the

breeding-season--puffins, Manx shearwaters, guillemots, razor-bills,

terns, storm-petrels, and many non-resident gulls.

The island of Annet (_i.e._, Little Agnes) is the largest

breeding-ground. It is a low-lying, sandy tract, serpentine in shape,

rising towards the north to a height of sixty feet, and surrounded by

dangerous rocks. It is covered with bracken and tufts of the

sea-thrift, which latter is in full flower during the breeding-season,

making a bright pink background for the white and black plumage of the

birds.

Annet is known by the name of “Bird Island,” from the immense numbers

that breed there. In the early summer the sea all round is black with

puffins and razor-bills, their white breasts being hardly noticeable

as they sit on the surface of the water; and the air above is dark

with clouds of gulls, and full of their ceaseless cry. Puffins (also

called sea-parrots) have bred on the islands from time immemorial. An

old name for them was “Coulter-neb,” from the peculiar shape of their

beaks, which were thought to resemble the coulter of a plough.

They were formerly much esteemed for food, chiefly pickled and salted,

because by this means their rank and fishy flavour was disguised; and

one imagines the three hundred puffins payable at Michaelmas for the

rent of the islands in the time of Edward I. must have been destined

for treating in this way rather than for eating fresh.

William of Worcester, writing in 1478, records the presence of

“pophyns” on Rascow (_i.e._, Tresco); and Richard Carew (1602) says:

“The Puffyn hatcheth in holes of the cliffe, whose young ones are

thence ferreted out, being exceedingly fat, kept salted, and reputed

for fish, as comming nearest thereto in their taste.”

Their flesh used to be allowed by the Church on Lenten days.

It is a most ludicrous-looking bird during the breeding season, for

then its beak becomes enlarged to double its usual depth, quite out of

proportion to the dimensions of its owner. And not only is the size of

the beak remarkable, but it is gorgeously coloured with carmine,

blue-grey, and yellow; so that for a bird which carries a sober

yellow-brown beak all the winter it must be almost embarrassing to

appear in such a garish guise! The legs are a bright orange-red, a

ring of carmine encircles the eye, and altogether, with his black coat

and white waistcoat, he presents a very striking appearance.

The puffin is entirely an oceanic bird, only coming to land to breed.

It lays its solitary egg at the end of a long burrow dug in the sand

or peat. The isle of Annet is simply honeycombed with these burrows,

so that it is impossible to walk even a few steps without finding the

ground give way beneath one’s feet, and sinking, sometimes knee-deep,

into the soft soil. The springy tufts of sea-pink which cover the

island offer more resistance and a firmer foothold than the sandy

earth.

By the end of April the birds are busy digging a new hole with their

sharp nails, or overhauling that of the previous year. In making the

hole they throw themselves upon their backs, and with their bills and

claws burrow inwards, until they have made a hole perhaps eight to ten

feet long, and sometimes with several windings and turnings.

A week or ten days after the hole is ready a single round white egg is

laid. Both birds assist in digging the burrow, and also in hatching,

which takes about a month. Sometimes a forsaken rabbit-hole will save

the pair the labour of digging out a habitation for themselves; and

occasionally, where a spot between three stones has been carefully

chosen for excavation, one may see a lintel and door-jambs of granite

forming the entrance into the burrow! Puffins and Manx shearwaters

will sometimes share the same hole; or they will have a common

entrance with passages branching out in several directions, as in some

of our “desirable residential flats.”

They feed their young on the fry of certain fish, and are particularly

fond of the lance, or sand-eel. The parent bird may be seen returning

to the burrow, with numbers of small fish hanging from its bill. How

it could retain its hold of, say, the first nine caught while

capturing the tenth used to be a subject for wondering conjecture: but

an examination of the inside of the beak has shown an arrangement of

barbed hooks projecting backwards, on which each fish is speared as it

is caught. The discovery of this wonderful provision of Nature is due

to Mr. C. J. King of St. Mary’s.

Visitors are only allowed to stay an hour at a time on Annet during

the breeding season, out of consideration for the birds; and the

Governor strictly forbids the shooting of the birds or the taking of

their eggs. If, in defiance of this or out of curiosity, you thrust

your hand into one of the burrows, you will very likely get a piece

bitten out of it, and it will serve you right!

The shearwater becomes very eloquent when disturbed in its hole, and

pours forth guttural melodies, the sounds of which are imitated in the

nicknames of “Cockathodan” and “Crew,” bestowed upon it by

Scillonians. Goldsmith compares the disagreeable sound they make when

taken to “the efforts of a dumb person attempting to speak.” This bird

is largely nocturnal in its habits, resting or sleeping on the water

during a part of the day, and fishing chiefly at night.

The guillemot breeds on several of the rocky islands, Gorregan and

Mincarlo among the number. It lays its large and beautiful egg on

narrow ledges of the bare rock, without any sort of protection, so

that it soon gets dirty and can sometimes hardly be distinguished from

a lump of clay. But for the long and pointed shape of the egg, which

causes it to roll round in a circle when disturbed, it would probably

never remain on the ledge long enough to be hatched; for if it were

round, like puffins’ eggs, at the slightest touch it would roll over

into the sea beneath. The colour of the egg varies very greatly; it is

dark blue, a lighter or greenish blue, white, or even claret colour,

but always covered with black spots and markings.

The graceful terns, or sea-swallows, visit Scilly in great numbers in

the spring, as also do the razor-bills (otherwise known as the common

or black auk). The latter may be seen sitting in rows on the rocks in

company with puffins and shags. The ledges of rock rising one above

another, and the birds sitting on them, have been compared to the

shelves and pots of a chemist’s shop. Like the puffin and the

storm-petrel, razor-bills rarely leave the sea except for breeding.

The storm-petrel is a visitor in Scilly, and may be seen there

“walking on the water” in the strange way peculiar to it; and on

account of this habit it is supposed to derive its name from that of

the Apostle Peter.

The scarlet-legged oyster-catcher, or “sea-pie,” makes Annet its

breeding-ground; as also do many of the terns. The oyster-catcher’s

eggs are laid on the loose shingle, and from their close resemblance

to the rounded pebbles of the seashore they are not easily noticed,

even if you search carefully for them.

Any one who has not before had the opportunity of seeing a

breeding-ground of the sea-birds will find a visit to Annet in the

early summer quite a revelation, for no imagination could picture

these myriads of birds, darkening the air with their wings, as they

wheel and hover, screaming, over their temporary home.

IX

ST. MARY’S

When you come to Scilly you naturally land first upon St. Mary’s

Island, for there is the quay, where the steamer from England unloads

her passengers and cargo.